ROOM FOR RENT — ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
Cheap rent, expensive consequences, first come, first served, unless you're too busy getting railed to answer the text!
No refunds!
RULES ON THE FRIDGE:
-Panties banned after 8 p.m.
-Movie nights on someone’s lap.
-Counter sex while dinner cooks.
-Daily spankings, gropes, throat-fucks, and creampies like it’s rent payment.
INSPIRED BY 'YOUR TURN' STARRING @mssishipi!
pairing: roommates!hyungline x reader !
warnings: poly relationship strong language possessiveness jealousy alcohol mild power imbalance crashing dates fights slight drama between the guys porn with plot
warnings (smut): read if you're okay with filthy shit (mama them men are real big idiots) free use spit roasting gangbang creampie breeding kink cumplay degradation size kink squirting overstimulation edging spit play choking unprotected sex double penetration anal sex aftercare cumplay titjob titplay blowjob handjob cunnilingus oral (both f and m rec) mean doms choking manhandling rough sex recording overstimulation aftercare heavy
playlist: High for This by The Weeknd [] Friends by Chase Atlantic [] Oxytocin by Billie Eilish [] Swim by Chase Atlantic []
likes and reblogs for a cookie!
☆ WORD COUNT: 24.9K!
(Masterlist)
THE FLYER WAS TAPED CROOKED TO THE COMMUNITY BOARD in the lobby of your old building, curling at one corner like it had tried to escape and given up halfway through. The corkboard itself was a graveyard of desperation, lost cats with blurry photos, guitar lessons from a man named Reginald who swore he toured “almost professionally,” a babysitting offer written in glitter pen. But this one, this violently neon pink rectangle, felt different.
Black Sharpie, pressed hard enough to dent the cardstock.
ROOM FOR RENT — ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
- 5-bedroom apartment downtown. Utilities split 5 ways. No pets, no drama, no bullshit.
- Must be clean, chill, and okay with guys. Serious inquiries only.
- Four guys already here, all employed, clean(ish), no drama. Serious inquiries only.
- Text 82-10-XXXX-XXXX. First come, first served.
Don't waste our time.
No photos. No bullet points about ‘respectful boundaries’ or ‘shared Netflix password.’ Just that blunt, cocky little block of text, like they knew exactly what kind of person would bite anyway. The rent figure was unreal, half what you'd been paying for your shoebox studio that smelled faintly of regret and yesterday's takeout. You stared at it for a full minute, thumb hovering over your phone screen, heart doing that stupid flutter thing it does when you're about to make a decision that's either genius or catastrophic.
And then there was the line written in red pen, scrawled untidily, looking like a disastrous attempt at cursive.
“She better be hot lol”
Crossed out once, aggressively. Then underlined twice, like whoever wrote it had second thoughts about the shame and decided to recommit. You stared at that part the longest.
Your current apartment smelled like damp carpet and stale air no matter how many candles you burned. The windows rattled every time the train passed. Your landlord had the audacity to send out a mass email about a “maintenance fee adjustment” that was definitely just code for I bought a new car and you’re helping pay for it.
Rent had started to feel like a chokehold. And this, four guys, one girl, big downtown apartment, utilities split five ways, was a stupidly good number. Too good. Which should have been your first red flag.
Your reflection in the lobby mirror looked tired. A little reckless. The kind of girl who was one bad decision away from either ruining her life or improving it dramatically. You took a picture of the flyer. You hesitated.
You zoomed in on the red scribble. You told yourself you were an adult. That you could handle four random men in a shared space. That this was just housing, not a horror movie opening scene. Then you texted the number before your common sense could wrestle your thumbs away.
You: Hi, saw the flyer for the roommate spot. Still available? Interested if the details match up. What's the move-in date?
The three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Your stomach did that awful, fluttery dip it does before you step into something you can’t undo.
Unknown: yeah it's open. u got a name sweetheart?
Sweetheart. You actually rolled your eyes. You told yourself you rolled your eyes. But something warm slid low in your stomach anyway. Casual ownership. Teasing. A test.
You: Y/N. And yeah, I do. When can I come see it?
The typing bubbles came back. Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Then your phone vibrated with a voice note instead of text. You stared at it for a full second.
Who the fuck sends voice notes to strangers?
You slipped in one earbud like you were about to overhear something you weren’t meant to. You hit play. Chaos. Not the polite kind. Not the muffled, distant kind. The kind that sounds like bodies moving and furniture scraping and too many voices in one space.
“—told you the flyer was too obvious, dumbass—”
“Shut the fuck up, she texted, didn’t she?”
“Bet she’s mid. Fifty says she’s mid.”
“Fifty says she’s a freak who’ll cry after one night.”
Explosive laughter. Low and rough and layered. Someone swore. There was a thud like someone got shoved into a couch. Another voice yelling, “Give me the phone—”
Your pulse was in your throat. It felt intrusive. Intimate. Like you were already inside their space, hearing something raw and unfiltered. Then the chaos snapped. Cut clean. A different presence took over. Closer to the mic. Lower.
“...Y/N, right?” Your name sounded slower in his mouth. Like he’d rolled it around once before saying it.
“This is Heeseung.”
The way he said it wasn’t introduction. It was declaration. The background noise dimmed, not because the room got quieter, but because he stepped away from it. You could picture it without trying: him turning his back to the others, leaning against something, one hand braced on a counter, phone lifted close enough that his breath ghosted the mic.
The kind of voice that didn’t rush. The kind that didn’t need to. “Place is still open. Come by tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. We’ll be here.”
We’ll be here. Not I’ll be here. A collective. A warning. There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Deliberate. “Bring your shit if you like what you see. We don’t do second viewings.”
And then it ended. No goodbye. No emoji. No softening. Just the click of the recording stopping, leaving his voice hanging in your ear like smoke in a closed room. You sat on your sagging futon with the cheap springs poking through the cushion and replayed it. Twice.
The arguing in the background. The laughter. The careless comments. The way he had cut through all of it like a knife sliding into silk. You told yourself they sounded like idiots. You told yourself this was exactly the kind of environment you’d sworn you’d never put yourself in. But your thighs pressed together anyway, tension curling low and restless, not quite fear and not quite excitement.
You imagined the apartment. Exposed brick. Too much space. Music playing too loud. A kitchen that actually had room to breathe in. Four men who moved through it like they owned it. And one empty room.
Waiting. You should have blocked the number. Should have deleted the thread. Should have found a nice, quiet girls-only share in the suburbs where the biggest drama would be someone stealing your almond milk. Instead, you typed back.
You: 7 p.m. tomorrow. Address?
The reply came faster this time.
Heeseung: [pinned location]Don’t be late, sweetheart. We hate waiting.
You read that last line more than once. We hate waiting. It sounded less like a preference and more like a rule. You packed that night with a strange kind of calm. One duffel bag. Just enough clothes to rotate for a few days. Toiletries. Charger. The essentials. You folded each item slowly, like you were preparing for something bigger than just a new address.
Your studio looked even smaller with your things missing. The walls felt closer. The air heavier. You stood in the middle of it and imagined tomorrow. The elevator ride up. The door opening. Four sets of eyes. The apartment smelling like expensive cologne and something darker. Smoke, maybe. Leather. Ego.
You imagined him. Them. All four of them. Either unfairly good-looking men who were complete assholes, or unimpressive men who were still complete assholes. The asshole part was a constant. The hotness was the only variable.
Not that it mattered. Of course it didn’t.
You didn’t know his face, but you knew the voice. Low. Steady. Amused. The kind of voice that didn’t rush for anyone.
You imagined the smirk you’d heard through the speaker, lazy, confident, practiced. Probably rich, too. Not new-money loud, but old-money careless. Daddy’s money had a look. It looked like never checking price tags.
You zipped the duffel closed. This was reckless. Stupid, even. The kind of decision that looked sensible only from far away, like a bruise that passed for lavender in low light. Rent had been pressing in for months, a dull gray weight at the base of your skull, constant as weather. You told yourself that was all this was. Survival. Logistics. Math.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about his voice. Not the depth of it, not even the amusement. It was the contrast, the velvet laid carefully over something serrated. Chaos humming behind glass. Control presented like a gift.
It had sounded dark blue through the speaker. Not navy. Not midnight. Something electric and expensive. The kind of blue that didn’t apologize for swallowing light. You should have been afraid of it.
Maybe you were. But the risk didn’t feel like falling. Falling was abrupt. Colorless. Final. This felt different. It felt like stepping across the gold line in a painting, the one the artist never meant anyone to cross. Like touching wet paint just to see if it would stain. Like walking into a story that had already decided what to do with you.
7 p.m. Sharp. You arrive at 6:58 p.m.
Not because you’re punctual by nature, but because something about Don’t be late. We hate waiting. lodged under your skin and stayed there all day.
The building is taller than you expected. Glass-fronted. Industrial. The kind of place that tries to look effortless and ends up looking expensive instead. The lobby smells faintly of artificially scented cleaner, probably lemon, and polished concrete. Exposed brick climbs one wall in a deliberate, curated way that says urban charm instead of structural compromise.
You stand in front of the elevator with your duffel bag hooked over one shoulder and a medium-sized suitcase at your side. You told yourself you’d bring only what you needed for a week.
You lied.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft metallic sigh. You step inside. Your reflection in the mirrored walls looks smaller than you feel. Lip gloss reapplied in the car. Hair brushed back into place. A quiet, deliberate choice in your outfit, effortless enough to pretend you didn’t try, fitted enough to know you did.
The numbers climb. Your pulse climbs with them. You tell yourself this is housing. Just housing. Four men sharing rent in a five-bedroom apartment isn’t unheard of. This isn’t a cult. This isn’t a frat house. This isn’t—
The elevator dings. The doors part. And the first thing you hear is laughter. It spills into the hallway like it lives there. Low, overlapping, careless. The door to their unit is already open. You don’t knock. You step inside.
The apartment is bigger than the pictures could’ve shown. High ceilings with steel beams running across them. Floor-to-ceiling windows pouring in late afternoon light that turns everything gold. A massive sectional couch in charcoal gray dominates the living space. There’s a long dining table made of reclaimed wood, scuffed in places that look intentional.
Music hums low from somewhere, bass-heavy, lazy. And then, you see them. All four of them. Shirtless. You stop walking. They’re scattered across the living area in a way that suggests they were doing something physical, lifting, maybe, but not something that required shirts. One is crouched by a stack of flattened cardboard boxes. Another leans against the kitchen island with a bottle of water tipped to his lips. Someone else stands near the couch, forearms flexed as he adjusts the hem of his joggers.
They notice you at the same time. Conversation dies. It’s not dramatic. Not loud. It just… stops. Four pairs of eyes land on you. And stay there. You feel it before you process it. The weight of being looked at. Not glanced. Not politely assessed. Looked at. Slowly. Thoroughly. Like you’re an answer to a question they’ve already been debating.
The one by the kitchen island lowers his bottle first. He’s tall. Lean muscle, not bulky. Collarbone sharp under the light. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead like he’s just showered or run a hand through it too many times. His gaze drags over you without apology. From your shoes. Up your legs.
To your waist. Your chest. Your mouth. Your eyes. He doesn’t look away when you meet his stare. That has to be Heeseung. The voice fits.
“Y/N.”
It isn’t a question. Your name sounds different in the open air of the apartment. Deeper. Warmer. More tangible. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out steady, which surprises you.
He pushes off the island and walks toward you. The other three follow slower, not crowding but not retreating either. You become aware of everything at once. The quiet click of your suitcase wheels settling. The way your fingers tighten around the strap of your duffel. The faint sheen of sweat along their collarbones.
They must’ve been moving furniture. Or maybe they just wanted an excuse to be shirtless when you arrived. The thought hits you uninvited. And then, you realize you’re staring, too. One of them, broader shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes, lets out a low whistle.
“Not mid,” he mutters.
The guy beside him elbows his ribs. A cocky grin already spreading over his lips nonetheless before he disrupts it by caging his lower lip between his teeth. “Shut up.” Heat crawls up your neck.
Heeseung stops about three feet in front of you. Close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to smell something clean and subtle, soap, maybe, or skin warmed by movement. He tilts his head slightly.
“You’re on time.”
“I said I would be.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. Behind him, one of the others steps forward and grabs your suitcase handle before you can protest. “We’ll take that.”
It’s said casually, but there’s something about the way he says we again that makes your stomach dip. The fourth one finally speaks. “You bring everything?”
“Just enough to survive a week,” you reply.
He laughs. “Smart.” They move around you with unsettling ease. Not touching you. Not yet. But close enough that the air shifts when they pass. You step fully into the apartment as your suitcase is rolled toward the hallway. The door shuts behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. You turn slowly, taking in the space.
The kitchen is massive, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, open shelving that somehow looks organized despite the presence of four men. There are plants near the windows. A guitar propped casually against the wall.
This isn’t a mess. It isn’t chaotic. It’s lived-in. Comfortable. Dangerously comfortable. “Room’s down the hall,” Heeseung says. “Last one on the right.”
You nod, but you don’t move yet. Because they’re still looking at you. Not in a way that feels crude. But undeniably… interested. Assessing. One of them, taller than the rest, sharper features, leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. His eyes crinkle, “So,” he says slowly. “You cool living with guys?” The question isn’t innocent. You lift your chin slightly.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
His gaze flickers, approval, maybe. The broad-shouldered one smirks.
“You get easily offended?”
“No.”
“You snore?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Got a boyfriend?”
The question lands differently. You glance at Heeseung. He hasn’t spoken. He’s watching you. Waiting. You meet his eyes and answer evenly, “No.”
The silence that follows is subtle, but it shifts something. Like a door quietly unlocking. Heeseung gestures down the hall. “Come see your room.”
You follow. The hallway is lined with closed doors. Music grows fainter as you move away from the main space. Your suitcase wheels roll softly against polished concrete. He opens the last door and steps aside to let you in first. The room is bigger than you expected.
Large window. Soft gray walls. A queen-sized bed frame already assembled. A desk near the corner. Closet doors sliding open to reveal empty hangers. It doesn’t feel like someone just left it. It feels like it was waiting.
You step inside. He follows. The others hover at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like they’re watching a show. “Well?” one of them asks. You set your duffel down on the bed.
“It’s… really nice.” Heeseung walks to the window and pulls the curtain slightly, letting more light in.
“Told you. No bullshit.” He turns to face you fully. There’s something different now that you’re in a smaller space. More contained. More charged. You can feel the other three just outside the room. Listening. You cross your arms loosely.
“What’s the actual catch?”
One of the guys snorts from the hallway. Heeseung’s lips twitch. “No catch.”
“Four guys, one girl, cheap rent, no second viewings. There’s always a catch.”
He steps closer. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to make you aware of proximity. “We don’t like flakes,” he says quietly. “We don’t like drama. We don’t like people who pretend they’re chill and then aren’t.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you won’t last.”
The words aren’t cruel. They’re factual. You swallow. “Is that a threat?”
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Then back up. “It’s information.”
The other three laugh softly behind him. “You scared?” someone calls.
You step closer instead of back. “No.” And that’s the truth. You’re not scared. You’re wired. There’s a difference. He studies you for a long second. Then nods once.
“Good.” He steps back, creating space again. “You can move in tonight if you want.” Your heartbeat stutters.
“That was the deal.” One of them pushes off the doorframe. “Guess we’ve got a new roommate.” The broad-shouldered one grins. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
They disperse slightly after that. Not fully. But enough to let you breathe. You kneel on the bed to unzip your duffel, aware of eyes tracking the movement. A shirt comes out. Toiletry bag. A pair of heels you probably won’t need but packed anyway.
From the hallway, a voice says quietly, “She’s staying.”
“Obviously,” another replies.
You pretend not to hear. But your skin hums. Because beneath the jokes. Beneath the cocky questions. There’s something else. A tension that hasn’t snapped yet. An understanding that this isn’t just about splitting rent. You don’t know the rules. You don’t know the lines. But you feel them. Drawn. Invisible. Waiting. You stand and smooth your hands down your sides.
“I’ll bring the rest tomorrow.” Heeseung leans against the wall now, arms crossed. “Take your time.”
Your gaze locks again. The eye contact lingers too long to be accidental. Too steady to be polite. It’s not crude. It’s not rushed. It’s slow. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing you.
And maybe, you’re memorizing him, too.
Friday night settles in outside the window, the sky deepening from gold to blue. You came here for cheap rent. For square footage. For practical reasons. But as the music in the living room turns louder and someone calls your name like you’ve always belonged here, you realize something quietly, dangerously simple. This wasn’t just a listing.
It was an invitation. And you accepted it. The kitchen island becomes your first battlefield.
