✨Produced By Woozi✨

31, about me in pinned post Army/Carat/Atiny/VIP/Stay/P1ece/Luvity 𖤐 TikTok 𖤐 Instagram 𖤐

[gothidecorem]

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𝔸𝕟𝕟𝕪𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙

𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚒 (𝚔𝚊𝚢•𝚕𝚎𝚎), ’𝟿𝟻 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜

𝙸 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎

𝙲𝚢𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝟹 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙱𝚃𝚂 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍

𝙿𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢

(𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠)

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚌𝚎

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[cherryberrycheol]

Quality Over Quantity | Choi Seungcheol | 🔞

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: You have one rule: don't catch feelings. But a sunday morning with Choi Seungcheol starts to feel dangerously soft, and when the miscommunication that follows sends you both spiralling—you back into your roster, him into someone else's arms—you're forced to confront the fact that no amount of revenge fucking can fill the ache he left behind.

Word count: 29.1k

Genres/warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort (?), smut/pwp (with some plot actually, wow!), university au, frat boy!seungcheol x camgirl!reader, fwb2l, idiots in love, jealousy and possessive behavior, miscommunication and assumptions, perceived emotional cheating, non-monogamous arrangements (temporary), use of sex as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, public love confession (livestreamed), possessiveness as a love language, mentions of slut-shaming and social isolation, minor blood (biting, scratching), multiple sexual partners (on-page, say hi to mingyu, hoshi and woozi), soft domestic moments, found family (wonwoo & minghao), some alchohol consumption (once); oh, probably some bullshit psychology major representation i'm sorry we sacrificed logic (in other aspects too) in this fic for smut's sake; if i missed anything lmk

Smut warnings: Minors DNI, explicit sex work (solo and partnered cam performances), livestreamed sex, oral sex (f and m rec), deepthroating and facefucking, throatfucking to the point of tears, messy oral (spit, drool, gagging), vag sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink (talk of filling up, cum inside), multiple orgasms, overstim, clit stimulation, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration (vaginal & anal, 2 partners), threesome (mmf), tit-fucking, cum on face and chest, cum eating, spitting as lubricant, degradation (name-calling: slut, cocksucker, etc.), praise kink, daddy kink/roleplay (performative, fan-driven), possessiveness during sex, size kink (implied), impact play (light face-slapping with cock), scratching and biting (drawing blood), pain play (minor), manhandling and being moved into positions, sex on camera with an audience, clothed sex (panties pulled aside), morning sex, semi-public sex (against a door at a party), soft aftercare, showering together, soft and tender sex after reconciliation, use of alcohol (drunk at a party, but all sex is enthusiastically consensual); if anything is missing lmk, i tried to make it more detailed than usual

A/N: i have seriously nothing to add here. maybe because as i prepare this post for queue i'm super fucking exhausted. i am happy to have finally written and posted something. i hope you guys enjoy it. i also thank all of my moots who i've been terrorising with tiny snippers while writing this. a special thanks to my writing wife @pochaccoups you saw the whole thing before it saw the world, including my absurd title joke lol. ly <3 as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫

If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist.

The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.

You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.

Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.

"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.

He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."

"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"

"Why?" His voice is strained.

"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."

Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.

This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.

Unlike—

"There you are."

The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.

You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.

Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.

You turn your head.

Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.

His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.

"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."

He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.

"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."

"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."

Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.

"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.

"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"

"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.

Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.

The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.

And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.

"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."

"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.

"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."

"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.

Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"

"He won the game."

"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"

You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."

"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."

Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.

"Fuck,” you breathe.

"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.

God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.

"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.

"It's been three days."

"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"

You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.

But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.

"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.

"Busy," he repeats, flat.

"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"

Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.

"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.

You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.

"Cheol—"

"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."

His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.

This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.

Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.

Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.

The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.

So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."

"Cheol, please—"

"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."

"Please—fuck, your mouth—"

"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."

"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"

"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.

He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.

You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"

Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.

He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.

"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.

"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."

You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.

The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.

"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"

"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."

"Then show me."

You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.

"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.

You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.

The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.

"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."

You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.

It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.

"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."

You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.

"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"

You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.

He gets the message.

His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.

"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."

Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.

"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"

You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.

The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.

He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."

"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"

His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."

You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.

"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.

"Cheol—"

"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."

You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.

"Hold them together for me."

You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.

The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.

"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."

You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."

The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.

You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.

Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

"Hey," he says.

“Hey,” you croak back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."

He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.

You push the feeling down. You're good at that.

When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.

"I'll survive," you manage.

"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."

You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"

"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"

The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."

"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.

You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.

The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.

He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.

"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."

Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."

"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.

And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.

And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"

"I'm fine, Cheol."

"Need water? You should drink some water."

"You're not my mum."

"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.

The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"

"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.

Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.

You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.

"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.

'''M not."

"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."

He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."

"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.

He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.

He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.

Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.

"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"

Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.

Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.

"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"

"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."

Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.

He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.

He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.

Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.

You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.

Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.

But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"

"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.

"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.

"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."

"Hmm, is that so?"

There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.

"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."

You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.

"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."

You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.

"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."

"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."

You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.

You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."

You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.

Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.

"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"

You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"

"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.

He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.

"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."

You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.

The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.

Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.

At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.

You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.

You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.

One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.

It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.

And that's enough. For now, it's enough.

Monday can wait.

Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.

It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.

hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.

There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.

You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.

Your coffee choices are atrocious.

His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.

Dramatic.

ouch, another wound:(

You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.

You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.

Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.

Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.

Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.

Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.

You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.

so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??

Your stomach drops.

You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???

You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.

It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.

You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.

But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.

The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"

Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.

This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.

You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.

The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.

So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.

Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.

You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.

They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.

"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."

"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

"You're making a face."

"I'm not making a face."

"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a Seungcheol face."

"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."

"I hate you both."

"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."

"Jihoon studies with me."

"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."

"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."

Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.

Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."

You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.

They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.

Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."

Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"

"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."

"It wasn't a date."

"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."

"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."

"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."

"Mingyu's fine."

"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."

"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."

"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"

"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."

Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.

"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."

You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.

"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."

There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.

"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.

"It's terrifying," you murmur.

Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.

"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."

You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.

Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."

You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"

"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."

"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."

"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."

"True."

You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.

"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."

Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."

"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."

"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."

You stare at him. He turns a page.

"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.

"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.

Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."

"It's not exactly traditional."

"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"

You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.

But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.

The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.

"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."

"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.

"Alleged."

"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."

You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.

Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.

But first, the cognitive psych exam.

The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.

There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.

You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.

You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.

Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.

Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.

The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.

You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.

You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.

The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.

The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.

It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.

You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

Fucking hilarious.

You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.

But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.

So instead, you start walking toward them.

Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.

She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.

Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.

The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.

"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.

Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.

The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."

"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"

"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."

The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.

"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.

"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."

Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."

"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."

Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.

"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.

"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."

The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"

"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.

You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.

You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.

But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.

It doesn't.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.

This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.

You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.

Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"

"You free right now?"

"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"

"Bring Jihoon."

Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"

"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."

He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.

You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.

By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.

You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"

"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.

Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.

"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"

"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"

"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."

"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."

"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."

They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.

Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"

"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."

It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.

Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.

"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."

You open your mouth and take him in.

The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."

You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.

"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."

You hum around him, and he groans.

"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."

He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.

"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."

Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."

"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."

Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.

"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."

He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.

Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.

"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.

"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"

"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"

"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."

"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"

"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.

The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.

"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.

"Ready."

He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"

"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."

"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"

"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"

"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."

You shatter.

The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.

They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.

For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...

Empty.

The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.

Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.

You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.

"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.

They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.

"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."

"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."

Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."

"Will do."

They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.

The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.

It doesn't work.

The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.

You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.

You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.

You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.

You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.

You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.

Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.

You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.

But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.

The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.

can we talk?

You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.

You don't answer.

The second text comes Saturday morning.

i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.

You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.

You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.

His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?

Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.

You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.

He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.

By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.

You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.

It's not working.

The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.

But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.

Instead, you work.

Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.

"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"

He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.

"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."

"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"

He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.

"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."

Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.

"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."

He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.

"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."

"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.

The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"

"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.

The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.

"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."

"Gyu—"

"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."

Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.

You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.

"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.

"Yeah," you say. "Really good."

And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.

Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.

So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.

Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.

"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.

"Different how?"

"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."

"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."

"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"

Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"

Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."

"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."

"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"

You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.

Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.

"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.

Your rhythm stutters. "What?"

"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."

You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.

So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.

Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.

Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.

Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.

"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.

"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.

"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."

"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."

"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."

You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."

"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.

"Apparently."

"Busy with what?"

"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."

Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.

"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.

Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"

"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."

You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.

"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."

"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"

"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."

"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.

"I'm not."

"You're doing the Seungcheol face."

"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"

There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.

"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."

"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."

"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"

"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"

Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—

Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.

"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."

"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"

"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."

You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."

"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"

"I'm stocking up."

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not."

"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."

You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.

"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."

"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."

Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.

You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.

But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.

You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.

That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.

By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.

You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.

But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.

You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.

But you want to. God, you want to.

And that's the worst part of all.

You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.

The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.

Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.

"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."

The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.

"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"

"Posted the new guy video finally I see"

"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"

A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"

The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.

You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.

"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."

"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"

Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."

You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.

You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."

The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.

You're forty minutes in when it happens.

You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.

"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"

The apartment door opens.

You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—

And then you remember.

The key.

Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.

Until now, apparently.

Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.

"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."

You glare at him.

You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.

The chat notices.

"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"

You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.

"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.

"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"

You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.

"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."

"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.

You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.

You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.

The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.

"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"

Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."

A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.

You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.

“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.

"What?"

"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"

"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."

"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.

The chat goes absolutely feral.

"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"

Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.

But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"

"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.

His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."

What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.

You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.

He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.

"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."

You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.

"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.

It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.

"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"

Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"

"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"

"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"

"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"

"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."

You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"

"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."

The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.

"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"

You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.

"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.

"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."

A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."

He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."

"We really did."

"Everyone saw."

"No doubt."

You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.

"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."

"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."

"Even when I'm a disaster?"

"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."

The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.

"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"

Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"

He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"

"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."

The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.

"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"

The chat erupts.

"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"

You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.

"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."

"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."

"Oh my god."

"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."

"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.

The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.

"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"

Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."

You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."

"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."

You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.

But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.

"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."

His eyes darken. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."

"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."

He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.

The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.

Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.

"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."

"Cheol—"

"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."

He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."

"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.

Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."

His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.

"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."

"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"

He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.

Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.

"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."

"Already know," you breathe. "Already yours. Just—please, Cheol, please fuck me—"

Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.

The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.

"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"

"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"

"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."

He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.

"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."

You shatter.

The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.

"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"

"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"

He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.

"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."

"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"

"I think we broke them."

"Probably."

He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."

"What?"

"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."

You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.

"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"

You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."

"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"

You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."

"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."

And you do. You really, really do.

He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.

"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."

You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."

"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.

The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.

"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."

"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"

You switch off the stream.

The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.

"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.

"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."

"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.

"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."

Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.

"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."

"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

Masterlist.

[prettygyus]

camboy!gyu x fav customer!reader

notes: reader is referred to with miss/ma'am | i moved to @berrryshortcake !!

"hi, my loves, hi."

mingyu smiles at his blank screen, colorful text telling him more and more are joining to tune in. the chat is an endless stream of a variety of greetings, ranging from the sweet 'hi how have you been !!!' to the more confident 'i want to gag on ur dick king'. mingyu greets with a soft hi before chuckling about the latter.

"i just thought i'd have a radio live today, just wanted to catch up, nothing too wild." mingyu contemplates sharing the fact that he's in bed, comfortable in his mountain of pillows, only clad in some loose shorts and a hoodie. mingyu decides to hold back for now, still waiting to see that one username he's found himself to be so fond of.

cat3arss: so no head? 😔

cocks1ut: oohh how have you been?

hole4sale: lmao no head 😭😭

pretty.miss: aww thats too bad

pretty.miss: wouldve loved to see you get all messy again

hole4sale: so true pretty miss ma'am!!

mingyu didn't even notice you've already joined, his body suddenly flashing hot as he reread your comments. a warm pink dusts his cheeks, and he clears his throat in an attempt to keep himself together. "what, are you just using me for my body or something?"

pretty.miss: perhaps

mingyu inhales sharply, propping his laptop and mic on his bedside table before shuffling down his bed to be more comfortable, his left hand now toying with the gartered band of his shorts. he feels his cock start to harden, all because of your words.

"tch, perhaps." it's a weak attempt at getting the upper hand, on his own damn live. he spots your username and the little bouncing circles indicating your'e typing. it's like he can only focus on you, his favorite regular.

pretty.miss: hehe. have you eaten yet then?

"y-yeah, I had some tuna mayo riceballs e-earlier." for some reason, mingyu's mind had drifted to how lovely you must sound, asking about his day and talking about yours. the thought sends tingles running down his spine and causing more blood to flow down his body and harden his dick. mingyu knows it's ridiculous, getting off to the mere thought of how your voice must sound, but he can't help himself, not when his eyes flit to the screen and sees you've commented once more. his hand slides past the gartered band of his shorts and is now palming the bulge that has formed in his boxers.

pretty.miss: oh did you make them yourself?

mingyu nods, and upon realizing that you can't actually see him, tries to calm himself down so he won't sound so obvious and get found out. "I-hah- I did." So much for not being caught.

pretty.miss: you okay, babyboy? you sound out of breath

the petname goes straight to his dick; mingyu lets out a shuddering breath, one the viewers most definitely heard, and lets his hand wrap around himself. he gives himself a few languid strokes, thumb brushing the tip to collect the precum pooling there. through gritted teeth, he answers you. "I'm f-fine, pretty."

pretty.miss: you sure? idk it sounds like you're getting needy

hole4sale: oh shit

cocks1ut: wait pretty miss is right?????

skinnyp3n1s: are you touching yourself??

the pinging of the chat turns him on even more, and in the absence of an answer, his viewers start donating. it's like he's been conditioned; mingyu's body turns warmer and he gets needier at the sound of the clinking coins. it's been no more than 10 minutes and he's already reached half of his usual goal.

"i j-just wanted to catch up with you g-guys," mingyu huffs, reaching over his bedside table for the bottle lube. he removes his hand from his dick to squirt a generous amount of lube on it, the slick, wet sound making its way to the mic. "you just had to turn it into something else..."

pretty.miss: oh so you're blaming us now? it's not our fault you get turned on by a little small talk

pretty.miss donated 100 coins!

the chat joins in, crude words teasing him about how needy and easy he is for them. mingyu whimpers when his lubed hand makes contact with his sensitive cock, desperation urging him to fuck his fist already. but he shakes his head, mouth dry as he pleads, "can i touch myself? please?"

pretty.miss: you know i can't say no to you, baby

"f-fuck, thank you!" mingyu's whimpers are endless as he fucks his fist, just the like the coins being donated to him. eyes scrnuched close, miraculously enough, he manages to block out the clinking, his mind coming up with thoughts of how it would feel like to fuck you instead. his breath turns ragged at the thought, convince there's nothing more that could drive him so insane.

then, in a moment of delirium, he thinks of how you're probably getting off to him (or at the very least thinking of him in the most impure of ways), how his voice does the same things to you that your words do with him. mingyu feels his abs contract and his toes curling as his orgasm builds up.

"hng, f-fuck, i'm so close-" a loud, whiny moan rips from mingyu's throat and the chat rolls endlessly, the pinging sound of notifications making his already fuzzy head spin. "p-please let me cum, please!"

gyu cracks one eye open then the other just in time to see your comment of approval before he's seeing stars and spurting ribbons of white all over his fist.

pretty.miss: cum for me, babyboy

[svtts]

SILVER Jubilee

track 012 on who’s the clown?

pairing: idol! fiancée! xu minghao x fiancée! fem! reader

genre & warnings: pwp, smut, semi-public sex, choking, restraint, unprotected sex (don't b silly), dom!hao, dirty talk, oral (m. rec), blowjob, fingering, light nipple play, slight mirror sex, hickeys, biting, there's probs more...lmk what i've missed. 18+ mdni!

desc: you and minghao were homebodies, in every sense of the word. comfortable meditating together in your garden, content sipping complex red wines under the parasol, happy reading your respective books with interlinked pinkies. however, his new subunit has dragged you and all of your friends to a huge party but god, you look a bit too good for minghao to contain himself...

wc: 7.8k..this was supposed to be a drabble

note: happy (belated) v8 release!! this is my celebratory post so pls enjoy and im sorry for the delay! this is the first piece of smut i've ever written lol so pls don't mind if it's not amazing.. this was supposed to be 2k idk what happened lol. tysm miss @binniebean0 for beta-ing once again, ur the best ma lav <333

𝄞: silver jubilee by audrey hobert, v8 by the8 & vernon

Partying was way behind you. Like a distant moment of the past that you revisit once a year and swear to never look back at again. The thumping music and the dazzling lights are not so enticing when you have a gorgeous fiancée who gives such good massages. A brilliant fiancée who buys you books every time he leaves the country — each one picked with perfection, always aligning with your exact interests. An insane fiancée who sees you in your slacks, sweat-ridden after a long and humid day at work and thinks it’s the prime time to make a meal of you on the kitchen table.

Yeah, so homebodies you had become. 

Really, who would want to leave the house when the human incarnation of a god, Xu Minghao, your soon-to-be husband, led intense and relaxing meditation sessions for you? In your vast garden, greenery swallowing the senses, the small swish of the coi pond pattering softly to one side, your lean fiancée speaking with ultimate rest dripping off of every word. It was like your own personal heaven! 

But alas, work calls — Minghao had been working tirelessly with Vernon for their new subunit. Slipping in the front door early in the morning, cap pulled low as his feet dragged against the polished wooden floors, fatigue radiating off his body when he quietly pulled your body into his and cocooned himself around you. 

This was no new routine; you’d been with Minghao for years, through comebacks, daesangs, scandals, you name it, you stood by his side, a solid and hushed rock. However, there was once upon a time when you and he enjoyed indulging in the bustling Seoul nightlife, awake until all hours of the night and dancing carelessly under strobe lights. It was an era you both look back at with soppy nostalgia. 

The bass vibrated through the darkened club, the sound of a hyperpop song penetrating your flesh and transforming into sweet endorphins, a buzz of adrenaline and raw energy surging through you. Beside you, your best friends Jun and Mingyu nodded nonchalantly along to the beat — sunglasses securely over their eyes, making them resemble a pair of handsome bodyguards rather than two idols on their night off. 

A mix of tequila and soda zipped through your straw as you leaned on the wall between the two, their chatter rapidly adapting to include you. ‘I mean, I never coined them for the clubbing type,’ Jun shrugged, halfway through a conversation with his bandmate, who had his eyes narrowed at his phone in his hand. 

The three of you had perched on a balcony, watching the dance floor swarm with bodies, arms flailing to the music, heads bobbing to the beat. Dark purple and white lights flashed, illuminating the floor in brief intervals, revealing people intertwined with one another, others busy looking at their keys and some drunken party-goers grinding with lustful gazes. 

‘Well, they’re on their way.’ Mingyu shrugged, pulling your gaze away from your inspection of a particularly messy make-out session in the middle of the crowd – gross. 

‘Who is?’ You question, lifting your drink lazily to your lips. 

‘Remember Vernon and Minghao?’ Mingyu questioned, slinging his arm around your shoulders, his beer almost spilling onto your heels with his clumsy movement. 

‘I know the names.’ You reply, nibbling on your straw and eyeing a broad-shouldered man, leant nonchalantly against the bar. 

This was your routine: Jun and Mingyu would drag you to the club. Most of the time, the three of you partied yourselves out together, strolling home in fits of drunken giggles, Mingyu slung between you and Jun like a human piñata — letting his slackened body flop onto your sofa whilst you and Jun top-and-tailed. But occasionally, one of you would spot someone, get busy and be whisked away into the night. 

‘They’re on their way.’ Mingyu finishes, and you shrug, preoccupied by the muscled man downstairs — Tall, dark and handsome. 

As the music shifted, Jun pulled you eagerly onto the dance floor, ready to rock, twist, point, any drunken dance move that his body could conjure in the moment, a loud laugh escaping your lips when he pokes the person behind him. 

The music was something booming, high-pitched vocals over a speedy tempo, making your hips sway with easy finesse, Jun matching you with a cheeky pout on his face. At some point, Mingyu had disappeared into the crowd to collect his bandmates, leaving you and Jun to continue letting the beat pump through your bodies. 

Bodies slick with sweat stuck to yours, the alcohol-induced euphoria swimming through your system and rendering you careless, as all you thought about was feeling the music travel through your bones. 

Through the crowd, your abnormally tall friend weaselled his way through, two drinks held haphazardly in his hand as he held them above head height, almost spilling the beverages on multiple unassuming party-goers' heads. 

Behind him, two men materialised, both of whom you recognised from Instagram posts, music videos and whatever else your two best friends were involved in. The shorter of the two had a snapback perched backwards over his hair, and he sported a shy grin as he greeted you with a polite nod, ‘Vernon.’ 

Next to him, your gaze hovered, the second man making your breath hold tightly in your throat — He was gorgeous. The sort of gorgeous that is plastered on the front of fashion magazines. The sort that almost made drool slide down your chin. 

Minghao, you can only presume, had a pale face, framed by a sleek black mullet, wisps of hair tickling his sleek cheekbones. The enticing dark chocolate eyes were sharp, and it felt as if Minghao’s gaze was swallowing you whole. Lazily, he dragged his eyes down your body, a small smirk on his plump pink lips as he consumed you with his look alone. 

‘Minghao.’ He leaned forward with subtle ease, his strong hand ghosting your waist as his hot breath tickled your ear.

That was the night that changed your life. 

Messy makeouts in the bathroom corridor, arms desperately pulling each other close, feeling all of your soft skin and lathering in the rosy scent of your perfume. Tugging his fluffy hair closer, dragging him lustfully to bed, arching your back involuntarily as his hot mouth met you. 

You and Minghao were like two magnets, snapping together with force as soon as you met. There was no doubt in your mind that he was your person from the moment you set your eyes on him. And he — he was smitten, absolutely enamoured by you; he practically fell to his knees when you stepped out of your front door for the first date. 

Now, six years later, you were each other’s forevers. The gorgeous engagement band on your finger confirms that. Minghao hunted far and wide for the ring that felt authentically you and him, searching across countries, visiting jewellery stores for hours at a time, researching different materials and styles. 

An unexpected hunt on a work trip to Beijing made him stumble across a delicate twist of silver that was bent into two smooth spirals,  a discrete diamond framed by the curving silver work. It was so perfect that Minghao didn’t hesitate — he signed the papers and strolled out of the store with a bashful grin on his face. 

Then, on that starry evening when he got down on one knee, you felt your heart explode in your chest. Adoration surging through your body as you looked at your boyfriend’s sincere smile, his warm eyes glazed with anticipation as he bared his heart to you in an engagement box. 

As the streetlights strobed softly through the private car's window, your ring glistened against your knee. A symbol of unrequited love that decorated your body every single day. 

The vehicle was a buzz of your best friends, Jun squished in the middle, whilst Mingyu took up way too much space next to him, talking animatedly with Alice in the front seat. Both men were a concoction of shirts and cologne, sunglasses perched in their hair. It had been a long time since you’d been to a club, life moving in a gentle motion away from partying, so you were beyond excited to be indulging in one night of drunken fun with your best friends and fiancée. 

Minghao was already at the bar the company had hired out, without a doubt networking, talking to devoted fans and bantering with his sub-unit counterpart. 

You could already imagine his lean body, glistening in the low lighting, his shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair tickling his cheeks under a nonchalantly placed cap. Ring finger decorated with a shining silver band as he DJ’d. God, the vision practically made your panties wet. 

‘What are you daydreaming about?’ Jun nudged at your side, all heads turning to yours as you rapidly snapped out of your drool-inducing vision of your fiancée. 

‘Nothing,’ You reply, perhaps a bit too fast, the flustered expression on your features refusing to be wiped off. Trying to faux calm, you absentmindedly brush invisible dust off your dress. 

‘You’re disgusting.’ Jun replies with a distinct scrunch to the nose. 

‘What?’ You reply, with widened eyes and a sarcastic look of shock. Jun shakes his head at you, the car slowing as it swerves down a side street in Tokyo, vivid neon lights glowing above your heads. 

Crowds of people hover by a bar and you can only presume that’s your destination. There was an atmosphere of anticipation, the beckoning call of music reverberating out onto the slim street, and the car halted, people ecstatically staring through the glass. 

As soon as the door opened, you smiled and waved with the politeness you’d be forced to adopt the moment the tabloids caught wind of you. Teethy grins, small bows at fans, waves towards the crowd. However, as the audience swarming outside were struck with Jun and Mingyu's presence, you slipped through the entrance, staff easily directing you to the small stage, where the main act was fooling around. 

The bar was packed from wall to wall, bodies crammed in as fans excitedly screamed, hollered and shouted at their idols. The air was thick with smoke that clouded heavily in the corners and dampened the lights. A loud and bass-heavy hyperpop track shook the room as it bounced with a tinny crunch out of the speakers and flowed through the atmosphere. 

This environment felt like travelling back in time, the thumping of dance music and the scent of strong alcohol dripping nostalgia through you. The hum of bodies pressed into the space brought you back to those long and late nights of the past, dancing sweatily with strangers, not having a care in the world. As you rolled your shoulders, the muscles loosening instinctively, you felt the weight of adulthood dissolve as the atmosphere swallowed you.

The staff member broke the crowd, guiding you through the barricade with a polite nod. The blonde locks wisping in the busy air caught your attention — your fiancée, looking devastatingly gorgeous, was perched in front of a set of decks, headphones slung around his neck as his stare zeroed in on the buttons. Minghao’s hair was hanging carelessly along his shoulders, a slouching cap resting on his head. He had a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the hundreds of phone flashes shining at him. As he bobbed his head along to the beat with effortless indifference, you decided his nonchalance was perhaps the most attractive thing on the planet. 

There was a cloudy grey tank top hanging loosely off of his toned chest, his tattooed arms revealed to the world as they flexed when he held his hand up in motion. Minghao looked delectable, his body glistening in all the right ways as you watched with your mouth hanging. Even after six years, he still made you speechless daily. 

As if your stare burned through him, his head turned straight towards you, his face softening in recognition as he quirked a sweet smile towards you. With a brief lean into Vernon, he stepped down and sauntered over to you, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he inspected you. 