Someone, Jay, you learn later, has already spread out a chaotic spread of takeout: greasy fried chicken in red-and-white buckets, japchae tangled in sesame oil, bulging containers of tteokbokki still steaming, a few lonely mandu that look like they've been fought over. Plastic forks and chopsticks clatter. No plates. No pretense of civility.
You slide onto one of the high stools, thighs sticking slightly to the leather from the heat still clinging to your skin after the move. Your thin white tank clings in all the wrong-right places, damp from nerves and the apartment's lazy, cold thermostat. No bra underneath because you'd changed into "comfy" clothes after unpacking the bare minimum. Big mistake.
Or the best one you've made all week. They circle like sharks who've already scented blood. Heeseung claims the stool right beside you without asking. His bare knee knocks yours under the island the second you settle. He doesn't move it. Neither do you. Jay drops onto the one across from you, broad shoulders taking up too much real estate. He leans forward on his elbows, forearms corded, watching you like you're the next thing on the menu.
Jake sprawls next to him, legs spread wide under the counter, one foot hooking casually around your ankle like it's always belonged there. He grins, pretty, boyish, filthy.
Sunghoon perches at the end like a king on his throne, long legs stretched out, one hand already tearing into a chicken wing. He licks sauce off his thumb slowly, eyes never leaving the front of your tank.
"Alright," Heeseung says, voice low and amused as he pops open a beer and slides one toward you without asking if you drink. "Introductions, since you're staying."
He drags a knuckle down your bare arm, slow, deliberate, like he's testing how soft you are. Goosebumps erupt instantly. "I'm Heeseung." His fingers linger at your wrist, thumb pressing your pulse point. "You already knew that." You nod, throat dry. Take a sip of the beer. It's cold. Sharp. Does nothing to cool the heat pooling between your legs.
Jay jerks his chin up. "Park Jongseong. Jay." He reaches across the island, grabs a piece of tteokbokki with his fingers, holds it out to you. "Open." You hesitate half a second. He raises one brow. "Don't make me feed you like a baby, sweetheart."
Your lips part. He pushes the sticky rice cake inside, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he pulls back. Sauce smears. He doesn't wipe it off. Just watches it glisten there.
"Jake Sim," the one with the foot around your ankle says. He leans in, elbow on the counter, chin in hand. His gaze drops blatantly to your chest. Your nipples have pebbled hard against the thin cotton, traitorous little peaks begging for attention. He bites his lip, lets out a soft, appreciative hum. "Fuck, you're not wearing a bra. Bold move, roomie."
Heat floods your face. Also lower. Sunghoon doesn't bother with words at first. He just stares, cold, assessing, predatory. Then he speaks, voice velvet and mean.
"Park Sunghoon." He drags a fry through sauce, offers it to you the same way Jay did. When you lean forward to take it, he pulls it back at the last second, makes you chase. You feel ridiculous. Wet. "Good girl." The praise lands like a slap. Your thighs clench.
Heeseung chuckles low beside you. His hand finds your knee under the island, big, warm, possessive. Slides up your inner thigh slow enough that you could stop him. You don't. His fingers stop just shy of where your shorts end, thumb stroking the crease where thigh meets hip. Back and forth. Lazy. Teasing the edge of your underwear.
"So," Jay says around a mouthful of chicken, eyes locked on the outline of your nipples like they're speaking to him personally. "What's your deal, Y/N? You always this easy to read?"
Jake snorts. Leans closer. "Bet she's already soaked just from us looking."
"Shut up," you mutter, but it comes out breathy. Weak.
Heeseung's thumb presses harder. "She is," he says quietly, like it's a fact he's confirming for the group. His other hand reaches up, casual, like he's reaching for more food, and brushes the side of your breast through the tank. The pad of his thumb grazes your nipple. Circles once.
You gasp. Small. Involuntary. Sunghoon smirks. "Told you. Instant slut for attention." Jay exchanges a look with Jake, dirty, conspiratorial. They both laugh under their breath.
"Pass her the spicy one," Jake says. "See if she cries."
Heeseung finally pulls his hand from between your legs, only to slide it around your waist instead. Tugs you closer until your side is flush against his bare chest. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. "Eat," he murmurs against your ear. Breath hot. "You're gonna need the energy."
You pick up a piece of chicken with shaking fingers. They watch every bite like it's porn. Sunghoon leans forward. "Question." You meet his eyes. Dark. Unblinking.
"You gonna pretend you're not dripping for us all night, or can we skip the bullshit and get to the part where you spread on the counter?"
Your chopsticks freeze halfway to your mouth. Jake groans softly. "Hyung—"
"What?" Sunghoon shrugs. "We're all thinking it. She's sitting here with her tits out, clit probably throbbing, acting like she didn't come here to get fucked stupid by four guys who don't even know her last name."
Heeseung's hand slides higher again, this time under your tank. Palm flat against your bare stomach. Fingers splay wide. Claiming territory. Jay licks sauce off his lips. Slow. "Rent-free, remember? That pussy's been ours since you texted back."
Jake's foot slides higher up your calf. "Bet she clenches just hearing that." You do. They know. Heeseung's thumb finds your nipple again, pinches lightly through the fabric. Rolls it.
"Finish eating," he says, voice deceptively gentle. "Then we're gonna show you how we collect rent around here."
The words are disgusting. The way your body responds is worse. You swallow hard. Sauce still sticky on your lip. They wait. Patient. Filthy. Certain. Because they already know, you're not leaving this island until every inch of you is marked.
And the food? It's barely started getting cold. The takeout disappears faster than it should, mostly because your mouth is never empty for long.
Jay keeps tearing off pieces of chicken, dipping them in sauce, holding them to your lips like it's his personal mission to keep you full. His fingers linger every time, brushing your tongue, smearing gloss and grease across your chin until you're sticky and flushed. "Good girl," he murmurs once, low enough that only you hear it, but loud enough that the others smirk.
Heeseung never stops touching. His hand starts at your knee again, then climbs, slow, shameless, until it's high on your inner thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles over the damp cotton of your shorts. When you shift, trying to close your legs, he just spreads them wider with his knee. Casual. Like adjusting furniture. His other hand stays under your tank, palm flat against your stomach, fingers occasionally drifting up to pluck at your nipples like he's testing how hard they can get before you whimper.
They do get hard. Painfully so. The thin fabric does nothing to hide it.
Sunghoon leans back, legs spread, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweats while he watches. "Bet she's clenching every time Jay feeds her," he says, voice dripping. "Like a little hungry bird. Open wide, princess, here comes the next load."
Jake laughs, soft and filthy, leaning so close his breath fans your ear. "You're so fucking cute when you're pretending not to like it, baby. Look at you, your body is begging, thighs shaking. You gonna come just from us looking at you like the slut you are?" He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. "Say 'please' and maybe we'll let you grind on the stool till you soak it."
You don't say please.
You just swallow another bite Jay pushes past your lips, choke a little when Heeseung's fingers slip under the leg of your shorts and graze the edge of your folds, wet, swollen, traitorous. They all hear the tiny, broken sound you make.
Sunghoon groans. "Fuck. That's the sound I wanna hear when she's choking on my dick later."
Dinner ends like that, messy, humiliating, electric.
When the last container is shoved aside, you mumble something about needing to unpack. Your voice is wrecked. Legs unsteady as you slide off the stool.
Heeseung's hand finally leaves your body, but not before he gives your ass a firm, possessive squeeze. "Go on, sweetheart. Get settled."
Their laughter follows you down the hallway, low, overlapping, knowing. "She's dripping down her thighs, I can smell it from here."
"Bet she locks the door and fingers herself thinking about us."
"Door stays unlocked from now on. House rule."
You shut yourself in the bedroom anyway. Heart hammering. Cheeks burning. Cunt throbbing so hard it hurts. You tell yourself you're just going to unpack. You don't.
The apartment feels smaller now, the air thicker, like the walls themselves are breathing. You’re still sprawled on the edge of the mattress, knees wide, thin cotton shorts shoved down just far enough that the waistband bites into the tops of your thighs. Your tank top has ridden up under your breasts, nipples stiff and visible through the damp fabric. Two fingers are buried inside you, knuckle-deep, curling, pumping, while your thumb mashes frantic, messy circles over your swollen clit. Every stroke pulls a slick, obscene sound from between your legs. You can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.
The apartment is quiet for maybe ten minutes. Then you hear it. From the living room, muffled at first, then unmistakable. Low grunts. Wet, rhythmic sounds. Skin on skin. "New roommate's pussy looked so fucking tight," Jake's voice, breathy. "Bet she'd cry if I went in raw."
Jay, rougher: "I'd make her ride me reverse so I could watch that ass bounce while Heeseung fucks her throat."
Sunghoon, colder, meaner: "I'm breaking that little cunt open first. Gonna make her squirt all over the couch before the night's over."
Heeseung's voice cuts through, low, controlled, dangerous. "We're breaking her in slow. Let her think she has control for a day or two. Then we take turns stretching her till she forgets her own name."
More groans. Faster strokes. Someone swears. Someone moans your name, your actual fucking name, like it's already theirs. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers at the memory. A fresh gush of wetness coats your palm. You’re dripping onto the sheet now, dark spot spreading beneath your ass. You try to muffle the next whimper by biting the inside of your cheek, but it still leaks out, high and broken.
You come hard. Silent at first, then a choked whimper slips out when your fingers push inside, chasing the aftershocks. Your thighs shake. The bed creaks. The apartment has been dead silent for thirty seconds.
Then, floorboards creak. Not fast. Not rushed. Slow. Measured. One deliberate step after another. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you’re sure they can hear it through the thin walls. You freeze, fingers still stuffed inside you, walls fluttering helplessly around them. You don’t dare pull them out. Don’t dare move. Every nerve feels peeled open, raw, screaming.
The footsteps stop right outside your door. You hold your breath. The knob turns. No knock. No warning. The door swings inward on silent hinges. Heeseung fills the frame.
No shirt. Sweatpants slung obscenely low, the thick ridge of his cock still half-hard and outlined against the gray cotton like it’s trying to tear through. A faint sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbones, down the cut of his abs. His hair is wrecked, fingers-raked, damp at the temples. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and the corner of his mouth curls in something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s possession wearing amusement like a mask.
He doesn’t step inside. Not yet. He just leans one bare shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, and lets his gaze drag over you, slow, deliberate, filthy. From the way your thighs tremble, to the hand still buried in your shorts, to the wet spot darkening the sheet, to your bitten-raw lip and glassy eyes.
“Caught you,” he murmurs. Voice so low it vibrates in your chest. Your fingers twitch involuntarily inside yourself. A tiny, helpless pump. You can’t help it. His voice alone is enough to make your cunt spasm. He notices. Of course he notices. His head tilts. “You didn’t even lock the door, baby.”
The endearment lands like a slap and a caress at once. Your mouth opens, maybe to deny, maybe to beg, maybe just to breathe, but nothing comes out except a shaky exhale.
He takes one step forward. The floor creaks under his weight. Another step. Your pulse is in your throat, your clit, your fingertips. You’re so wet it’s obscene, every tiny shift of your hips makes a slick sound you’re sure he can hear.
He stops at the foot of the bed. Close enough that you can smell him, clean sweat, faint cologne, the dark musk of arousal still clinging to his skin from whatever they were doing out there.
“Look at you,” he says softly. Almost tender. “Legs spread like you were waiting for an audience. Fingers stuffed in that greedy little hole while you listened to us talk about ruining you.” His eyes flick to where your hand disappears into your shorts. “Did you come thinking about Sunghoon splitting you open? Or Jay making you bounce on his cock while I fucked your throat raw?”
You make a sound, half sob, half moan. Your hips jerk up without permission, chasing your own fingers. Heeseung’s gaze darkens. “Don’t stop.”
Your breath hitches. “Keep fucking yourself,” he orders, voice dropping into something darker, quieter, more dangerous. “Let me watch how desperate you got listening to us plan all the ways we’re gonna break you.”
Your fingers move before your brain catches up, slow at first, then faster, wetter, louder. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your other hand claws at the sheet. Your thighs shake so hard the bed frame rattles. Heeseung doesn’t touch you. He just watches.
Eyes heavy-lidded. Breathing slow and controlled while yours comes in ragged little pants. The outline of his cock has thickened again, straining harder against the sweats. A dark spot blooms at the tip. "You were moaning our names," he says, tilting his head. "Heard you clear as day."
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He walks closer. Stops at the edge of the bed. Looks down at you, spread, flushed, fingers still glistening.
"First rule of the house," he says, voice velvet and final. He reaches down, grips your chin, tilts your face up so you have to meet his eyes. "If we hear you moaning our names, if you touch that pretty pussy thinking about us, you don't get to come alone anymore."
His thumb drags across your bottom lip, collecting the spit and gloss there. "You finish with one of us inside you. Or on you. Or watching. Your choice."
He leans in until his mouth is a breath from yours. "But tonight?" He smirks, slow, filthy, victorious. "Tonight you go to sleep wet and aching. No more touching. That's rule two."
He straightens. Steps back. "Get some rest, sweetheart."
He turns for the door. Pauses. Looks over his shoulder. "And tomorrow?" His smile is all teeth. "Rent's due."
The door clicks shut behind him. You lie back on the bed, heart slamming, thighs slick, body screaming. You don't touch yourself again. Not because you don't want to. But because you know, he's right outside. And they're all waiting for the next time you break.
Your gasp rips through the dim bedroom like a blade, but it’s not fear that claws up your throat, it’s the raw, electric shock of Jake’s iron grip clamping around your upper arm, yanking you upright so violently the mattress squeaks in protest. Your eyes fly open to the sight of his wicked grin, teeth flashing white in the pale morning light filtering through half-drawn blinds. The sheets are torn away in one savage sweep, cool air slamming against your overheated skin like a slap. Your thin tank top is already bunched uselessly under your tits, the fabric twisted tight around your ribs, while your tiny sleep shorts have ridden so high they barely cover the swell of your ass cheeks, the crotch seam digging intently into your folds.
“Morning, roomie,” Jake purrs, voice dripping with mock sweetness and pure venom. He drags you out of bed like a ragdoll, your bare feet scrambling for purchase on the icy concrete floor, toes curling against the chill. His free hand instantly mauls your left tit, thick fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, squeezing so hard your nipple hardens between his knuckles like a ripe berry. His thumb flicks it once, twice, three times, fast and brutal, like he’s punishing a disobedient little button. Pain blooms hot and sharp, shooting straight to your clit, and you hiss through clenched teeth, back arching involuntarily, pushing your chest further into his greedy palm.
He laughs, low, filthy, delighted, and crashes his mouth against your cheek in a wet, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. The flat of his tongue drags slow and deliberate across your flushed skin, leaving a thick trail of spit that cools instantly. He pulls back with a loud smack, lips shiny, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Breakfast’s waiting, princess. And you’re the main fucking course.”
He hauls you down the hallway, your legs stumbling, tits bouncing freely under the ruined tank, shorts still tangled around one thigh. The living room hits you like a fever dream: thick with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, printer ink, and the unmistakable musk of four horny men who’ve already been stroking themselves thinking about this exact moment. Jay’s lounging like a king on the massive sectional sofa, legs spread wide in nothing but gray sweats that do nothing to hide the monstrous bulge tenting the fabric, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other lazily palming his cock through the material. He doesn’t even stand. Just crooks two fingers at you, slow and commanding, a lazy smirk playing on his full lips.
Jake shoves you forward hard. You stumble straight into Jay’s waiting hands, rough, calloused palms gripping your hips like vices, and he yanks you down onto his lap in one fluid, possessive motion. Your bare ass cheeks land flush against the scorching heat of his massive morning wood, the thick ridge of it nestling perfectly between your cheeks through the thin sweats. He groans deep in his chest and rocks up once, grinding his fat cock against you so you feel every throbbing inch, every vein, the blunt head nudging right against your folds like a promise.
“Sit pretty for me, slut,” Jay growls hot against the shell of your ear, breath smelling like mint and sin. One thick arm snakes around your waist, locking you down like a seatbelt made of steel. His other hand shoves up under your tank top, claiming your right tit fully, squeezing, kneading, rolling the nipple between rough fingers until it’s swollen and aching. You squirm helplessly, already leaking slick down your thighs, but he just chuckles darkly and pinches harder. “That’s it. Feel how hard you make me first thing in the goddamn morning?”
Heeseung leans against the kitchen island like a statue carved from ice and hunger, arms crossed over his broad chest, black tank stretched tight across his muscles, sweatpants slung low enough to show the deep V of his hips. His dark eyes drink you in with that calm, terrifying amusement, lips curled in the barest smirk. Sunghoon’s perched on the arm of the couch like a predator in repose, long legs dangling, one hand already shoved inside his boxers, slowly fisting his long, pretty cock, tip flushed angry red, leaking precum in shiny beads that he smears down the shaft with lazy twists.