With discretion, he slid his arms around your waist, his smile converting into a smirk as he raked his eyes down your scantily clad body — your dress hugged all the right places, revealing a modest amount of cleavage and displaying your long legs for appreciation. 

‘My love, you look beautiful.’ Minghao mutters in your ear, his hot breath fanning your soft skin, the surface puckering into an array of goosebumps. Your fiancée’s deep, seductive tone sent shivers down your spine, and you allowed your hands to rest on his shoulder, feeling the cotton beneath your fingertips. 

‘Hao, you look-‘ There wasn’t even a word to describe how godly he looked. ‘Fuck, you look so good.’ You let your hand skim his bicep, squeezing the tough muscle lightly as he leaned forward, tilting your jaw to kiss you. His soft, plush lips, which you had the privilege of kissing daily, still sent electricity sparking across your body, the taste of mint gum and Coke infiltrating your mouth with ease. You both knew you could easily be here all night, wrapped up in one another, refusing to falter until you knew exactly how good his mouth tasted. 

However, the hoards of cameras and fans watching closely ignited a consciousness that forced Minghao to apprehensively pull away, his lip caught between his teeth. 

‘Proud of you, baby.’ You say wholeheartedly, sending him a sincere smile before pecking him lightly and running the pad of your thumb over his cheek. 

‘I love you,’ He says back, his eyes practically oozing adoration. ‘Wouldn’t be here without you.’ 

To this, you smile with unrestrained happiness, letting your hands run lightly down his torso before giving his waist a squeeze and ushering him back to the decks. Throwing a quick wave at Vernon, who insisted on a sweaty congratulatory hug, you joined the rest of your friends who’d made their way to the viewing area. 

The crowd was alive, chanting and buzzing at the two boys, who danced and waved happily, both radiating shy nonchalance whilst simultaneously bringing life to the room. 

‘Put your drinks up!’ Your fiancée shouted, jumping excitedly with Vernon, his face radiating as joy rumbled through him — and you couldn’t help but appreciate how breathtaking he looked as euphoric glee zoomed through his skin.

Alongside you, Mingyu had arrived with a bottle of tequila, shot glasses lined up with precision. With a huge laugh, Mingyu poured one out, slinging it back before pouring another, then a line, linking his arm with yours to knock it back with the old trick you shared. 

The sting of the spirit was dulled by the bittersweet flavour of nostalgia it arose on your tongue. It was a twisted sentiment to your early twenties, those party days, the ones that brought you and your friends together — the ones that brought your husband-to-be together, and it bloomed a subtle warmth in your chest. 

Watching the man you cherished, so in his element, moving seamlessly to his own music, smiling wide enough to blind a nation, brought bliss to your heart and you inhaled deeply as if it could pause the moment.

Mingyu and Jun, dancing with drunken silliness next to you, expressions of happiness playing on their features. Roars boomed as Vernon and Minghao stood on the platform the decks sat on, dancing in sync to the songs they’d work tirelessly on. 

And if you’re being honest, you don’t really party, you just sit at home, but tonight you were throwing it back to those long euphoric nights, letting your body sway freely and laughing wholeheartedly with your closest friends. 

As the night stretched on, the bar darkened, the atmosphere still electric even as a different DJ took to the decks. Minghao had eventually shuffled his way over to you, sliding both hands around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck. The hair on your body stood up at your fiancée’s skinship, the thumping in your heart intensifying with his hot hands as they lightly massaged your skin. 

‘Hey sweetheart,’ He said with a dipped voice, leaving a light kiss on the crook of your neck. You turn rapidly to face your hot, sweaty and frankly, very sexy fiancée, his cap pulled low as you join your lips with his; alcohol induced lust daring to poke through. 

‘You were amazing up there,’ You breathed, a bashful smile appearing on Minghao’s face as you complimented him. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ 

There’s a glaze over his eyes that is somewhere between adoration and gratitude, the mixture making his chocolate eyes shine with unapologetic happiness. Instead of replying, he simply pulled you in once again, savouring the sweet taste of the plush lips you possessed. 

The whirlwind of friends and colleagues then sweeps him away, people approaching with waves of congratulatory exclamations. You leave him with a tender kiss on the cheek, a reminder of how proud you are, and then disappear off to Alice. 

With drunken confidence, the two of you dance, shaking your hair, swaying your hips, letting big hearty laughs tumble out of you. As the songs beat on, Jun and Mingyu materialise at your sides, moving exactly how they did all those years ago — Jun producing the strangest moves he could conjure, making you almost wet yourself in fits of giggles. 

As Mingyu twirls you effortlessly, your sweet-faced soon-to-be-husband arrives, sliding in close to you, his body moving like liquid against you. The sensation of his hard chest pressed against your back made tingles shoot down your spine, the familiar scent of his musky beechwood aftershave wafting over you.

‘Back already?’ you say with a turned head, only his light curtains visible as he presses tickling kisses along your neck.

‘Forgot how attractive you are when you dance like this,’ He mumbles, nipping on a spot that elicits rather inappropriate sounds from you. The heat of the bar seemed to have settled on your skin as a heavy dew, your pulse racing at a quickened pace. 

‘Hao,’ You exhale with heft, hoping the release would ease the growing heat between your legs. You lean your head into the crook of his shoulder behind you, his lips forced to disconnect with your neck as he grumbles quietly. ‘We’re in public.’ 

The shy and bashful Minghao that presented himself to the public was long gone — his shameless flirtation and risqué-nature penetrating through his persona. You knew this version of Minghao very well. It was the one shielded from his fans, one reserved specifically for you, the one that devoured you on a balcony the night of your engagement. 

And his lusty gaze made the heat pooling between your legs feel more and more bothersome. 

‘I can’t help myself,’ He says quietly, ‘you look too good, it’s driving me insane.’ His arms don’t falter from their secure place on your hips, tugging you impossibly closer. It felt like you were younger again, kissing carelessly in the club, letting the music take you both away as you indulged in one another.

‘Hao,’ A shaky breath leaves your lips, ‘We can’t exactly slip off, this is your party,’ 

With a sigh of frustration, he lands one more nip to the sweet spot on your neck, ‘We’re leaving as soon as it’s socially acceptable.’ 

It, in fact, was not socially acceptable to leave until three in the morning. In those hours, everyone had gotten impossibly drunker. Beside you, Mingyu, almost asleep, stood up, his speech slurred in that hilariously whiny way that was so reminiscent of dragging his tall frame down the dark Seoul streets. 

Minghao had hovered around, often being pulled in every direction by various guests, his gaze hot on your figure as you continued to dance or mingle. You could feel eyes burn into your body when you bent over to pick up a spilt beverage, and he used it as a convenient excuse to practically run to your side — skilfully placing himself to conceal your exposed thighs. 

Like a perfect scapegoat, Mingyu almost toppled over into both of you. The lanky man’s absent gaze was practically begging for bed, and who were you both to make him stay any longer? 

‘We should take him back to the hotel.’ You say with a pout, bidding goodbye to Jun with a tight hug. Minghao had rapidly slipped off to also spout all variations of valedictions to the remaining guests. 

Three slightly long, awkward hugs, around ten polite bows and countless ‘goodbyes’ later, you and Minghao had Mingyu slung over your shoulders, his body borderline slack between you as you both dragged him into the car. 

As much as you could mentally thank Mingyu for always drinking himself into the perfect escape plan, you didn’t want to praise him for the impending spine problems his years of drunken slackness will inevitably cause you.

There were many ways you’d rather be leaving the bar. Through a back door, hands tangled in Minghao’s mullet, tugging when his lips hit that sensitive spot on your neck. Or in a private car, just the two of you, your hand eagerly stroking torturously slowly up his thigh, skimming his crotch with routine obliviousness. 

But alas, Mingyu collapsed onto the seat with a thud, babbling incoherently as he lay his head on your lap. Minghao just tutted as he climbed into the passenger seat,  turning to see you display a shrug, raising your hands in defeat. 

Even through Mingyu's meaningless utterances, the sexual tension was rife — Minghao stayed glued to his phone, his hat low as his teeth nibbled on his lip in frustration. He was vying for a distraction, and his Instagram feed had never been so boring. 

You, on the other hand, leaned on your wrist as you watched the busy, late-night traffic blur past the window. Neon lights and hordes of bodies meshed together in the dark night, the lowlight skimming your fiancées strong jaw, which was very obviously clenched, his plump lips glowing with each passing streetlight. 

God, you were ready to devour him. 

The minutes skidded by almost painfully, Tokyo dragging through your vision with snail-like slowness. Mingyu was fast asleep on your lap, muttering to himself drunkenly — If your head wasn’t spinning with visions of the gorgeous man in the front seat, you might find this heartwarming and so reminiscent of times passed. Mingyu follows his usual routine, getting too drunk and having to be hauled home by you or whichever oblivious friend was roped in to take half of his weight. Stumbling into the hotel elevator with someone hot on his trail, apologising profusely to whichever member of the public he may have embarrassed himself in front of. Then, collapsing onto the closest comfiest surface — the hotel bed, and passing out without a word. 

It made you giggle at how his habits had never changed and how yours remained, too. Popping two painkillers onto his nightstand, filling up a cup with water. All the usual things that came as second nature. Minghao watched you closely with adoration. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t fall deeper in love with you, and today he really felt it. Even through the chaos, the stress, the pressure, your presence was ever-grounding; even if it made his brain scatter when he saw you. 

Your fiancée lingered close behind you as you clicked the door shut slowly, the dim hallway abandoned at this heinous time. The warm glow made your body shine, the expanse of your neck exposed when you swept your hair to the side, your long legs practically glistening for Minghao to ogle. He traced the curve of your waist in your tight dress, biting his lip at the swell of your ass as you twisted to look at him. 

‘Let me get out of the door first,’ You joke, recognising the lust dripping off of his gaze. Without hesitation, his tongue slipped out of his mouth, licking his lips as if you were his favourite meal. 

You were. 

The tether within Minghao had snapped, finally alone after hours of pent-up frustration, and he had you pushed up against the wall with lightning-quick agility. One strong arm wrapped tightly around your waist to pull his hips flush against yours, the other cradling your face with softness, the rough pad of his thumb savouring the feeling of your skin below it.

Without hesitation, he joined his lips to yours with desperation, his body aching to taste the alcohol on you — and now he could taste it, he felt utterly intoxicated. The plush of your lips was so familiar, but it never failed to make him feel like every hair on his body was standing on end. 

‘Hao,’ You breathed out in a quiet whine, your hands lacing through Minghao’s soft hair with an instinctive tug as he let his lips begin their assault on your neck. He knew exactly how to make you fawn, his teeth grazing your sensitive spots as he left discrete marks along your exposed shoulder. 

To be honest, he didn’t care that people were sleeping behind plywood walls; you were too delectable to treat anyone else with regard. A sick part of him wanted them to hear how good he made you feel, he wanted them to know that his fiancée would only moan like this for him for the rest of her life. 

Your nails clawed harshly at his biceps as the feeling of his lips made heat pool pathetically between your legs, his lusted-over gaze burning through you when he pulled back to examine his art. 

This was Minghao’s own personal Picasso. The sight of you, face flushed and screwn in an expression of blissful pleasure, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as your head leaned on the dark wall behind you, the expanse of your neck exposed and actively developing little bruises. The dress, which was, quite frankly, a method of torture designed specifically to make Minghao suffer, was bunching up and revealing your hot skin to his eyes. 

‘Oh baby,’ Minghao sighs, letting his arms pull your body into his. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and began to pepper kisses up the column of his throat, trailing along his jaw and nibbling his ear gently, smirking as the skin under your fingertips rose in goosebumps. Sometimes you forgot how easily you affected him, the hotness of your breath eliciting his body to react rapidly, his eyes fluttering shut tightly as he groaned loudly and unapologetically. 

The hallway had dissolved into a desire-driven blur around you both, the almost pornographic moans tumbling out of your fiancées mouth floating you away on a cloud of pure sexual need. 

‘Baby, I need you.’ He manages to gasp out, your hand now feeling his toned stomach with daringly slow accuracy whilst your mouth continues to run circles around his brain. 

‘Can’t have me in a corridor, Hao.’ You state between sloppy kisses, not parting from his skin for longer than a few seconds. 

He turned his head and emitted a sound resembling a hiss as your mouth was forced to leave his body, ‘I’ll have you right here, sweetheart, don’t test me.’ 

The tone was icy, the dominance in his voice almost making your knees give way. His hand was resting with a strong presence on the back of your neck, his drooped eyelids penetrating you with so much intensity it was overwhelming. 

Not willing to try your luck with Minghao — Knowing he’d bunch your dress up and tear your underwear off for anyone to see, you take his wrist in your hand, dragging him to the elevator. There’s a cocky smirk that’s landed permanently on his features, his eyes watching the way your ass giggled as you jogged lightly to the end of the hallway, pulling him along. 

The doors slid shut, but before they could ring out a quiet ding! he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, his body heavy against your back. 

It’s embarrassing the way you arch into him, your breath heavy as it already begins to cloud the mirror in small hues. Behind you, he has one of your arms secured to your back, intertwining his fingers with yours in an intimate gesture. Yet, his eyes are darkened as they scan your face in the mirror, the need rife in your hooded gaze as you meet his hungry look. 

Your entire body is squashed against the mirror, making your cleavage bulge out of your skimpy dress, and Minghao can’t help but stare at it as he reattaches his mouth to your neck eagerly. The hardness of his throbbing cock is tough against your ass, and you gasp sharply when he smoothly thrusts himself against you. 

‘Look at you,’ He coos with fake sympathy dripping off every word, his mouth ruthlessly working at your exposed skin. ‘Such a greedy girl, rubbing yourself against me in public.’ 

Your fiancées taunts make you impossibly wetter, and you attempt to stifle a moan that was escaping you. Minghao pauses sharply, squinting at your already fucked out reflection. ‘It’s too late to be quiet now, baby, you’ve already let the whole floor know how good my lips make you feel.’ 

It’s embarrassing. Almost humiliating, how he has you completely at his mercy before you’ve even swiped your room key — in the elevator where anyone could see you, where any innocent passerby could watch as your fiancée ruts his stiff cock into you, when any of his members could walk in to your face flushed and already fucked out before Minghao has even touched you. 

As the elevator begins to halt, he releases his grip on you, taking your hand sweetly and pulling you into his side. It’s mind-boggling how versatile Minghao is, the doors sliding open with torturous pace as a fellow hotel guest nods politely to your fiancée, entering the space that held the ghost of said man, practically dry-humping you against the wall. 

Minghao’s grip around you was tight, his hand absentmindedly tugging your dress to cover your exposed thighs as he smiled awkwardly and bowed to the stranger, keeping your head tucked safely into the crook of his neck. 

You knew this was killing Minghao. Even the redness on your face did not compare to the restraint he was exercising with each passing moment. 

The elevator slowed once again, and Minghao couldn’t pull you out of there faster, his cock painfully hard in his trousers; he was already facing your shared room by the time the door to the elevator slid closed. 

Beep! The hotel door clicks open, and everything becomes a whirlwind. Minghao has you pressed against it with wicked ease, pulling your lips to meet his in a sloppy, needy kiss that radiates heat from him. Your hands are sliding beneath his shirt, letting your nails scratch along the toned muscles as his hand smooths over your ass, grabbing at it harshly as he attempts to pull you closer. 

Minghao’s lips are working on the sweet spot below your collarbone, tasting the skin with unfaltering intensity. You let your hands roam, tangling them in his hair, scratching at his back, squeezing at his waist — you feel every inch of him like you’re learning where everything is. 

With a rough tug, your dress is pooled around your waist, your braless chest bouncing out with the release of the cloth binding it, and Minghao lets out a long groan, his eyes closing as he lets his head slack. He is devilishly handsome, his jaw defined in the low light as it flexes at the sight of you. 

‘Sweetheart,’ He speaks whilst he inspects every inch of you closely, bringing his hot mouth to your chest once again, his tongue drawing patterns against your skin as he brings one of his hands to toy with your nipple, his long fingers working automatically to pinch and caress you. 

Loud throaty moans tumble out of you as he fails to neglect your other nipple, letting his mouth trail hot kisses around it before sucking with perfected ease. If Minghao’s arm wasn’t securely around you, the feeling would’ve made you collapse to the floor — he knew your body like the back of his hand, nipping and sucking on every single sensitive spot, touching every place that set your body on fire. Except where you needed him most. 

‘Hao,’ You moan, and he just grunts against you, not faltering for a second from his heavy assault on your chest, the sight of him devouring you almost enough to have you cumming. ‘Baby, I need-‘ 

He pulls off of your nipple with a dirty pop, his pent-up gaze watching as the pleasure drops off your face with the lack of contact. It was filthy, the arousal that pumped through him when he watched you become absolutely desperate for him. 

‘Need what baby?’ He questions, his movements so slow that they almost cease, making your eyebrows furrow and your lip jut out in a pout. Pathetically, you let your slender hand reach for the waistband of his trousers, but he’s like a hawk, pinning both of your wrists above your head. 

It’s humiliating how turned on you are — completely under his control willingly. His frame is fully clothed, whilst yours is a mess, dress in a rushed bunch around your waist, panties dripping. 

‘What do you need?’ He questions, gaze burning into you as he drags his eyes down your curves. ‘Use your words, baby.’ 

‘Need you,’ You whine, wiggling to attempt to reach for his waistband again, but his grip is steady, keeping you absolutely merciless. 

‘Need what part of me?’ He blinks, big innocent eyes staring at yours like he wasn’t already ruining you without even a touch. 

Your face is utterly flushed as embarrassment and arousal mix into a vicious vision of want, the outline of his hard cock practically pounces at you. Minghao uses this moment to let one of his big hands ghost over your panties, his touch so light that you buck your hips instantly, desperate for him to give your clit any stimulation. 

A taunting laugh escapes his lips before his ruthless mouth is back on your neck, nipping and sucking as your head falls back in pleasure. The sudden attention forces a moan to escape you, and he stops, the brief contact ripped away so savagely that your brain is fuzzy with frustration. 

‘I asked you a question, sweetheart.’ He repeats, letting your restrained hands fall as he tugs you lightly towards the bed, pausing as you near it. Without a word, he slips your bundled dress off of your frame carefully, discarding it as you kiss him, pulling his neck to yours before he even has a chance to appreciate your almost naked body. 

‘Need your cock baby,’ You mumble against his lips, and he groans at your needy answer, his pants feeling uncomfortably tight around him, and you let your nails scrape his lower abdomen in that way that has his body in shivers. 

Minghao is so enticed by you, the way your lips mingle with his effortlessly, the ways in which you know his body, the ways that can almost make him cum in his pants with just a feather-light touch. 

You’ve slyly twisted, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed, your lips not parting as you masterfully manoeuvre yourself between his solid thighs. 

Minghao thinks this might be a mirage. A vision of ecstasy in a moment of desperation. You, his beautiful fiancée, on your knees in front of him, your lips swollen from his assault on them, tiny marks along your neck from his greediness to mark you. There’s a distinct thirst in your eyes as your hands fumble with his belt, and Minghao thinks it might be the most attractive thing he’s ever seen. 

Like an expert, his belt is unbuckled, and his trousers are tugged down, your light touch carrying the weight of hours of teasing. As you let his cock spring free, he hisses, the scene in front of him so dirty he could cum right now.

Your fiancé's biceps are flexed as he holds himself up, leaning back and watching you with squinted eyes. His cock is so pretty, you sometimes forget, and it shocks you all over again – It’s pale and long, not too girthy but beautifully slender. The sight of it alone makes your pussy clench around nothing, the memories of it kissing your cervix infiltrating your mind. 

Drool pools at the corner of your lips, and without further ado, you stroke your fingertips lightly along his cock, letting your thumb drag over the tip, a string of tangled grunts tumbling out of him as you spread the leaking pre-cum down his shaft. 

After a few eager strokes, you bring your mouth to him, kitten-licking him with precision, his teeth gritted as he lets out a hiss, your warm mouth sending spikes of pleasure up his body. His cock was more than a mouthful, the salty pre-cum lathering your tongue as you gradually make your way down him, gagging as your nose grazes his stomach. 

Your engagement band glints as you grip his thigh, beginning to piston your head, throaty moans slipping out of his mouth as you take him so well. 

‘Fuck baby,’ He groans, and an involuntary sound of pleasure leaves you, your nipples perked in arousal as you speed up. Minghao runs his fingers through your soft hair delicately, the sensation prickling your skin as he gathers your locks and guides your motions with desperation. ‘You look so pretty.’ 

It was so filthy, the squelch of your mouth working against him and his heavy, breathy moans at free flow as the feeling of your tongue around him takes over. Minghao is seeing stars, the sight of you alone pushing him closer, yet alone the stimulation on his cock.

‘Baby, baby.’ He pants, his breathing climbing rapidly as his release nears, and he pulls your head away from him carefully, refusing to come from just your mouth – he needed to be inside you, watching your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. You pout, looking up at him with red cheeks, your lips glistening with his pre-cum and your spit. ‘I want to come inside you.’ 

His words make you ache, your pussy practically begging for something – anything at all. 

Minghao lifts your jaw up to his, rejoining your lips. The salty taste of himself on you infiltrates his mouth as he pulls you onto his lap, his strong arms reaching to squeeze at the expanse of your ass cheeks as his cock is trapped between you both, nudging at your clit in selfish intervals. 

‘Take this off.’ You whisper, hands already pulling at his shirt, and he whips it off, sparing only a second before his tongue is intertwined with yours again, your fingertips feeling his smooth skin and tracing his abs. 

You push his body down, crawling over him to grind your clothed entrance against his hard cock. Pretty moans falling out of you as your clit gets the stimulation it was craving, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut as your body is submerged in pleasure. Your fiancée is breathless below you, your hair dangling down into his face as your expression presents as angelic, all-consumed by pleasure. Minghao always thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth, but god, you glowed in a different way like this. 

Breathing shallowly, you continued dragging yourself against his hardness, your eyes locking with Minghaos as he tilts his head back into the mattress, his gaze lusty yet determined. Those strong arms working their way down to your wetness as you pause your movements, desperate for your fiancée to touch you. 

‘Oh my poor baby, you’re soaked,’ He said, using his middle finger to trace circles over you, the panties ruined and your thighs almost dripping. You couldn't even muster a response, his light teasing pressing all of the right spots, and you drop your head to the crook of his neck as he continues his lazy circles. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ 

You knew it was a baited question. Minghao wanted to see you squirm. 

‘No, please.’ You beg, your mouth hot against his sensitive neck as you speak into it, biting at the skin gently. 

‘Look at me.’ He says sternly. Pressing one finger into your dripping hole, pushing your panties inside you. It was ludicrous and practically a sin to be so hopelessly at his expense, but you couldn't think past how good it felt. 

‘Look at me.’ He repeats with a grit in his teeth, halting his movements to get your full attention. With a rapid snap of the neck up, your faces are inches apart, his hot breath mingling with yours as he scans your gorgeous face, your cheeks reddened, your lips jutted. 

You were so beautiful. 

‘Good girl.’ Before you can even moan, his mouth is back on yours hungrily, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he guides your soaked clit to rub against his painfully hard cock. ‘Stay just like this, baby.’ Then, in a subtle movement, he slides out from underneath you and discards the rest of his clothing, kneeling behind you. 

The heat of his body radiated as he stroked himself whilst inspecting you, wetness dripping down your spread legs, pussy gleaming with arousal. It was one of his favourite sights, and he can’t help himself as he runs his hands up and down your plush thighs, squeezing your ass and letting the cool of his metal engagement band send shivers up your spine. 

‘Hao, please.’ With desperation, you push your hips backwards, his cock brushing you, and you let out a hum of satisfaction. 

Wordlessly, Minghao begins to guide his cock into your dripping hole, the sensation of you so tight and warm around him making a heavy groan fall from his throat. Similarly, tears begin to cloud your vision as sweet relief washes over you, the feeling of him dragging against your walls combined with his throaty sounds making you dig your nails into the soft white covers. 

Slowly, he bullies his way into you, his member hitting every single spot that has you clawing desperately at anything you can. As he bottoms out with a hiss, a loud moan leaves your lips, the overwhelming feeling of his tip mingling with your cervix, making you clench around him. 

It felt insane how well his body slotted into yours. Your pussy was moulded to fit his cock, your walls hugging it in every single place. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of being conjoined with one another, ecstasy blasting through you both as you thrive in the overwhelming feeling of one another. 

Unable to restrain himself, Minghao begins to fuck into you with a quickened pace, the room becoming a soundtrack of filthy sounds; his hips slapping your thighs, the squelch of your soaked hole, the mixture of grunts and moans the two of you emit. 

Minghao’s eyes stare as your skin jiggles with each thrust, his fingers gripping your hips so tight that bruises will blossom beneath them tomorrow. His breathing is heavy as he relishes the euphoric feeling of you bent over, receiving him so willingly and squeezing him impossibly tighter. 

The wicked thrusting has you seeing stars, the sensations overwhelming, and you start hurtling towards your release, moans running at free flow out of you as your fiancée only quickens his pace. 

‘H-Hao,’ You moan, gripping the mattress below you as if it could receive some of the immense pleasure rippling through you. 

‘Yes, baby?’ He pants out, letting one hand rub up your side in a soothing manner, his hips and arms doing completely contrasting things to your body. 

‘I’m close.’ You sputter out, lathered in his deep strokes that were practically splitting you in half. 

‘Mhm,’ He hums, only speeding up impossibly faster as he wraps a strong arm around your waist to pull you into him, not letting his cock disconnect from the comfort of your slick. 

Your head is slack on Minghao’s shoulder as he holds your back tightly to his chest, letting his hand ghost over your neck. He nips at your ear as he continues to piston into you ruthlessly, your release within an arm's reach. 

‘You’re doing so well, baby,’ Minghao whispers in your ear, tightening his grip on your neck as he chases your high. ‘Such a good girl, my good girl.’ 

That was all it took before you were tightening around him, high-pitched moans tumbling out of you. The coil within you snaps, sending your vision white, heat flushing out of you as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. 

Minghao keeps fucking you ruthlessly, holding the weight of your body as he chases his own release, small whines escaping your mouth as he overstimulates you. The grip of his hands gets tighter and tighter as he grunts in your ear, muttering incoherently as all he thinks about is how good you feel. 

‘Fuck ____.’ He gasps, his breath taken from him as he spurts inside you, his warm milky release coating your insides, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he slows. 