A single crisp sheet of paper is taped to the stainless-steel fridge, bold black Arial bullet points screaming authority.
Roommate Rules.
Jake claps once, sharp and theatrical, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. “New roommate orientation, baby! Time to learn the house rules. Stand up, oh wait.” He grins viciously as Jay’s arm tightens, keeping you impaled on his lap, grinding slow circles so the ridge of his cock drags deliciously against your dripping cunt. “Never mind. Stay right there.”
Jay doesn’t let you move an inch. Jake rips the paper free and slaps it into your trembling hands. “Read it. Out. Loud. Every word.”
Heeseung’s voice cuts through like velvet over steel. “And don’t you dare stop.”
Your fingers shake so badly the paper rattles. Jay’s free hand dives straight down, past the waistband of your shorts, two thick fingers spearing into your soaked cunt without mercy, no teasing, no warmup. They curl viciously against your G-spot instantly, pumping in and out with wet, filthy squelching sounds that echo obscenely. Your walls clamp down greedily, sucking him deeper, and you choke on the first syllable.
“R-Rule… one…” Your voice cracks into a broken moan as Jay adds a third finger on the next thrust, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally. “N-No panties… in the apartment… after 8 p.m. Fuck—ahh!”
Sunghoon hums low, shoving his boxers down to his thighs, his long cock springing free, veiny, curved slightly, glistening as he strokes faster, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. “Louder, whore. Let us hear how wet that rule makes you.”
Jake drops to his knees between your spread thighs like he’s worshipping at an altar. He rips your shorts down your legs in one violent yank, tossing them across the room, leaving you completely bare from the waist down on Jay’s lap, pussy lips puffy and shining, clit throbbing visibly. He spreads your thighs wider with both hands, thumbs digging into soft flesh, and leans in. His tongue, hot, flat, and obscene, drags from your dripping hole all the way up to your swollen clit in one long, sloppy stripe. He sucks your clit into his mouth like it’s candy, tongue flicking rapid-fire while Jay’s fingers keep moving.
“Rule two,” you sob, hips jerking wildly, trying to ride both sensations at once. “You… sit on someone’s lap… during movie nights, oh god, Jake, please—ahh!”
Jake pulls back just enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit, watching it drip down to mix with your juices coating Jay’s knuckles. “Good fucking girl. Keep reading while I eat this sloppy cunt like breakfast.”
Your voice is pure wreckage now, high, breathy, broken. “Rule three… Whoever cooks… the others get to fuck you… on the counter… while dinner’s in the oven, fuck, I’m gonna—”
Jay slams his fingers deeper, adding a fourth, stretching you to the burning limit. Your pussy gushes around him, slick squirting out in messy pulses that soak his sweats and the couch beneath you. The wet sounds are pornographic, schlick-schlick-schlick, loud enough to drown out your whimpers.
Heeseung is stroking himself now, thick, heavy, perfectly shaped, veins pulsing as he strokes slow and controlled, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every twitch of humiliation and pleasure. “Almost there, sweetheart. Finish it. Then we give you the welcome gift you’ve been dripping for since you moved in.”
Jake stands, shoving his shorts down. His cock slaps heavy against his abs, thick, girthy, the head red and angry, already drooling precum in long strings. He strokes himself right in front of your face, the wet sound of his fist mixing with Jay’s fingers destroying your cunt. The tip keeps brushing your cheek, smearing precum across your skin like war paint.
You force the last words out between guttural moans, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaking your face. “First… official use… read the rules out loud… while being used—nnngh! And… and it ends with all four… cumming on your face… and tits… as welcome gift, please, I can’t—!”
Silence crashes down for half a second, only the obscene sounds of fingers plunging into soaked pussy and four men stroking their cocks. Then Jay rips his fingers out with a wet pop. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness, pussy clenching around nothing, a gush of your own slick dripping down your thighs onto the carpet.
Heeseung steps forward first, voice calm as death. “On your knees, cumdump.” Jay lifts you like you weigh nothing, strong arms tossing you onto the floor between them. The rough carpet bites into your knees as you kneel, back straight, tits heaving, cunt visibly throbbing and empty. They circle you like wolves, four towering, muscular bodies, cocks hard and leaking, surrounding you in a filthy halo of dominance.
Heeseung speaks, low and final. “Welcome to the house, sweetheart. Open that pretty mouth and take what you earned.” They don’t ask permission. They just ruin you.
Jake goes first, groaning loud and theatrical, fist flying as thick, ropey jets of cum erupt across your face. One stripe lands right across your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat. Another paints your left cheek, dripping down to your jaw. A third splatters across your forehead, sliding into your hair. He milks every drop, slapping his spent cock against your lips. “Swallow what you can, baby. The rest stays.”
Sunghoon’s next, quiet, intense, eyes dark as midnight. He aims low, long powerful spurts painting your tits in pearly white. Thick globs land on your left nipple, sliding down the curve of your breast like icing. Another heavy rope coats the valley between them, dripping down your stomach. He keeps stroking through it, smearing the head of his cock through the mess on your skin, marking you deeper.
Jay growls your name like a curse, “Fuck, look at you”—and unloads across the right side of your face. Hot cum hits your cheekbone, your eyelid, your lips, mixing with Jake’s in sticky rivers that drip off your chin onto your cum-glazed tits. One stray shot lands directly on your tongue and you moan, swallowing reflexively.
Heeseung saves the best for last. He steps closest, tipping your chin up with two fingers so your teary eyes lock onto his. “Eyes on me while I paint my new toy.” His strokes stay slow, deliberate, until the first powerful pulse shoots straight across your lips, forcing you to taste him, thick, bitter-sweet, coating your tongue. The next stripes your chest, adding fresh layers over Sunghoon’s mess, dripping off your nipples in heavy rivulets. He keeps coming, pulse after pulse, until your entire face and tits are a glistening, ruined masterpiece of four loads, cum sliding down your body in obscene trails, pooling in the hollow of your throat and between your thighs.
When they finally step back, you’re a trembling, kneeling wreck, face and chest absolutely drenched, lips parted, tongue still out like a good little cumslut, thighs shaking, pussy clenching and dripping onto the carpet in desperate need.
Heeseung crouches, thumb scooping a thick glob of mixed cum from your bottom lip. He pushes it deep into your mouth. “Suck. Clean every drop like the rules say.” You do, hollowing your cheeks, sucking his thumb clean with a wet pop, eyes fluttering as the salty, musky taste of all four of them floods your senses. He smiles, slow, dark, satisfied. “Rules are rules, baby.”
Jake laughs, tucking his cock away with a satisfied sigh. “Shower’s down the hall, princess. But we won’t mind if you don’t shower today. Or ever again.”
Jay leans down, pressing an almost tender kiss to the top of your cum-matted hair. “Welcome home, roomie.”
Sunghoon just stares, licking his lips as you instinctively drag your tongue across them, chasing every stray drop. “Rent’s cheap as fuck now, huh? But you are gonna pay every single day.”
You can’t speak, voice wrecked, body owned. But your cunt is already fluttering, aching, dripping for the next rule they’ll break you with. And they know it. They always will.
The rest of the day unravels like a slow, deliberate fever dream, every ordinary second laced with the kind of casual, relentless violation that makes your pulse thunder and your cunt throb like a second heartbeat. You try so fucking hard to pretend it’s just another lazy Saturday. That the thick, salty ghosts of their cum aren’t still drying in flaky trails across your tits and cheeks no matter how hard you scrubbed in the shower. That the taste of all four of them, bitter, musky, addictively filthy, doesn’t coat the back of your throat every single time you swallow.
The shower is a war zone. Scalding water pounds against skin still blooming with faint red handprints and fingertip bruises, steam thick enough to choke on. You soap yourself raw, trying to erase the evidence, but every glide of your own hands over your sore nipples, your swollen clit, your tender skin just reminds you how easily they marked you. When you finally step out, the oversized black tee you pull on clings to your still-damp skin like a surrender flag, hem barely skimming the bottom curve of your ass, nipples already stiff and obvious against the thin cotton, pussy lips puffy and exposed every time you move. No bra. No panties. It’s not even close to 8 p.m., but the rule is already branded into your brain like a collar. You tell yourself it’s just comfort. Practicality. Not the first step in learning to live with your holes on permanent display.
They let you cling to that lie for exactly twenty-three minutes.
You’re in the kitchen, stretching up on tiptoes to grab a glass from the top shelf, the tee riding all the way up to expose the full, bare globes of your ass and the slick shine already coating your inner thighs, when the first crack lands.
Jake’s palm connects with your right cheek like a gunshot, sharp, loud, viciously playful. The sound ricochets off the marble counters. Your whole body jolts forward, glass clattering against the shelf, and a hot bloom of pain explodes across your skin. Before you can even gasp, he’s right there, chest pressed to your back, hips grinding his half-hard cock against the cleft of your ass through his sweats.
“Careful, princess,” he drawls, voice syrupy and mean. Both hands shove up under the tee from behind, claiming your tits like they were built for his palms, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh until it bulges between his fingers, thumbs and forefingers rolling your nipples in tight, cruel pinches that send lightning straight to your clit. “Wouldn’t want you breaking shit on your first full day. Or maybe we should make you clean it up on your knees.”
You white-knuckle the counter, breath sawing out of you, thighs pressing together uselessly as fresh slick drips down your legs.
Heeseung strolls past like he’s fetching orange juice, not even sparing you a glance, until his arm snaps out mid-stride and his open palm cracks across your left cheek so hard the sting blooms white-hot and immediate. Your knees buckle. He keeps walking, cool as ever, but you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jay’s waiting when you bend over to grab a yogurt from the bottom drawer of the fridge. The oversized tee flips up completely, baring your dripping cunt and the pink handprints already decorating your ass. His bare foot hooks your ankle, yanking your legs apart with zero warning. Then his hand comes down, once, twice, three brutal, stinging slaps in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, the wet smack of skin on wet skin echoing obscenely. Your pussy clenches visibly with every impact, a humiliating string of slick stretching from your hole to the floor.
“Good reach, roomie,” he mutters, already back to scrolling his phone like he didn’t just turn your ass into a throbbing, cherry-red masterpiece. “Keep bending over like that and I might have to test how deep that pretty throat is before dinner.”
Sunghoon doesn’t bother with words. He simply appears behind you while you’re loading the dishwasher, hips slamming forward to pin you bent over the open rack, his massive erection grinding slow and filthy between your spread cheeks. One arm bands around your waist, the other shoves under the tee to grope your tits with lazy, proprietary thoroughness, palms rolling the soft mounds like ripe fruit, fingers tugging and twisting your nipples until they’re swollen, aching peaks. He pinches so hard you cry out, then releases you with a low whistle, walking away like he just checked the mail.
It never stops.
Every single movement is an invitation they cash immediately. Reaching for the remote? Jake’s fingers plunge between your thighs from behind, two thick digits sliding through your soaked folds just long enough to coat themselves before he pulls away, sucking them clean with a wink. Bending to pick up a dropped spoon? Jay’s palm cracks down again, then stays, middle finger dipping into your cunt, pumping once, twice, curling against your G-spot until your knees shake, then withdrawing with a wet pop and a casual “oops.” Stretching up to dust the top shelf? Heeseung’s mouth finds the back of your neck, teeth grazing, one hand sliding between your legs to flick your clit in rapid, teasing circles until you’re whimpering, then he’s gone, leaving you edged and gasping.
By late afternoon you’re a walking wreck, skin flushed scarlet, ass a lattice of overlapping handprints burning with every step, nipples raw and hypersensitive against the cotton, cunt so swollen and empty it aches like a bruise. Your thighs are shiny with constant slick. Your brain is fogged with need. You’re trying, failing, to fold laundry on the living room couch when Jake decides he’s done playing.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t warn. He simply drops to his knees in front of you like a man starved for weeks, hooks your trembling legs over his broad shoulders, and buries his face in your dripping pussy with a guttural groan that vibrates straight through your clit.
No warmup. No mercy.
His tongue is everywhere at once, broad, flat, filthy laps from your clenching hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, then sucking the swollen bud between his lips like he’s trying to pull your soul out through it. He alternates, hard, punishing suction that makes your back bow off the cushions, then soft, fluttering licks that leave you sobbing. Two thick fingers spear into you without resistance, curling viciously against that spongy spot inside while his tongue flicks your clit in rapid, relentless strokes. The wet sounds are deafening, your slick gushing around his knuckles, dripping down his chin, soaking the couch beneath you.
You grab fistfuls of his hair, half trying to rip him off, half grinding your cunt against his face desperate for release. “J-Jake, fuck—too much—ahh!”
He growls into your pussy, the vibration making your vision spark white. Three fingers now, stretching you wide, pumping brutally, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while his tongue spears inside you, fucking you in shallow, messy thrusts. Your thighs clamp around his head like a vice. Your back arches so hard you nearly levitate. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent, shattering, squirting messily all over his face as you scream, walls convulsing, vision whiting out completely.
He doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, through the aftershocks, through the oversensitive whimpers and the frantic pushing at his head, tongue and fingers relentless until you’re a sobbing, twitching wreck, another smaller orgasm crashing over you before the first even fades.
Only then does he pull back, face glistening, lips swollen, chin dripping with your cum like he just won a war. He climbs up your body slow, caging you against the cushions with his powerful frame, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh through his sweats. Then he kisses you. Not the brutal, claiming way you expect after he just devoured your cunt like a starving animal.
Sweet. Devastatingly soft. His mouth moves against yours like a promise, gentle, coaxing, tongue sliding in lazy, velvet strokes that taste like your own slick and his spit. One hand cups your cheek with shocking tenderness, thumb stroking your jawbone like you’re fragile, precious. The other rests low on your belly, warm, possessive, fingers splayed like he’s claiming the space where his cock will eventually live.
It breaks something in you. Filthy-sweet. Disorienting. Dangerous. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling, eyes half-lidded and shining. “Good girl,” he whispers, so soft it feels like a secret. “Tasted so fucking sweet. Could eat this pussy for every meal.”
Then he’s gone, standing, wiping his shiny face with the back of his hand, flashing that boyish, wicked grin like he didn’t just ruin you twice in five minutes. You lie there panting, legs still hooked open and shaking, lips tingling, cunt still fluttering and leaking onto the ruined couch. The others don’t even pretend to look away anymore.
Heeseung glances over from the armchair, dark eyes gleaming, one brow raised in quiet approval. Jay keeps scrolling, but his free hand is palming the massive bulge in his sweats. Sunghoon licks his lips slowly, deliberately, like he’s already tasting his turn. You yank the tee down over your trembling thighs with shaking hands, trying to catch your breath, trying to remember how to be a person.
The clock on the wall glows 7:42 p.m. Eighteen minutes until the first rule locks in for the night. And every single one of them is watching the seconds tick down with hungry, patient eyes.
The day was “normal.”
But normal in this house means your body is their favorite toy, teased, slapped, groped, eaten, and edged until you’re dripping and desperate. The night hasn’t even started.
The apartment is shrouded in that heavy, post-midnight hush, only the low, constant hum of the AC and the faint, faraway pulse of city traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The clock on the wall glows 12:34 a.m. Your panties have been gone for hours, the rule now a permanent, throbbing law between your legs. Every step you take reminds you: bare, slick, exposed, owned.
You’re trying to ghost down the hallway like a shadow, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood, oversized tee clutched in one fist to keep the hem from riding up, when Heeseung materializes out of nowhere. His long fingers wrap around your wrist like a steel cuff, firm but not cruel, and he yanks you sideways without a single word. The door to his room swings open, swallows you both, and clicks shut with the finality of a prison gate. The lock engages with a soft, damning thunk.
The second the bolt slides home, the mask drops. Heeseung spins you around and slams you back against the door so hard the wood rattles in its frame. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth clashing, tongues battling, no sweetness, just raw, starving hunger. One big hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so he can devour your throat, sucking bruises into the skin while the other shoves up under your tee and finds your already dripping cunt.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls against your pulse point, two thick fingers spearing straight into you without warning. “Been walking around all night with this greedy little hole empty? Bad girl.”
You moan brokenly, hips jerking into his hand. He adds a third finger instantly, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally while his thumb grinds hard circles on your swollen clit. Your knees buckle; he doesn’t let you fall. Just pins you to the door with his body and finger-fucks you so viciously the sound echoes louder than your gasps.
He rips the tee over your head in one motion, leaving you completely naked. Then he’s spinning you again, bending you over the edge of his massive bed, face pressed into the black silk sheets that smell like him, dark, expensive, masculine. He kicks your legs wider, slaps your ass once, twice, hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and bloom pink.
“Look at this pretty cunt clenching for me,” he snarls, lining up the fat, leaking head of his cock and slamming in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch burns so good you scream into the mattress. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and starts pounding.
Skin slaps skin like thunder. His heavy balls smack your clit with every savage thrust. The bed creaks violently under the assault. He fucks you like he’s trying to split you in half—deep, punishing strokes that drag against every sensitive ridge inside you, the thick head battering your cervix on every inward slam.
“Take it,” he grunts, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back, the other reaching around to slap your clit in time with his thrusts. “This is what you signed up for, roomie. This cunt belongs to the house now, belongs to me tonight.”
You’re sobbing, drooling onto the sheets, pussy gushing around his cock so loudly it’s embarrassing. He reaches down and spreads your ass cheeks wider, watching his thick shaft disappear into your stretched hole, the creamy ring of your arousal coating every inch.
“Fuck, look at that. Greedy little slut sucking me in.”
He pulls out suddenly, flips you onto your back, and hooks your legs over his shoulders. The new angle lets him drive even deeper. His hips snap forward like a machine, relentless, punishing, perfect. Your tits bounce wildly with every thrust. He leans down and sucks one swollen nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to make you wail, then soothes it with his tongue before moving to the other.
You come first, hard, screaming, walls clamping down on him like a vice, squirting messily around his cock as your whole body seizes. He doesn’t slow. Just fucks you straight through it, growling praises and filth into your ear.
“That’s it, milk my cock, baby. Give me another. Come on this dick again like the house whore you are.”
You do, second orgasm ripping through you even harder, vision whiting out, nails raking bloody lines down his back. Heeseung follows with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after pulse until it’s leaking out around his cock, dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets.
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, both of you heaving, sweat-slick bodies glued together. Then he pulls out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum pours from your ruined hole in a creamy waterfall.
But the brutality ends there.
Heeseung rolls off you with surprising grace, chest still rising and falling hard. He sits up, runs a hand through his wrecked hair, then stands, completely naked, still half-hard and shining with your combined mess. You lie there boneless, thighs trembling, cum leaking steadily onto the bed, mind completely blank.
He disappears into the attached bathroom. You hear the faucet run, the soft clink of glass. When he returns, he’s carrying a warm, damp cloth and a small bottle of something. You flinch when he kneels between your spread thighs again, instinct, not fear, but he just shushes you softly.
“Easy, baby.”
The cloth is blissfully warm. He starts at your inner thighs, wiping away the sticky trails of cum with slow, careful strokes. Then higher, between your folds, dabbing gently at your swollen, puffy entrance. You hiss when the fabric brushes your oversensitive clit; he pauses instantly, waiting until you relax before continuing. He cleans every inch of you with the patience of a man who’s done this before, thorough, reverent, almost worshipful. When he’s satisfied, he sets the cloth aside and pours a small amount of cool, soothing lotion onto his fingers, massaging it gently into the red handprints on your hips, your ass, the bite marks on your breasts.
You can only stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with the orgasms.
Heeseung meets your gaze, those dark eyes steady, unreadable for a heartbeat, then the corner of his mouth lifts in something softer than a smirk. “I may be an asshole, baby,” he says, voice low and gravel-rough from how loud he’d moaned your name, “but I know how to treat what’s mine right after I break it.”
He finishes with the lotion, then grabs a clean, fluffy towel from the dresser and drapes it gently over your hips like a blanket. Pulls the black silk sheet up to your waist, tucking it around you with careful hands. Finally, he leans down, brushes sweat-damp strands of hair off your forehead with his knuckles, light, almost sweet, and presses the softest kiss to your temple.
“Get some sleep,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re gonna need every ounce of strength for what the rest of them have planned tomorrow.”
He doesn’t stay. Just stands, flicks off the bedside lamp with a soft click, and pads out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough that a thin, golden line of hallway light spills across the floor like an invitation… or a warning.
You lie there in the dark, body aching in the most delicious, ruined way, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, skin tingling from his gentle hands, mind spinning in dizzy circles.
Because he is an asshole. A cruel, rule-making, cum-painting, pussy-destroying asshole. But tonight, for the first time since you moved in, you’re terrifyingly certain that’s not all he is. And that single, dangerous crack in the armor?
It scares you more than every filthy rule they’ve written on that fridge. Because if Heeseung can fuck you like a toy and then care for you like something precious…
What the hell are the other three capable of? You get your answer somewhere around an hour after Heeseung leaves.
The apartment has gone quiet, city lights bleeding through the blinds in faint orange stripes, the distant hum of traffic like white noise. You’re half-asleep in your own bed again, body still humming from earlier, skin too sensitive, mind too full of everything that’s happened since you walked through the front door. The sheets feel cool against the faint bruises blooming on your hips.
You don’t hear the door open. Just feel the mattress dip behind you, slow, careful, like whoever it is doesn’t want to startle you awake. Then warmth. Jay’s chest presses to your back, not crowding, not possessive in the usual way. Just… there. Solid. His arm slides around your waist from behind, palm flattening low on your stomach. Fingers splay wide, covering as much skin as they can without gripping.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just breathes, slow, even, against the nape of your neck. His nose brushes the baby hairs there once, twice. Then his thumb starts moving.
Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate swirls over the soft skin just below your navel. The kind of touch that feels like he’s tracing something fragile. Like you’re made of blown glass, or spun sugar, or something that might crack if he presses too hard.
It’s nothing like the way they’ve touched you all day. No slaps. No gropes. No mocking whispers or filthy promises. Just this. Quiet. Steady. Almost reverent. You tense for half a second, waiting for the punchline, the shift into something meaner.
It doesn’t come. Instead, his lips find the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Not a kiss. Just a resting place. Warm breath fanning over your skin in time with the slow rub of his thumb. “You okay?” he murmurs eventually. Voice low, rough from sleep and whatever else he’s been doing in the dark. Not demanding an answer. Just… checking.
You don’t know what to say. Your throat feels tight. You nod once, small, barely there. His hand keeps moving. Same rhythm. Same gentleness. Circles widening a little, then tightening again, like he’s memorizing the shape of you under his palm.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says against your skin. “Any of it. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever.”
The words hang there, simple, quiet, sincere in a way that doesn’t match the asshole roommates who printed rules on the fridge and came on your face like it was a housewarming tradition. You swallow. “I’m… okay,” you whisper. It’s the truth, mostly. The rest is too tangled to name.
He hums once, soft, approving. His arm tightens just enough to pull you closer, back flush to his chest. No grind. No wandering hands. Just holding. The circles don’t stop. Slow. Soothing. Like he’s trying to rub the tension out of you molecule by molecule. You feel your breathing start to match his, deeper, slower. The ache between your legs dulls to a low throb instead of a sharp pulse. Your eyelids grow heavy again. Jay doesn’t move to leave.
Doesn’t push for more. Just stays. Palm warm on your waist. Thumb still drawing those endless, careful circles. Like you’re something worth being gentle with. Even here. Even now. You fall asleep to the rhythm of it, his heartbeat steady against your spine, his breath even against your neck, the soft scrape of calluses on your skin.
And for the first time since you moved in, the apartment doesn’t feel quite so dangerous.
Sunlight slices through the half-open blinds in thin, golden bars across your bare back. You wake slowly, first to the sensation of heat, then weight, then the unmistakable press of something thick and heavy sliding past your lips before your eyes are even open.
Heeseung. He’s already there, kneeling at the edge of the mattress, one hand braced on the headboard, the other cradling the back of your skull with surprising care. His cock is hard, morning wood, thick and flushed, veins prominent under the skin, and he’s feeding it to you slowly, not thrusting, just… settling. Like he’s been waiting for you to wake up around him.
Your lashes flutter. A soft, sleepy sound escapes your throat, half protest, half surrender, as your mouth stretches to accommodate him. He doesn’t push deeper than you can take. Just holds still once the head bumps the back of your tongue, letting you adjust.
“Shh,” he murmurs above you, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw. “Morning, baby.”
His voice is gravel-rough from sleep, softer than it has any right to be. You blink up at him through damp lashes. He’s shirtless, hair a wreck, eyes dark but not cruel. There’s something almost apologetic in the way he looks down at you, like he knows exactly how many times he’s already used this mouth, this body, in the last forty-eight hours and still can’t stop.
You don’t pull away. Instead, you flatten your tongue along the underside, hollow your cheeks just enough to make him hiss quietly. His hips twitch once, small, involuntary, then still again.
“Good girl,” he breathes. Not mocking. Quiet. Almost reverent.
That’s when you feel the mattress dip on either side. Jake slides in behind you first, warm chest pressing to your back, knees nudging yours apart. His cock, already leaking, slides between your thighs, not inside yet, just rocking slow and lazy along your folds. He kisses the nape of your neck, open-mouthed and gentle, like he’s tasting sleep-warmed skin instead of claiming territory.
“Morning, princess,” he whispers against your ear. One hand slips under you, cupping your breast, not squeezing, just holding. Palm warm. Fingers splayed. Thumb brushing the nipple in slow, soothing circles.
Sunghoon appears on your other side, long limbs unfolding gracefully. He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches your face while Heeseung rocks shallowly into your mouth. Then he leans in, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches around Heeseung’s length.
Sunghoon’s hand finds your hip. Strokes down the curve of your waist, then back up. Like he’s memorizing every dip and swell. Like he’s sorry for every bruise he’s left there. Jay’s the last to join.
He’s fully dressed, gray sweats, black tee, hair still damp from a shower, sitting in the armchair across from the bed with a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. Vertical hold. Red recording dot blinking steadily.
He doesn’t say anything filthy. Doesn’t bark orders. Just watches. Sips. The corner of his mouth lifts when your eyes meet his over Heeseung’s shoulder. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Almost fond. “Pretty,” he mouths. No sound. Just the shape of the word.
Heeseung starts moving then, slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Never deep enough to choke you. Just enough to fill your mouth, to let you taste the salt and musk of him. Your hands come up instinctively, fingers curling around the base he can’t fit, stroking what your lips can’t reach.
Jake shifts behind you. Lines himself up. Presses in, slow. So slow. The stretch is lazy, unhurried, like he has all morning to sink into you. When he bottoms out, he stays there. Doesn’t thrust. Just grinds in tiny, rolling circles, letting you feel every inch pressed against that spot inside that makes your toes curl.
Sunghoon’s hand slides between you and the mattress. Finds your clit. Circles it with the same gentle pressure Jake’s using on your nipple. No frantic rubbing. No pinching. Just soft, steady friction that builds slow and syrupy.
You moan around Heeseung, muffled, needy. The vibration makes him groan low in his throat.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it.”
They move like they’ve rehearsed it. Like they’ve agreed, silently, somewhere in the dark hours after Jay held you last night, that today they won’t break you. Not more than they already have.
Jake rocks into you in time with Heeseung’s shallow thrusts. Sunghoon’s fingers never falter, patient, coaxing. Your body starts to tremble, not from overstimulation, but from the slow, relentless climb they’re building together.
Jay’s phone stays steady. He tilts it slightly, capturing the way your back arches, the way Jake’s hand splays protectively over your stomach, the way Sunghoon’s lips brush your shoulder every few seconds like he can’t help himself.
Heeseung’s breathing grows ragged first. “Gonna come,” he warns, voice strained, almost pleading. “Where do you want it, baby?” You can’t answer with words. Just tighten your lips around him, suck harder, look up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
He swears under his breath. Pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and spills across your tongue in thick, warm pulses. You swallow what you can; the rest drips from the corner of your mouth. Heeseung catches it with his thumb, pushes it back between your lips.
“Good girl,” he whispers again. This time his voice cracks. Jake’s rhythm falters behind you. His forehead drops to your shoulder. “Fuck—can I—inside?”
You nod frantically, around Heeseung’s softening cock still resting on your tongue.
He groans, long, low, broken, and buries himself deep. Comes with a shudder that rocks through both of you. Hot. Thick. Filling you until it leaks out around him, down your thighs. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays seated, grinding lazily through the aftershocks, letting you clench around him like he’s trying to keep every drop where it belongs.
Sunghoon’s fingers speed up just enough, still gentle, still careful, and you come like a wave breaking slow. No scream. No violent shaking. Just a long, trembling release that leaves you boneless, whimpering softly into Heeseung’s thigh.
They don’t rush to move.
Jake stays inside you, softening but not leaving. Sunghoon keeps petting your clit through the aftershocks, light, soothing touches now. Heeseung strokes your hair back from your face, tucking strands behind your ear.
Jay finally lowers the phone. Stops recording. Sets the mug on the side table. Walks over. He kneels on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, and cups your cheek. Thumb swipes away the last trace of Heeseung from your lip.
“You okay?” he asks quietly. You nod. Eyes heavy. Body humming. He leans down. Kisses your forehead, soft. Lingering. Then he looks at the others. “Group chat,” he says simply. “She’s gonna want to see it later.”
Jake chuckles, soft, breathless, against your neck. “She’s gonna come again just watching.” Sunghoon finally pulls his hand away. Presses one last kiss to your shoulder blade. Heeseung helps ease you onto your side, careful, like you might shatter. Jake slips out slowly, both of you hissing at the loss. Cum leaks immediately, thick, white, obscene. Jay grabs a clean towel from the nightstand, wipes between your thighs with the same gentle care Heeseung used last night.
No one speaks for a minute. Just breathing. Skin cooling. Hearts slowing. Then Heeseung breaks the quiet. “We were… a lot,” he says. Voice rough. Eyes on yours. “Yesterday. The day before. If it’s too much—”
You shake your head before he can finish. Reach up. Curl your fingers around his wrist. “I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m staying.” Something flickers across his face, relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.
Jay’s hand finds yours. Squeezes once. Jake presses his lips to the back of your neck, soft, apologetic. Sunghoon just watches you. Then leans in. Kisses the corner of your mouth. Slow. Sweet. “Breakfast,” Jay says eventually. “In bed. No rules for the next hour.”
You laugh, small, wrecked, real. They move like they’ve been given permission to be soft. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself believe they might actually mean it. The rest of the day unfolds like something borrowed from another life.
No one touches you. Not in the hungry, claiming way you’ve come to expect. No wandering hands under your shirt while you’re making toast. No casual spanks when you bend to pick up a stray sock. No one pins you against the counter or drags you onto a lap. The rules, those printed, obscene bullet points on the fridge, might as well be written in invisible ink for how irrelevant they feel in the soft, lazy hours that follow breakfast.
They just… stay.
All four of them orbit you without crowding. The living room becomes this strange, sunlit island: blankets dragged from bedrooms, pillows piled into a makeshift nest on the sectional, takeout containers from last night still scattered like evidence of a truce. Someone puts on music, low-fi beats, nothing aggressive, just enough rhythm to fill the quiet without demanding attention. Jake sprawls across the floor with his head in your lap, scrolling memes on his phone and reading the funniest ones out loud in increasingly ridiculous voices until you snort-laugh and accidentally knee him in the ribs.
“Ow, princess, you trying to murder me?” he whines, but he’s grinning, grabbing your hand to press a dramatic kiss to your knuckles before going right back to his phone.
Jay sits cross-legged at the other end of the couch, one of your feet in his lap. He massages your ankle absentmindedly while he argues with Heeseung about whether the new season of some crime drama is trash or genius. Every time you shift, he squeezes your calf once, gentle, grounding, like a silent check-in.
Heeseung’s on the armchair opposite, legs kicked up on the coffee table, nursing the same lukewarm coffee from this morning. He catches your eye every so often and just… holds it. No smirk. No heat. Just a small, almost shy tilt of his mouth, like he’s still surprised you’re still here.
Sunghoon is the quietest. He’s tucked into the corner of the sectional, long legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest behind you. He doesn’t say much, just watches. Watches you laugh at Jake’s dumb jokes. Watches the way your shoulders slowly unclench. Watches the way the afternoon light turns your skin gold.
You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time someone shifts closer, every time a hand brushes your arm or knee, your body tenses on instinct, bracing for the grab, the grope, the inevitable slide into filth. But it never comes.
Instead: Jake starts a pillow fight that lasts exactly thirty five seconds before Jay declares himself referee and tackles Jake into the cushions. Heeseung orders fried chicken and insists on feeding you the first piece, holding it to your lips like Jay used to, but this time there’s no sauce-smeared thumb, no dirty promise in his eyes. Just a soft “Open up, baby,” and when you do, he smiles like you’ve given him something precious.
Sunghoon eventually migrates closer. Not crowding. Just enough that his thigh presses warm against yours. You glance at him, skeptical, guarded, still half-expecting the mask to slip. He notices. Of course he does. His hand lifts, slow, telegraphing every movement so you can pull away if you want. You don’t.