The room is swamped in the sound of heavy breathing, Minghao pulling out and helping you lie down gently, kissing your shoulders, all the way down your spine and then returning to kiss the crown of your head. 

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He speaks with delicate sincerity, your sleepy gaze watching his naked figure disappear off to the bathroom. 

‘I love you.’ You mumble, grinning shyly and nuzzling your face into the pillow. Your fiancée reappears with a wet towel, wiping you cautiously as he appreciates your gorgeous figure. 

‘I love you more, my love.’ He replies, Your vision became as your body relaxed into the plush mattress. With a light but solid grip, you tug him onto the bed, his musky scent washing over you once again, and you sigh happily.

‘Just cuddle me, baby.’ You murmur, tiredness taking over you as he pulls you into his chest, placing the covers over the two of you. Peppering kisses on your head, he watches you gently doze off, and his heart feels like it could burst with how much he adores you. 

Even submerged in sleep, your hand finds his, engagement rings clicking quietly together, and Minghao closes his eyes in contentment, letting sleep lull him away with you. 

part of ˗ˏˋ the album series ˎˊ˗

[yourfavtangerine]

Instincts entwined

Pairing: doe hybrid!Joshua x black panther hybrid!reader

Coworkers to lovers, opposites attract, fluff, smut

Wc:~7.8k

Warnings: predator/prey dynamics, courting, mating bites/marking, claiming, light dominance and submission, aftercare, smut, unprotected sex, size difference (slight), tail play, antler sensitivity, nipple play, handjob

A/N: it's finally vacation time for me so i have a lot of time to write!!

The marketing firm of Evergreen Creative buzzed with the usual mid-morning energy, a harmonious blend of human and hybrid employees who had long since grown accustomed to the subtle differences each species brought to the workplace. The office was designed with hybrids in mind: wide hallways to accommodate swaying tails, adjustable standing desks for those with antlers or sensitive ears and quiet pods for anyone whose instincts needed a moment of calm. You had worked here for six months now and in that time, you had carved out your place in the creative department as the go-to black panther hybrid for bold campaigns that demanded predatory focus and sleek execution.

Your fur was a deep, glossy black that caught the fluorescent lights with an almost liquid sheen, your golden eyes sharp and observant. At 1.75m with the lithe, powerful build of your panther heritage, you moved through the office with a natural grace that turned heads, though you rarely paid it any mind. Your tail, long and expressive, often betrayed your moods before your face did, flicking with irritation during bad pitches or curling contentedly when inspiration struck. Claws carefully manicured for typing (but still sharp enough to remind anyone of your nature), you were confident, direct, and unapologetically you. In a world where hybrids still navigated subtle prejudices, you refused to dim your presence.

And then there was Joshua Hong.

He sat three desks away in the graphic design corner, his workstation always impeccably organized with soft earth-toned mouse pads and a small potted fern that he tended religiously. Joshua was a doe hybrid, gentle in every sense of the word. His antlers were modest but elegantly branched, rising from his soft brown hair like delicate crowns that he kept meticulously groomed and polished. Large, velvety ears perched atop his head, twitching at the slightest unexpected sound and his warm brown eyes held a perpetual softness that made something deep in your chest rumble with protective instinct.

Freckles dusted his cheeks and nose, visible even beneath the light tan of his skin and his frame was lean yet subtly strong: prey hybrids often possessed surprising endurance when it mattered. He favored oversized sweaters in soft greens and beiges that complemented his hybrid features and his tail: short, fluffy, and deer-like would flick nervously whenever he presented his work in team meetings.

You had noticed him from your very first week. How could you not? While most of the office saw the quiet, reliable designer who delivered flawless visuals on time, you saw the quiet strength beneath the gentleness. The way his ears would perk up at a genuine compliment. The subtle way his scent, fresh like pine needles and warm cedar, would linger in the break room after he left. Six months of shared deadlines, casual hallway nods turning into brief conversations about color theory or campaign feedback. You learned he preferred herbal teas over coffee, that he sketched in the park on weekends and that loud environments made his instincts itch for escape.

Three weeks ago, something had shifted inside you. A late-afternoon meeting where Joshua had presented a series of mood boards for a nature conservancy client. His voice was soft but steady, fingers tracing the screen as he explained his choices. When he finished, the room murmured approval, but your golden eyes had locked onto him with new intensity. That night, back in your apartment, your tail had lashed with restless energy as you replayed the moment. You wanted him. Not in the fleeting way your panther side sometimes craved a chase, but in the deliberate, claiming way that spoke of courtship.

Black panther hybrids didn’t court lightly. It was a process of intention, patience and clear signals. You weren’t interested in games. So you began.

It started small. The next morning, you arrived early and placed a fresh cup of his favorite chamomile-ginger tea on his desk, a signed small note tucked underneath in your neat handwriting: Thought this might help with the morning brain fog. You killed it yesterday.

You made sure to be at your desk when he arrived, watching from the corner of your eye as his ears flicked forward in surprise. A faint blush crept up his neck, turning the tips of his ears a soft pinkish hue. He glanced around, caught your gaze and offered a shy smile that made your inner panther purr.

"Thank you" he murmured when he passed your desk later, tail giving a single hopeful flick. "That was really thoughtful."

You had simply inclined your head, letting your tail curl lazily. "You deserve it, Joshua. Keep up the good work."

From there, the courtship built with deliberate steps. You learned his schedule. Tuesdays were his heavy design days, so you’d "accidentally" time your break room visits to coincide. One afternoon, you brought in a small bag of his favorite snacks: dried apple chips and roasted pumpkin seeds, things that appealed to a herbivore’s palate without triggering any predatory associations.

"I noticed you liked these last week" you said casually, setting the bag beside the coffee machine as he reached for his mug. Your tail brushed lightly against his as you moved past, deliberate but gentle, a clear signal in hybrid body language. His ears shot straight up and he nearly dropped his mug.

"Y-you did?" His voice was soft, almost breathless. Up close, his scent enveloped you: clean, warm, with that underlying note of nervous excitement that made your claws flex instinctively.

"Mhm." You leaned against the counter, arms crossed to accentuate the lean muscle of your shoulders. "Figured a guy who works as hard as you do needs proper fuel. Not just those vending machine protein bars the humans push."

He laughed, a quiet, melodic sound that made your chest tighten. "You’re observant. Most people just see the quiet guy in the corner."

"I see more than that" you replied, voice low and sincere. Your golden eyes held his for a beat longer than necessary. Joshua’s freckled cheeks flushed deeper, but he didn’t look away. That's progress.

Over the following weeks, the gestures layered. You’d leave sticky notes on his monitor with quick sketches of panther paw prints and encouraging words during crunch times. During team lunches, you made a point to sit near him, engaging him in conversation about his weekend hikes while your tail occasionally rested near his. Subtle, respectful, but unmistakably interested.

Joshua began responding in his own gentle way. He started saving you a seat in meetings. Once, after you’d pulled an all-nighter on a pitch deck, he left a small potted succulent on your desk with a note in his elegant script: For the desk of the most focused panther I know. Don’t forget to water it. - Joshua. The gesture made your tail curl with delight. You caught him watching you more often now, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking, his ears tilting toward the sound of your voice across the open office.

Today marked the end of the third week of your intentional courtship. The office was humming with pre-deadline energy for the quarterly campaign review. You had spent the morning refining your copy, claws clicking rhythmically on the keyboard. Around 11 AM, you stood and stretched, your powerful frame drawing a few appreciative looks from across the room. Joshua’s desk was visible from yours, you noted how his antlers caught the light as he tilted his head in concentration.

You grabbed two coffees, black for you, his special herbal blend for him, and headed over. He looked up as your shadow fell across his screen, ears perking instantly.

"Break time?" you asked, setting his cup down carefully beside his mouse.

His smile was shy but genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Perfect timing. I was starting to get a little stuck on this layout." He accepted the cup, fingers brushing yours for a fraction of a second. The contact sent a spark through you. "Thank you. Again. You’re going to spoil me at this rate."

"That’s the plan" you said lightly, but your voice carried the weight of truth. You perched on the edge of his desk, tail draping casually near his chair. Close enough to share warmth, not so close as to crowd his prey instincts. "How’s the campaign shaping up? That forest motif you were working on last week was beautiful."

Joshua’s ears flicked with pleasure at the praise. He turned his monitor slightly so you could see. "I adjusted the color palette based on your feedback: deeper greens, more contrast on the text. What do you think?"

You leaned in, inhaling his calming scent as you studied the screen. The design was exquisite: layered textures that evoked sunlight filtering through leaves, subtle deer silhouettes integrated into the space. "It’s perfect. Clients are going to eat this up. You have a real talent for making people feel… safe. Connected to something peaceful."

He ducked his head, antlers dipping slightly. "Coming from you, that means a lot. Your concepts always have this powerful edge. Like they could leap off the page and take charge."

You chuckled, a low rumbling sound that vibrated in your chest. "High praise from the guy whose work makes me want to curl up in a sunbeam and stare at it for hours."

The compliment landed. Joshua’s tail gave a happy little swish before he caught himself, cheeks burning. Around you, the office continued its rhythm: colleagues chatting, keyboards clacking, but in this small bubble, the air felt charged. You had been patient these weeks, respecting his shy nature. Pantry brushes, shared lunches, thoughtful gifts. But today, you wanted to push just a little further.

"Listen" you said, voice dropping to that intimate register that made his ears twitch. "We’ve got that big deadline tomorrow. How about we tackle the final revisions together after hours? My treat for dinner afterward. There’s a new herbivore-friendly spot downtown that does incredible grilled vegetable platters. Quiet place. No loud crowds."

Joshua blinked, processing the invitation. His fingers tightened around his cup. For a moment, uncertainty flickered in his brown eyes, prey instincts warring with the clear interest he’d been showing. But then he nodded, a small, determined smile breaking through.

"I’d like that" he said softly. "A lot, actually."

Relief and satisfaction bloomed in your chest. Your tail curled in contentment. "Great. I’ll swing by your desk at six. No pressure, if you need to head home early, just say the word."

"I won’t" he replied, meeting your gaze more steadily than before. There it was again: that spark of reciprocation, shy but growing bolder under your consistent courtship.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a productive haze. You caught Joshua glancing your way more frequently, his ears perked in your direction even when he was focused on his screen. During the afternoon stand-up, when your team lead praised the cross-department synergy, Joshua’s eyes found yours across the circle and he offered the tiniest, secret smile that made your panther instincts preen.

By 5:45 PM, most of the office had thinned out. You packed your things deliberately, then made your way to his desk. Joshua was shutting down his computer, antlers casting soft shadows across his shoulders as he reached for his bag. He looked up at your approach, a faint but unmistakable scent of nervous anticipation mixing with his usual cedar warmth.

"Ready?" you asked, keeping your posture relaxed and open.

He stood, smoothing down his sweater. "Yeah. Let me just… grab my jacket." As he did, his tail brushed against your leg, light, almost accidental, but you knew better. A returned signal.

The walk to the elevator was quiet but comfortable. Outside, the evening air was cool, carrying the distant scent of the nearby park. You walked side by side, your longer strides matching his with ease. Conversation flowed naturally: work anecdotes, favorite hiking trails (his gentle forest paths versus your stealthier mountain routes) and light teasing about office gossip.

At the restaurant: a cozy, warmly lit spot with wooden beams and plenty of greenery, he relaxed further. You chose a corner booth, positioning yourself so he had the wall at his back (a prey comfort) while you faced the room. Over shared platters of roasted root vegetables, herbed quinoa and fresh salads, the tension shifted from nervous to something warmer.

"You’ve been really kind to me these past few weeks" Joshua said midway through the meal, pushing a piece of carrot around his plate. His ears were half-lowered in thought. "I noticed. The teas, the notes, the way you… always seem to know what I need. It’s not something I’m used to. Most people see the antlers and assume I’m fragile or skittish."

You set down your fork, golden eyes softening. "You’re not fragile, Joshua. You’re steady. Thoughtful. Strong in ways that matter. I’ve seen how you handle tough clients with that quiet grace. It’s… captivating." Your tail slipped under the table to rest lightly against his ankle, a deliberate, respectful touch. "I like you. A lot. And I wanted you to know it clearly. No games. Just me, courting you properly."

His breath hitched. Freckles stood out against the deepening flush on his cheeks. For a long moment, he simply looked at you, ears fully perked, antlers seeming to glow under the pendant lights. Then, slowly, he shifted his leg to press back against your tail.

"I like you too" he whispered, voice barely audible but steady. "I’ve been… hoping you’d say something. Or keep saying it, I guess."

The admission sent a triumphant rumble through your chest, low enough that only he could hear. You spent the rest of dinner in easy conversation laced with new flirtation: your claws tracing idle patterns on the table near his hand, his shy compliments about how your presence made the office feel more alive.

When you walked him back to his apartment building afterward, the city lights casting long shadows, the moment stretched. At his door, Joshua turned to you, tail flicking with anticipation.

"Thank you for tonight" he said. "And… for everything these weeks."

You stepped closer, careful not to loom. One clawed hand rose to gently tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, brushing the soft velvet. "Anytime. Sleep well, Joshua. I’ll see you tomorrow."

He nodded, eyes lingering on your lips for a heartbeat before he slipped inside. But not before his fingers gave yours a quick, warm squeeze.

Back in your own apartment, you let out a satisfied purr as you stretched out on the couch. Three weeks of deliberate courting, and the foundation was solid. Joshua was opening up, reciprocating in his gentle way.

The following evening arrived wrapped in the quiet hum of a near-empty office. The quarterly campaign deadline loomed like a storm cloud, pushing most of the team into overtime. You had spent the afternoon refining copy and coordinating with the creative leads, your black fur practically shimmering under the focused desk lamp as your tail lashed with concentrated energy. Across the open floor, Joshua’s antlers caught the light every time he leaned back to review his designs. His ears stayed perked toward your general direction, a subtle sign that your presence registered even amid the pressure.

By 7:30 PM, the last of the human colleagues had trickled out, leaving just the two of you under the soft glow of emergency lighting strips. You stretched, powerful shoulders rolling as you saved your final file and stood. The scent of Joshua’s cedar-and-pine warmth drifted stronger now in the thinned air, mixing with the faint trace of his growing nervousness and excitement. You approached his desk with measured steps, heels clicking lightly on the polished floor.

"Ready to call it on the revisions?" you asked, voice low and warm. "We nailed the core concepts. The client’s going to love this round.''

Joshua looked up, his brown eyes bright despite the fatigue etching soft lines around them. His fluffy tail gave a quick, hopeful swish before settling. "Yeah… I think we did. Your taglines elevated the whole thing." He saved his work, then hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Listen… it’s late. My apartment is only a couple blocks from here. I’ve got takeout menus from a few good places nearby, carnivore-friendly options, nothing heavy. If you’re not too tired, we could… finish reviewing the last assets there? Over food?"

The invitation hung in the air, tentative but deliberate. This was him reciprocating, stepping beyond the office walls you had carefully bridged during your three weeks of courtship. Your golden eyes softened, inner panther purring at the trust he extended.

"I’d like that" you replied without hesitation. "Lead the way."

The walk to his building was companionable under the streetlights. Joshua kept pace beside you, his strides steady. He wore a soft beige cardigan over his work shirt, the fabric hugging his lean frame and complementing the gentle curve of his antlers. Every so often, your tails brushed, yours sleek and deliberate, his fluffy and shyly responsive. The city noise faded as you entered his quiet residential street lined with trees, their leaves rustling like a miniature forest.

His apartment was exactly what you had imagined for a doe hybrid: a cozy one-bedroom on the third floor with warm wooden accents, large windows overlooking a small park and an array of potted plants that filled the space with living green. Soft earth-toned throws draped the couch, and a sketchbook lay open on the coffee table, half-filled with delicate nature studies. The air smelled strongly of him: comforting cedar, fresh pine and a hint of the herbal tea he favored. It wrapped around you like an invitation.

"Make yourself comfortable" Joshua said, ears flicking as he hung up your jacket beside his. "I’ll order. There’s a great spot that does grilled vegetable and meat skewers. Sound good?"

"Perfect." You settled on the couch, tail curling neatly around your side to avoid taking up too much space. Watching him move around the kitchenette, retrieving plates and glasses with quiet efficiency, stirred something deep in your chest. Protective. Possessive in the gentlest way. As a black panther, your instincts leaned toward claiming and guarding what mattered, and Joshua’s softness called to that part of you like nothing else.

Food arrived quickly. You ate at the low coffee table, legs brushing occasionally as you spread out laptops and tablets to review the final campaign files. Conversation started professional but quickly deepened. Between bites of perfectly seasoned vegetables and meats, Joshua opened up more than he had in all your office interactions combined.

"I love the city for work" he admitted, setting his fork down and leaning back against the couch cushions. His antlers cast elegant shadows on the wall behind him. "But on weekends, I drive out to the forest reserves just outside town. The quiet trails, the way the light filters through the canopy… it settles my instincts. Being a doe hybrid means I need that: space to breathe without feeling watched or cornered. Loud offices and tight deadlines wear on me more than I let on."

You listened intently, your powerful frame relaxed yet attentive. "I get it. My panther side craves the hunt, the focus and movement, but I’ve learned to channel it. Still, seeing you in those team meetings, holding your ground with that quiet strength… it’s impressive. You don’t need to dim yourself for anyone, Joshua."

He smiled shyly, freckles standing out as a blush warmed his cheeks. "You make it easier to believe that. These past weeks… the way you’ve courted me. The teas, the notes, brushing tails like you mean it. No one’s ever pursued me so intentionally. Most people assume I want gentle distance because of the antlers and ears. But you see me. It makes my heart race in a good way."

Your tail shifted, draping lightly over the edge of the couch until it rested near his thigh. A clear, respectful signal. "Good. Because I do mean it. All of it. You’re not some fragile prey to me, Joshua. You’re steady, creative, warm. Being around you settles my own instincts too. Makes me want to protect that peace you carry."

The air thickened with tension as you spoke. Joshua’s ears tilted fully toward you, his brown eyes darkening with interest. He set his empty plate aside and scooted a fraction closer. "Can I… ask you something personal?"

"Anything."

"What’s it like? Being a black panther hybrid in a world that sometimes still expects predators to… take what they want instead of earning it?"

You considered the question, claws flexing idly against your knee. "It’s a balance. My instincts scream to chase, to claim. But I choose courtship because you’re worth the patience. Worth showing you I can be steady too. I want you to feel safe with me, not hunted."

That seemed to unlock something in him. Joshua reached out tentatively, his hand hovering before settling on your tail where it lay near him. The touch was feather-light at first, fingers tracing the sleek length of it, feeling the subtle muscle beneath the glossy black fur. Electricity crackled up your spine. Your purr rumbled low and involuntary, vibrating through the space between you.

"That feels… nice" he whispered, voice breathy. "Strong. But soft at the tip."

Encouraged, you lifted a clawed hand slowly, giving him time to pull away. When he didn’t, you traced the velvety edge of one antler with careful reverence. The sensitive bone structure made him shiver, ears flicking rapidly. "These are beautiful" you murmured. "Elegant. Like the rest of you."

Joshua leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded. His hand grew bolder on your tail, stroking upward until it rested near the base where it met your lower back. The contact sent warmth pooling low in your belly, but you held your instincts in check. This was about trust. Building it layer by layer.

You talked for hours after that. He shared stories of childhood hikes with his family, how his doe instincts made group settings overwhelming but one-on-one connections deeply fulfilling. You told him about mastering your predatory focus in creative bursts, the thrill of a perfectly executed campaign feeling like a successful stalk. Laughter mingled with quieter admissions: his fear of being seen as too passive, your occasional worry that your intensity might overwhelm.

As the clock ticked past 11 PM, the laptops were long forgotten. You sat facing each other on the couch now, knees touching. Joshua’s hand had found yours, fingers intertwining with your clawed ones despite the slight size difference. Your free hand continued its gentle exploration of his antlers and the soft spot behind his ear, drawing out little contented sighs that made your protective nature flare hotter.

"I’ve never been pursued like this" he confessed again, voice husky with emotion. "Boldly. Patiently. It’s terrifying and exhilarating. You make me feel wanted in a way that doesn’t scare my instincts."

"You are wanted" you replied, leaning in until your foreheads nearly touched. His scent enveloped you completely: warm, inviting, laced with arousal he couldn’t quite hide. "And I’ll keep showing you. At your pace, Joshua. I promise. My panther wants to claim, but my heart wants you comfortable. Safe. Mine only when you’re ready."

The near-kiss happened naturally. Your lips hovered a breath away from his, golden eyes locked on warm brown. Joshua’s ears trembled, antlers dipping as he tilted his head. You could feel the rapid beat of his pulse through the air. His hand tightened on yours and for one electric second, your mouths brushed, soft, tentative, full of promise and restrained hunger. The taste of him lingered: herbal tea and sweetness, with an undercurrent of deeper need.

You pulled back first, though every instinct protested. A soft growl of satisfaction rumbled in your chest. Joshua’s eyes were wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed dark.

"Wow" he breathed, a shy laugh escaping. "That was…"

"Yeah." You smiled, tracing one claw lightly down his jaw. "And there’s more when you want it. No rush."

He walked you to the door eventually, the apartment feeling warmer, more intimate than when you’d arrived. At the threshold, he caught your hand again. "Thank you for coming over. For everything. I… I’m really glad you started courting me."

"Me too." You brushed a final kiss to his forehead, right between his antlers, inhaling his scent one last time. "Get some rest. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow. And Joshua? You’re safe with me. Always."

The door clicked shut behind you, but the connection lingered. Walking home through the quiet streets, your tail swayed with satisfied purpose. The tension between you had deepened into something solid, trust woven with electric attraction. Joshua was opening and your protective instincts wrapped around that vulnerability like a shield.

Back in your own space, you stretched out on the bed, replaying every touch, every confession. The near-kiss burned on your lips. Part of you, the panther, growled for more, for the full claim that would come later. But the rest of you, the one that had chosen deliberate courtship, felt a deeper contentment. He was reciprocating. He trusted you.

The company team-building retreat had been billed as a relaxing escape, but for you it became the turning point. The forest reserve outside the city was perfect: dense trees, winding trails and secluded cabins that respected hybrid needs for space and nature. After two days of group activities, trust exercises and light hiking, the evening found most colleagues gathered around a central bonfire. But you and Joshua had slipped away earlier, citing a desire for quieter reflection. His hand had brushed yours deliberately as you left, a clear invitation after weeks of building tension and that charged near-kiss at his apartment.

The cabin assigned to you for the night was tucked deep in the woods, a cozy wooden structure with a large bed, stone fireplace and wide windows overlooking the moonlit canopy. Inside, the air smelled of pine and earth, amplified by Joshua’s warm cedar scent that had grown bolder with each passing hour. You lit the fireplace while he unpacked a small bag of snacks and herbal tea packets he’d brought from home. The flames cast dancing golden light across his antlers, turning their edges into something ethereal and inviting.

"You’ve been patient with me" Joshua said softly as he approached, his fluffy tail swaying with nervous excitement. His ears were perked forward, brown eyes dark with intent. "All these weeks of courting… the touches, the words, the way you make me feel seen. I want this. I want you."

Your golden eyes locked onto his, the panther inside you rumbling to life. "Then let me show you how much I’ve wanted you too." Your voice was a low purr, rich and velvety, as you closed the distance. Clawed hands rose slowly, cupping his freckled face with exquisite care. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. His mouth was soft, warm, yielding in the most delicious way. Joshua sighed into it, hands fisting in your shirt as your tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against your powerful frame.

The kiss grew heated, tongues sliding together in a sensual dance. You tasted the herbal sweetness on him, mixed with growing arousal. Your claws traced lightly down his neck, not scratching but teasing the sensitive skin until he shivered and moaned softly. Breaking the kiss, you trailed your lips along his jaw, nipping at the spot just below his ear. His velvety ears flicked wildly at the contact, a whimper escaping him that shot straight to your core.

"Bed" you growled against his throat, guiding him backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Joshua sat, then lay back as you followed, crawling over him with predatory grace. Your black fur gleamed in the firelight, muscles rippling under sleek skin as you straddled his hips. His antlers framed his flushed face beautifully and you couldn’t resist leaning down to lick along one smooth branch, savoring the way it made his whole body arch.

"Ah…" His voice was breathy as he spoke your name, hands sliding up your sides to grip your waist. You purred louder, the vibration traveling through your chest into his as you rocked your hips slowly, feeling him harden beneath you through layers of clothing. The friction was exquisite, your powerful thighs caging him perfectly while your tail teased along his inner thigh.

Clothes came off piece by piece in a heated haze. You peeled his sweater away reverently, exposing smooth, freckled skin and the subtle muscle definition of his lean torso. Your claws raked lightly down his chest, not enough to mark permanently, but enough to leave faint pink trails that made him gasp and buck up against you. "So beautiful" you murmured, lips following the path of your claws. You lavished attention on his nipples, sucking and nipping until they pebbled under your tongue, his soft doe cries filling the cabin like music.

Joshua’s hands explored you in return, stroking through your glossy black fur, fingers digging into the strong muscles of your back. When he reached the base of your tail, squeezing gently, your purr turned into a full-throated moan of pleasure. You shed your own top and pants, revealing the lithe, athletic body beneath: curves of muscle and feminine softness that made his eyes widen with hunger.

Naked now, skin and fur sliding together, you pressed him deeper into the mattress. Your mouths met again in a messy, desperate kiss as your hand wrapped around his length, stroking with firm, sensual pulls. He was hot and heavy in your palm, leaking at the tip, hips twitching helplessly into your touch. "Want you so much" he gasped between kisses. "Please…"

You positioned yourself above him, slick and ready from the long build-up of courtship. Slowly, torturously, you sank down onto him, taking every inch with a shared moan. The stretch was perfect: him filling you completely, your walls clenching around his thickness. Joshua’s head fell back, antlers pressing into the pillows, mouth open in silent ecstasy as you bottomed out.

"Fuck, you feel incredible" you purred, beginning to ride him with deep, rolling movements of your hips. Your powerful thighs flexed with each rise and fall, tail wrapping tightly around his waist to anchor him. The cabin filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, wet and rhythmic, punctuated by his whimpers and your low moans. You leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest, claws lightly raking his shoulders as you picked up pace.