Fingers gentle, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers there, knuckles grazing the shell lightly, before he lets his palm cup the side of your face for half a heartbeat. You freeze. He smiles. Not the cold, cutting one he usually wears. Something smaller. Softer. Almost sad.
“You are our friend, sweetheart,” he says quietly. His voice is low enough that the others have to strain to hear, but they do. The room quiets around the words like they’re something fragile. You blink. Throat tight. Sunghoon’s thumb brushes your cheekbone once, barely there.
“We fucked this up from the start,” he continues, softer still. “We saw you walk through that door looking like you were ready to bolt at the first wrong move… and we made sure every move was wrong. On purpose.” His gaze drops to where his hand still rests against your skin. “Thought it’d be easier if you hated us. If you left on your own. If we never had to admit we wanted you to stay for more than just—”
He stops. Swallows. “—for more than just the easy parts.” The confession hangs there, heavy and unpolished. Jake’s head is still in your lap; he’s gone unnaturally still, staring up at the ceiling like he’s afraid to interrupt. Jay’s thumb has paused on your ankle.
Heeseung sets his coffee down. Slowly. You look around at them, all four, and for the first time you see it: the guilt. Not performative. Not a tactic. Real. Raw. Sitting under their skin like a bruise they’ve been ignoring. Sunghoon’s hand finally drops from your face, but he doesn’t move away.
“We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he says. “We don’t deserve it. Not yet. But we’re not gonna keep treating you like—” He exhales through his nose. “—like you’re disposable. Not anymore.” Silence stretches. Then Jake, sweet, chaotic Jake, breaks it by pressing the softest kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“Friends can still cuddle, right?” he mumbles against your skin. “Because I’m not moving. My head’s too comfy.” A tiny, surprised laugh bubbles out of you. Jay squeezes your calf once. “We’ve got time,” he says simply. “No rush. No rules today.”
Heeseung leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell us what you want,” he says. “Right now. Anything. We’ll listen.” You look at them, really look. The assholes who printed rules on the fridge. The ones who marked you, used you, laughed while they did it. The ones who just spent an entire day proving they know how to be gentle when they choose to be. You swallow.
“I want…” Your voice is small at first. Then steadier. “I want to believe you.” Sunghoon’s eyes soften. “Then we’ll keep showing you,” he says. “Until you do.”
Jake nuzzles closer into your lap like a cat claiming territory. Jay resumes the slow massage on your ankle. Heeseung picks up the remote, queues up some mindless comedy you’ve all seen a hundred times.
And Sunghoon, quiet, beautiful, regretful Sunghoon, leans in just enough to rest his forehead against your temple. “Friends,” he whispers again. Like a promise.
Like a beginning. The afternoon bleeds into evening. No one fucks you. No one even tries. They just stay. Laughing. Joking. Touching you like you matter. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself lean into it.
Just a little. Just enough to see what happens when the rules stop mattering and the people start to.
The apartment feels different when the others are gone, quieter, yes, but not the hollow kind of quiet that echoes off the walls. It’s softer, warmer, like the whole space exhales once Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon finally slip out the door with their jackets half-zipped and promises of “real food” still lingering in the air. Twenty minutes ago they each pressed a kiss to your forehead, Heeseung’s lingering the longest, his thumb sweeping slow circles over your cheekbone as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were letting all four of them stay, Jay’s quick and teasing with a wink, Sunghoon’s almost shy, lips brushing your skin like a secret. They told Jake to behave, and the second the door clicked shut behind them, Jake’s grin turned wicked, golden-retriever energy dialed up to eleven, like the instruction itself was foreplay.
He’s been orbiting you ever since, turning half-hearted chores into an excuse to stay glued to your side. You’re folding laundry on the couch, and he keeps “helping” by snatching shirts out of your hands just to hold them up like trophies before tossing them back in a messy pile. In the kitchen he hip-checks you every time you reach for a dish towel, laughing low and bright when you swat at his chest. The late-afternoon sun pours through the big windows in thick golden slabs, catching on the fine hairs of his arms, turning his skin warm and honeyed. You’re both a little sweaty from moving around, the faint scent of his cologne, something clean, mixing with the laundry detergent and the leftover smell of last night’s fried chicken still clinging to the air.
“You’re terrible at this,” you say, watching him wrestle a fitted sheet into something that vaguely resembles a rectangle. The elastic corners keep snapping back at him like they have a personal grudge.
Jake flashes that devastating, all-teeth smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m excellent at distractions. Watch this, baby.”
Before you can protest, he shakes the sheet out with dramatic flair, like a matador taunting a bull, then whips it over both your heads in one smooth motion. The world narrows instantly to white cotton filtered sunlight, the fabric draping around you like a private tent. You’re both laughing before you can stop it, deep, helpless belly laughs that make your ribs ache and your eyes water. The sheet muffles everything, turning the sound intimate and close. Jake’s body is right there, heat radiating off him, chest brushing yours with every breathless chuckle. He tugs you deeper under the fabric, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, and suddenly the playful game shifts. His nose nudges yours. You feel the brush of his lashes against your cheek. The laughter fades into something heavier, warmer, the air between you thickening like honey.
“See?” he murmurs, voice low and rougher now. “Masterclass in procrastination.”
You roll your eyes, but your hands are already sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You don’t push him away. You pull him closer.
The sheet eventually slips to the floor in a crumpled heap, forgotten. You move down the hallway together, the basket of clean clothes balanced on your hip, Jake trailing so close his fingers keep ghosting the small of your back. You bend over to grab a stray sock that’s escaped onto the floor, nothing exaggerated, just a natural lean, your thin cotton shorts riding up just enough to expose the curve where thigh meets hip. Behind you, Jake sucks in a sharp, punched-out breath, like the sight physically winds him.
You freeze.
His hand settles on your hip, palm broad and hot, fingers spreading wide over the soft flesh through the fabric. Not a slap, not a grope. Just… claiming. Resting there with deliberate weight, thumb stroking a slow, lazy circle that makes your skin prickle. You feel every callus on his fingertips, the faint tremble in his touch like he’s fighting the urge to squeeze harder. Heat blooms low in your belly, liquid and slow.
You straighten up slowly, deliberately, and his hand stays glued to you, sliding with the motion so it ends up cupping the full cheek. He turns you around with the gentlest pressure on your hip, like you’re made of glass he’s terrified of cracking. Your back meets the cool wall of the hallway with a soft thud. Jake crowds in immediately, but not aggressively, his body cages you without trapping, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand still kneading your ass with slow, possessive squeezes that make your breath hitch.
His eyes have gone dark, almost black, pupils blown wide. Not the usual playful hunger. Something deeper. Hungrier. Worshipful.
“Hey,” he breathes, voice gravel-rough. “You good? Still with me?” You nod, small and shaky, because the air has turned thick, syrupy, every inhale dragging like molasses. Your nipples are already tight against your shirt, and you know he can see it. He leans in like he’s giving you every chance to stop him. The first kiss is feather-light, barely a brush of lips, testing, asking. You answer by tilting your head, parting your mouth just enough, tongue flicking out to taste him. That’s all the permission he needs.
Jake kisses you like he’s been starving for it since the day you moved in, like every shared glance and late-night movie marathon has been foreplay leading to this exact second. Slow. So fucking slow. His lips are plush and warm, sliding against yours with wet, deliberate pressure. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing the seam until you open wider, then he licks inside, deep, lazy strokes that map every inch of you like he’s memorizing the taste. You moan softly into his mouth and he answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight down to your clit. His hand on your ass tightens, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he already is, thick, heavy ridge straining against his sweatpants, pressing right against your lower belly.
One of his hands cradles your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone while the other slides up under your shirt, palm flat and scorching against the bare skin of your stomach. He doesn’t rush. His fingers splay wide, stroking up your ribs, tracing the underside of your breasts with reverent touches. When his thumb finally brushes over your nipple, already pebbled and aching, he circles it slowly, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp and arch into him. He swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth in filthy, rhythmic strokes that mimic exactly what you wish his cock was doing somewhere else.
You’re grinding on his thigh now, small, helpless rolls of your hips that drag your soaked pussy along the hard muscle. The thin fabric of your shorts is useless; you can feel how wet you’ve gotten, the slickness coating your inner thighs, probably leaving a damp spot on his sweats. Jake breaks the kiss only to drag his open mouth down your jaw, sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He bites down gently, then soothes it with his tongue, leaving faint red marks that bloom under his lips. You tilt your head back against the wall, exposing more of your throat, and he takes full advantage, licking a hot stripe down to your collarbone, sucking hard enough that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, little purple galaxies only the four of them will see.
“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against your skin, voice wrecked. “Sweet. Like you’ve been waiting for me to do this all day.”
His hand leaves your breast only to slide down, cupping your pussy through your shorts. He doesn’t push inside, just rubs the heel of his palm in slow, firm circles right over your clit, feeling how soaked the fabric is. You whimper, hips jerking, and he chuckles darkly into your neck.
“Yeah? That feel good, baby? You’re dripping for me already.”
You can’t answer with words, just a broken moan as two of his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, tracing your slick folds without pushing in, spreading your wetness up to your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles. Your hands are frantic now, one fisted in his hair, the other palming the thick length of his cock through his sweats, squeezing and stroking him until he’s panting against your mouth, hips twitching like he’s fighting not to rut into your hand.
You kiss for what feels like hours, messy, spit-slick, tongues tangled and sliding. Your lips are swollen and tingling, jaw aching in the best way. He keeps breaking away only to come right back, sucking on your tongue, biting your bottom lip, whispering filthy little praises between kisses.
“So fucking pretty when you’re desperate like this… making those sweet little sounds for me… gonna ruin me, baby, you know that?”
Your legs are trembling. He notices, always notices, and presses his thigh harder between yours, letting you ride it properly now, the friction perfect and relentless. His fingers keep working your clit in lazy strokes, dipping just inside your entrance to gather more slick before sliding back up, never giving you enough to come, just keeping you right on the edge, trembling and whimpering into his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you are breathing like you’ve run miles, chests heaving, lips shiny and red, his hair a complete mess from your fingers. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, cock throbbing visibly against your palm.
“Shit,” he laughs, breathless and shaky. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I just—”
You cut him off with another kiss, slow, deep, pouring everything you’re feeling into it. When you pull away, you whisper against his swollen lips, “I know. I wanted it too.”
He smiles, that crooked, boyish, heart-stopping smile, and kisses the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then pulls you tight into his chest. His arms wrap around you completely, one hand still cupping your ass possessively, the other stroking soothing circles up and down your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, his cock still hard and insistent between you, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t grind. Just holds you there in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge and the faint city traffic the only sounds left.
You stay like that for a long, indulgent stretch of minutes, bodies pressed together, breaths syncing, the ache between your legs still pulsing but somehow perfectly satisfied by the simple fact of being wrapped up in him. His lips brush your temple.
“Friends can make out, right?” he murmurs, echoing the joke from earlier, voice warm with affection and something deeper.
You laugh softly against his chest, the sound muffled and content. “Yeah, Jake. Friends can definitely make out.”
And for now, for this golden, sun-drenched afternoon, that’s more than enough. The others will be back soon, but right now the apartment is yours and his, and he just keeps holding you like he never wants to let go.
The hallway still smells faintly of Jake’s cologne, clean and warm skin, and the soft, powdery scent of laundry detergent clinging to the crumpled clothes you never quite finished putting away. His lips are swollen and glossy from the long, lazy make-out against the wall, cheeks flushed a deep pink, pupils blown so wide the pretty hazel is almost gone. He’s breathing hard through his nose, forehead pressed to yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded, hands still shoved up under your shirt, palms hot and broad against the small of your back, thumbs tracing slow, idle arcs that make your spine tingle.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked and soft all at once, raw like he’s been shouting your name for hours even though he hasn’t. “I need you on me, princess. Need to feel that pretty pussy sliding down my cock right fucking now.”
The words drop straight into your belly, heavy and molten. You swallow hard, thighs pressing together on instinct, and he feels the tiny clench, grins against the side of your neck, boyish and filthy at the same time.
He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t grab. Just brushes his mouth over the shell of your ear, hot breath ghosting, voice a low rasp that curls straight between your legs.
“Ride me. Please. On the couch. Slow. Let me feel every inch of you taking me like you own it.”
Your cunt throbs at the plea. You nod before you even realize you’re doing it.
Jake laces his fingers through yours, gentle, almost sweet, and leads you back down the hall like you’re going for a Sunday stroll, not about to fuck him stupid in the middle of the living room. The late-afternoon light has shifted, pouring across the big sectional in thick, golden rivers; the cushions are still dented from earlier folding sessions, the air warm and lazy. He drops onto the couch first, sprawling wide, legs splayed, grey sweats already tented, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric like it’s trying to escape.
He then hooks his fingers against the edge of your shorts and drags them down, along with your panties. His eyes darken as he gulps and looks up at you.
He pats his thigh once, slow, inviting, eyes locked on yours with that crooked, heart-melting grin.
You don’t hesitate. You climb on, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, and the first slow grind of your bare, soaked cunt against the hard, hot length of him through the thin material rips a twin hiss from both your throats. You’re dripping, have been since he pinned you to the hallway wall, and the fabric is already darkening under you, slick. Jake’s hands settle on your hips, not guiding yet, just holding, thumbs stroking the skin right above the waistband of your shorts like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
You start slow. Torturously slow. Tiny, rolling rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the rigid ridge of his cock again and again. The friction is perfect, wet, hot, teasing. Every pass makes the fabric cling tighter, the head of his dick bumping right where you need it. Jake’s head falls back against the couch, throat working on a low, broken groan, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Goddamn, baby… look at you. Already so fucking wet you’re soaking through my sweats. That little pussy weeping for me.”
You giggle, breathless, giddy, almost embarrassed at how turned on you are, and lean down to kiss him. Soft at first, just lips brushing, then deeper: tongues sliding lazy and messy, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the sweetness of the iced americano he had earlier. His hands slide back under your shirt, palms scalding against your ribs, thumbs circling the undersides of your breasts in slow, reverent strokes until your nipples are tight, aching peaks. He pinches them gently, rolls them between thumb and forefinger, and you arch into his touch with a whimper that makes him smile against your mouth.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he mumbles between kisses, voice thick. “So perfect. Been dreaming about this tight little cunt wrapped around me since the second you walked through that door and smiled at all of us like we hung the moon. Gonna let me feel it now, princess? Gonna sit on my cock and ride me nice and slow?”
You lift just enough to shove his sweats down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, veins standing out, the tip already glistening with a fat bead of pre-cum that streaks down the shaft when you wrap your fingers around him. One slow, firm stroke from base to head has him groaning, hips twitching up into your fist. You line him up, notch the blunt head against your dripping entrance, and sink down.
The first inch is heaven.
You both moan, long, filthy sounds, as he stretches you open, thick and hot and perfect, splitting you so deliciously slow you feel every ridge, every vein. Your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut. He bottoms out with your ass flush to his thighs, balls pressed tight against you, and the fullness is so overwhelming your walls flutter around him like you’re already close.
“Fuuuuck,” Jake breathes, hands flexing hard on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. “That’s it. Take every fucking inch, princess. Look at you, swallowing me like you were made for it. So goddamn tight and wet and perfect.”
You start riding him properly, long, deliberate lifts and sinks, rolling your hips on every downstroke so your clit grinds against his pelvis. The sounds of your cunt taking him echo in the quiet apartment: slick, filthy squelches every time you drop down, his cock glistening with your arousal when you rise. Jake’s eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over with something like awe.
“Listen to that,” he groans, voice cracking. “That sloppy little sound every time you take me. You’re dripping down my balls, baby, making such a pretty mess all over me. Gonna stain the couch and I don’t even care.”
You bury your face in his neck for a second, flushed and turned on beyond words, then bite down on the skin there, light, teasing. He jolts, cock twitching hard inside you, and groans louder.
“Fuck, do that again. Mark me up, princess. Want the others to see who got to have you first.”
You do, sucking a faint pink bloom into his throat while you ride him harder, faster, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt. His mouth finds your nipple through the fabric, sucking hard, teeth grazing, soaking the cotton until it’s transparent and clinging. You cry out, high and needy, hips snapping down faster now, chasing the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
Jake’s losing it beautifully, head thrown back, throat exposed, hands gripping your ass and spreading you wider so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.
“Shit, ride it harder, baby. Fuck yourself on me. Use my cock like the greedy little slut you are. Come all over it, wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”
The filthy words spoken in that sweet, reverent tone send you spiraling. You slam down harder, clit grinding relentlessly, thighs burning. He slides one hand between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, firm circles.
“Come on, princess. Give it to me. Soak my cock. Make it messy. Wanna feel you gush.”