Joshua met your rhythm with surprising strength, bucking up into you from below. One hand gripped your hip, the other tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. His thumb found your clit, circling with shy but effective pressure that made your vision white. "So tight… so perfect around me" he whispered, voice wrecked. His ears trembled with every thrust, sensitive spots glowing under your attention as you licked and nibbled them.

The heat built relentlessly. You rode him harder, grinding down on each descent to hit that sweet spot inside you. Sweat slicked your bodies, your black fur damp at the roots. Joshua’s free hand traced your curves, worshipping the contrast between your predatory power and the softness he was discovering. You leaned down to claim his mouth again, biting his lower lip as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly.

"Close" he panted, hips stuttering. "Baby, I’m-"

"Come for me" you commanded, voice husky and sensual, clenching deliberately around him. Your claws dug into his chest just enough to sting sweetly, tail brushing his waist. That pushed him over. Joshua cried out your name, body tensing as he spilled deep inside you, hot pulses that triggered your own release. Pleasure crashed through you like a storm: walls fluttering wildly around him, a throaty growl tearing from your chest as you rode out every wave. Your vision blurred, body shuddering atop his until you collapsed forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

For long moments, only heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire filled the cabin. Joshua’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close despite the way your weight pressed him down. His hands stroked soothingly along your back, fingers carding through the fur of your tail with incredible tenderness.

But as the high faded, something shifted inside you. The confident, courting panther who had orchestrated every step melted away, revealing the softer, needier side you rarely showed. Not a confident girl in this moment, but vulnerable: craving care, praise and gentle handling after giving so much intensity. A small, vulnerable sound escaped you, almost a whine, as you nuzzled deeper into his neck, ears flattening slightly against your head.

Joshua noticed immediately. His instincts, honed by weeks of your patient courtship, kicked in with gentle dominance. "Hey… come here, sweetheart" he murmured, voice soft and warm like sunlit meadows. He rolled you both carefully onto your sides, still connected, but now facing each other. His hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your face to rest against his chest, right over his steadily beating heart. "You were so good for me. So perfect. Let me take care of you now."

You melted at the words, purring weakly as his fingers traced lazy patterns through your fur. He reached for a nearby blanket, pulling it over your bodies to ward off any chill. One hand continued stroking your back in long, calming sweeps, while the other gently massaged the base of your tail, the spot that always made you boneless. "My strong, beautiful girl" he whispered against your forehead, pressing soft kisses between your ears. "You gave me everything tonight. Now it’s my turn to hold you."

His touch was reverent, exploring the places where your intensity had hidden vulnerability. He kissed the faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone, nuzzled the soft skin along your jaw, and murmured endless praises. "You’re safe to let go. I’ve got you. My fierce one who’s also so sweet like this… my babygirl after all that fire."

The endearment made you whimper softly, pressing closer, tail wrapping loosely around his leg. Joshua chuckled warmly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He fetched a damp cloth from the cabin’s small bathroom, cleaning you both with careful, loving strokes, wiping away evidence of your passion without breaking the intimate bubble. Back in bed, he arranged pillows so you could curl against him fully, your head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his.

"Drink some water" he coaxed, holding the glass to your lips when your arms felt too heavy with afterglow. You sipped obediently, golden eyes half-lidded in contentment as he praised you between sips. "Such a good girl. Look at you… all soft and trusting with me. I love seeing this side of you."

His fingers found your ears next, rubbing the sensitive bases in slow circles that drew out deep, rumbling purrs. You weren’t the predator in control anymore; you were the one being pampered, babied with touches and words that healed the raw edges of vulnerability. Joshua’s antlers brushed your forehead as he leaned down to kiss you: slow, deep, full of emotion rather than heat.

"You courted me so patiently" he continued, voice a soothing lullaby. "Now I get to cherish you. Every part. The powerful panther and the sweet girl who needs cuddles after." He fed you bites of the snacks he’d brought (dried fruits and nuts) his free hand never stopping its gentle caresses along your spine.

Time stretched languidly. The fire burned low as you drifted in his arms, safe and adored. Joshua’s heartbeat steadied you, his scent enveloping you completely. In the quiet afterglow, he whispered promises of more weekends together, hikes where he could protect your softer moments just as you protected his. Your claws retracted fully, body limp and trusting against his lean strength.

As sleep began to pull you under, Joshua pressed one last kiss to the top of your head. "Rest now, my love. I’ve got you."

The morning after the cabin claimed you both, sunlight filtered through the forest canopy like golden threads, dappling the wooden floor of the retreat cabin. You woke first, nestled securely against Joshua’s chest, his steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath your ear. The black fur of your ears was tousled from sleep and passion, and for once, the powerful black panther hybrid didn’t feel the need to rise immediately with predatory alertness. Instead, you lingered in the warmth of his embrace, tail loosely draped over his hip, claws retracted as his fingers absently stroked along your spine even in sleep. The mating mark: his claiming bite mirrored on your neck, and yours on his, throbbed with a pleasant, possessive ache. It wasn’t a full bond yet, not until rituals and time deepened it, but it sang through your veins like a promise.

Joshua stirred, his velvety ears twitching before his warm brown eyes fluttered open. A shy, sated smile spread across his freckled face when he saw you watching him. "Morning" he murmured, voice husky from the night’s exertions. His antlers caught the light as he leaned down to press a soft kiss between your ears. "How do you feel?"

You nuzzled closer, a soft purr rumbling out unbidden. The confident girlboss who had courted him so boldly felt beautifully exposed now, craving the tenderness he offered so naturally. "Safe. Loved. A little… soft this morning." The admission came easier after last night’s aftercare, where he had babied you with praises and gentle touches until you melted completely.

He chuckled warmly, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. "Then let me keep taking care of you a bit longer." His hands resumed their soothing strokes, massaging the base of your tail and rubbing behind your ears until your purr deepened into something contented and vulnerable. He fed you bites of the remaining snacks, held water to your lips and whispered how incredible you were, strong yet so sweet when you let your guard down. The dynamic balanced perfectly: your protective panther instincts wrapped around his gentle doe nature, while his steady care cradled your hidden babygirl side.

By the time you rejoined the group for the final day of the retreat, a subtle change had settled over both of you. Colleagues noticed the new closeness: the way your tail would brush his more openly, how his ears perked toward your voice across the clearing. No one commented directly, but knowing smiles were exchanged. Hybrids understood these things; scents mingled with mating marks told the story. But human coworkers weren't clueless either.

Back in the city, the relationship blossomed from courtship into something solid and mated. At the office, the energy shifted deliciously. Mornings began with you leaving a fresh chamomile-ginger tea on his desk, now accompanied by a quick stolen kiss when no one was looking. One afternoon in the copy room, Joshua surprised you by pulling you behind the door, his hands cupping your face as he initiated a deep, lingering kiss. His antlers brushed your forehead and his fluffy tail wiggled.

"You’re going to get us caught" you purred against his lips, though your arms encircled his waist, claws lightly tracing his lower back.

"Worth it" he whispered, cheeks flushed but eyes sparkling with confidence. The weeks of your patient courting, followed by the claiming night, had bolstered his prey instincts. He stood a little taller, his movements surer. Under your protective presence, Joshua no longer shrank from louder meetings or assertive clients. He voiced his ideas more readily, knowing your sleek, powerful frame was a silent guardian nearby.

You, in turn, learned to temper your intensity. Where once your panther side might have pushed for constant chase and dominance, you now savored quiet evenings at his apartment, curling up on the couch with his head in your lap as he sketched, your fingers gently polishing his antlers. Your tail would rest protectively over his legs, but you yielded when he wanted to lead: planning weekend hikes, choosing playlists of soft nature sounds that calmed both your instincts.

The mating mark on his neck became a point of quiet pride. Joshua took to wearing soft scarves in the office during the cooler weeks, the fabric in earthy tones that complemented his style. When a curious coworker asked about it, he simply smiled and adjusted it higher, the faint scent of your claim wafting through. "Personal" he’d say softly, but his eyes would find yours across the room with unmistakable warmth. At home, he’d remove the scarf and trace the mark with his fingers, inviting you to kiss it anew, reigniting sparks that often led to slow, sensual reaffirmations of your bond.

Weekends became sacred. You drove out to the forest reserves he loved, where your panther grace complemented his doe agility. On one particularly memorable hike, the trails were quiet, dappled sunlight filtering through leaves much like the night in the cabin. Joshua walked ahead on a narrow path, his antlers weaving gracefully between low branches, tail flicking contentedly. You followed, senses attuned to every rustle, protective instincts humming.

Halfway up a gentle slope, he paused at a sunlit clearing, turning to you with a soft smile. "This is one of my favorites. Feels like the world slows down here."

You stepped closer, pulling him into your arms. Your black fur contrasted beautifully with his lighter tones as you nuzzled his neck, inhaling the mingled scents of mate and forest. "It does. Especially with you." The kiss that followed was unhurried, deepening as his hands roamed your back. You lowered him onto a soft patch of moss, careful of his antlers and for a while the only sounds were your shared breaths and the distant call of birds. Clothes stayed mostly on, this was tenderness, not heat, but your bodies pressed close, tails intertwined, reaffirming the bond in the daylight.

As the weeks turned to months, colleagues openly noticed the mated glow. Your creative output synergized even more powerfully; campaigns featuring themes of balance, predator and prey harmony, earned praise and new clients. During lunch breaks, you’d sit together openly now, your head occasionally resting on his shoulder when fatigue hit. Your protective nature shone through in small ways: positioning yourself between him and overly pushy clients, bringing extra snacks when his energy dipped. In return, he coaxed out your softer moments: late nights when deadlines drained you, he’d draw you a bath, wash your fur with gentle hands and baby you with the same care he’d shown post-claiming.

One evening, after a particularly successful pitch presentation where Joshua had shone with quiet confidence, you returned to his apartment. The space had gradually filled with traces of you: a larger potted plant you’d gifted, your favorite blanket on the couch, claw-friendly scratching posts disguised as decor near the windowsill. Dinner was simple: grilled vegetables, rice and chicken for you but the atmosphere hummed with contentment.

Joshua set down his fork midway through the meal, ears perked with nervous excitement. His freckled cheeks held a familiar blush. "Baby… these past months have been everything. You courted me when I didn’t even know I needed it. You claimed me, saw all of me and let me see all of you: the strong panther and the sweet babygirl who lets me hold her after."

You reached across the table, clawed hand enveloping his. "You’ve given me balance I didn’t know I craved."

He squeezed back, then stood, moving around to your side. Kneeling slightly so his antlers were level with your seated height, he looked up with those warm brown eyes full of love. "Move in with me. Fully. Let’s make this our home. I want to wake up to your purr every morning, come home to your tail curling around me at night. Build a life where our instincts thrive together."

The proposal, simple yet profound, made your heart soar. A deep, resonant purr built in your chest as you pulled him up into a fierce hug, careful not to overwhelm. "Yes. Absolutely yes." Your lips met in a kiss that tasted of promise and forever, slow at first, then heated with the depth of mated affection. Tails brushing slowly, bodies pressing close as you reaffirmed the bond right there in the kitchen, hands roaming with familiar intimacy.

The move happened swiftly. Your things integrated seamlessly: sleek black furniture accents beside his earthy tones, shared wardrobe space where your bolder styles contrasted his soft sweaters. Evenings became rituals: cooking together, him teaching you patience with intricate recipes while you showed him focused techniques for design software.

Nights varied: some passionate and claiming, with your powerful thighs caging him and growls mixing with his whimpers; others tender, where you curled into him, letting him stroke your fur and whisper praises until sleep claimed you both.

Some quiet afternoons he’d polish your claws while you groomed his antlers. The mating marks healed into permanent, subtle scars that carried each other’s scent eternally.

Six months after the retreat, nearly a year since you first started noticing the gentle doe in graphic design, the office threw a small celebration for a major campaign win. You and Joshua arrived together, his scarf loosely draped but the mark visible to those who knew.

Later that night, back in your now-shared apartment, you lay tangled in bed. The city lights filtered through the curtains, casting gentle patterns across your skins. Joshua traced the mark on your neck, his touch reverent. "I never imagined being courted by a black panther would lead here. To feeling this strong. This safe. This loved."

You shifted, resting your head on his chest, purring as his arms encircled you. "And I never knew how much I needed a gentle doe to teach me balance. To let me be soft sometimes." Your voice held that vulnerable edge he cherished. He kissed the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair in the afterglow of quiet lovemaking.

[97latte]

95liner (seungcheol, jeonghan & joshua) and their hand placements

seungcheol: in the curve of your hip

seungcheol likes to keep you close at all times; whether manoeuvring you through a crowd at the airport, on in the comfort of your own home. there will be a firm grip on your hip, sometimes on both sides as he bounces you up and down on his cock with no difficulty.

jeonghan: on your cheek

jeonghan loves to caress your cheek; to feel your soft skin as he peppered you with kisses. it felt good, to notice you lean your head into his hand, to know you felt safe in his touch. it also felt good, to be able to easily wipe the tear that ran down your cheek as he coaxed another orgasm out of you.

joshua: on the nape of your neck

joshua held the back of your neck gently as he kissed you for the first time after a fancy dinner date. Ever since then, he has become obsessed with mindlessly rubbing your nape as he scrolled on his phone next to you, massaging it after your long day at work, and holding your head down by your nape as you gagged around his cock prodding at the back of your throat.

a/n: another finished draft!! it’s winter where i live so i have been really thinking about hand placements of svt members 😌

[seungkw1]

the bet — kmg & jww

♡ pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader x jeon wonwoo ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni] ♡ w/c: 1.5k ♡ warnings: threesome!!!, oral (f. & m. receiving), nipple play, handjob, lil bit of dirty talk, unprotected piv sex (DONT.), dacryphilia, size kink if u think about it, spanking, cum swallowing, cumshot | petnames (baby girl, baby, slut(once)) ♡ a/n: happiest of holidays to @jakedustry!!! i come bearing filth! i felt crazy while writing this tbh so i hope it has the same effect on you (lovingly) :] come get yall minwon juice!! written as part of the @studiosvt holiday fic exchange 🎁

SYNOPSIS: Your friend group is on a vacation to Florida. Everyone is excited to ditch the harsh winter cold for some sun and surf, ready to dive into the warm ocean waves — but Mingyu and Wonwoo have something else they're vying to dive into first.

It started out as a lighthearted joke.

"I'm finally gonna do it," Mingyu told Wonwoo. "This trip I'm finally gonna make my move on y/n."

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. Their friend group was due to go on a trip to Florida next week — a purely platonic beach escapade to get a break from the winter blues. Sure, an ideal opportunity for him to hook up with you — but Wonwoo's heard this one before.

"Right, like you've been saying for four years now."

"This is the perfect chance!" Mingyu insisted. "It's gonna happen, I just know it."

"You're awfully certain about that," said Wonwoo, a slight smirk appearing on his face.

"What's that look for?" Mingyu asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Come on Mingyu, everyone knows y/n is into me."

"What?! You're full of shit," Mingyu glared back.

"Look, I'm not trying to steal your girl," Wonwoo conceded. "I'm just stating facts."

"So you wouldn't hit if she came onto you?"

"Well, let's not go too far…"

Mingyu crossed his arms, a pouty expression coloring his face.

"I'll bet you 100 bucks I end up with y/n before the trip is over," he glared at his friend.

"Awfully confident, aren't you?" Wonwoo grins. "Alright, I'll bite. I'll give you 100 bucks if you get laid. But — you owe me if y/n sleeps with me instead."

"That's never gonna happen," Mingyu smiles confidently. "But you have yourself a deal."

And so for the first three days of the trip, the two of them did everything they could to spend time with you. Mingyu offered to help you put sunscreen on your back; Wonwoo bought you a coconut drink from a beach vendor; Mingyu tried to teach you the basics of surfing; Wonwoo defended you from a flock of seagulls while you ate a sandwich on the shore. You picked up immediately on what was going on, and you decided to have some fun with it — letting them cater to you and buy you little treats. On the final night, everyone else was going on a nighttime diving excursion, but you had no interest in that. You asked Mingyu and Wonwoo separately if they would stay behind and cook dinner for you — and both of them eagerly agreed. When they discovered your ruse, they nearly broke into a fistfight — but Wonwoo reminded Mingyu of their bet, and so they sucked it up and civilly cooked you a nice salmon dinner together.

"That was delicious," you tell them as you finish your meal. "You two are excellent cooks."

"Thank you," Wonwoo replies proudly. Mingyu glares at him from across the table.

"Yes, Wonwoo was an excellent sous chef," Mingyu comments, feigning a smile. "He chopped all the vegetables perfectly for my recipe."

You could practically cut the tension in the air with a knife. Finally, you decide to interject.

"You guys don't have to fight over me, you know."

Both men turn to look at you, confusion coloring their faces, but you just smile.

"C'mon, I know what's been going on this whole trip. I'm not blind."

They glance back at each other, eyes widening as it finally clicks.

"So," you say to them, a smug grin spreading across your face. "You guys wanna have some fun or what?"

Soft moans drift from your lips as Mingyu's tongue works its way through your already-soaked folds. He'd barely started eating you out, but the stimulation is immediately overwhelming — especially with Wonwoo laying next to you with your nipple in his mouth. You stroke Wonwoo's cock slowly as he sucks and nips at the bud, rubbing your fist around the head as is quickly starts to glow a furious shade of red. Mingyu starts flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit, making your head fall back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Wonwoo's mouth releases your nipple for a brief moment. "I think she likes it," he grins, immediately latching back on as his hand wanders up to squeeze at your other breast.

"You like this, baby?" Mingyu asks, flattening his tongue to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," you sigh, running your hand through Wonwoo's hair as his teeth bite at your sensitive bud. You grab Mingyu's hand that is resting on your belly, lacing your fingers through his. "Feels so good."

The praise makes Mingyu dives back into your cunt, sucking and licking hungrily as he practially buries his face in your pussy. Your body writhes beneath them as the fire in your gut builds and builds.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine. Both of them begin to work their mouths faster, quickly bringing you to orgasm. You cry out as you release, grinding your hips against Mingyu's face as Wonwoo fucks his cock into your fist. As you come down, Mingyu's mouth slows, planting gentle kisses all over your cunt and inner thighs, making you giggle.

"You're so hot," Wonwoo groans kissing you from your breasts up to your neck. You can tell his cock is painfully hard, and as Mingyu rises you see he is as well.

"So pretty," Mingyu coos, spreading the precum dribbling from his tip over his length with his fingertips. "Switch with me, baby girl."

You oblige, Mingyu taking your spot resting against the headboard as you position yourself between his legs, stroking his cock slowly as you swirl your tongue around his tip. Wonwoo quickly gets up and kneels behind you, lapping up the juices from your dripping cunt, savoring your taste. Your clit pulses, sensitive from your orgasm but delighting in the overstimulation.

Tears begin to blur your vision as Mingyu's cock slips deeper down your throat, but you can still see the way his eyes roll back into his head as you swallow as much of his length as you can. You hum as Wonwoo rubs his tip over your slit, spreading your juices around before positioning it at your entrance. He presses it in, your walls squeezing around him as your drenched hole readily accepts his cock, making you cry out as he pushes the rest of his length in — the sound muffled by Mingyu's dick in your mouth.

"Fuck, that's it baby," Mingyu moans as your head bobs up and down, your eyes staring up at him obediently as he places his hand on top of your head, pushing down lightly. Wonwoo begins to slowly thrust into you, making your legs quiver beneath as you kneel atop the bed. Spit drips down your chin as Mingyu holds your head in place, jerking his hips up as he fucks into your mouth.

"God, yes," he groans as you gag on him. You slide his cock out of your mouth momentarily, gasping for air as you stroke his length in your clenched fist.

"Look how much she loves it," Wonwoo grins, placing a light smack on your ass. "Such a good little slut."

You turn your head to peer back at him through teary eyes. "Harder," you tell him. His smirk widens, giving you another, harder slap as he thrusts deep into your pussy. Your mouth returns to Mingyu's cock, wrapping your lips around the head as you suckle on his tip. As you swallow him again you stroke him at his base, making him start to squirm.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon," he groans, patting your head lovingly as he gazes down at you, watching lovingly as you gag and choke on him. Wonwoo begins to fuck you faster, gripping your hips tightly as his thrusts become more frantic. Mingyu's cock begins to twitch in your mouth, his release coming soon after. The hot bursts of cum spill into the back of your throat as he moans loudly, pushing your head down as he finishes giving you every last drop. As his cock slips out of your mouth you swallow, opening wide to show him your now-empty mouth.

"That's so hot," he groans, his head falling back as his body relaxes into the pillows. You whimper as Wonwoo fucks you hard, nearing his climax as well.

"Oh my god, fuck—" he groans. Pulling out, he quickly flips you over, stroking his cock in his hand — whimpering as he stares down at your body. White ropes release from his tip, falling onto your stomach as he cums.

"So much for your bet," you grin at them a few minutes later as Wonwoo cleans you up with a tissue. Mingyu pulls you up into his arms, Wonwoo joining you at your other side.

"What??" Mingyu exclaims, looking shocked. "How the hell did you know about that?"

"Because you told Soonyoung, and Soonyoung can't keep his mouth shut."'

Wonwoo smacks Mingyu in the head.

"You idiot," he chastises.

"Oh," Mingyu says quietly, looking embarrassed. "Yeah, in hindsight that was probably a mistake."

"It's okay," you smile, kissing him on the cheek. "Dumb bet or not, this is officially the best vacation I've ever had."

taglist: @miniseokminnies @kyeomiis @tinycatharsis @hannieween @smiileflower

@hanniebub @luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv

[jung-koook]

260629 - hoseok on instagram: BTS WORLD TOUR 'ARIRANG'. MADRID.

[minyoongi-ah]

Yoongi as a museum curator (or when Yoongi gives us a fanfic prompt)

[cheers-to-you-th]

POV: jerking off Nerd!Mingyu slight popular!reader x nerd dynamic

MDNI, SMUTTY DRABBLE 18+ warnings: handjobs, pwp, big dick loser!mingyu WC: 2.2k

BETA READ BY THE LOML @nerdycheol

Mingyu had been studying for finals all week. Your poor boyfriend, locked in his dorm instead of doing his rightful job of spending time with you—it was infuriating! Top of his class, on a full-ride academic scholarship that he maintained so easily, yet you hadn’t seen him in a whole seven days (besides passing him in the hallways, and the good morning and good night texts, and the kisses he’d always plant on your cheek when you’d meet for coffee, but you insisted those didn’t count)—you were getting desperate.

So today, when you’d walked into his dorm room, using the key he’d so graciously given you, it was no wonder you had the urge to absolutely devour him. Especially when he had that furrow in his brows, the sharp canines you adored sinking into the plush pink of his lips. His glasses were perched cutely on his nose, a knit sweater hanging off his broad shoulders. Your boyfriend was an absolute snack, and it would’ve been wasteful to do nothing. So when you shut his door and he stood to greet you, who could blame you for wrapping your arms around him and kissing him stupid?

That was the thing about Mingyu. For all his smarts, for all the prodigal genius he was, he simply melted for you. The second your hands were on him, the boy was gone. You felt the tightening in his pants against your leg immediately and grinned victoriously.

“Study break?”

It didn’t take long for you to have him pressed against his wooden bookshelf, even shorter for your hands to wander to the waistband of his pants. you worked at his belt, the zipper and button following until his pants bunched around his knees.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, lip jutting out when you saw the growing wet spot on the front of his boxers where his tip stained them with precum already, the fabric stretched tight. You cooed at him, teasingly. "Oh, poor baby." Pressing your palm to the bulge, rubbing and squeezing lightly. "Missed me that much? Should’ve told me you were so pent up, you know I’m always here to help you, Gyu."

Mingyu let out a sharp, strangled sound, as your palm made contact. The sensation of the damp, tight fabric being squeezed was almost too much to bear. He felt the heat of the friction radiating through his entire lower body, a pulsing, heavy ache that made his vision swim.

"F-fuck," he whined, though he made absolutely no effort to move away. "Don't tease me—ah—please."

He looked down at you, his eyes hooded and dark, watching the way you looked at him—the teasing pout, the knowing glint in your eyes. The sheer, unashamed confidence of your touch, the way you could call him baby and mock his desperation while simultaneously driving him to the brink, was enough to make him want to both laugh and lose his mind.

His gaze dropped to where your hand was working, the sight of the dark, damp stain on his boxers a testament to how much power you held over him. He felt exposed, stripped of his dignity and left with nothing but raw, pulsing need, but he was right where he wanted to be. He gripped the edge of the shelf so hard his knuckles turned white, his hips twitching involuntarily against your hand. "Ngh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop." He panted as his brows pinched together.

"M'not gonna stop, promise." You chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as you finally tug the fabric down. He sprung out, slapping against his abs, and your hand wasted no time to wrap around him and start slowly tugging, coaxing out more sticky pre and whimpering moans. "That's it. You're doing so good for me."

He's hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing as the tip spurts more liquid, your thumb dragging over the sensitive skin to gather it and spread it along his length. It added a slickness to the friction, a slow wet shlick, shlick, shlick filling the room in response. But you don't speed up, don't let it build quickly, instead placing each brick, to unravel him until there's tears in his pretty eyes.

A broken, high pitched sound—a sound he would have died before letting anyone else hear— escaped his throat. It was a whimper, raw and unrefined, swallowed by the quiet of the room.

He was a man of discipline, a man who thrived on being the one in control, but as you began that slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm, he felt his entire foundation dissolve. The feeling of your hand, the wet, repetitive sound of skin sliding against skin, seemed to echo in the narrow aisle, filling his head until there was nothing else.

He gasped your name, his voice a wrecked, breathless shadow of itself. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your long hair, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as the world began to tilt. You weren't rushing him, no, you were being cruel in the most exquisite way, dragging out the tension, building the sensation brick by agonizing brick. Every time he thought he was about to tip over the edge, every time his hips began to buck instinctively to find a faster pace, you would slow down, teasing the sensitivity of the tip, spreading the slickness of his own release until he was practically vibrating with the effort of staying upright.

His breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. His vision was blurred, the dim light of the room turning into a haze of gold and shadow. He felt a stinging heat behind his eyelids, a physical manifestation of the sheer, overwhelming sensory overload. He was being unraveled, stripped of every layer of his composure until there was nothing left but the friction, the heat, and your voice..