You shatter with a broken cry, head thrown back, back arching, clamping down around him in hard, pulsing waves. Your vision whites out. Thighs shake violently. You gush around him, slick flooding out around his base, soaking his balls and the couch beneath you. Jake swears, low and guttural, hips stuttering up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt as he comes, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls, filling you so full it leaks out immediately around his throbbing length.
He holds you flush against him through every aftershock, arms banded tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breathing ragged and shaky. You stay like that, sweaty, trembling, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum slowly trickling out, while he kisses your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth with soft, lazy presses.
“Best fucking ride of my life,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and sated, nuzzling into your hair.
You laugh, soft, spent, glowing, and nuzzle back. “Friends can do that too, right?”
He chuckles, kissing your temple. “Friends can do whatever the fuck they want.” You’re still seated on him, his cock twitching occasionally inside your cum-filled pussy, when the front door clicks open.
Neither of you moves fast enough. Sunghoon steps in first, grocery bags dangling from one hand, keys in the other, the faint scent of fresh produce and restaurant takeout wafting in with him. He freezes mid-step. Eyes lock on the scene: you straddling Jake on the couch, shirt rucked up to your collarbones, thighs spread obscenely wide, Jake’s cock still half-hard and buried inside you, thick white cum already leaking in slow, creamy rivulets down his balls and onto the cushion.
The bags hit the floor with a heavy, forgotten thud. A carton of eggs probably cracks, but no one cares. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens so hard you hear the sharp click of his teeth. His eyes, usually cool and calm, go black, dangerous, glittering with something possessive and furious.
“What. The. Fuck.”
His voice is ice wrapped in velvet. Low. Deadly calm. Jake startles, arms tightening around you protectively, but he doesn’t dare pull out. Doesn’t even try to cover you.
“Hyung—wait, it’s not—”
Sunghoon crosses the room in three long strides, towering over both of you. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t shove Jake. Just reaches down, grips your chin between thumb and forefinger, firm, not bruising, and tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb drags slow and deliberate across your bottom lip, then presses inside. You suck instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
His eyes flick to Jake, cold as winter.
“Get out from under her. Now.”
Jake hesitates half a second. Sunghoon’s voice drops even lower, lethal.
“I said now.”
Jake lifts you carefully with a wet, filthy sound that makes Sunghoon’s nostrils flare. The moment he slips free, a thick gush of his cum pours out of you, sliding down your inner thighs in white trails. Jake stays seated on the couch, chest heaving as he watches warily.
Sunghoon never looks away from you. He steps closer, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck, thumb pressing right over your racing pulse, while the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you. “You let him fuck you the second we walked out the door?” he murmurs, voice velvet and venom, lips brushing your ear. “Spread this pretty pussy for whoever was home first? Without waiting for me? Without even texting?”
You shake your head, small, instinctive, breath caught in your throat. “No?”
He leans in closer, breath hot against your skin. “Then why the fuck are you stuffed so full of him, hmm?”
Two of his long fingers dip between your thighs without warning, sliding deep into your cum-slick cunt with a wet squelch. You gasp, knees buckling. He curls them slowly, deliberately, scissoring, feeling the warm, sticky mess Jake left behind, pushing it deeper before dragging it out again. When he pulls his fingers free they’re coated thick and white. He holds them up between you, shiny, dripping, then brings them to your mouth.
“Clean.”
You open obediently. Suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling, tasting yourself and Jake and the faint metallic tang of Sunghoon’s skin, moaning around them while he watches with dark, unblinking eyes.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and rough. Then, suddenly, he yanks you forward by the neck and kisses you, hard, possessive, teeth clashing, tongue fucking into your mouth like he’s erasing every trace of Jake’s kisses. When he pulls back his lips are wet, eyes blazing with jealousy and hunger.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for you to walk. Just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, cum still dripping down your thighs and onto his shirt. Jake scrambles up and follows, sweats tugged up haphazardly.
Sunghoon kicks the bedroom door shut behind the three of you with a bang that rattles the frame. He drops you onto the bed, gentle enough not to hurt, rough enough that you bounce, thighs splaying open automatically. He looms over you, tall and broad and radiating controlled fury.
“Strip. Everything off. Let me see exactly what he got to play with while I was gone.”
You obey instantly, tugging your shirt over your head, shoving your shorts down, kicking them aside until you’re completely bare, pussy puffy and glistening.
His gaze rakes over every inch of you, slow, possessive, furious, hungry. He licks his lips. “You’re mine tonight, princess. All fucking mine. And you’re going to feel exactly who this cunt belongs to until you can’t remember anyone else’s name.”
He glances at Jake, standing frozen by the door, eyes wide and cock twitching in his sweats.
“You can watch,” Sunghoon says coldly, voice like a blade. “But you don’t touch. Not until I say so. You sit there and watch me take back what’s mine.”
Jake swallows hard. Nods once. Sinks into the chair in the corner, hand already palming himself through his sweats like he can’t help it.
Sunghoon turns back to you. Grabs your thighs in both hands and spreads them wide, wide enough that your folds spread, dripping. He lowers his head slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
The first long, vicious swipe of his tongue through your folds is punishing, hot, wet, claiming, licking every drop of Jake’s cum straight out of you like he’s erasing the evidence. You arch off the bed with a sharp cry, hands flying to his hair. Sunghoon doesn’t stop. He eats you like a man starved, tongue fucking deep inside your cum-filled hole, sucking noisily, swallowing every filthy mix of you and Jake with low, possessive growls that vibrate straight to your clit. He sucks your swollen folds into his mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit, then dives back in to lap at the creamy mess still oozing out of you.
You’re moaning, loud, broken, shameless, hips grinding against his face while he devours you, chin and lips shiny with cum and your fresh slick. He pulls back just long enough to growl against your thigh,
“Gonna lick every last drop of him out of this pussy until it only tastes like me. And then I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when the others take their turns.”
His mouth seals back over your clit, sucking hard, two fingers plunging deep, and the jealousy is only just beginning.
The bedroom is thick with the sounds of Sunghoon’s mouth devouring you, long, filthy drags of his tongue through your cum-slick folds, sucking Jake’s release out of your fluttering hole like he’s personally insulted by every drop. He’s relentless, humming low against your clit, two fingers curled deep inside you, scissoring and stroking that spongy spot that makes your thighs quake around his ears. Your back is arched off the bed, hands fisted in his dark hair, moans spilling out broken and shameless as another orgasm teeters right on the edge.
Then the door bangs open.
Heeseung fills the frame like a storm cloud, broad shoulders tight, jaw locked, one hand fisted in the back of Jake’s t-shirt. Jake looks wrecked already: lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed crimson, cock still half-hard and shiny with your slick, the cocky little grin from earlier completely wiped away. Heeseung doesn’t even glance at you at first. His voice is low, calm, the kind of calm that makes the air feel heavier.
“Living room. Now.”
Jake opens his mouth, probably to whine, to joke, to try and charm his way out of it, but Heeseung’s grip tightens, fabric stretching across Jake’s shoulders. Jake stumbles forward instead, casting one last wide-eyed look at you before they disappear down the hall. The living-room door shuts with a soft, deliberate click that somehow feels louder than a slam.
You’re left panting, chest heaving, Sunghoon’s tongue still lazily circling your clit like the interruption was nothing more than background noise. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your dripping pussy, then pulls back slowly, lips glossy, chin glistening with a messy mix of you and Jake. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slow and deliberate, eyes dark and glittering with dark amusement as he rises to his knees between your spread thighs.
“Looks like someone earned himself a timeout,” he murmurs, voice velvet-rough, thumb brushing a lazy stripe up your inner thigh to collect the fresh slick still leaking out of you. His gaze flicks toward the hallway, then back to your flushed, trembling body. “Guess that leaves the three of us to remind you exactly how this works, princess.”
Jay appears in the doorway a heartbeat later, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the frame, eyes raking over you with that cool, assessing hunger that always makes your stomach flip. He takes his time stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick, the lock clicking into place like a promise.
You try to push yourself up on your elbows, instinct, nerves, the sudden awareness of how exposed and messy you are, but Sunghoon’s large hand plants flat on your sternum and pushes you right back down into the mattress. Firm. Unyielding. Possessive.
“Stay right there,” he says softly, almost sweet, but the edge underneath it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “We’re not done with you yet.”
Jay stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at the obscene picture you make: completely naked, skin flushed pink, thighs shiny with slick and cum, nipples tight and begging, pussy puffy and still leaking. He reaches out, fingers threading through the hair at your scalp, tightening until your breath hitches. He yanks your head back just enough to expose the long line of your throat, thumb stroking once over your racing pulse.
“You let him fuck you raw the second we left,” Jay says, voice low and dangerously even. “Without asking. Without waiting. Without even a text to let us know our pretty little slut was getting her cunt filled.”
His free hand slides down your body, possessive, claiming, cupping your soaked pussy like it belongs to him. Two thick fingers push inside without warning, rough and deep, curling hard against that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes. You cry out, hips jerking, walls fluttering greedily around the intrusion.
Sunghoon watches with a mean little smile, one hand lazily stroking his own thick cock. “This pussy,” Jay continues, voice dropping to a growl as he pumps his fingers faster, “is ours. All of ours. You don’t get to decide who fills it first when we’re not here. Understand?”
You nod frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure already pricking your eyes. “Y-yes—fuck—yes, it’s yours—”
Sunghoon’s hand replaces Jay’s on your throat, long fingers wrapping around the column, squeezing just enough to make the edges of your vision sparkle and your cunt gush around Jay’s fingers. Not cutting off air. Just reminding you who’s in control.
“Good girl,” Sunghoon breathes against your ear, leaning down to bite your earlobe. “Now prove it.”
They move like they’ve choreographed this a hundred times in their heads.
Jay flips you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, face pressed into the sheets that already smell like sex, ass up high, back arched deep. He keeps one hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bends in that perfect, aching curve. Sunghoon shoves your thighs wider apart, knees sinking into the mattress as he kneels behind you. His cock is flushed dark, angry, veins throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip as he lines up and slams in, deep, brutal, one single punishing thrust that punches the air straight out of your lungs.
You scream into the sheets, the stretch burning so good it borders on too much. Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a ruthless pace immediately, hips snapping forward, balls slapping wetly against your clit with every brutal drive, the wet squelch of your cum-filled pussy echoing obscenely. Jay releases your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from the front instead, squeezing in perfect time with Sunghoon’s thrusts, thumb pressing under your jaw so you feel every heartbeat.
“Take it,” Jay growls, voice rough with arousal. “Every fucking inch. You wanted cock so bad you couldn’t even wait for all of us? Then you’re gonna take everything we give you, princess. Gonna let us ruin this greedy little hole until you remember who it belongs to.”
Sunghoon leans over your back, chest slick with sweat against your spine, one hand fisting your hair now while the other reaches around to slap your clit, sharp, stinging little taps that make you clench and sob. Jay’s free hand comes down hard on your ass, once, twice, three times, each smack leaving a bright red handprint that blooms hot across your skin.
“Whose pussy is this?” Jay demands, voice low and filthy.
“Yours—” you sob, voice cracking. “Yours—fuck—yours—Sunghoon—Jay—please—”
Sunghoon yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear as he pounds into you. “Say it louder. Let the whole fucking apartment hear who owns this cunt.”
The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, your choked moans, Sunghoon’s low possessive growls—“This tight little pussy is fucking mine”—carry clearly down the hallway.
In the living room, Heeseung has Jake pinned against the wall by the collar, fist raised, knuckles white with restraint. The first muffled scream from the bedroom makes them both freeze. Then another, higher, broken, needy. The unmistakable wet slap of Sunghoon’s hips. Jay’s dark chuckle. Your desperate, gagged whimpers around whatever they’re doing to your mouth now.
Heeseung’s fist slowly lowers. Jake’s eyes go wide, cock twitching visibly in his sweats.
Heeseung turns toward the bedroom door, expression unreadable but eyes burning.
Then they’re both moving, fast.
They burst through the door just as Sunghoon buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You’re a complete wreck: face down, ass up, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, tears streaking your cheeks, ass glowing red from Jay’s handprints, cunt stretched obscenely around Sunghoon’s thick cock, creamy cum from Jake and your own slick coating your thighs.
Heeseung stops at the foot of the bed, takes one long, possessive look at the scene, then climbs on without a word.
“Move,” he tells Sunghoon, voice low and lethal.
Sunghoon slows just enough to pull out with a wet, filthy pop, thick strings of cum and slick connecting his cock to your gaping hole. Heeseung grabs your hips, flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing, and hooks your legs over his arms, folding you in half until your knees are by your ears. He lines up and slams in, harder, deeper, angrier than Sunghoon, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that makes you scream his name.
Jay pulls back from where he’d been feeding you his cock, letting you gasp for air, then moves behind you. Sunghoon shifts to your side, hand wrapping around your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse almost tenderly now.
Jay presses the blunt head of his cock against your ass, already slick from the mess dripping down, and pushes in slow, relentless, the burn intense and overwhelming as he stretches you open around him. Heeseung stays buried to the hilt in your pussy, holding perfectly still while Jay sinks deeper, until both of them are fully seated inside you, rubbing against each other through the thin wall, filling you so completely you can feel them in your throat.
You’re sobbing, overwhelmed, stretched to your limit, pleasure so sharp it hurts, in the best possible way.
“Breathe, baby,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice softer now, fingers loosening just enough on your throat. “You’re taking us so fucking well. Such a good girl for us.”
They start moving, slow at first, testing, letting you adjust to the impossible fullness. Then harder. Deeper. Alternating thrusts, Heeseung driving in while Jay pulls out, Jay slamming home while Heeseung retreats, until the rhythm syncs and they’re both fucking into you at the same time, stretching you open on two thick cocks with every synchronized thrust.
Jake stands frozen by the door, cock rock-hard again, hand wrapped tight around it, stroking himself slow and desperate, eyes wide and glassy with guilt and raw arousal. Sunghoon notices. His voice cuts through the wet sounds of flesh. “Watch, Jake. You started this. Now you get to watch how we remind her exactly who she belongs to.”
Jay’s fingers find your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, rough circles that make your vision spark white.
“Come,” he orders, voice rough. “Come on both our cocks. Milk us. Show us who this perfect body belongs to.”
You shatter harder than you ever have, screaming, back bowing, spasming violently around both cocks, gushing slick down Heeseung’s shaft as your orgasm rips through you in endless waves. Heeseung comes first with a deep, broken growl of your name, flooding your pussy with hot, thick pulses. Jay follows seconds later, burying himself deep in your ass and filling you with rope after rope until it leaks out around his base. Sunghoon strokes himself twice, fast and rough, then spills across your stomach and tits in long, creamy stripes, marking you visibly.
They don’t pull out right away.
Just stay buried deep inside you, panting, sweating, chests heaving, holding you between them like something precious and thoroughly, beautifully ruined.
Heeseung leans down first, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your tear-streaked cheek. “Mine,” he whispers against your skin.
Jay echoes it against your shoulder, lips brushing the fresh bite mark Sunghoon left earlier. “Mine.”
Sunghoon’s fingers loosen completely on your throat, turning into gentle strokes along your jaw. “Mine too, princess. Always.”
You’re trembling, wrecked, full to overflowing, claimed in every possible way. And Jake, still standing by the door, cock leaking in his fist, eyes shiny with regret and desperate need, looks like he’s never wanted forgiveness more in his life.
The entire room smells like sex and sweat and something deeper, something dangerously close to devotion. None of them move to let you go. Not yet.
The room is thick with the aftermath, sweat, sex, the faint metallic tang of overstimulation hanging in the air like smoke. Your body feels liquid and heavy, every muscle spent, every inch of skin marked in some way: fingerprints blooming on your hips, faint red lines from Sunghoon’s grip on your throat, the slow leak of them all still inside you, warm and obscene between your thighs.
No one moves right away.
Heeseung is the first to shift. He eases out of you carefully, slow, deliberate, hissing softly at the drag. Jay follows, pulling out with the same measured gentleness, both of them watching your face for any flicker of pain. Sunghoon’s hand leaves your throat last, fingers trailing down your sternum in a soothing path before he sits back on his heels.
You’re trembling, small, involuntary shivers that ripple through you like aftershocks. Jay notices first. He reaches over the side of the bed, grabs the soft throw blanket that’s been kicked to the floor sometime in the last hour. Drapes it over your lower half, tucking it around your waist like he’s wrapping something fragile.
“Easy,” he murmurs. Voice low, rough from use. “We’ve got you.”
Heeseung slides off the bed, still naked, still glistening, and disappears into the en-suite bathroom. Water runs. A minute later he returns with two warm, damp cloths. One for your face, one for between your legs.
He kneels beside you. Presses the cloth to your cheek first, gentle swipes over tear tracks, then your swollen lips. You lean into it without thinking. Heeseung’s free hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking the base of your skull in slow circles.
Sunghoon moves to your other side. Takes the second cloth from Heeseung when he’s done with your face. Parts your thighs carefully, murmurs a soft “shh” when you flinch at the cool air, and cleans you with careful strokes. Between your folds, down your thighs, over the sticky mess on your stomach and chest. He’s thorough. Patient. Every pass of the cloth feels like an apology he doesn’t know how to say out loud.
Jake is still hovering near the door, shirtless now, sweats low on his hips, looking like he’s not sure he’s allowed to come closer. Heeseung glances at him once. Sharp. Then softer.
“Water,” Heeseung says. Not an order. Just a word. Jake nods, quick, grateful, and bolts. Heeseung turns back to you.
“Can you sit up a little?” You nod, weak, but willing. Jay helps, arm around your shoulders, easing you against the headboard. Pillows get rearranged behind your back until you’re propped comfortably. The blanket stays tucked around your waist; someone (Sunghoon) pulls the sheet up to cover your chest without smothering you.
Jake returns with a tall glass of water and, somehow, a small tray he must have grabbed from the kitchen. On it: a bowl of cut fruit (strawberries, mango, grapes, someone’s idea of “recovery food”), a few pieces of the chocolate they keep stashed in the fridge, a packet of electrolyte powder already stirred into a second glass.
He sets it on the nightstand. Doesn’t try to climb on the bed yet. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you might vanish if he blinks.
Jay picks up a strawberry first. Holds it to your lips.
“Open.”
You do. The fruit is cold, sweet, bursting on your tongue. Jay feeds you slowly, another strawberry, then a piece of mango. His fingers brush your bottom lip each time, wiping away juice with his thumb.
Sunghoon takes over with the chocolate. Breaks off a small square, places it on your tongue. Watches you melt it slowly, eyes dark but soft.
“You did so good,” he says quietly. Almost to himself. “Took everything we gave you.”
Heeseung handles the water, holds the glass to your lips, tips it carefully so you can sip without spilling. When you’ve had enough, he sets it aside and wipes your mouth with the edge of the sheet.
Jake finally moves closer, slow, like he’s approaching something skittish. He perches on the very edge of the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Voice small. “For earlier. For not waiting. For—” Heeseung cuts him off with a look. Not angry. Tired.
“Later,” Heeseung says. “She needs rest now.” Jake nods. Swallows hard. Jay reaches over, squeezes Jake’s shoulder once, firm, forgiving, then turns back to you.
“More?” he asks, nodding at the tray.
You shake your head. Full. Heavy-lidded. The ache between your legs has dulled to a low, satisfied throb; your limbs feel like warm honey.
Sunghoon takes the tray away. Sets it on the dresser.
Heeseung pulls the covers up higher, tucking them around your shoulders, smoothing the fabric over your chest. Jay adjusts the pillows again so you’re lying flat but elevated just enough. They surround you, four bodies, four sources of warmth, without crowding.
Heeseung lies on your left. Arm draped loosely over your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Jay on your right. Hand resting on your hip under the blanket. Thumb stroking idle arcs. Sunghoon stretches out at the foot of the bed, long legs hanging off the edge, head pillowed on your thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world.
Jake curls up against your legs, face tucked into the crook of your knee, one arm thrown over your shins like he’s anchoring himself there. No one speaks for a long minute. Just breathing. Slow. In sync.
Heeseung’s fingers find yours under the blanket. Laces them together. Squeezes once. “Sleep,” he murmurs against your temple. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Jay presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. Sunghoon’s hand strokes down your calf, slow, soothing.
Jake mumbles something sleepy against your skin, too quiet to catch, but it feels like “thank you.” Your eyes flutter closed. The room smells like them, all of them, mixed with clean sheets and the faint sweetness of fruit. Just warm bodies. Gentle hands. Quiet promises. And the steady rhythm of four heartbeats lulling you under.
The idea starts innocently enough.
It’s been three days since the jealousy the three had that they claimed was just ‘heat of the moment’ but you knew better, and the apartment has settled into something dangerously close to domestic. Mornings are soft now, coffee passed hand-to-hand, lazy kisses traded over toast, rules quietly ignored unless someone’s feeling particularly mean. The fridge note is still taped up, but no one’s enforced them. It’s almost… normal.
Almost. Jay is the one who brings it up first. You’re sprawled across his lap on the sectional Sunday afternoon, legs tangled with Sunghoon’s, Jake’s head pillowed on your stomach while Heeseung scrolls through takeout apps from the armchair. Jay’s fingers are tracing idle patterns on your bare thigh, higher than friendly,lower than any action, when he says it.
“I want to take you out.”
The room stills. You lift your head from Jake’s hair. “Like… a date?” Jay’s mouth quirks. “Yeah. A date. Just you and me. Dinner. Somewhere nice. No roommates crashing.”
Sunghoon snorts without looking up from his phone. “Good luck with that.”
Heeseung glances over the top of his screen. “You’re asking permission?”
Jay shrugs. “I’m telling you. Friday night. She’s mine for the evening.”
Jake sits up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Wait—solo? Like, no sharing?”
Jay’s hand tightens on your thigh. “No sharing. One night. My rules.”
You feel the shift immediately, the air thickening with something possessive and unspoken. Heeseung’s jaw ticks once. Sunghoon finally looks up, eyes narrowing. Jake just pouts. But no one argues. Friday comes fast.
Jay picks the restaurant himself, small, upscale Italian place downtown. Dim lighting, velvet booths, candles that cost more than your old rent. He texts you the address at 6:45 p.m. sharp.
Jay: Wear something pretty baby ;) preferably no panties sweetheart
You roll your eyes at the winky face and the last obligation, but you obey anyway.
The dress is black, silk, short enough to make you nervous when you sit. Heels that click satisfyingly on the pavement. Hair down, lips red. When Jay arrives to pick you up, he stops dead in the doorway.
“Fuck,” he breathes. Steps close. Cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow, deep, claiming, tasting like mint and want. “You’re killing me.”
The drive is quiet. His hand rests high on your thigh the whole way, thumb stroking the inside seam, never quite reaching where you’re already wet. He doesn’t speak. Just smiles every time you squirm.
The restaurant is perfect.
A corner booth. Wine list thicker than a novel. Jay orders for both of you, pasta, seared scallops, tiramisu for later. His knee presses against yours under the table. His fingers brush yours when he passes the bread. It feels… romantic. Normal. Like you’re a real couple on a real date.
You’re laughing at some stupid story he’s telling about Sunghoon trying to cook once when the first text comes through.
Jake: picture of him pouting on the couch
Jake: miss u already princess 😩
You snort. Show Jay. He rolls his eyes. “Ignore them.”
Another buzz.
Sunghoon: timestamped selfie, him shirtless in the kitchen, knife in hand, looking bored
Sunghoon: hurry up. food’s getting cold here
Jay exhales through his nose. “They’re children.” Heeseung’s text is last.
Heeseung: Enjoy your date. We’ll behave.
Heeseung: …mostly.
Your not sure what that means, you’re not sure if you want to find out. You laugh, soft, nervous, and slip your phone face-down. Jay reaches across the table. Takes your hand. Laces your fingers. “I meant it,” he says quietly. “Tonight’s just us. No crashing. No rules. Just you and me.”
You believe him. For about seven more minutes. The scallops arrive. Perfectly seared. You’re mid-bite when the restaurant door opens. And four familiar silhouettes step inside. Jake first, grinning like he invented mischief. Sunghoon behind him, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. Heeseung last, calm, collected, scanning the room until his eyes land on you.
Jay’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.
“Motherfuckers,” he mutters.
They don’t hesitate. Jake slides into the booth beside you first, arm slung casually over the backrest, fingers immediately finding the nape of your neck. “Hey, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”
Sunghoon takes the seat next to Jay, long legs stretching out, forcing Jay to shift. “Nice place. Bit pretentious, though.”
Heeseung pulls up a chair from a nearby table, unapologetic, sits at the end like he owns the booth. “We were in the neighborhood.”
Jay’s jaw is so tight you’re worried it’ll crack.
“You said you would behave.”
Heeseung shrugs. “We are. We’re not fucking her on the table. Yet.”
Your face burns. Jake laughs, bright, delighted, leans in and kisses your cheek. Loud. Wet. “You look so pretty. Red lipstick’s a nice touch.”
Sunghoon reaches across Jay to steal a scallop off your plate. “He’s right. You do look fuckable.” Jay slams his fork down.
“That’s enough.” The table goes quiet.
Jay’s voice is low. Dangerous. “I said one night. Just me and her. You had your turns. Back off.”
Heeseung leans forward. Elbows on the table. “We’re not here to take her. We’re here to watch you try to have her all to yourself.” His gaze flicks to you, dark, heated. “And see how long it takes before she’s begging for the rest of us.”
Jake’s fingers tighten on your neck. “C’mon, hyung. Don’t be dramatic. We can share the appetizer.”
Sunghoon smirks. “Or the main course.”
You’re throbbing under the table. The silk dress feels too tight. The wine too warm in your veins. Jay looks at you, really looks. “Are you okay with this?”
You swallow. Meet his eyes. Then glance at the others. Then back to him. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “But… maybe we skip dessert here.”
Jay exhales, half-laugh, half-snarl. “Bathroom,” he says. “Now.” He stands. Pulls you up with him. The others don’t move. They just exchange knowing glances. Jake just grins. “We’ll keep watch.”
Jay drags you through the restaurant, hand firm on your lower back, past the bar, down the narrow hallway, into the single-stall bathroom at the end.
He locks the door. Spins you around. Pushes you forward until your palms slap the sink. The mirror is huge. You watch your own reflection, lips parted, chest heaving, dress already rucked up to your hips.
Jay’s behind you, fly open, cock hard and leaking. He doesn’t speak. Just yanks your dress higher, notches himself at your entrance, and thrusts in, hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that makes you cry out.
“Quiet,” he growls against your ear. Hand clamps over your mouth. “They can hear.” He fucks you like he’s proving a point. Fast. Rough. Hips snapping. The sink rattles. Your tits bounce with every thrust. His other hand fists your hair, yanks your head back so you’re watching yourself in the mirror.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking it so good. Even when they crash. Even when I try to keep you to myself.”
You moan into his palm, muffled, desperate.
He reaches around. Finds your clit. Pinches. Rolls. Hard.
“Come,” he orders. “Come on my cock before they barge in.”
You do, fast, violent, clenching around him so hard he swears. He follows seconds later, burying deep, spilling hot inside you with a choked groan.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Just holds you there, chest to your back,breathing ragged. Then he kisses your shoulder. Soft. Apologetic. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t help it.” You laugh, shaky, wrecked.
He pulls out slowly. Fixes your dress. Wipes between your thighs with paper towels from the dispenser. When you open the door, Jake’s leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed. Smirking. “Took you long enough.”
Jay glares. Jake pushes off the wall. Steps close. Kisses you, quick, filthy, tasting Jay on your tongue. “My turn to watch the door,” he says. “Go wait in the car. Round two’s on us.”
Jay takes your hand. Leads you out, past the hostess who definitely knows what just happened, into the cool night air.
The car is parked in the back lot, tinted windows, engine already running. Sunghoon’s in the driver’s seat. Heeseung in the passenger. Both turn when you climb in the back. Sunghoon’s eyes drop to the wet spot on your dress. Smiles, slow, predatory.
“Missed the show?” Heeseung reaches back. Pulls you onto his lap. “Plenty of time for round two,” he murmurs against your neck. Jay slides in beside you. Jake climbs in last, locks the doors. The engine starts. And the night? The night is far from over.
The black SUV idles in the shadowed back lot behind the restaurant, engine a low, steady rumble beneath the distant pulse of music leaking from the outdoor speakers. Tinted windows seal the interior into a private world, leather seats already radiating warmth, the air heavy with Jay’s cologne, the sharp bite of expensive whiskey on their breath, and the unmistakable, intimate musk of sex that still clings to your skin.
You’re straddling Heeseung in the center of the back seat, silk dress shoved up around your waist, thighs spread wide over his hips. His dark jeans are damp where your leaking cunt has pressed against him. Heeseung doesn’t flinch. His hands are beneath the fabric, broad palms cupping your bare ass, fingers spreading you open with deliberate care, holding you exposed and vulnerable in the dim glow filtering through the windows.
Jay sits to your left, shirt untucked, collarbones still flushed, lips swollen and red from the way he’d fucked you against the marble sink in the bathroom minutes earlier. Sunghoon occupies the right side, long legs stretched out, one hand already working the thick outline of his cock through tailored slacks, eyes fixed on the sight between your thighs. Jake has twisted around in the front passenger seat, forearm braced on the headrest, gaze dark and unblinking.
For several long seconds, no one speaks.
Only the rhythm of heavy breathing, the soft creak of leather as bodies shift, the faint metallic tick of the cooling engine. Then Heeseung’s voice, low, gravel-rough, breaks the silence against the shell of your ear.
“You’re still dripping him,” he murmurs, one hand sliding from your ass to slip between your legs from behind. Two fingers push into the slick, swollen heat of your cunt, gathering Jay’s release and pressing it back inside with slow, unhurried strokes. The wet sound is obscene in the confined space. “Can feel it leaking out. Can’t let that go to waste.”
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, inner walls fluttering, a soft, helpless whimper slipping past your lips as your hips twitch forward. Jay’s hand joins Heeseung’s without hesitation. Four fingers now, stretching you wider, scooping the thick cum deeper, curling against the front wall until your breath hitches sharply.
“He’s right,” Jay says, voice quiet but edged with something darker, more possessive. “We should keep you full. All night. Every time one of us finishes, the next one pushes it right back in.”
Sunghoon leans in closer, breath ghosting hot along the side of your neck. His voice is velvet and steel. “Full until it takes. Until you’re so thoroughly bred there’s no question who put it there.”
The words hit like a physical blow, low in your belly, sharp and electric. Your cunt clenches hard around their fingers, a fresh gush of slick coating their knuckles.
Jake’s eyes widen in the front seat. “Fuck—did you just—”
“I said,” Sunghoon repeats, slower, darker, each syllable deliberate, “full until it takes. Until this perfect little cunt is swollen and leaking and carrying exactly what we give it.”
Heeseung’s free hand slides up to cradle the front of your throat, not squeezing, simply holding, thumb resting over your racing pulse. “You like that thought, don’t you?” he asks softly, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “All four of us pumping you full, one right after the other. No pulling out. No wasting a single drop. Just letting it stay deep until your body has no choice but to keep it.”
You nod, frantic, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes because the fantasy is suddenly too vivid, too real, too close to everything your body has been silently begging for.
Jay’s fingers crook harder, pressing ruthlessly against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Use your words.”
“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Want you to, to breed me. Fill me until I can’t take any more. Until it’s all inside me. Please—”
A chorus of low, guttural groans fills the car. Heeseung lifts you just high enough to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He doesn’t tease. He simply guides you down onto him in one long, controlled descent, stretching you open around his length until your ass meets his hips and he’s buried to the hilt.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearms.
“That’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take every inch. Take every fucking drop I’m about to give you.” He begins to move, deep, rolling thrusts that grind the head of his cock against your cervix with punishing precision. Jay’s hand stays between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while Heeseung fucks up into you with measured force.
Sunghoon has already freed himself completely, long, elegant fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking slowly, eyes never leaving the place where Heeseung disappears inside you over and over. “My turn comes next,” he says, voice low and certain. “I’m going to add to it. Make sure nothing escapes.”
Jake’s hand is inside his own pants now, stroking himself in perfect time with Heeseung’s rhythm, breath coming in short, ragged pants. “Look at her,” he mutters, almost reverent. “So fucking desperate to be filled. Greedy little thing.”
Heeseung’s pace builds, hips snapping up harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the car. “I’m going to come inside you,” he warns, voice strained. “Going to flood this tight cunt until it’s overflowing. You ready for it?”
“Yes—please—Heeseung—”
He buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a long, broken groan, hot, thick pulses painting your walls, filling you so completely you feel the pressure build behind your navel. Even as you clench down hard, trying to keep it all in, the excess begins to leak out around his base, coating his balls and dripping onto the leather.
He doesn’t pull out. He simply holds you there, still hard, still buried deep, while Jay shifts.
Jay moves to kneel on the seat beside you, one knee braced against the cushion. He nudges Heeseung’s softening length aside just enough to press his own cock against your already-stretched entrance. The stretch is immediate, two thick cocks forcing their way inside the same slick channel, rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls. You scream, muffled against Heeseung’s shoulder, body shaking violently.