His hips jerked upward, a desperate, involuntary movement seeking more of that friction, his muscles coiling tight as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

"Oh fuck," he choked out, his eyes opening just enough to see the dark, beautiful shape of you in the gloom. "Don't... don't make me wait..."

You grinned, hand speeding up slightly at his plea. "Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?" When he nodded frantically, breath hitching as more whines were ripped from his throat, her tongue clicked. "Come on, use your words. You can do it." You goaded, hand tightening fractionally.

Mingyu’s fingers tightened in your hair, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his balance. The slight increase in speed was a torture he didn't want to end, a frantic, rhythmic friction that made his entire lower body feel like it was made of liquid lightning. Every time you tightened your grip, a fresh wave of heat crashed over him, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come.

"It... it feels..." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking on the syllable. 

He looked down at you, his green eyes blown wide, glazed with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  "Feels s’good," he finally managed to choke out, the words a slurred, breathless confession. "God... it feels so fucking good."

He let out a long, shuddering moan as you squeezed him again, the pressure hitting the most sensitive part of his length with devastating precision. He was right there, teetering on the precipice, his muscles coiled so tight they were trembling. The sensation of the slick, wet friction was building into a roar in his ears, drowning out the noise outside the dorm, drowning out the thought of studying, drowning out everything but the feeling of you.

"Please," he groaned, his hips bucking upward in a frantic attempt to meet your hand, his voice dropping to a raw rasp that was nearly a sob. "Don't make me say it again. Just... now. Give it to me now."

"So demanding." You hummed. "Is that how we ask for things?" Your hand stopped entirely, squeezing at the base. 

The sudden absence of friction was a physical blow, making Mingyu’s entire body jolt. His hips jerked upward in a desperate, instinctive search for the heat that had just been stolen from him. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of his own ragged, panicked breathing. He felt suspended in a state of agonizing tension, his nerves screaming for the release that was being cruelly withheld.

Your name gasped from his lips as a broken, breathless plea, eyes, wet and wide, searched yours with a frantic, unshielded desperation. He reached down, his large hands trembling as he gripped your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. Mingyu didn't try to pull your hand away; he tried to force it back, to command the motion to resume, but hands trembled, his muscles weak.

"Don't..." he choked out, a small, pathetic sound that he would have loathed if he weren't so close to the brink. "Don't do that. Don't stop now. Please."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He looked down at where your hand remained, squeezing the base of him, and the sensation was almost more than he could bear a teasing, heavy weight that promised everything and gave nothing. He was a man on the verge of tears, his muscles coiled so tightly they were vibrating, his entire existence narrowed down to the single, desperate need for the friction to return.

“Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Good boy." Your hand resumed its movement as you teased him, faster now, watching his back arch and his abs tense.

The moment the friction returned, Mingyu let out a sound that was less a moan and more a broken sob tears finally slipping from his glossy eyes down his cheeks. The sudden, rapid movement of your hand was a violent, beautiful shock to his system, a rhythm that didn't give him a single second to breathe or prepare. His back arched sharply, his spine pressing hard against the wood behind him as his entire body strained toward the sensation.

"Fuck!" he choked out, his head falling back so hard it nearly hit the shelf again.

The speed was punishing. It was a relentless, driving force that bypassed all his remaining defenses, turning his thoughts into a white hot blur of pleasure. His abs were locked in a rigid, trembling knot, his muscles coiling and rippling under the strain of trying to hold himself together while being systematically dismantled.

Every time your palm slid over the sensitive, slick skin of his length, a fresh jolt of electricity shot through him, making his toes curl and his vision swim with dark spots.

"Oh fuck— baby— baby!" he gasped, the words coming out in jagged bursts, shaky and trembling.

He reached down, his hands no longer just guiding you but clutching at your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought to stay upright. He was close—so close that the pressure felt like it was going to burst. His hips began to move in an uncoordinated rhythm, trying to match the speed of your hand, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like he was drowning. The tension in his entire body reached a breaking point, a singular, vibrating frequency that demanded release.

Mingyu’s head thrashed, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that stars danced behind his lids. The demand for words was a cruel, beautiful torture, a final hurdle placed right at the peak of the mountain. He was vibrating, his entire frame caught in the violent pull of a climax.

"Please!" he choked out, the word tearing from his throat, raw and stripped of every ounce of his usual poise. He was undone, begging and sobbing your name like a prayer. "Ngh—please... ahh..."

The moment the words left his lips, the dam broke.

His hips bucked violently, a sharp, uncontrolled surge of motion as the first wave of release slammed into him. A loud, guttural groan was ripped from his lungs, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that echoed through the room. The sound was half groan, half sob—followed by a whiny whimper that had your lips twitching.  His entire body went rigid, his muscles locking into hard, trembling cords as he felt the hot, pulsing sensation of his release spilling over your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He repeated over and over, like a mantra, tears slipping down his cheeks as he trembled.

His breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes opening just enough to see the beautiful silhouette of you through the haze of his own ecstasy. As the waves began to subside, leaving him trembling and spent, he slumped back, his breath hitching in his chest. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes closed as he tried to find his bearings in the sudden, heavy silence of the room.

You licked the release off your hand with a hum. “See? You shouldn’t keep me waiting so long, Gyu. It’s rude.”

A choked chuckle escaped his lips before he pressed them reverently to your cheek. “You’re right, baby. You’re always right.” His hands slid up, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt before slipping under it slightly, just enough for his rough palms to meet the soft skin of your back.

“Wanna help me with my anatomy homework?”

don't ask about the layout, i'm too lazy to make a banner for a drabble and idk what i'm doing anymore, man.

[seungkw1]

a mutual affair — lsm

PAIRING: lee seokmin x f!reader GENRE: smut [18+ MDNI] WC: 5,906 WARNINGS: reader and seokmin both run (faceless) porn accounts on twitter, sexting, dirty talk, masturbation, SIZE KINK!, mutual masturbation, oral, nose meal!! (it's dk so duh), multiple orgasms, protected sex, but also unprotected sex, missionary, cowgirl, creampie, cumplay/cum eating, praise kink A/N: requested by world's #1 cuties g @miniseokminnies for my Cosmos event! i went a lil crazy w this one hope u don't mind!!! ty @haologram for beta-ing <3

SYNOPSIS: As an anonymous porn account on Twitter, you're often engaging flirtaciously with other accounts — it's good for business, after all — but you never let yourself catch real feelings. Until now, when you've started sexting with the owner of your personal favorite account, an extremely hot (and hung) guy who goes by Nico. You know Nico is local, and you're really into each other, so you're genuinely considering doing your first collab with him. But then you have a realization: you're pretty fucking sure you know him in real life already.

ding

You pick up your phone, seeing a DM notification from Twitter. As you open the app you smile — it's exactly who you hoped would be messaging you.

@/xcalibur_: wowwww you look amazing in the new vid 😍

It's Nico — one of your mutuals. Due to the nature of the content you put out, and the fact that you choose to remain anonymous online — posting everything under a pseudonym, Berrie — you are constantly having to balance casually flirting with other adult content creators to build your network while also not getting too close to anybody. It's good business, and also for your own safety. But you and Nico have followed each other for a few months now, and he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. It also doesn't help that he is outrageously hot, and has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. You should probably be ashamed by how many times you've cum to his videos, but shame surrounding sex is something you left behind a long time ago.

@/strawberriebaby: thanks love😘 your new pics are sooo hot btw @/xcalibur_: thank you gorgeous ;) i didn't think the bulge pics would be so popular tbh but people seem to love it @/strawberriebaby: it's the gray sweatpants babe, that'll drive any girl crazy in a heartbeat @/xcalibur_: that's good to know, i'll keep that in mind 😏 hey btw, if you ever want any free personalized content from me lmk. i've cum to your videos so many times, so i definitely owe you haha

That last sentence makes your stomach do an excited flip. Sure, you post porn on Twitter. Of course other people are going to be jerking it to your videos. But something about hearing it from him specifically is really fucking hot.

@/strawberriebaby: that's crazy bc i cum to YOUR videos all the time too 🥰 @/xcalibur_: wow, what an honor to hear that from my favorite account holy shit 😍 @/strawberriebaby: lol i'll bet you say that to everyone @/xcalibur_: nope, not at all. just you baby ❤️ @/strawberriebaby: alright then, prove it. send me a video of you jerking off right now 😊 @/xcalibur_: say less 🫡

A proud grin creeps across your face. Your thighs instinctively squeeze together, excitement flooding your senses at the prospect of receiving a personal video from Nico. Figuring you'd give him a few minutes, you decide to get up and start some laundry in the meantime. By the time you've sorted your clothes and started the first load in the washer, you already have a new DM in your notifications.

Excitedly you make your way to your bedroom, figuring you might as well enjoy yourself as you watch. Plopping onto your bed, you open Twitter and click on your chat with Nico. Sure enough, you are greeted with a seven minute-long video attachment, with a blurry image of what appears to be his bulge in the thumbnail, and an accompanying message that simply says for my favorite girl❤️.

You click play, immediately being greeted with soft moans from behind the camera as you watch him stroke himself through his sweatpants, the thick bulge heavy beneath his grasp. He's already growing hard, the soft fabric doing little to hide the shape of his cock as he touches himself, the delicate sighs escaping his lips sounding whiny already. You feel a rush of heat in your core as you watch him; he may be fully clothed still, but that doesn't stop your mouth from watering at the salacious sight.

Before long he has a full-blown erection; reaching into his pants, he takes his length in his hand, letting out a hiss at the sensation. Slipping the waistband of his sweats down he frees it from the confines of his underwear, revealing the thick, veiny shaft you've committed to memory at this point. He begins to jerk himself off, slow, measured strokes as he grips his cock tightly in his fist.

"F-fuck," you hear him groan from behind the camera. "I'm so fucking horny right now."

Grinning, you slip out of your pants with one hand, the other holding your phone as your eyes remain fixed on the pretty cock on its screen. You recline into your pillows, lightly dragging your fingertips over your pussy, discovering yourself to be much wetter than you expected. You collect your pooled arousal and spread it over your clit, sighing softly as your fingers graze the sensitive bud.

"Feels so good," he whines. "Wish it was your mouth, baby. Fuck…"

He begins to stroke himself faster now, his hand pumping up and down his length with urgent need. You slip your fingers into your pussy, fucking yourself as you watch; you start slow, but the pitiful sounds coming out of him soon have your hand flying as fast as his is. You feel like you could cum already, but you want to wait until he does. Your stomach tightens as you picture the savory sight of that in your head; checking the timestamp on the video, you're about halfway through. Just a few more minutes to go. The time seems to pass at a painfully slow pace, forcing you to pause more than once, taking the time to catch your breath as you watch Nico getting himself off with uninhibited pleasure. Your clit throbs, aching for the release of your orgasm. Finally, his whimpers begin to turn utterly pathetic — sharp cries and loud moans escaping him — and you can tell he's about to cum. Thank god, you think to yourself. You don't know how much longer you can wait.

You watch the shiny dribble of precum drip down the head of his cock, which is turning an angry shade of red as his climax begins to overtake him.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he cries. He vigorously pumps his length, cock throbbing in his grasp, until finally — he releases. With a vulgar groan white ropes of cum spurt from his tip, shooting into the air before falling onto his hand and stomach. The sight is enough to send you over the edge — your palm presses into your clit as your fingers fuck into your cunt, and you cum too. Your head falls back, eyes tearing up at the bursts of pleasure rolling through your body, but you don't take them off the screen for a second. You ride out your high, chest heaving with deep breaths as you stare at the delicious mess of cum all over Nico.

As you drift back down to earth, you watch as he lets go of his spent cock; it twitches against his stomach as he shows off his cum-coated hand, the sticky white substance dripping all over his fingers and the silver ring on his pinky. You've seen his hands plenty of times by now, and you've always thought they were exceptionally pretty. However, for some reason in this moment they seem… familiar. His long thick fingers, his pretty nails, and also the ring, too. You swear you've seen it somewhere before. You figure it's just from watching so many of his videos, but something in the back of your mind is telling you otherwise. But your mind is spinning, and it's hard to think straight right now anyway, so you push that thought aside.

You take a picture of your soaked cunt and DM it back to him.

@/strawberriebaby: that was so fucking hot, thank youuu 😘

Your phone dings as he replies immediately.

@/xcalibur_: fuck, need that pussy so bad

Maybe it's just the high from your orgasm, but his message practically has you swooning. The typing bubble pops up again right away. You watch him type for a minute, then stop. It pops up again a few moments later. You wait patiently to see what he has to say, and finally you receive another message.

@/xcalibur_: i'm not sure if you're open to collabs, so no pressure at all, but if you're ever interested lmk ;) more than willing to travel for u lol

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You've had other creators ask to collab before, but you've politely turned them all down. It's something you've definitely considered, but you don't want to do it with just anybody. It would have to be with the right person — and honestly, Nico would be perfect for the job.

@/strawberriebaby: i've never done one before, but i've been considering it tbh👀 i'm kinda nervous about it though @/xcalibur_: that's totally fair, it's a big ask! i've also never done one, mostly for privacy reasons. might end my career if anybody finds out i do this lol @/strawberriebaby: i'm a freelance artist, so that matters less for me haha. i'm just mostly nervous because i've never done a face reveal before @/xcalibur_: you wouldn't have to do one if you don't want! @/strawberriebaby: oh yeah, i mean more like… what if i met somebody irl and they weren't into me :/ @/xcalibur_: i can guarantee that won't happen if we meet, i promise :) @/strawberriebaby: i'm just kind of an awkward person 😭 @/xcalibur_: that doesn't matter to me. you're hot and i'm very into you 🙂‍↕️ @/strawberriebaby: you haven't even seen my face though!! @/xcalibur_: but i know you're fucking beautiful. and i'm not just saying that!

This conversation is a lot flirtier than you usually have with people on Twitter, even your mutuals that you know fairly well. Normally if a man was talking to you like this, you would just assume it's business as usual, just another stranger on the internet trying to get into your pants. But Nico is… different. Maybe you're delusional — maybe he talks like this to everyone he wants to fuck and you're not special. But your instinct tells you he's being genuine.

@/strawberriebaby: you're crazy, but fortunately i'm into that lol @/xcalibur_: that's great news for me😌 but fr, if you're ever in the bay area hit me up. i'll clear my fucking schedule @/strawberriebaby: wait, you're in the bay area?? @/xcalibur_: born and raised! @/strawberriebaby: no fucking way. i'm also in the bay area! @/xcalibur_: omg @/xcalibur_: not to jump the gun but this might be destiny idk @/strawberriebaby: well, one way to find out @/xcalibur_: does this mean you want to collab :) @/strawberriebaby: let me sleep on it, but good chance the answer might be yes @/xcalibur_: YAYYYYY @/xcalibur_: i mean uh, yeah that's cool. totally a good business decision. @/strawberriebaby: oh, totally, for sure. well i have to go now, i'm meeting a friend for dinner. pleasure doing business with you ;) @/xcalibur_: you too babe 😘 enjoy your dinner!

Between your orgasm and your conversation with Nico, you're feeling very hot and bothered — so you decide to take a quick shower. You feel much better afterward; you get ready and head out to meet your friend, and you end up having a really nice night. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't spend the whole rest of the evening with thoughts of your potential collab lingering in the back of your mind.

On Saturday, you have a gig as a wedding photographer — one of the many hats you wear. The wedding isn't until the afternoon, but you're supposed to be there by 11am to get set up and run through the schedule with the wedding planner. You're running slightly behind, but you're still on time — as long as you leave by 10:30, you'll be fine.

At 10:25am you are on your way out of your apartment. As you lock the door behind you, you spot a figure out of the corner of your eye approaching from down the hallway. Turning your head, you see that it's your neighbor, Seokmin.

"Hey y/n!" he tells you cheerfully. "Haven't seen you in a minute!"

Seokmin lives down the hall from you, so you run into him fairly frequently in passing. You usually don't go out of your way to talk to other people in your building outside of polite small talk, and you don't know Seokmin all that well truthfully. You pretty much only know that he's a lawyer, and apparently a pretty good one at that — but with his gregarious nature and bright smile, he's easily one of the nicest people you've ever met.

"Hey Seokmin," you smile back, giving him a small wave. "Yeah, I've been working odd jobs lately, so my schedule is kind of all over the place."

Seokmin reaches his front door. Still facing you, he rummages around in his bag, presumably for his keys.

"Nice, where are you off to today?"

"Photography gig," you answer. "I'm working a wedding."

"Oh, fun!" he beams at you, his arm still digging around the bottom of his bag. Finally, his hand closes around the small cluster of metal; he pulls the keys out, turning to the door to raising his hand to the lock. As he does so, you notice a silver ring around his pinky, and suddenly you realize where you've seen this exact same hand before.

Your eyes widen, staring at Seokmin's hand, looking for anything to tell you you're wrong, that can't be the same hand… You blink, hoping you're just imagining things — but deep down you know your eyes do not deceive you.

Seokmin peers back at you, about to say something else, but you look like you've seen a ghost.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slightly concerned.

"I just— I forgot something," you say in a panic, plastering a faux smile on your face. You spin on your heel and rush back into your apartment before he can ask any more questions. "Catch you later!"

"Bye!" Seokmin shouts after you. He turns and enters his apartment, not thinking anything of it.

You, however, are now spiraling. You pace around your apartment as you take your phone out and open Twitter, scrolling to your DMs with Nico and playing back the video he sent you the other night. You fast forward to the end, stopping when you see his cum-coated hand in frame. Without a doubt, it looks just like Seokmin's. You might've been able to convince yourself that they just look similar, that there's no chance in hell they belong to the same person — but the presence of the identical ring makes it undeniable.

"What the fuck," you mutter under your breath, trying to process this information. Sure, Seokmin is objectively an attractive man — but you've never thought of him like that before. But the more you think about it, the way Nico talks and his amicable, sweet nature match Seokmin's demeanor perfectly. And he does have the exact same build you've seen fully nude from the shoulders down dozens of times on your phone screen.

But you don't have time to stand here and freak out about this right now. You have to get to work. You peek out your peephole, just to make sure he's not still out there for any reason, but the hallway is vacant. You lock the door behind you and make your exit as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, the wedding setup and the ceremony itself keep you busy enough to keep your mind off the fact that Nico is your literal neighbor. After the reception ends, you head home, but decide to stop at the CVS on your way back. You grab the couple items you need from your list and head to check out, but on your way to the register you pass the condom section. You stop for a second; you do have a box at home already, but Nico/Seokmin's video drifts to the front of your mind, reminding you just how fucking huge his cock is.

Stop it, you think to yourself. You didn't even say you'd collab with him yet. Do you even want to do that now that you know he's been living across the hall from you this whole time?? But you know in your heart that the answer is a resounding yes.

With a sigh, you grab a box of XL condoms off the shelf and toss it in your basket.

You spend the whole evening trying not to think about Seokmin, to no avail. You even put on Howl's Moving Castle, hoping that your favorite movie will be a good distraction, but even that isn't enough to get your mind of that fucking video he sent you. You can't even blame him, because you're the one who asked him to send it in the first place.

Idiot, you chastise yourself. He did say he was also in the Bay Area, but so are seven million other people; never in your wildest dreams would you have expected him to live in your exact building — because what are the fucking odds of that? But regardless, it's true, and now you have to figure out what the hell you are going to do about it. You pretty much have two options: tell him you know, or pretend like you don't. Neither one is very good — the latter would probably be the smarter option, but it doesn't change the fact that you still want to hit like so bad.

Your phone buzzes. Looking down, you see a DM from Nico pop up in your notifications.

"Speak of the devil…" you mumble to yourself. You pick up the phone and open it to his message.

@/xcalibur_: heyyyy cutie ❤️ how was your day?

You stare at the screen for a minute, deliberating, but eventually you decide to respond.

@/strawberriebaby: honestly i had such a weird fucking day 😭 @/xcalibur_: oh no! what happened? (if you don't mind me asking) @/strawberriebaby: nothing bad, just… weird. can i ask you something? @/xcalibur_: of course baby @/strawberriebaby: what would you do if i said i think we might know each other irl?

Your heart races as you hit send. You have no idea how he's going to respond, but you decide fuck it. Worst case scenario it'll make things so awkward you will have to move, but that's a problem for later. You watch the typing bubble anxiously as you await his reply.

@/xcalibur_: wait, seriously? how so? @/strawberriebaby: i recognized your ring in the video. @/xcalibur_: i'm sure a lot of guys have a ring like mine tho, maybe it just looks similar to someone you know? @/strawberriebaby: that's what i was thinking. but then i saw you in the hallway this morning when i was on my way to work

The typing bubble does not pop up again. A few minutes pass, and you start to wonder if you've royally fucked up — but then you hear a knock at your front door.

You get up and walk over to the peephole, peering out to see none other than Seokmin standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that puts his thick biceps on full display. You open the door, coming face to face with him; you stare at each other for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say.

"You…" he finally starts, but you just grab him by the wrist and pull him inside. Door shutting behind him, you are now alone together, standing far to close to one another in the entryway of your home.

"It is you," he says in a hushed tone, staring at you with sparkling brown eyes. "You're Berrie." You nod, locking eyes with him, making your stomach do a nervous flip.

"And you're Nico," you reply softly. He nods back, a bewildered look coloring his face.

"This is crazy," he laughs incredulously. "I've always thought you were so pretty, but I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything."

"Well, turns out we've already seen each other naked," you point out. He lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, I suppose so…"

You stare at each other for a moment, the tension in the room turning palpable.

"Well, my offer still stands, you know," he says, suddenly turning a bit flushed. "About the collab. If you want."

"Do you mean… right now?" you ask, taking a step forward.

"Yeah," he whispers, also stepping forward to bridge the gap between the two of you. "I do." Slowly he raises his right hand, cradling your cheek in his palm as he holds your face, the metal of his ring cool against your cheek. You let out a soft gasp; your hands drift to his torso, pressing them against his muscular abs, sliding them up across his chest before you take his shirt in your fists, yanking him toward you closer still.

"Kiss me," you tell him, and without a moment of hesitation his lips are crashing into yours.

His hand drifts from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling your face into his so he can kiss you with unrestrained vigor. His other hand drifts to your waist, rubbing your hip slowly as he tastes you, his lips tugging on yours in sheer desperation. You kiss him back, grabbing him by his sides as you press your body into him.

"Fuck," he grumbles, barely taking his lips off you as he grabs your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh."You're so perfect."

The stiffening in his pants is undeniable, pressing against your stomach as he holds you close. You want nothing more than to rip your clothes off and throw yourself at him, but you know that teasing him for a bit first would be enticing for the both of you — and you want to savor this.

You break the kiss, staring up at him sweetly, before you take his hand in yours and start pulling him toward your bedroom.

"C'mon," you say, looking back at him as you tug him along. He grins, gazing at you excitedly at he eagerly follows. Entering your room, he lets out a chuckle.

"Wow, so this is where the magic happens, huh?" he asks, gesturing at your ring light and tripod set up at the foot of your bed.

"Sure is," you smile. "I was planning on filming tonight, let me move this real quick—"

"Wait," Seokmin says, grabbing hold of your wrist. You turn to face him again, his soft brown eyes staring at you lustfully. "You should go ahead and film."

"It's okay, I can do it tomorrow—" you start, but he grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up to his so he can kiss you again.

"I want to watch," he mutters into your lips. A smile spreads across your face.

"Okay," you beam at him.

Grabbing your phone, you set it up on the tripod, the video camera open and ready. You strip your clothes off as you make your way over to your bed, plopping into the center and making yourself comfortable. You spread your legs, revealing your bare pussy, already glimmering with arousal in the dim lighting.

"Ready?" Seokmin asks, his finger hovering above the record button.

"More than," you grin.

He taps the button, and the video begins.

Slowly you slide your hand down your body, dipping your fingers into your cunt, pulling them out again to show off the stick mess of juices dripping out of you. Seokmin licks his lips, palming himself through his sweatpants as he quickly starts to grow hard. You touch yourself lazily, staring up at him as you start to get yourself off; you were planning on taking your sweet time, but having him watch you like this is making you unbearably horny. Soft moans escape your lips as you begin to play with your clit, causing him to grip his bulge in his fist tightly as he takes a deep breath. Your other hand grasps at your breast, squeezing it as your fingers start to move faster. The sight is too much for Seokmin. Mouth watering, he pulls his pants down and frees his cock, stroking it slowly in his large hand. You've seen it dozens of times, so you knew exactly what to expect — and yet seeing the sheer size of his cock with your own two eyes has you clenching around nothing. You swear you've never craved anything more in your life.

Your fingers begin to work faster, flicking back and forth over your clit, hips rocking slowly as a burning heat begins to fill your gut. Watching Seokmin masturbate as he watches you masturbate has to be the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His eyes don't leave you for a second, his gaze flickering from your pussy to your breasts to your pretty face, savoring the sight of every inch of you. Soon, he's stroking himself with a sense of urgency, his hand working his cock faster and faster, egged on by your incessant whimpering as you approach your high. Your body writhes against the mattress as an explosive orgasm suddenly overtakes you — your legs tremble, your head falls back into the pillows as you release, crying out with pleasure as the shockwaves of your climax pulse through you.

Your mind spins as you come down, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to recover. Your eyes flutter open again, seeing Seokmin still standing there, staring at you like he wants to devour you. His hand has stilled, gripping his thick hard cock tightly, his tip glistening with his leaking juices.

"Turn that off and come fuck me already," you tell him, grinning eagerly. He stops the video and walks over to your bed, climbing over you and pressing a long kiss against your lips. You reach for his cock, but he's already scooting back down, positioning himself between your legs.

"I will," he replies, suddenly grabbing you by the thighs and folding you in half, making you gasp. "But first…"

You cry out as he drags his tongue over your cunt, groaning as he laps up the pool of juices.

"Fuck, even better than I imagined."

He slips his tongue into your hole, fucking it in and out as his nose bumps against your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

"Oh my god—" you moan, brushing your fingers through his dark hair and grasping onto it. You hold his head in place, but he had no plans of pulling away anyway. He eats you out slowly, savoring every drop of you, his tongue running through your folds and over your clit until you feel the pressure of a second orgasm building inside you. Your hips begin to rock against his face, rubbing your clit over his nose, until you are cumming again. His hands grip your thighs as he doesn't stop, licking your pussy as you ride out your high.

"Fuck," you gasp for air as you pry his head off of you. He grins at you sheepishly, his entire chin dripping.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away," he admits.

"No, don't apologize," you smile at him. "That was fucking amazing."

He dives in one more time to press a soft kiss into your spent clit. Crawling back up to you, you pull him in for a kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth to taste yourself on him.

"Now will you fuck me?" you tease as your lips part.

"Of course, baby," he says with one more kiss. "I didn't bring any protection though, I kinda ran out the door without thinking…"

"It's okay, I have some," you tell him. Reaching into your drawer you pull out the unopened box of XL condoms you're grateful you bought on a whim. As you open the package, he gives you a quizzical look.

"Do you always keep these on hand?" he asks teasingly.

"Nope," you reply. "Bought them today."

"Oh," he says softly, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "So you bought these specifically for me, then."

"Yes," you answer matter-of-factly, making his cheeks turn flushed.

"I guess we're kinda obsessed with each other then, huh?" he asks, grinning widely.

"Seems that way," you beam back at him.

You pull one of the small packets out, tossing the box aside and ripping it open. You pull the condom out and reach for Seokmin's cock. You give it a few pumps, making him groan.

"God, it's so fucking hot to have you actually touching me."

"Good," you grin. You take the condom and stretch it over his tip, rolling it down his length. You grab his cock and guide it to your entrance, rubbing his head over your folds. He moves his hips, pressing it in gently, but you're so soaked that it slips in with ease. You gasp, staring at his cock as it disappears into your cunt, filling you up like never before.

"Oh my god you're huge," you say mouth ajar. You gaze back up, meeting his eyes as he stares at you hungrily. Slowly he begins to fuck you, pulling his cock out and pushing it all the way back in.

"You feel incredible," he mutters as he leans his head in, kissing the side of your neck delicately. You let out a soft, involuntary whine, making Seokmin's head spin more than it already is.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he groans. "Keep making those noises baby, I like it."

"Feels so good," you whimper as he fucks into you harder.

"You're taking me so well," he coos, his hand drifting to your nipple and tugging on it lightly. "Such a good girl."

"Harder," you plead. He smirks, then starts fucking you faster, giving you exactly what you asked for.

"Oh my god, I wanna cum," he moans, leaning in to kiss you, tugging on your bottom lip. He slows to a stop, breathing heavily above you. "Will you please ride me?" he asks, staring deep into your eyes. You nod eagerly, making him grin excitedly. He gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. You straddle him, rubbing your cunt over his cock. You pause for a second, giving him a curious look.

"What is it, love?" he asks softly.

"Let me take it off," you say, dragging your fingertip over his wrapped length. "I want you to cum in me."

His eyes widen. "You're gonna be the death of me," he says with a laugh.

"Is that a yes?" you ask, tugging lightly at the tip of the condom.

"Yeah," he nods. "Absolutely."

You giggle excitedly as you remove the barrier, discarding it and quickly positioning yourself over his cock. It slides in with ease as you sit on it, making you groan as you take his full length inside you.

"Holy fucking shit your pussy feels so good," he moans, his jaw dropping. "Oh my god…"

You begin to ride him, slowly gliding yourself up and down his length, but before long you're fully bouncing up and down on him, crying out from pleasure as his cock reaches deep inside you.

"F-fuck," you whine, pressing your hands against his chest to support yourself as you ride his perfect cock.

"Don't stop," he begs. "I'm so close."

Obediently you keep up your pace, tears welling in your eyes as you stare down at Seokmin. His head drops against the pillow, his eyes rolling back as you feel his cock start to pulse inside you.

"I'm cumming, baby," he groans. He cries out as he releases, and you feel his hot ropes of cum shooting against your walls as a string of delectable moans drifts from his lips. He grabs your hips, squeezing them tight in his grasp as he holds you in place, fucking his cock up into you with careless abandon. His cock twitches as he gives you all of his cum; eventually his hips begin to slow, coming to a stop, his hands still holding a strong grip on your sides.

"Wow," he sighs as he comes back to earth. He smiles, letting out a giggle as he opens his eyes to look at you again. "You're fucking perfect. Let me see," he says, gesturing to your filled pussy. You lift yourself off his length, letting the cum drip out of you, coating his cock and stomach with the sticky mess. Collecting the remainder of his cum from your cunt on your fingers, you lift your hand to your mouth, licking them clean.

"Goddamn," he mumbles as he watches you. You unstraddle him and lean over, licking up the cum from his abdomen as well. He watches you through heavy eyelids, petting your hair as you clean him up.

"C'mere," he says when you finish, pulling you up into his embrace. You snuggle in next to him as he wraps his broad arms around you, holding you tight as he kisses your forehead. You rest there for a few silent moments, breathing together as he gently rubs your back.

"I suppose we could've filmed that," you say after a few minutes, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him. "But I didn't even think of that. I was too distracted by your huge fucking cock."

Seokmin laughs. "That's okay," he replies sweetly. "Besides, I wanted you all to myself. But we can do this again, if you want."

"Absolutely," you nod.

"Good," he says as he smiles brightly. He pulls you into a tight hug, kissing you again, kissing you over and over for as long as you'll let him — which is very long time, but neither of you mind it one bit.

[TWO WEEKS LATER]

You wake up to thousands of notifications, all from Twitter.

You think you're seeing things at first, but as you scroll you confirm that, indeed, you have more notifications right now than you've ever seen in your life. Smiling, you go to your text messages and open your chat with Seokmin, who has already texted you this morning.

Seokmin: wow, i guess people liked the video :)

You open Twitter and go to your profile, looking at the video you have pinned. The caption reads: We finally collabed @/xcalibur_ 💕 Full video on OF. The clip is a preview of the nearly 30-minute-long sex tape you uploaded to your OnlyFans account — your first official collab with Nico.

Since the first time you fucked, it actually took the both of you about six more times before one of you remembered to turn a camera on. You've been too busy being utterly and completely obsessed with each other, fucking on seemingly every possible surface in both of your apartments. But finally, you decided to film it for real, and it appears Twitter is having a fucking field day with it. Overnight alone, the tweet gained over 5,000 retweets and 12,000 likes. You decide to scroll through the replies to see what people are saying.

holy shit this was so hottttt The collab of a LIFETIME!!! omg my two favorites in one video?? i'm in heaven 😍 bro i just nutted in 1 minute wtf pls make more videos together 🙏 y'alls chemistry is FIRE

Smiling, you return to your texts and reply to Seokmin.

You: i guess so ;) i can't believe we went viral lol Seokmin: i can. that video was so hot ☺️ You: you're so right Seokmin: what are you doing tonight? You: you, hopefully Seokmin: oh for sure!! but, i was actually hoping to take you out to dinner. it's about time i took you on a proper date You: wait, are you're saying you want to date me? 🥺 Seokmin: absolutely i do. if you want, of course You: i'd love nothing more ❤️ Seokmin: YAY :)))

taglist: @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub

@luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv 

@coupsarchive @seonyiyeon

[makeitworse]

𝓫onamana

where you and jeonghan find out you’ve been unknowingly sharing the same guy, and get back at him by fucking each other.

❥ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader x jeonghan ❥ words: 4.9k ❥ warnings: everyone is bisexual, brief petty fighting over a man, pure smut: masturbation, unprotected sex, mouth & hand stuff, multiple orgasms, cum eating, mouth spitting, a smidge of ass play, cucking. 18+ mdni.

❥ notes: man, is this filthy. i did not read this shit over. only took a month and a few rewrites but we got here!!

you: [1 attachment] 

you smile at the thumbnail while waiting for it to be sent through to yourself: cheollie’s pretty face stuffed between your thighs. 

just something to keep you company the next time work demands his attention for days on end. finding a new fuck buddy has been out of the question since the first time you met seungcheol at the clubs and promptly took him home — or rather, the first time you hooked up with someone who wasn’t him and realised sex isn’t all that when he’s not the one you’re doing it with. 

once it shows up as Delivered to your end, you shut off his phone and discard it somewhere in the sheets. you roll over and nuzzle into his back, nodding off to the soft snores of the man who just spent the last few hours fucking the living daylights out of you. 

until a ding from his phone cuts through your shallow doze. then another. you blink, confused and increasingly panicked at the timing of the notification. 

…didn’t you send the video to yourself??

you didn’t exactly check the name before sending it, but you didn’t have to. it should be you at the top of seungcheol’s contacts. you’re the last person he messaged after all, since he invited you to a trip to pound town and was pretty occupied with that until knocking out in your bed. 

another ding has you fumbling around the blanket for seungcheol’s phone. you hold it to your face, squinting through the light to read the name on his notification screen. 

‘hannie’? 

you don’t waste another moment in punching in his passcode and opening the chat up with a sinking stomach. whoever this illustrious hannie is, she was on the receiving end of your sex tape, not yourself. 

hannie: ?????? hannie: Cheollie?? 

your stomach flips at the nickname. he told you to call him that too. said it was special, just between you two; only lets girls call him that when he… 

you: this is cheol’s girlfriend. who the fuck is this? 

okay, so you may have just blatantly lied. but you’re not above being possessive, let alone petty.

seungcheol’s quite literally the best dick you’ve ever had — even if you’re too emotionally unavailable to slap a label on it that would make him yours alone — so you’re just a little curious about the competition, especially when up until now you weren’t aware there was any.

you quit seeking out anyone else since the dawn of your little agreement with seungcheol, and you just assumed he was doing the same… considering you let him fuck you raw. 

hannie: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ hannie: No offence babes, but if you really think you’ve got Cheollie locked down, you’re delusional~

you’re shaking with adrenaline all over at this point. you actually can’t believe the audacity on this woman. you scroll back up to the sex tape and hold on it until the little options bubble pops up. if she thinks she’s funny, you’re about to start acting fucking hilarious.

you: [forwarded an attachment] you: if that’s your man then why was he eating this pussy? 🤣

hannie: well fuck hannie: I’m hard

in the split second your mind blanks from disbelief, your thumb flies to the call button in the corner of the screen as you slip out of bed. it barely rings once before hannie picks up. 

“god, you’re forward.” she — or rather, he — says in a low, raspy chuckle. 

your jaw actually drops a little. if you weren’t so pissed off you’d probably find…his… voice attractive. 

“you’re a dude?!?” you whisper-yell, padding into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. 

“yes.”

“your name’s hannie.” 

“it’s short for jeonghan.”

“okay jeonghan,” you seethe with as much malice in your tone as you can manage. “who the fuck are you?”

“i think you owe me the answer to that first, sweetheart. considering you came on to me.” 

“fuck off.” you snap, and he whistles lowly in response. you frown. “are you fucking him?” 

“i have been.” you can just hear the smirk in his tone. 

just like in the movies, your back slides down the bathroom wall until you’re sat on the cold tile. this shitshow is just the gift that keeps on giving. not only is your all-time favourite fuck buddy seeing other bitches, but said bitch is a whole ass man, who’s sassier than you are. 

“i didn’t know cheollie swung that way.” you mutter. 

“i didn’t know he swung your way either. guess our boyfriend was playing us both, hm?”

you scoff, offended that he’d even lump you in with him like you’re some sort of team. “he is not my boyfriend. how long have you been seeing him??” 

“since april.” the same as you. fuck. “he’s not mine either. but does it even matter who was taking him up the ass first? we’ve both been led on, sweetheart.” 

“shut up.” you grit. you could’ve gone your entire life without having to hear you were unknowingly sharing a dick with this cocky ass twink. “and for your information, i never took him.” 

“oh wow.” jeonghan sighs, though it sounds too much like a whine. “is this why cheollie’s always so rough with me? because he…hah…cops it from you?” 

you blink, turning your volume to the max and listening to the unmistakable noises coming from the other end: the shuffling of fabric, barely concealing the slick sounds beneath it. 

“are you seriously fucking jerking off?” 

jeonghan huffs, and you can just hear the way he smirks through the phone. “can you blame me? you sent me a video of my man eating a pretty fucking pussy.” 

“oh my god.” you can only say in disbelief. 

the noises come to a halt, as you can imagine jeonghan’s hand did. against your will, your mind conjures up an image of the way he must be gripping himself right now: cock twitching in his fist, begging for any friction, but refusing to move until your voice is at his ear again. 

until you tell him it’s okay. 

he audibly gulps. “…is that too much?” 

you stare at the tiles of the bathroom floor. the room around you goes blurry as you focus on nothing but his shaky puffs of air on the other end.

you don’t know how it’s come to this. but fuck if you’re not gonna channel all this adrenaline somewhere. 

for a moment, the only response from your end is something shuffling. jeonghan only realises what’s happening when you spit, and he smirks since he knows it must be on your own fingers. 

“i didn’t say stop, did i?” you tell him in a whisper, breath hitching when your fingers swirl over your clit. 

jeonghan moans through a laugh, and you throb under your fingers at the noise. 

“oh, i’ll do whatever you want.” he drawls. 

most people would be devastated if they were in your position: realising that the only dick you’ve been letting cum inside of you, was also getting sticked into holes that didn’t belong to you. and you were devastated over the revelation for all of like a few minutes before just… having phone sex with owner of said holes?

after you came on your fingers to the sound of jeonghan doing much the same on his end, then sat in a puddle of your arousal and regret as you caught your breath, jeonghan’s mellow tone was enough to still your scattered thoughts. 

“don’t feel bad, pretty.” he cooed to you, reading the silence exactly for what it was. “he hid us from each other. looks like this was why, huh?” 

in fact, it was. 

you stayed up all night texting jeonghan from your own phone once you slid back into bed like nothing happened. after one hell of a first impression, it surprised you how well you and jeonghan got on as you properly got to know each other. how often you giggled at his jokes, how attracted you were to him in the selfie he sent where you nearly mistook him for a girl again. 

how you pressed your thighs together when his words turned filthier in response to the selfie you sent back.

you were almost disappointed when seungcheol woke you up the following morning by pressing his morning wood against your ass. it was the fact that you couldn’t invite jeonghan over to see if he’s just as good as through the phone, and all you had was this lying, fat cock throbbing bitchass... 

“where’s this coming from?” seungcheol chuckles as you straddle him, pissed off at him and pent up by jeonghan; grinding your clothed heat right down onto his in chase of friction. 

“just you, cheollie.” you smile lopsided at him, mind elsewhere. 

you think back to memory of jeonghan fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, how wrecked and pretty his moans were. thinking back to the nudes he sent you when the conversation steered to just sexting, how his cock was weeping around his fingers and onto his toned stomach. 

as you rode seungcheol, you did so selfishly. you kept your eyes screwed shut as you rocked on him, uncaring for the movement he needs to get off, your thoughts consumed entirely with the guy he’s been seeing behind your back. the guy you fully intend to start seeing behind his back.

you imagine it’s jeonghan’s slender cock fucking right into your g-spot right now instead of cheol’s girthier length. you imagine it’s jeonghan’s soft moans beneath you instead of cheol’s rough grunts. you imagine it’s jeonghan’s lithe fingers coming to rub at your clit instead of cheol’s thick ones. 

you almost called out the wrong name as your orgasm seized you. 

luckily you didn’t, or else seungcheol would’ve refused to leave your place; especially since you were basically pushing him out the door while he was still in post-nut clarity.

after your place was free of one man, you took your pretty ass to the shower, freshened up, and texted the other man your address.

jeonghan fucked you so good and so thoroughly you damn nearly texted seungcheol and thanked him. 

most people in your position would probably be giving you nasty side eye for it. now, you’re only devastated over seungcheol hiding him purely because you’ve been missing out. 

and well, jeonghan fully intends to make up for lost time. 

you were both on the same page about this being your shared little secret from seungcheol, his own personal karma. but you didn’t intend to stop seeing him, no — that’s where half the fun came from.

jeonghan fit into your days so easily as if the spot was there waiting for him. you texted and called him just as much as seungcheol. whenever your man couldn’t come around, you’d be calling your other man right over. 

you started filming sex tapes with seungcheol for the sole purpose of watching them back with jeonghan. you’d reenact them with him as they played in the background: sometimes he’d be seungcheol and press you into the mattress as he fucked you, sometimes you’d be seungcheol and you’d ride him until he was a shaking mess. 

whenever seungcheol preferred one of you over the other for the week — one being told that he was busy and would make it up next week, the other being fucked into oblivion by him — you always made sure no one else was left out. you traded photos of the messy state he’d leave you in, retold the sex in detail over call as the other got off to your voice: jeonghan jerking off to you telling how seungcheol bent you over a desk, you fingering yourself to jeonghan telling how he deepthroated seungcheol. 

you always have jeonghan over after him. never before. seungcheol’d smell his other lover on you in an instant, and god forbid choi seungcheol feel left out. 

some days it feels like you’re just fucking seungcheol so that you can get a round two with jeonghan once he’s gone. and you’d feel bad, if only seungcheol didn’t try to gatekeep jeonghan first — in an effort to protect his own fears of being the one left out, of course. 

how ironic.

“where he goes low,” jeonghan had cooed to you once, rubbing the aches out from your back in the post-sex haze. “we go lower.”

and you’ve been living by that.

as per usual, jeonghan gets to your place so quickly after seungcheol’s left that you’re worried their cars may have passed by each other. 

he can’t help it. jeonghan’s favourite thing ever is tasting his man while he’s fucking his girl. once you texted him that you let seungcheol fuck you raw, he didn’t even reply. rather, you got the life360 notification that he’d left his house to know that he was instantly on his way over after reading that, forgetting to let you know in text. 

and, lucky for you both, seungcheol left behind his hoodie. 

after jeonghan lets himself in, he finds you laying on your bed in nothing but just that — the smell of sweat and sex and seungcheol still heady in the air. 

you smile at your man, spreading your legs and showing where you’re cupping your hand over your pussy to keep your other man’s cum from leaking out. 

“oh, baby, you’re too good to me.” jeonghan praises in a broken voice, mindlessly throwing his keys somewhere across the room as he dives onto the mattress, sights honed in on what you’ve got for him between your legs. 

you cry out when his mouth latches onto your pussy as if by a magnetic pull. your hands tangle in his hair, trying your best to not just rip the strands out — still sensitive from how seungcheol left you. 

you hadn’t even gotten off, in fact. you’d insisted to him that you wanted to be edged, with the promise that next time he could make you cum til you fainted. and well, you still intend to make good on that promise — but it’s also because jeonghan’s greedy ass isn’t satisfied unless he’s pulled at least two orgasms out of you and some days you nearly can’t take it. call it suffering from success. 

now with the treat you’ve left for him between your thighs, you’re sure you’ll be in for him rewarding you with a handful of orgasms. 

he’s so lost in the sauce that he doesn’t even realise he had his eyes shut until he’s missing the sight of your face. you watch his lashes flutter open, his pretty brown eyes flicking up to your face: lips curling in a satisfied smile as he licks a hard stripe from your hole to clit. 

his chin and cheeks glisten with the messy mixture of fluids. he keeps bobbing his head like that, applying pressure with his tongue just to see you tremble above him. he’s so in tune with your body at this point that he cocks a brow as a thought clicks in his head. 

he pouts. “aw, baby. did cheollie not make you cum?” 

he blows air out on your clit experimentally, and his eyes shade over with how you shudder at the barest contact. 

you shake your head. “told him not to. wanted it to be you, hannie.” 

for such a sharp tongue, you render jeonghan speechless for a beat. his grin stretches wider across his soaked face, and he’s looking at you like he could grant you the whole world if you only asked. 

“you can’t be saying shit like that, sweetheart.” he sighs, plunging two lithe fingers into your core and delighting in the way you sob a moan. “if you ever want me to get rid of me..”

“not happening.” you grit out, throwing your head back when he starts to pump his fingers slowly. 

he sucks in a sharp inhale, one of necessity because you’ve got him that breathless. 

“ah. you must really like me.” he curls his fingers until he hits that spongey spot, tutting at how your thighs clamp around his head in kind. “lucky me, ‘cause i am crazy about you.” 

jeonghan reattaches his mouth to your pussy, lips closing around your clit to suck on the bundle of nerves. you’re sure he must feel how you’re throbbing under his tongue and around his fingers. cheol left you teetering off the edge, so you knew you’d be a goner when jeonghan got here so soon afterwards. 

his fingers relentlessly curl inside of you, his mouth switching between kitten licks and suctioning on your clit until you’re shouting out something that might be his name — orgasm completely taking over your body. 

you think you die a little with how hard and fast it slammed into you. jeonghan’s diligent to lick and fuck you through it, so you’re not sure how long it is before you come down, chest fighting to catch breath and throat sore from the exertion. 

you weakly tilt your chin down at jeonghan, who’s leaving gentle pecks on your inner thigh as he waits for you. his eyes catch on yours and he smirks, no doubt plotting something behind that beautiful face. 

jeonghan inches his fingers out, and you wince as his knuckles drag deliberately against your walls. his fingers are completely drenched: his saliva, your cum, and some of seungcheol’s too. 

he licks his lips at the sight but restrains himself, instead bringing his hand to your mouth. 

you don’t waste a second in closing your lips around his fingers, ravenous as the sharp tang lights up your palate. you can recognise each of your separate tastes and you mewl, taking jeonghan’s fingers until they tap the back of your throat. he cusses lowly before he retracts his hand. 

when your gazes meet again, you see your reflection with how wide jeonghan’s pupils were dilated. 

you grab jeonghan by the scruff of his hair and pull him up your body until his face is just short of yours. you tilt it back with a tug, his neck exposed and bobbing with a gulp. 

your face hovers over his and he opens his mouth expectantly, lips stretched in a helpless smile as he presents his tongue. 

you spit straight onto it, watching how his pupils eclipse even more of his irises in pure delight. 

he moans as he swallows the mess of fluids down — the taste of you, cheol and himself sliding down his throat.

you don’t wait another moment before mashing your lips together, kissing him with more tongue and teeth than anything. 

your free hand fumbles for his lap, palming over the prominent bulge in his shorts. you can tell he’s not wearing boxers (they’d be useless) when his length twitches at your touch, the fabric already soaked with precum. 

“fuck,” jeonghan gasps, chuckling into the kiss. “i might cum.” 

he plunges his fingers right back into your pussy, scissoring you open as he feels for cheol’s cum still pooled deep in your core. he doesn’t want to waste a single drop — he fully intends to fuck it right back into you, feeling both his man and his girl’s cum around his cock. just the thought has his moaning again. 

“can you imagine— hah— how fucking mad he’d be?” he rasps out, hips bucking into the delicious friction your palm offers. 

“oh, god—“ you giggle. “how d’you think he’d react?”

“probably break it off with us both, the big jealous baby.” he huffs out a laugh, wincing when your pussy clamps around his fingers. “but it’s alright, sweetheart, i’d be lucky to just have you.” 

the concept is almost inconceivable at this point: only having jeonghan. you’ve gotten so used to having two men to choose from depending on your mood. to being fucked twice in a day by two different cocks. 

you know that sooner or later it’ll come out. you’ve gotten reckless lately: blatantly texting jeonghan in front of cheol, not even pretending to be bummed when he says he can’t come see you. hell, there was one time where you and jeonghan were mysteriously busy — fucking each other to the tune of your phones ringing as cheol took turns calling you both. 

in fact, it’s made it even more exhilarating. knowing you’ve both got this over him, knowing how much he’d hate it and how it’s his own fault. it’s too bad he didn’t lock either of you down while he had the chance — they’d call him king arthur if he was able to seperate you and jeonghan now. 

about to die from the impatience, you tug jeonghan’s sweatpants down enough for his cock to spring free. he hisses when you wrap a tight fist around him, adding a third finger into your pussy in response. 

“ah, ah— gonna need to fuck you like now.” jeonghan says shakily, pulsing violently in the circle of your hand. “i’m close to making a fool of myself.” 

you nod, laying back into your pillows for him.

“you gotta be fucking…” 

the sound of seungcheol’s low voice through the wall has you leaping out of your skin, but jeonghan simply keeps you laid on your back with a hand pressed onto your tummy. 

your door swings open to reveal your other lover, standing in the frame with smoke pouring from his ears. 

jeonghan isn’t the least bit startled. doesn’t halt his fingers either; just draws out the pumps, leaving you trembling as you stare at seungcheol with guilty, teary eyes. 

“ah, cheollie, it’s about time.” jeonghan drawls. 

you stifle a moan when jeonghan curls a single finger to hit your g-spot, just to be mean. “what are you..?” 

“i came to get my hoodie.” seungcheol’s frown deepens as he takes in your naked form under said hoodie, eyes honing in on where your body connects with jeonghan’s fingers. “what the fuck are you doing?!”

“yah, you can’t ask a girl that when you’re the one who broke into her house.” jeonghan says, speeding up his fingers at the other man watching. 

“the door was unlocked.” seungcheol deadpans. 

you shoot a glance at jeonghan, who just shrugs, guilty. (in his rush to get to you, he forgot to lock your front door behind him.)

jeonghan curls his fingers again, and this time you can’t help the moan that leaves you. seungcheol steps into the room, successfully provoked. 

“fucking— just—” he rambles, looking like he’s two seconds from prying jeonghan’s hand out of you. “what the fuck is this?”

jeonghan shrugs with that same shit-eating grin. knowing he won’t get a serious answer out of him, seungcheol addresses you by name. “why—how do you know him?” 

“you tell me.” you snap back, wriggling your hips lower to give jeonghan even better access in spite. “why don’t you introduce us?” 

“wouldn’t that be nice.” jeonghan coos to you. “i think he’s too scared we’ll fuck each other though.” 

“god, you two really are alike, aren’t you..” seungcheol sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“oh, so he has a type.” jeonghan says. “your greed sickens me. but i get it, i’m no better. not since i got a taste of her too.” 

at that, jeonghan pulls his fingers out, only to wrap them around his cock and line himself up with your pussy — eyes never leaving seungcheol. 

your other lover walks further into the room until he stops just short of the foot of the bed. he runs a hand through his hair like you’re both stressing him the fuck out (you are), completely helpless to just witnessing this. 

“wait. jeonghan, don’t.” seungcheol’s usual commanding tone is lost on him, the words instead delivered as a weak plea. 

jeonghan hums, unconvinced as he swirls his tip at your hole. 

“please don’t,” seungcheol's close to begging. it's almost like he’s in a trance as he drops to the floor on his knees, unable to rip his eyes away from jeonghan’s tip nearly breaching into your wet warmth. “jeonghan.”

through half-lidded eyes you glance at seungcheol kneeling before you, his hand creeping towards the very evident tent in his grey sweats. 

“please what?” jeonghan teases, pre leaking all over your pussy. 

seungcheol gulps down the size of a boulder.

“please don’t stop.” 

per his request, he doesn’t. with one snap of his hips jeonghan pushes into you, and all three of you moan as he fills you up. 

you pulse around him once he bottoms out, and jeonghan shudders as the mixture of cum all up in your pussy gushes around his cock. 

“shit, baby. let’s hope i can last in front of cheollie,” jeonghan snickers in a low voice meant just for your ears. he throws a look over his shoulder at your other lover. “if you can hold back on cumming, i’ll let you join.” 

the older man mumbles something under his breath (can’t be anything nice), but he listens anyways — gripping both of his thighs while trying to ignore the painful pulsing between them. if he touches himself at all while watching you both, he’s going to fail. 

he resolves to biting his tongue as jeonghan starts to fuck you properly, in hopes he might draw blood to distract from how his boner’s screaming at him for some god damn relief. 

the room sounds like a literal porn set: wet slapping and squelching, neither you and jeonghan holding back on your moans with full intents of pissing seungcheol off. 

you could almost forget he’s even there when jeonghan starts slamming into you, your body shuffling up the bed from the force. he cants your hips up so he can angle his thrusts just right into your g-spot, and you all but sob when a thumb comes to circle your clit. 

“just one more f’me,” jeonghan pants out, and almost like on command your pussy starts spasming around him. “yeah, that’s it, that’s my good baby.” 

seungcheol’s cock is so stiff he think he might just die. where your orgasm ends, jeonghan’s starts — but he doesn’t stop rubbing at your clit, pushing you into overstimulation just because he wants to feel you completely wring him dry. 

both of your moans as jeonghan shoots his load inside of you is the sexiest and most torturous sound seungcheol’s ever heard. he’s almost bitten his tongue in half by the time jeonghan’s pulling out, quick to cup his hand over your pussy to make sure nothing seeps out. 

jeonghan gives seungheol a once over to ensure there’s no cum stain on his sweats before cocking his head in your direction, beckoning the other man over. “want a taste?” 

seungcheol’s on his feet and at the bed within seconds. he doesn’t waste another moment in latching his mouth to your pussy, the mess of mixed cum gushing onto his tongue. your back’s arching from the sensitivity, but it’s futile trying to writhe away from seungcheol when he’s eating you out like a man on the brink of starvation.

jeonghan keeps your legs open with one hand pressing your thigh to the bed, the other hand planted in seungcheol’s hair — praising and directing him as he holds his head down. your head is spinning from the overstimulation. the promise you made to cheol be damned, you think you’re going to faint now if he pulls another orgasm out of you. 

jeonghan must see it: the glazed, faraway look in your eyes, how you’ve gone almost dumb with the pleasure. 

high off the surge in pride, he takes his hand from your thigh and kneads seungcheol’s ass. it’s all the warning he gets before a thumb prods at his hole. 

seungcheol’s response is muffled when jeonghan shoves his face even further into your pussy. he doesn’t push in, just circles the rim with enough pressure to make cheol shiver. 

jeonghan’s other hand then reaches down into seungcheol’s sweats and grips his weeping cook. as out of it as you are, your hand replaces his to tug at seungcheol’s hair — keeping him in place as you hump at his mouth, basically riding his face to reach one last orgasm. 

jeonghan has no mercy as he jerks seungcheol off: fist closed so tight to the point it must be painful, moving so fast he can’t feel his arm. 

your nth orgasm hits first: ripping through your body and soaking seungcheol’s face, the taste of all of your cum coating his tongue. a mere few strokes later and seungcheol’s orgasms follows with a pitiful sob into your pussy. 

he shoots ropes across your sheets before collapsing into them, head lolled across your bare thigh. 

jeonghan pats his ass with a satisfied hum. “well damn. if you wanted to cuck, cheollie, you could’ve just asked.” 

he rolls his eyes. “fuck doing that again. you know i hate being left out.” 

“doesn’t feel good, does it?” you remind him, fingers threading through his sweaty hair. 

seungcheol grumbles. “so you found out about each other and now you fuck, is that right?” you both nod at him, and he sulks. “this is exactly why i didn’t say anything!” 

jeonghan tuts. “you better get used to sharing, cheollie.”

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[sndygly]

Girlfriend?

DK and Mingyu are both head-over-heels for Boo Youmi, constantly begging and pleading for a chance with her. No matter how hard they try, she gently turns them down every time. They’ve begun to suspect she already has someone… and they’re so right!

Youmi is madly in love with you, her best friend — her very first and only crush. You’re the prettiest, kindest girl in her eyes, and she’s completely captivated. What you don’t realize is how deeply her feelings run. You joke about her being your “girlfriend,” kiss her cheek, hold her hand, invite her for sleepovers, and even flash her playfully from time to time. To you, it’s all harmless fun between best friends.

And Youmi is losing her mind.

Tgs. Porn with ALMOST NO PLOT, SMUT! Lesbian sex 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤, fingering, youmi calls herself "mommy", edging, overstimulation?, squirting, oral sex, scissoring, dirty talk, ummm I think that's all, lmk if I missed something.

An. It's this a safe space to say that it's been a FUCKING while since I fucked. And I kinda feel like I'm horny af and that's why I'm writing a bunch of sex.

First of all I want to say that I'm so so so so sorry for adding almost no plot to this 😓 (I need desperately a bf/gf, anything????) I was also debating if I should make Youmi like a trans girl? (From male to female) But I said 'fuck it' let's make this super gay and horny, and wrote lesbian sex for the first time in my life, let me know what you think in the comments... Also this was an idea given by @aaniag TYSM for supporting and giving me this amazing idea!!! Hope y'all like it!.

Btw... TYSM for all the support given to Hand me a towel, it really means the world to me!!! Also, remember my requests r open!

Also, if you want to join my taglist tap here!

DK was on his knees—literally—clutching Boo Youmi’s hand like it was a lifeline.“Just one date, Youmi-ya. One. I'll be everything you want, I'll do everything you ask me to,” he begged, eyes wide and sparkling with that signature DK charm. Beside him, Mingyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look cooler but failing when his foot tapped nervously.

“Don't listen to him, I’ll cook for you every day for a month,” Mingyu added, voice dropping into that deep register he thought was irresistible. “Steak, pasta, whatever you want. Please?”

Youmi laughed softly, the sound gentle but firm as she pried her hand free and ruffled DK’s hair like he was a puppy. “You two are really nice and I’m really flattered, but… I’m sorry. I can’t.”

The two men groaned in unison, dramatic as always, collapsing onto the couch like they’d been shot. Youmi just smiled that same patient, kind smile she always gave them—the one that somehow made the rejection hurt less and more at the same time.

From the doorway, you watched the whole thing with a half-empty bag of snacks in your arms, trying not to laugh too loudly. Youmi’s eyes found yours immediately. The way her expression softened, the subtle way her shoulders relaxed… it was instant. Like you were the only good thing in the room.

“Saved by my girlfriend,” Youmi teased as she walked over, slipping her arm around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. She pressed a quick kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer than necessary. To you, it was just playful best-friend stuff. To her, it was oxygen.

DK clutched his chest. “Ugh. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

“You two should just date each other already,” you joked, bumping Youmi’s hip with yours. “Solve everyone’s problems.”

Mingyu muttered “unfair advantages, and why would I date Seokmin, ew” he said while DK threw a pillow at you. You dodged it easily, laughing, and dragged Youmi toward your room down the hall. “I'm stealing her, it's our sleepover time.”

Youmi let you pull her away without protest, waving half-heartedly at the two sulking boys. The moment you stepped out the front door of the house, the sharp night chill wrapped around both of you. She instinctively stepped closer, shoulder brushing yours as you hurried down the driveway toward your car.

As you pulled Youmi away, you didn't notice the way Mingyu and DK exchanged a sudden, knowing look behind your backs. Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, sighing softly.

“She really has no idea, does she?”Seokmin muttered, his dramatic posture dropping into genuine pity as he watched Youmi follow you like a sunflower turning toward the sun. “None,” Mingyu sighed, shaking his head. “Poor Youmi. She's fighting a losing battle against a girl who thinks a fake girlfriend title is just a joke.”

Both doors clicked shut behind you, sealing out the cold. You exhaled loudly, rubbing your hands together before pushing the key into the ignition.

“That party was ass, don’t you think?” you groaned, turning the heat on full blast.

Youmi hummed in agreement, leaning her head back against the seat. “Yeah...” Her voice was soft, almost distracted.

The ride home was quiet, but comfortable. Streetlights washed over her face in slow golden waves as you drove. You kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. After a few minutes, you reached over and laced your fingers with hers without thinking twice—just like you always did.

Youmi’s breath caught.

She stared down at your intertwined hands, your thumb absently stroking the back of hers. The simple touch sent heat rushing through her chest, tight and aching. Every time you did things like this—so casually, so innocently—it felt like you were twisting the knife deeper without even realizing it.

How do you not see it? she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. How can you hold my hand like this, call me your girlfriend in front of everyone, kiss my cheek, flash me that pretty smile… and still think it’s just ‘best friend’ stuff?

She squeezed your hand back. You didn’t seem to notice the difference, only smiled softly and kept driving, humming along to the faint music playing through the speakers.

The silence stretched. Youmi’s gaze drifted to your profile—your focused eyes on the road, the gentle curve of your lips, the way your hair fell against your neck. Her heart clenched so hard it hurt. She wanted to say it. Right now. Pull the car over, cup your face, and finally confess how completely, pathetically in love she was.

But the fear of ruining this—of losing the sleepy cuddles, the playful kisses on the cheek, the way you dragged her into your bed for movie marathons—kept her mouth shut.

For now.

When you finally pulled into the driveway of your apartment, you turned off the engine but didn’t let go of her hand right away. Instead, you turned to her with that bright, effortless smile.

“Shower first, then face masks and snacks? I bought those strawberry ones you like.” Youmi nodded “…Yeah. Sounds perfect.”

She was one more casual touch away from breaking.

Youmi sat on the edge of your bed, watching as you stripped off your hoodie without a second thought, tossing it aside. Your tank top rode up as you stretched, exposing the underside of your boobs, of course, you were not wearing a bra. She swallowed hard, fingers tightening in the blanket.

“You really turned them down again?” you asked, grinning as you flopped beside her. “They’re gonna fuck each other outta desperation at this rate.”

She shrugged, eyes tracing the curve of your neck, the way your hair fell across your shoulder. “They’re sweet. But they’re not…” Her voice trailed off.You turned onto your side, propping your head on your hand, completely unaware of how close your faces were. “Not what?”

Youmi’s gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before flicking back up. Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure you could hear it. Every casual touch, every sleepy cuddle during movie nights, every time you jokingly called her “baby” or “my girl”… it had been piling up for months. Years, really. Since the very first time you’d grabbed her hand and declared her your favorite person in the world.

She was running out of gentle deflections. Running out of ways to pretend this was still just friendship.You reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, thumb brushing her cheek. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

Youmi closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo and the faint sweetness of the lip balm you always wore. Her control frayed another dangerous inch.

How much longer can I do this?

“Y-yeah, they’re just… not my type,” Youmi answered, you arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. You shifted closer on the bed, your tank top clearly wasn't hiding much. Youmi could clearly see your hardened niples, and it was driving her crazy.Youmi had to force her eyes upward.

“Now that I think about it,” you said, tilting your head, “you’ve never told me what your type is? I haven’t even been able to find out about any of your boyfriends in all these years we’ve been friends. That’s kinda suspicious, Youmi-ya.”

Youmi let out a weak laugh, trying to play it off. “It’s not suspicious. I’m just… private.”

You hummed, unconvinced, and suddenly sat up on your knees. Without warning, you peeled your tank top off completely, tossing it toward the hamper in the corner, then standing up heading to your clóset to find another shirt that was more comfortable. Youmi’s brain blue-screened for a second at the sight of your bare skin, the way your breasts moved freely as you stretched your arms above your head with a satisfied little groan.

“God, that feels better. That party made me all sticky,” you muttered casually after coming back with a white shirt that covered half your ass, 'cause of course you were only wearing some panties, like it was nothing. Then you turned back to her with that bright, innocent smile. “So? Tell me. What’s your type? I need details.”

Youmi’s fingers dug harder into the blanket. She could feel her face heating up. “I… I like someone who’s kind. Someone I feel comfortable with. Who makes me laugh without trying.”

You nodded eagerly, crawling a little closer until you were right beside her again. Your shoulder brushed against her as you reached out and tucked that same strand of hair behind her ear again, your fingers lingering this time, tracing down the side of her neck slowly.“Mhm, mhm. Go on,” you encouraged, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Height? Style? Personality?”

Every light touch felt electric to Youmi. Your scent, the warmth of your skin so close, it was too much. She swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to pull you into her lap right then.“I… I like girls who are confident,” she managed. “Girls who aren’t afraid to be themselves. Who are… really pretty without even realizing it.”

You grinned, clearly pleased. “Ooh, so you do like girls. That makes sense.” You flopped back onto the bed beside her, stretching out on your side so you were facing her directly. One of your legs casually draped over hers, your bare thigh pressing warmly against her.

Youmi short-circuited again.

You didn’t seem to notice. Instead, you reached out and started playing with the hem of Youmi’s shirt, fingers idly brushing the skin just above her waistband.

“So… anyone specific?” you asked softly, voice teasing now. “You can tell me, you know. I’m your girlfriend,” you added with a playful wink, using the nickname you always threw around so carelessly.

Your fingers kept tracing lazy patterns on her stomach, innocent little circles that made Youmi’s breathing turn shallow. She could feel her pulse hammering between her legs. Every casual touch, every time you called yourself her girlfriend, chipped away at her sanity.

She wanted to grab your wandering hand. Pin it above your head. Kiss you until you finally understood what you did to her.

Instead, she whispered hoarsely, “Yeah… there’s someone.”

Your eyes lit up with excitement. You scooted even closer, practically pressing your body against hers now, your chest brushing her arm as you propped yourself up on one elbow.“Tell me everything,” you demanded cutely, lips curved in that sweet, dangerous smile.

Youmi closed her eyes for a second, breathing in your scent, feeling the heat of your skin against hers.

Youmi stared down at you. Your eyes were wide and glittering with pure, unadulterated curiosity, totally blind to the absolute wreckage you were causing inside her. Your hand was still resting casually on her hip, your bare thigh draped over hers, heavy and warm. You looked so soft, so completely trusting—and so devastatingly beautiful in nothing but that """"oversized"""" white shirt and panties.

“Tell you?”Youmi’s voice was barely a whisper, a ragged sound that caught in her throat. “Yeah! Come on, Youmi-ya,” you pouted, shifting your weight slightly. The movement caused your chest to brush against her arm again, “We don't keep secrets. Who is she? Do I know her?” “You know her,” Youmi said. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

You gasped, your face lighting up even more as you hooked your chin on her shoulder, bringing your lips dangerously close to her ear. “I do?! Is it someone from the party? Wait... is it someone from the company? Tell me, tell me!”

That was it. The final thread of Youmi’s control snapped. The careless playing, the oblivious teasing, the way you could casually strip in front of her and throw around words like girlfriend without understanding the agonizing reality of what that meant to her—it was too much. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't pretend for another second. Before your brain could even process the sudden shift in the room's energy, Youmi reached down and grabbed your wrist. Her grip wasn't painful, but it was firm, completely halting the lazy, teasing circles your fingers had been tracing on her skin.

“Youmi?” you blinked, your playful smile faltering slightly at the sudden seriousness in her eyes. “Stop,” she breathed, her voice dropping into a register you had never heard from her before. It wasn't the gentle. Desperate. You shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of how close your bodies were, how little clothing you were wearing, and how hot Youmi's skin felt where it touched yours. “What's wrong? I was just joking around—” “That's the problem,” Youmi interrupted, her voice trembling as she looked down at your intertwined wrists. She slowly leaned over you, trapping you beneath her gaze.  “You're always joking. You call me your girlfriend. You hold my hand in the car. You crawl into my bed, you kiss my cheek, you do... this...” Her eyes flicked down to your bare legs tangled with hers, then back up to your eyes. “...and it's just a game to you.” Your breath hitched. The excitement in your chest suddenly flipped into a flutter of nervous, racing heartbeats. “Youmi, we're best friends, I just—”

“She’s short,” Youmi interrupted again, her gaze dropping to your lips, her breathing shallow and uneven. “She has the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. She drives me crazy because she doesn't think before she speaks, and she has absolutely no idea what she does to me when she looks at me.” Your heart hammered against your ribs, a sudden, wild realization finally piercing through your obliviousness. The warmth of her body hovering over yours suddenly felt entirely different. It felt so, intimate “Youmi-ya...” you whispered, your voice losing all its playful edge. Your eyes widened as you looked up at her

“It's you,”

Youmi confessed, the words pouring out like a broken dam, her voice cracking with the sheer agony of keeping it in for so long. She let go of your wrist, only for her hand to slide up to your face, her thumb gently but firmly pressing against your lower lip. “It’s been you for years. So please... stop calling yourself my girlfriend unless you actually mean it. Because I am breaking, and I can't keep pretending this is just 'best friend' stuff.” The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your matching, ragged breaths.

Before you could respond, she caught your wrist again, pinning it gently but firmly above your head. Her other hand slid down your side, claiming every inch she touched.

“Youmi…” you breathed, heart racing.

“Shh.” She leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You’ve teased me for years. Walking around in nothing but tiny shirts and panties, calling yourself my girlfriend, flashing me those pretty tits like it’s nothing… You have no idea how many nights I’ve laid awake next to you, soaked and aching, forcing myself not to touch you.”

Her hand slipped under the hem of your white shirt, palm hot against your stomach.

“Now you’re going to be good for me.” Her voice dropped even lower, possessive edge sharpening every word. “Strip for me, baby. Slowly. Show me what’s always been mine.”

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning. The shift in her was dizzying — gentle Youmi suddenly sounding so hungry, so in control. But the heat between your legs only grew.

Shakily, you sat up when she released your wrist. Youmi leaned back on her knees, watching you with dark, unwavering eyes as you grabbed the bottom of your shirt.

“That’s it,” she murmured, licking her lips. “Take it off for me. Let me see those pretty tits I’ve been dying to taste.”

You pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it aside, bare from the waist up. Your nipples were already hard, flushed under her stare. Youmi’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move to touch you yet.

“Panties too,” she commanded softly, voice thick. “Stand up first. Let me look at you.”

You stood on slightly unsteady legs right beside the bed. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, you slowly slid them down your thighs, stepping out of them. Youmi drank in every inch — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the slick shine between your thighs.

“Fuck… look at you,” she groaned, one hand fisting the sheets like she was physically holding herself back. “So pretty. So fucking wet already, and I haven’t even touched you yet. All this time you’ve been mine and you didn’t even know it. Give me a little spin, baby. Let me have a look at that gorgeous ass.” you did as you were told.Ane she reached out, but only to tug you back onto the bed, laying you down on your back. Then she climbed over you, fully clothed still, caging you in.

Youmi’s hand finally slid between your thighs, two fingers gliding through your soaked folds. You gasped sharply.

“So messy for me already,” she whispered hotly against your neck, nipping the skin. “This pussy has been teasing me for years. Every time you cuddled up to me in bed, every time you bent over in those tiny shorts… it was always mine. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you whimpered as her fingers circled your clit slowly, deliberately.

“Louder, baby.” She pressed one finger inside you, curling it just right. “Tell me who this pretty cunt belongs to.”

“You, Youmi, it belongs to you, oh shit.” you moaned, hips twitching.

“Good girl.” She added a second finger, pumping them deeper while her thumb rubbed firm circles on your clit. Her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking hard on your nipple before switching to the other, leaving faint marks. Possessive. Claiming.

You reached for her instinctively, but she caught your wrist again and pinned it back above your head.

“No touching,” she growled softly against your skin. “You’ve had me suffering for so long… now you’re going to lie there and take everything Mommy gives you. Understand?”

You nodded frantically, another moan spilling out as she thrust her fingers faster.

“Look at me,” she demanded. You met her eyes, hazy with pleasure. “I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts. And from now on, no more games. No more ‘just best friends.’ You’re my girlfriend for real. My girl. Mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to love.”

Her fingers curled perfectly against that spot inside you while her thumb kept working your clit. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she watched your face like she owned every reaction — it pushed you right to the edge embarrassingly fast.

“Youmi- Yo-youmi- I’m gonna-!”“Come for me, baby,” she breathed, kissing you deeply, almost desperately. “Nuh-uh” she pulled out her fingers, making you whimper by the sudden loss, “W-why? Yo-youmi, I was, I was so close.” your tone was desperate.

Youmi’s lips curved into a wicked, barely-restrained smile as she watched your face twist in desperation, hips chasing her hand pathetically after she pulled her fingers away.

“Aww, baby… were you really about to cum that fast?” she cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. She brought her glistening fingers to your lips and pushed them inside your mouth. “Suck. Taste how pathetic and needy you are for me.”

You whimpered around her fingers, tasting yourself while she slowly fucked them in and out of your mouth.

“You don’t get to cum yet,” she whispered, leaning down to bite your collarbone, leaving another mark. “Not after years of torturing me. You’re going to lay there like a good girl and let Mommy play with her pretty pussy until I’m satisfied.”

She slid her fingers back between your thighs, this time pushing three inside you in one smooth thrust. The stretch made you cry out, back arching. Youmi curled them perfectly against that sensitive spot and started pumping slowly, torturously, while her thumb barely brushed your swollen clit — just enough to keep you on the edge without letting you fall.

Every time your moans got louder and your walls started fluttering around her fingers, she slowed down or pulled back completely, leaving you whining and trembling.

“Pleaseeee- Youmi, please, I can’t, just, let me, let me cum, I, I can't!”

“You can,” she growled, sucking hard on your nipple until it was swollen and sensitive. “You’ll take everything Mommy gives you, sweetie. This cunt is mine to edge, mine to tease, mine to ruin.”

She kept you like that for what felt like forever.“Look at you… dripping all over my hand. Such a messy little slut for your "best friend", huh? All those times you flashed me and called me your girlfriend… you were just begging to be fucked like this, weren’t you?”

Youmi’s fingers slowed to a torturous crawl inside you, curling just enough to press against that spongy spot that made your toes curl, but never fast enough, never hard enough. Your hips bucked desperately, chasing the friction, but she simply pinned your thigh down with her free hand and tsked softly.“Shhh, baby. No rushing Mommy,” she murmured, voice low and velvet-rough against your ear. Her lips brushed your jaw, then trailed wet kisses down your neck, sucking another bruise into your skin like she wanted the whole world to see it tomorrow. “You look so fucking pretty like this—spread open, dripping, crying for me. All mine.”

You whimpered around the taste of yourself still lingering on your tongue, eyes glassy as you stared up at her. The contrast was dizzying: Youmi fully dressed, calm and in control, while you lay beneath her completely naked, trembling, and aching so badly it hurt.

“Please… Mommy,” you tried, the word slipping out shy and broken. It made her eyes darken instantly.

“Fuck, say that again.”

“Mommy, please let me cum,” you begged, voice cracking. “I’ll be so good, your good girl. Just please, pleaseee!”

Youmi rewarded you by thrusting her three fingers deeper, scissoring them open to stretch you wider. Your back arched hard off the bed, a loud moan tearing from your throat. She watched your face hungrily, drinking in every twitch, every flutter of your walls around her.

But the second your breathing turned ragged and your clit started throbbing under her lazy thumb, she pulled back again—completely this time. You sobbed at the empty feeling, hips jerking uselessly into the air.

“You’re not cumming until I’ve had my fill of this,” she said, sliding down your body. She settled between your spread thighs, pushing them wider apart with strong hands. Her breath ghosted over your soaked pussy and you shivered violently. “Years, baby. I’ve wanted to taste you for years.”

Then her mouth was on you. Youmi licked a long, slow stripe up your folds, moaning at your taste like it was the best thing she’d ever had. Her tongue circled your clit before sucking it gently between her lips. Two fingers pushed back inside you immediately, pumping in a steady rhythm while she devoured you.

“Oh my god- Youmi,fuck-” Your hands flew to her hair, gripping tight.

She pulled off,“Hands above your head. Now. Or I stop.”

You obeyed instantly, fisting the sheets instead. She hummed in approval and dove back in, eating you out like she was starving. The wet, obscene sounds of her tongue and fingers filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and whimpers.

Every time you got close, thighs shaking around her head, she slowed down or switched to soft kitten licks until the edge faded. Then she’d suck hard on your clit again and curl her fingers just right, bringing you right back to the brink.

Tears pricked your eyes. “Mommy, I can’t- I need to cum, pleasepleaseplease!”Youmi looked up at you from between your legs, lips shiny with your slick, eyes blown wide with lust and love. She added a third finger again, stretching you deliciously, and spoke against your pussy.

“You can take it. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. And when I finally let you cum, you’re going to scream my name so loud the neighbors know exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

She sealed her mouth around your clit and sucked hard, fingers fucking into you faster, deeper. Your whole body tensed, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably.

You were so close—right there— and Youmi pulled away completely again.

You let out a wrecked sob, body collapsing against the bed as another orgasm was cruelly denied. She crawled back up your body, kissing your stomach, your breasts, your neck, until her face hovered over yours.

“Look at me, baby.”

You did, eyes wet and desperate. “I love you,” she whispered, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on her tongue. “I love you so much it fucking hurts. And I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

She reached down and pushed four fingers inside you this time—slow, careful, but insistent. The stretch burned so good you keened, head falling back.

“That’s it… open up for Mommy. Such a greedy little cunt.”

Her thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles while her fingers worked you open. This time she didn’t stop. She kept the pace brutal and perfect, mouth latching onto your nipple and biting down gently. Your orgasm crashed into you without warning. You screamed her name—loud, broken, “Youmi- Mommy, fuuuuck—!” Your walls clamped down around her fingers, gushing around them as waves of pleasure ripped through you. She didn’t stop, fucking you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive.

Even then, she kept her fingers buried deep, kissing you slow and deep while you came down.

When you finally stopped trembling, she pulled her fingers out gently and brought them to your mouth again.

“Clean them,” she ordered softly.

You obeyed, sucking obediently, eyes hazy with bliss.Youmi smiled, brushing damp hair from your forehead.

“Good girl. But we’re not done.” She kissed the corner of your mouth, voice dropping back into that possessive growl. “Turn over, baby. Ass up. Mommy wants to see how many times she can make her girlfriend cum tonight.”

Youmi’s eyes gleamed with dark hunger as you obediently rolled over onto your stomach and pushed yourself up onto your knees, ass raised high for her. Your face pressed into the sheets, still trembling from the aftershocks of your first orgasm. She ran her palms possessively over your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before spreading you open.

“Look at this pretty pussy… still twitching and dripping for Mommy,” she murmured, voice thick. Without warning, she pushed three fingers back inside you, fucking you deep and fast from behind. Her other hand reached around to rub your swollen clit in tight, merciless circles.

You cried out, oversensitive and raw, but she didn’t slow down.

“Too much—Youmi—Mommy, please—!”

“You can take it,” she growled, leaning over your back and biting your shoulder. “You’re going to cum again like this. Gonna make a mess all over my hand like the needy little slut you are.”

Her fingers curled brutally against your g-spot with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene as she worked you harder. The overstimulation bordered on pain, but the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until your whole body locked up.

You screamed into the mattress as you came again—harder this time. Your pussy clenched violently around her fingers, and a sudden gush of wetness sprayed out around them, soaking her hand, your thighs, and the sheets beneath you.

Youmi moaned loudly in satisfaction, not stopping even as you squirted. She kept fucking you through it, drawing out every pulse until your legs gave out and you collapsed flat on the bed, shaking and sobbing with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby… such a good girl. Look at the mess you made,” she praised, finally pulling her fingers out. She rubbed your soaked pussy gently, almost soothingly, while you twitched and whimpered. “My perfect, messy girlfriend.”

Youmi sat back on her heels and peeled her shirt off slowly, revealing smooth skin and a simple black bra. Your hazy eyes followed every movement.

“Turn around and undress me,” she ordered softly, voice laced with need. “Use your mouth and hands. Show Mommy how much you want this.”

Still trembling, you crawled to her on shaky limbs. You kissed her stomach first, then worked her bra clasp open with clumsy fingers, letting her full breasts spill free. You latched onto one nipple immediately, sucking and licking while your hands pushed her pants and panties down her hips. Youmi lifted up to help you, kicking them aside until she was finally naked.

She looked breathtaking—flushed, wet, and aching for you.

Youmi threaded her fingers through your hair and guided your face between her thighs as she leaned back against the headboard. “Eat my pussy, baby. Make Mommy feel good.”

You dove in eagerly, licking broad stripes through her slick folds, moaning at her sweet taste. Youmi’s head fell back with a groan, hips rolling against your tongue. You sucked on her clit, then pushed your tongue inside her, fucking her with it while your nose brushed her clit.

“Yes—fuck, just like that,” she gasped, gripping your hair tighter. “You’re so good for me… my pretty girl finally eating Mommy’s cunt like she was born for it.” You licked and sucked messily, drunk on her taste and the sounds she made. When she started grinding harder against your face, you slid two fingers inside her, curling them while you focused on her clit. Youmi’s thighs began to shake around your head.

“Don’t stop— I’m close—!”

She came with a broken moan of your name, flooding your tongue. You kept licking her through it until she gently pushed your head away, breathing hard.

Youmi pulled you up into a deep, filthy kiss, tasting herself on your lips. Then she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a thick, curved strap-on, buckling it around her hips with practiced ease. The sight made your spent pussy clench.

“On your back, legs spread,” she commanded, voice rough with lingering pleasure. “I need to fuck my girlfriend properly. I’ve waited years to feel you. I want you against me. Skin on skin.”

She climbed back over you, kissing you deeply as she maneuvered your bodies. Youmi lay on her back and pulled you on top of her, then gently guided you into position until your legs were tangled, your soaked pussy pressed flush against hers. The moment your slick, swollen folds met, both of you moaned loudly at the wet, intimate contact.

“Fuuck… feel that?” Youmi breathed, hands gripping your hips tightly. “So wet and hot for me.”

She rolled her hips upward, sliding her pussy against yours in a slow, deliberate grind. The slick friction of her clit rubbing directly against yours sent sparks shooting through your body. You whimpered, bracing your hands on her chest as you started moving with her, finding a rhythm.

Youmi’s head fell back against the pillow, lips parted. “That’s it, baby… grind on Mommy’s pussy. Just like that.”

The room filled with the obscene, wet sounds of your pussies sliding together—messy, slippery, and desperate. Every roll of her hips made her clit catch perfectly against yours, sending jolts of pleasure through both of you. Youmi’s hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder against her, then sliding up to cup and knead your breasts.

You leaned forward, bracing yourself so your tits brushed against hers with every movement. The new angle made your clits rub even more intensely. Youmi moaned louder, her thighs trembling beneath you.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she gasped, eyes dark and locked on your face. “Look at me while you fuck me like this.”

You kept your gaze on hers, panting and whimpering as the pleasure built rapidly. The slick heat, the constant pressure on your overstimulated clit, and the raw intimacy of scissoring with her had you shaking again within minutes.

“Youmi—Mommy—I’m gonna cum again—”

“Me too,” she groaned, hips moving faster, grinding harder. “Cum with me, baby. Let me feel this pretty pussy cum all over mine.”

She pulled you down into a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together as your movements turned frantic. The coil in your belly snapped first. You cried out into her mouth as your orgasm crashed over you, thighs shaking violently while your pussy pulsed and gushed against hers.

The feeling of you cumming pushed Youmi over the edge right after. She moaned brokenly, nails digging into your hips as she pressed up hard, grinding through her own climax. Wetness mixed between you, soaking both your thighs and the sheets even more.

You collapsed on top of her, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and cum. Youmi wrapped her arms around you tightly, kissing the top of your head, your temple, then your lips—soft and reverent now.

“I love you,” she whispered against your mouth, voice hoarse but full of emotion. “My girlfriend. Finally mine.”

You smiled tiredly, nuzzling into her neck. “Yours… I love you too, Youmi-ya.”

She stroked your back gently, holding you close as your breathing slowly evened out. After a few minutes, she pressed one more kiss to your forehead.

“Rest for a bit, baby. Because Mommy’s nowhere near done playing with you tonight.”

Taglist

@aaniag @mixuicecream

[sndygly]

Hand me a towel.

Have you ever misgendered your roommate?When you first moved into your assigned dorm, you didn’t bother talking to them. On the rare occasions you tried, they’d only respond with a nod or a shake of the head. It was fine—talking wasn’t necessary. Both of you were too wrapped up in your own worlds to care.Then one day they called out from the bathroom, asking you to hand them a towel. Nothing unusual. Until you opened the door.

Tgs. roommate au, jeonghan x reader, feminine male roommate, (kinda?) long wavy hair jeonghan, misgendered roommate, gender reveal, SMUT! rough sex, possessive sex, dirty talk, heavy breeding kink, creampie (safe sex is great sex!!!), oral sex, sloppy blowjob, deepthroat, face fucking, throat bulging, gagging, messy spit play????, hair pulling, finger fucking, clit slapping, mirror sex, wall pinning, standing sex, counter sex, manhandling, praise kink, degradation kink, squirting, aftercare, fluffy ending, explicit smut, nsfw

I got inspiration out of nowhere (a song), so here's a little bit of my mind. Jeonghan in this story looks like the pic I placed.

Btw, my requests r open (please ask for reactions)

My masterlist!

It was a fairly normal day. One of the very few days you had off, And by a very strange coincidence, your roommate was also home.

This was odd, since both of them usually had busy lives due to their studies. But you didn't think much of it anyway. Perhaps if they had spoken from the beginning they could have been very good girlfriends by now. But when you moved in with her, it was finals week, so you didn't exchange a word. And now they don't speak a word to each other, they only communicate by text messages. You had her cell phone number, since it was given to you with your dorm assignment sheet. Her name: Yoon Jeonghan. A very beautiful girl, with wavy hair, and such delicate and pretty features.

You were sprawled in the couch, drinking some ice tea—Lipton Iced Tea Mix— while doom scrolling on reels, The weather outside looked nice, but you didn't feel like going out.

You stretched a little, letting your bones flex, and sighed, releasing all the week's stress in that breath. Then you got up and checked what you would eat today. When you opened the fridge, well, there was food to eat, but you felt lazy and decided to order some take out.

You grab your phone from the couch, shifting your focus from the endless loop of reels to a food delivery app. As you scroll through options—debating between a warm bowl of ramen or just ordering a massive pizza you can pick at for the next two days—the muffled sound of rushing water from the bathroom suddenly cuts off. A moment of silence follows, save for the hum of the refrigerator.

Then, the bathroom door creaks open a mere crack, and a voice calls out.

“Hey... sorry to bother you, but could you hand me a towel? I forgot to bring one in, and the rack is empty."

The voice is smooth, a little raspy, and definitely deeper than you would have expected for someone you’d mentally categorized as a quiet, shy and delicate girl for the past few months. You blink, a little startled by the sudden interaction. It’s probably the most consecutive words you’ve heard them speak out loud since moving in. “Uh, yeah, sure, hold on!” you call back, setting your phone down on the kitchen island. You walk over to the linen closet in the hallway, grab a fresh, fluffy white towel, and head toward the bathroom. You knock lightly on the wooden frame first.

“I have it.” “Thanks, just hand it to me,” the voice replies. Without thinking much of it—assuming they'd just crack the door an inch and stick a hand out—you push the door open slightly to pass the towel through. But the door swings a bit wider than intended, pushed by the draft, and the heavy mist of hot steam billows out into the hallway, carrying the scent of sweet, cherry-blossom shampoo.

You freeze. Standing there, halfway out of the shower glass and reaching for the door, is your roommate. The long, beautiful, wavy hair you'd admired from a distance is dripping wet, plastered against a pair of broad, distinctly masculine shoulders. The water droplets slide down a completely bare, flat, and toned chest. Jeonghan stops mid-motion, his hand hovering in the air. He looks at you, his sharp, pretty eyes blinking through the damp strands of hair, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. He tilts his head slightly, a faint, amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you going to give me the towel, or just keep staring?” he asks, his voice echoing slightly against the bathroom tiles.

Your brain short-circuits. Yoon Jeonghan.The delicate features. The beautiful hair. The name you never questioned because you were not that familiar with Korean names. And She... is very clearly a he. And finally you realize you're staring at him and hand him the towel, rushing out of there, slamming the door behind you. But before you can sprint to your room, the door opens, and a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back inside the bathroom, closing the door and trapping you against it.

The steam still clung thick in the air, making the small bathroom feel even smaller as Jeonghan pinned you against the closed door with surprising ease. His grip on your wrist was firm, warm from the shower, and droplets of water slid from his hair onto your shirt. He was still completely naked, the towel you'd handed him now loosely draped over one shoulder instead of wrapped around his waist. Up close like this, the contrast hit you harder—the delicate, almost ethereal beauty of his face with those sharp, cat-like eyes and full lips, paired with the lean, toned lines of a man's body, narrow hips, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal starting to stir.

"You okay there? You look like you saw a ghost," he murmured, his voice low and slightly husky, laced with that same amusement. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he tilted his head, letting wet strands of hair fall across one eye. “Or maybe you've been wondering about me this whole time? Have you finally found out?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Words tangled in your throat.“I—Jeonghan—you're... I thought—”

“A girl?” He chuckled softly. One hand stayed braced beside your head on the door, caging you in, while the other released your wrist only to trail lightly down your arm. “Happens more often than you'd think. The name, the hair, the face... I stopped correcting people a long time ago. It's easier this way. That's why I never corrected you” His gaze dropped slowly, deliberately, tracing over your body before flicking back up.“But, you never asked.”

The heat from the shower mixed with the flush creeping up your neck. You could smell the cherry-blossom shampoo on him, sweet and intoxicating, and feel the warmth radiating off his bare skin. He was close enough that if either of you breathed too deeply, you'd touch.

Jeonghan leaned in a fraction more, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “You were staring pretty hard, liked what you saw?” His free hand came up, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face toward his. Those pretty eyes were half-lidded now with something hungry. “Don't tell me I ruined the roommate situationship we had...Or did it make it better?”

Your back pressed harder against the wood. Part of you wanted to bolt. The bigger part—the one currently short-circuiting from the sight, scent, and sheer overwhelming presence of him—didn't.

“I... wasn't expecting this,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.” His smirk deepened. He shifted his weight, and you felt the unmistakable brush of his hardening cock against your thigh through your clothes. "Neither was I when you decided to walk around the dorm without a bra, or when you wonder around the place not wearing pants, and you let me see that beautiful ass of yours, oh and let's not forget the fucking times you bring disgusting men... Never took you for the type that fake orgasms. You deserve better baby.”

He paused, giving you a moment, those delicate features softening just a touch as if checking if you'd push him away. When you didn't, his hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb stroking lightly.

“You deserve me.” he purred, voice dropping even lower.

Jeonghan didn’t wait long for your answer.

The second your lips parted he closed the distance and kissed you hard. It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, demanding, tongue sliding against yours as he pressed his naked, still-damp body flush against you. The towel dropped forgotten to the floor.

You moaned into his mouth when his hand shoved your shirt up roughly, exposing your breasts. He broke the kiss only to latch onto your neck, sucking a dark mark right below your jaw while his fingers pinched and rolled your nipples, sending sharp sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re sensitive,” he growled against your skin, voice raspy. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, isn't that right, hun?”

His other hand didn’t hesitate. He shoved your pants and underwear down in one impatient tug, letting them bunch around your thighs. Two long fingers slid between your folds, stroking your slick heat before pushing inside you without warning.

“Ah-!F-Fuck, Han...” Your head fell back against the door with a thud.“Shhh… that’s it,” Jeonghan purred, curling his fingers deep, stroking that spot that made your knees buckle. “So wet already. This pretty "girl" is gonna ruin sex f'u, You're only going to want to fuck with me, you're only going to want me to be the one to fill you up, right? I should make you completely mine, shouldn't I? Filling you up with my babies.”

He pumped his fingers faster, thumb circling your clit with relentless precision. The wet, obscene sounds echoed in the steamy bathroom. Your hips jerked against his hand, chasing the pleasure as he kissed and bit down your collarbone.

Jeonghan pulled his fingers out suddenly, making you whine at the loss. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean while staring straight into your eyes, that pretty, wicked smirk never leaving his face.

“On your knees, baby. I want to feel that mouth first.”

Jeonghan’s voice was low and rough with need as he guided you down firmly until your back hit the door. His thick, leaking cock bobbed right in front of your face—long, flushed dark pink, and beautifully curved upward, the swollen head already shiny with precum. You barely had time to inhale before he tangled his fingers tightly in your hair and pushed forward, sliding the hot, heavy length between your lips with a deep, filthy groan.

“Fuuuuuck… good fucking girl,oh... my... G-goood.” he sighed, eyes rolling back for a second before locking onto you again. “Th-that’s it—open wider. Take my cock like the needy little girl you are.”

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking eagerly as your tongue swirled around the leaking tip. The taste of him was musky, slightly sweet from the shower gel still clinging to his skin. Jeonghan didn’t let you ease into it. He rocked his hips forward, feeding you more of his length until the head nudged the back of your throat.

“Shit- yes! just like that,” he moaned, breathy and shameless. “Suck it like you mean it. I’ve jerked off so many fucking times daydreaming about storming insied- Fuck!- your room when those stupid guys, oh shit! Don't know how to pleasure you... And, fucking, show them how's it done, Ahh-!”

You placed your hands on his firm, toned ass for support, fingers digging into the muscle as he started fucking your face with slow, deep thrusts. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the steamy bathroom every time he pulled back, your saliva already dripping down his shaft and coating your chin. The more he pushed, the messier it got—thick strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock whenever he withdrew.

Jeonghan looked down at you with his half-lidded eyes, his delicate features flushed pink and his long wavy hair sticking to his damp cheeks and neck. The contrast was dizzying—this ethereally pretty face moaning like a porn star while he used your throat.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice cracking with pleasure. “Drooling all over my cock like a desperate slut. You have no idea how many times I imagined shoving you down and face-fucking you until tears ran down your cheeks. How many fucking times I wanted to... Ahhh... Fuck you when you're being a fucking menace by only wearing those- Uhhg-  Diminute tank tops without a bra, and those beautiful panties.”

He tightened his grip in your hair and thrust deeper, forcing you to take almost all of him. Your throat constricted around the head of his cock and you gagged wetly, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth and dripping onto your shirt and the floor. Jeonghan groaned loudly at the feeling, hips stuttering.

“Fuck yes—gag on it. Make it messy, baby. I want your throat bulging. That’s my good girl… choking on my dick like you were made for it.”Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he started fucking your mouth faster, shallow and sloppy now, the wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds echoing off the tiles. His balls slapped lightly against your chin with every thrust. Precum and saliva ran down your neck in shiny rivulets. Jeonghan’s pretty lips were parted, soft whimpers and filthy praises spilling out nonstop.“You’re so much better than I imagined… warm, wet, fucking perfect. Bet your pussy is clenching right now, jealous your throat is getting all the attention.”

He suddenly pulled you forward until your nose pressed against his trimmed pubic hair, holding you there as your throat spasmed around him. You choked hard, more thick drool pouring from your stretched lips and running down his balls.

After a few long seconds he pulled back, letting you gasp for air. A thick strand of saliva connected your panting mouth to his throbbing, sloppy cock. Jeonghan stared down at the absolute mess he’d made of your face—swollen lips, tear-streaked cheeks, chin covered in spit—and smirked.

“God, you look so fucking filthy like this…” He tapped his wet cock against your cheek a few times, smearing the mess around. “But I’m not done with this mouth yet.”

He slid back between your lips immediately, resuming the relentless rhythm, clearly loving how wrecked and sloppy you were becoming.

“En-enough. I need to be inside you.”

He pulled you up like you weighed nothing, spun you around, and bent you over the bathroom counter. Your hands braced against the mirror as he kicked your legs wider. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, sliding up and down your soaked folds teasingly.“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice dark. One hand gripped your hip, the other reached around to rub your clit. “Watch how pretty you look when I finally fuck you the way you deserve.”

Then he thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

You cried out, the stretch intense and perfect. Jeonghan moaned loudly, forehead dropping against your shoulder for a second as he savored the tight heat.“Sh-shiiiit… so fucking- tight- oh my-!” he hissed. “Better than I imagined.” he chuckled.

He didn’t give you long to adjust. His hips snapped forward, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that had the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with your moans and his low grunts. Every thrust dragged against that sweet spot inside you, making your legs shake.

Jeonghan’s hand slid up your back, gripping your hair and pulling your head back so you were forced to watch in the mirror—his pretty face behind you, eyes locked on yours, lips parted in pleasure as he fucked you harder.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded between thrusts. “Tell me whose cock is ruining you right now.”

He reached around again, rubbing your clit in tight circles, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every snap of his hips.

“Fucking answer!” Jeonghan growled, slapping your swollen clit again with sharp, wet smacks that made your whole body jolt.

“It’s—ahh! It’s your cock!” you cried out, voice breaking as he slammed into you even harder. “Jeonghan- fuck- your cock is ruining me!”

A satisfied, wicked laugh escaped his lips. “That’s right, baby. My cock. Not those useless boys you brought home.” He yanked your hair harder, forcing your eyes to stay on the mirror. The sight was obscene: your face flushed and wrecked with tears, mouth open in a broken moan, tits bouncing with every brutal thrust, while behind you Jeonghan looked like a wet dream—long wavy hair sticking to his pretty face, sharp eyes dark with lust, lips parted as he fucked you like he owned you.

“Can you see how deep I’m going, hmm?” he hissed, slowing his thrusts for a moment so you could see his thick, glistening cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming back in, stretching your pussy wide. “Look at how your greedy cunt swallows me! So fucking sloppy already.”

The wet squelching sounds were loud and filthy, your arousal dripping down your thighs and coating his balls. Jeonghan reached around and rubbed your clit again in fast, messy circles, occasionally giving it another light slap that sent electric shocks through your body.

Your legs started shaking uncontrollably. The angle was perfect—his curved cock dragging relentlessly against your g-spot with every thrust. You could feel the pressure building fast, dangerously fast.Jeonghan noticed. Of course he did.

“Don’t you dare cum yet,” he warned, suddenly slowing his hips to a torturous grind, keeping himself buried deep while he rolled his hips in slow circles. “I want to feel this tight little pussy milk me when I say so.”

He pulled out completely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whimpered pathetically at the loss. Before you could protest, he spun you around to face him, lifted you onto the counter, and shoved your back against the cool mirror.

Jeonghan hooked your legs over his arms, spreading you wide open, and thrust back inside in one brutal stroke. The new angle made you scream.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,yes, right there!” you sobbed.

He pounded into you mercilessly, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off the tiles. Sweat and steam made both your bodies slick. His pretty face was inches from yours now—those delicate features twisted in raw pleasure as he watched you fall apart.

“Yo-you’re clenching so hard around me- fuck—” he groaned. “Such a needy fucking hole. Been waiting months to fill you up like this.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, spit-slick kiss, tongues sliding desperately while he kept fucking you deep. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he panted against your mouth. “Gonna pump this pretty pussy full until it’s leaking down your thighs. You want that, don’t you? Want your roommate to breed you like a slut?”His thumb found your clit again, rubbing fast and firm. Your walls fluttered wildly around his cock, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.

“Jeonghan- d-don't s-stop, please, I'm so close—”“Cum then,” he finally commanded, voice dark and breathless. “Cum on my cock like a good girl. Let me feel it.”He slammed into you harder, angling perfectly, and the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. Your vision went white as you screamed his name, pussy spasming violently around his thick length, gushing around him. Jeonghan moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as your walls squeezed him rhythmically.“Fuck—fuck— so tight—!”

He fucked you through it, chasing his own release with short, desperate thrusts until his hips stuttered. With a broken, beautiful moan right against your ear, he buried himself as deep as possible and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum inside you. His cock twitched with every spurt, filling you until you could feel the warmth leaking out around him.For a long moment, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the dripping of water from the forgotten shower head.

Jeonghan stayed buried deep inside you, forehead pressed gently against yours as you both trembled through the aftershocks. A lazy, satisfied smirk slowly spread across his flushed, angelic face. His breathing slowly evened out, warm against your skin.

He brushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face with careful fingers.“…You okay?” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah. That was… intense.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in and kissed you slowly,soft, sweet, and unhurried. Then he pressed another kiss to your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

He pulled out carefully, both of you sighing at the loss. You felt his cum starting to leak down your thigh, but Jeonghan was already reaching for the towel. He cleaned you up with gentle hands, almost reverent, before quickly wiping himself down.

Without a word, he turned the shower back on to a warm spray and guided you under it with him. The water felt soothing against your heated skin. He washed you slowly, his fingers massaging shampoo into your hair while you did the same for him, running your hands through his long, wet waves. He kept stealing soft kisses along your shoulder and neck the whole time.

After drying off, he wrapped you in a big towel and carried you straight to his bed. He laid you down gently before leaving, and bringing you some clothes. When you were both dressed he climbed in beside you, immediately pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you securely, one leg tangling with yours as he held you close.

For a few minutes, you simply lay there in comfortable silence, listening to his heartbeat.

“I should probably explain something,” Jeonghan said quietly, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. “I wasn’t around much… not because I didn’t like you. It was kind of the opposite.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “You made it really hard for me to behave. Literally.” His cheeks flushed just a little. “Every time you walked around in those tiny shorts or without a bra… or when I’d hear you through the walls… I had to leave the dorm more often than I wanted to. I was worried I’d do something stupid and make you uncomfortable.”

Your face heated up, but you couldn’t help smiling. “So all those times you disappeared…” “Yeah,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I was either in the library trying to calm down or jerking off in the shower thinking about you. Not my proudest moments.”

You buried your face in his neck, laughing softly. “I can’t believe I never noticed.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve liked you for a while now. More than I probably should have, especially since we barely talked. I just didn’t know how to tell you without it being weird.”

You pulled back enough to meet his eyes. They were warm, a little vulnerable, and unfairly pretty. He leaned down and kissed you again, slow and sweet, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, he tucked you closer against him.

Your stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet intimacy. Jeonghan chuckled.

“Hungry?”

“Very,” you admitted.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand without letting you go, keeping one arm firmly around your waist. “Pizza it is, then. Extra cheese?”you hummed a yes.

He placed the order quickly, then set the phone aside and pulled you back into his chest. As he tapped in the order, he mumbled against your hair, “By the way… you’re my girlfriend now. I decided. No take-backs. So… that means I can finally stop pretending I don’t like when you walk around the house barely clothed.” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You poked his side. “Only if you stop ignoring me.” “You got a deal,” he laughed softly, the sound warm and low in his chest.

He kissed your forehead and held you tighter as the comfortable silence returned.

An. I really liked this one tbh haha. Remember my requests r open!

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Girlfriend

DK and Mingyu are both head-over-heels for Boo Youmi, constantly begging and pleading for a chance with her. No matter how hard they try, she gently turns them down every time. They've begun to suspect she already has someone... and they're so right!

Youmi is madly in love with you, her best friend - her very first and only crush. You're the prettiest, kindest girl in her eyes, and she's completely captivated. What you don't realize is how deeply her feelings run. You joke about her being your "girlfriend," kiss her cheek, hold her hand, invite her for sleepovers, and even flash her playfully from time to time. To you, it's all harmless fun between best friends.

And Youmi is losing her mind.

@aaniag

[minyoonjin]

anyone has flashbacks to we are bulletproof pt2 shooting sketch.... ?

[gothidecorem]

No but like for real tho whatchu mean I got a baseball date tonight…

[angelflffy]

the shua one hello..insanity out the door immediately omg thank you for tjat .

ily hope you’re doing well 🥹🥹 would it be crazy for me to req hoshi ..? i haven’t seen one here and he’s my ult so i may go insane anytime soon

hoshi smut audio

◞🪽 ⠀　 ⁺⠀ 　⥰ ⠀

　　𝖽𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𓈒　2:53　　┄┄┄┄

➷　　𐃬𐃬　　𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌　　𓍢

       sub!hoshi? or pathetic!top hoshi wtv u want.. moaning, slapping sounds, whimpering?? i think thats it bruh

➥　　𐃬𐃬　　𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌　　𓍢

    omg stop u making me blush😳😳 sorry this is kinda a bland audio.. im doing great but i hope UR doing better!! but no fr i never see hoshi ANYWHEREEE give my boy some attention guys. alo changed my theme a teeny bit