Jay fucks into you with short, brutal thrusts, the friction almost unbearable. “This pussy is going to take all of us tonight,” he growls, voice rough with possession. “Going to be so full of cum you’ll feel it moving inside you every time you breathe.”
Sunghoon reaches over, fingers finding your clit again, pinching, rolling, tugging, pushing you higher and higher while Jay pounds relentlessly.
The orgasm crashes through you without warning, sharp, blinding, walls spasming so violently around both cocks that Jay swears under his breath. His hips stutter, then slam forward one last time as he comes, hot spurts mixing with Heeseung’s release until you’re overflowing, thick rivulets running down your thighs and soaking the seat beneath you.
Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to recover.
He yanks you off both of them, strong hands manhandling you onto all fours across the wide back seat, ass presented high, face pressed into Heeseung’s lap. He lines up and drives in with one punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single motion that forces the air from your lungs.
“This cunt is getting bred tonight,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to pump you so full you’ll be leaking for days. Every step you take tomorrow, you’ll feel us still inside you.”
He fucks like it’s a claiming, like he needs to imprint himself deeper than the others. One hand fists your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arches sharply. The car rocks with the force of his thrusts.
Jake climbs over the center console into the back, kneeling in front of your face. He guides his cock to your lips. You open for him immediately, taking him deep, sucking with sloppy, desperate hunger while Sunghoon rails you from behind.
Sunghoon comes with a guttural sound, hips locked flush against your ass, flooding you with another hot load until it spills out around his base and runs in sticky trails down your inner thighs.
Jake pulls free from your mouth, strokes himself twice, and spills across your lower back in thick, warm ropes, marking your skin. They rotate again, Heeseung sliding back in, then Jay, then Sunghoon, each one adding more, fucking it deeper, pushing it against your cervix with every thrust until you’re trembling, sobbing, body overwhelmed and exquisitely full.
When the final round ends, Sunghoon pulling out with a wet, filthy sound, a fresh gush of cum following, your legs give out completely. You collapse forward onto Heeseung’s chest, shaking, panting, utterly spent.
Jay reaches into the center console and withdraws a small black velvet pouch. Inside are three plugs, smooth black silicone, flared bases, graduated sizes. Heeseung selects the largest, coats it generously in the creamy mess still leaking from you, then presses the blunt tip against your swollen entrance.
“Gonna keep every drop where it belongs,” he murmurs, voice soft now, almost reverent. He works the plug in slowly, watching your face the entire time, until it pops past the rim and settles deep, the weight immediate and grounding.
Jay takes the smaller one, slicks it with the same care, and presses it gently but firmly into your ass. The dual fullness is overwhelming, possessive, complete.
Sunghoon cleans between your thighs with a packet of wipes from the glovebox, slow, careful strokes that feel almost tender after everything. Then he helps you sit up, smoothing your dress back down over your hips, fingers combing gently through your tangled hair. The car falls quiet again. They surround you, Heeseung’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, Jay’s hand resting warm and steady on your thigh, Sunghoon’s fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, Jake leaning over the seat to press close from the front. After a long stretch of silence, Jake speaks, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “We don’t want anyone else,” he says simply. “Not ever. Not like this.”
Jay nods once. “You’re not just something we fuck. You’re ours. Completely. For everything.”
Sunghoon’s fingertips brush the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “We thought we could keep it light. Keep some distance. Pretend it didn’t matter.” He exhales, the sound almost pained. “We were wrong.”
Heeseung’s hold tightens, lips brushing your temple. “No one else touches you. No one else fills you. No one else gets to love you the way we do.” The word, love,lands soft and heavy, undeniable. You turn your face into the warm curve of Heeseung’s neck, feel the first tear slip free, not from pain, not from overwhelm, but from the sudden, terrifying certainty that this is exactly where you want to be.
“I don’t want anyone else either,” you whisper against his skin. They exhale as one, like they’ve been waiting weeks to hear it. Jake leans farther over the seat, presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good.” Jay draws you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.
Sunghoon drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, still warm from his body, carrying his scent. Heeseung climbs over the console, settling in the driver’s seat, he glances up at you through the rear view mirror, starts the engine, and pulls out of the lot with careful precision. The drive home is quiet. The plugs shift inside you with every turn, constant, heavy reminders. Their hands stay on you, gentle now, grounding.
When you reach the apartment they carry you inside, Heeseung’s arms strong and sure, straight to the largest bed. They undress you slowly, silk peeled away, heels slipped off, every movement careful and deliberate. They clean you again, warm washcloths, soft touches that linger.
Then they slide into bed around you, skin on skin, bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Heeseung at your front, chest pressed to yours, one leg thrown possessively over your hip. Jay at your back, arm wrapped securely around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. Sunghoon curled lower, head resting on your thigh, long fingers tracing soothing circles. Jake pressed to your side, fingers laced tightly with yours.
No words. Just the slow, even rhythm of their breathing syncing with yours. Until the plugs feel less like possession and more like quiet promise. Until sleep finally claims you, safe, full, irrevocably claimed. Your dreams aren’t about running. They’re about staying.
Synopsis: Park Sunghoon, the west's most notorious cowboy. In other words, your notorious big dicked cowboy.
Pairing: cowboy!Sunghoon * bartender!fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (not for you), cock riding, bondage (f), cuffs (f), size kink, breast play, overstimulation, biting (blood involved), semi-public sex, oral (f recieving), exhibitionism lowkey, gagging (belt), hard dom Sunghoon, sub!reader, rough sex, multiple orgasms, cumming inside, hair pulling, heavy degradation, alcohol, my very bad knowledge of alcoholic drinks, lmk if i missed any!
A/N: This is officially the filthiest thing i have ever written and of course I wrote it for my baby Kayz @wichujunseo and of course i wrote it about Park Sunghoon who needs to now put a baby in me. might turn this into an 02z series, if i get horny enough over Jay but we'll see. As always, enjoy! (Also initially wrote about this here)
Word Count: 11k (half of it is smut)
The west’s most notorious cowboy—a hardened criminal, guilty of half the shit posted onto the bulletin board outside the Sheriff’s office, the ice prince as they called him, unmoving and cold, the most ruthless in all the west.
And apparently the guy who slid his number in between the bills he just slammed on the bar.
“Park Sunghoon.”
“Yes doll?”
“What the fuck is this?” You held up the crumpled piece of paper in between your fingers, “I thought I told you already that I don’t date cowboys?”
“You did.” He tilted his head, a vexatious smile dancing on his lips, “But it was Jungwon who asked you back then, and we all know he’s not your type.”
“And you are?” You scoffed, throwing the paper at his chest, “You know I can throw you out of here whenever I want right?”
“Yeah?” He smiled on, really getting on your nerves now, “I’m sooo scared.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wood. Any room he entered always hushed around him, as if the sound of mere breath would have him whipping out his revolver.
“Throw me out then.” Sunghoon said mildly, gaze flicking to the rows of liquor bottles behind you, “I’ll have my usual before you do though.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” You scoffed, though your hands were already moving on their own, muscle memory betraying you as you reached for the rye. Sunghoon watched you intently, eyes as black as kohl. You were one of the rare ones to actually see them up close—usually they’d be hidden by the shadow of his hat.
You grabbed the mixing glass with more force than necessary, ice clinking sharply as you dropped it in. Then came the rye, measured clean and precise, peychaud’s bitters— exactly two dashes. Then, pointedly, you reached past the sugar jar and picked up the small vial of orange extract instead. He lifted a brow.
“Oh?” He murmured, “You remembered huh doll?”
“I remember all my customers’ orders,” You stirred the drink a little too hard. “Doesn’t make you special.”
“Sure.” He replied, lips curling. Cocky bastard.
You strained the drink into the glass, twisted a lemon peel over the top, then hesitated—just long enough for him to notice—before adding the barest hint of orange. The scent bloomed warm and sharp between you, you never really got to use the tiny vial much.
You slid the Sazerac across the bar and leaned in, meeting his eyes. He picked up the glass slowly, turning it once, inspecting it like a man who had never once doubted the world would give him what he wanted. Then he took a sip. A brief pause took over before his shoulders eased.
“Perfect.” He crooned, “The sugar ruins the sharpness of the rye,” His gaze wavered for a fraction of a second, to your chest, “don’t you think?”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You bristled, reaching for a glass to wipe down that was already spotless, “I prefer my poison sweet.” He took another sip, eyes never leaving your face, “Makes it easier to swallow.” Silence settled over you once more, as he sipped away at his drink and you cleaned up. The absence of people in the bar didn't faze you much; you were used to Sunghoon being the only customer at such an ungodly time.
“The Ice Prince.” You hummed, sitting down across from him. His eyes flicked up, a curious oppression danced on his face, “You know what people say about you?”
“That I don’t talk much.” He said tartly, “That I don’t smile. That I leave towns quieter than I found ’em.” He put his finished glass down, “And that I always pay my tabs.” He tapped the bar once, “Which I did. With interest.”
You let out a harsh laugh, picking up the piece of paper. “This—” You leaned forward, eyes hovering at his lips for a second, “—was not part of the tab.”
“Whatever you say, doll.” He chuckled, pushing his glass forward. “Last one before we call it a night?” For a heartbeat, you stared at him, the air felt tight and coiled.
“How about something new this time?” You chirped, catching his attention. Your hand reached for the shiny whiskey bottle sitting at the very top. “Got it in this morning. Supposed to be a new kind from the south.” You tipped it carefully into his glass, eyes fixed on the way it flowed in smoothly. Barrel aged probably, judging from the thickness.
“Am I the first one to try this?” You grudgingly nodded at his question, pressing the bottle to your chest, “Well then I’m honoured to—”
BANG!
A gunshot cracked through the night like lightning, sharp and close. The night shattered, split open as horses outside reared and screamed, their panicked neighs cutting through the chirping of the cicadas, as hooves scraped violently against dirt and wood. Somewhere down the road, a stable door slammed, followed by hurried shouts.
You startled hard, the bottle jerking in your grip. Whiskey sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your shirt, warm and sharp-scented. Of course you didn't bother to close the bottle.
“Oh fuck me.” You set the bottle down instantly. As if it wasn't bad enough that you had worn your lowest cut shirt today, it was completely sopped through, your bare skin and black bra introducing themselves to the world with much gusto.
Sunghoon considered himself to be a calm man—a steady island amidst a hurricane. This hurricane would be the one to destroy him though.
Warm whiskey darkening the fabric of your shirt, the scent blooming sharp in the air; his eyes lingered at your tits pressed together as you tried to clean yourself up and his thoughts promptly scattered like spooked birds. Fuuckkk, what he’d give to be buried in between the valley of your chest.
He reached into his pockets without thinking. When he brought his hand back up, a clean folded handkerchief rested between his fingers. He didn’t meet your eyes when he offered it.
“Here,” he said quietly, voice steadier than his thoughts had any right to be.
For a split second, his fingers brushed yours as you took it. Just barely but enough to send a tingling sensation through him. Sunghoon’s thoughts kept circling back in ways they absolutely shouldn’t. His eyes flicked down again, caught on the spill for the briefest second, then snapped away with visible effort, blood rushing to his cheeks….and his dick.
“These fucking assholes.” He mumbled, getting up from his seat as if he were being dragged to school, “Don’t know the right time to settle shit.” He paused as he picked up his hat, “You need me to drop you home?”
“No thanks.” You muttered, covering yourself with his handkerchief, your cheeks warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the whiskey.
“Relax, doll.” He said, voice lower, gentler. “I’m not that kind of a man.” Another shout echoed outside, and Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, “The offer’s still on the table by the way.” His smile softened just a bit.
You folded your arms. “And if I say no?”
“Then I tip my hat, walk out, and don’t bother you again.” He tugged on his black jacket, walking towards the door, “Unless you want me to.” He added, before he opened it, glancing back at you with that cocky smirk, “You know how to reach me, yeah?” The door creaked open, cold night air sweeping in, “Night, doll.”
And he was gone with the same zeal he had entered in with earlier that evening.
Your fingers curled around the bar, heart racing. His glass sat in front of you, the new whiskey untouched. You picked it up silently, bringing your lips to it—it would have been a waste to dump it out. Your throat burned as the liquid seeped into your soul. Sunghoon would have hated this, you thought, it had a subtle sweetness to it that made the burn bearable.
Your eyes lingered over to the handkerchief on the table, stained light brown all over. His initials were faintly visible at the edges, embroidered with green thread. You twirled the glass between your hands. It had been a long night.
It would be even longer the next morning.
__________________
It was the way he never rushed.
That was the first thing that got under your skin. Most men fidgeted when you glared at them—cleared their throats, shuffled their boots and scrambled for words. Sunghoon just waited.
Leaned back against the bar with infuriating ease, one shoulder rolling as if your irritation was nothing more than background noise. Like he had all the time in the world and you were the highlighted one on his schedule.
And then there were his hands, of course.
Always doing something highly unnecessary. Pushing his hat back juust enough to expose those sharp eyes, dragging his thumb slowly along the rim of his glass before taking a sip. Letting his slender fingers rest flat on the bar, as if he wasn’t fully aware you were watching them.
He smiled at the wrong moments too. Always when you were on the edge of snapping—that cocky smirk would hang from his lips. When you told him to wipe that look off his face, he only tilted his head and smiled wider, like he’d just won something. When you threatened to toss him out, he hummed low in his throat, eyes flicking briefly to the door before settling back on you with a look that said no you won’t.
And the worst part?
The fact that you noticed it all.
The way he leaned in just enough to invade your space made your breath hitch despite yourself; the way his gaze lingered half a second too long, daring you to call him out on it; the way he turned away before you could win the stare-down, as if he already knew how it would end.
And you hated—absolutely hated—that some small, reckless part of you liked the way he drank your custom Sazerac like it was nectar.
You clenched your jaw as you stared at the neatly folded handkerchief on your kitchen counter. The crumpled note lay next to it.
“From your favourite cowboy.”
You could practically see that douche bag’s smirk— God how you wanted to punch that smugness off his face. Which was deeply inconvenient, because some traitorous part of you also wanted to see it up close.
You glanced at your clock before leaning back against the counter, head tilting back as you ran over every bad decision you had ever made in your life. Would calling Park Sunghoon at 10 p.m to tell him to pick up his stupid handkerchief really be one of them?
“Is this a dream?”
Yep, it was one of them.
“Pipe down asshole.” You rolled your eyes, “I’m calling about your handkerchief.” There was a pause on the other side. Bad decision, bad decision, bad decision.
“My handkerchief?”
“What, you can’t hear now?” You scoffed, was his voice always this smooth? “You didn't pop in today and I’ve had it all day. You don’t want it back?”
Another tentative pause. And then, a soft laugh.
“You want me to come over at 10 p.m to get my handkerchief?” He snarked, “Wouldn’t that be too scandalous, doll?”
“I swear I’ll set it on fire.”
And that was the story of how you had the west’s most notorious (annoying) cowboy sitting at your kitchen counter while you fixed him a beer.
“How did you know this is my favorite brand?” Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, toying with the beer you just slid him. You rolled your eyes, leaning on your elbows across him on the kitchen counter. Why did this asshole look so good beaten up?
Sunghoon had miraculously gotten into a fight on his way here to your house. He won the fight of course; if he hadn't, he probably would have burnt his face off and hid from the world forever. As expected from someone who thought of himself as the best cowboy ever.
….He was though.
“It’s all I had, asshole." You scoffed, “Had to take a cart home ‘cause no one would order it.” You took a slow sip from your own bottle and quickly understood why. It tasted shit.
“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Sunghoon tilted his head, chuckling at your disgusted expression.
“You can take the rest of them.” You mumbled, watching him intently. The angle of his sharp jay, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he tilted his head back to chug the last drops. You squeezed your thighs together, mentally smacking your head against a wall.
“Keep starin’ like that princess–” Sunghoon slid his finished bottle away, “—and I just might think you’re in love with me.”
“Oh yeah?” You cocked your head to the side, this beer is way too strong, “Call me princess again and I might just kiss your stupidly pretty face.” You took a heavy swig, the bitter fizz sliding down your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you were walking over to him, grabbing his collar and pulling him close.
Your lips crashed into his with a fierce passion, tongues tangling in a messy, desperate dance. You felt him freeze for a split second, before his strong hands gripped your waist as he kissed you back just as hard.
It was all tongue and teeth as one of his large hands slid slowly up the back of your skirt to grab a handful of your ass. You let out a surprised moan but he swallowed it down, kissing you like a starved man.
“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He mumbled against your lips, circling his arm round your waist as he stood up, pulling you flush against him. The rough movement sent a zap of electricity straight to your core.
You could taste the beer on him, mixed with the faint salt of sweat from his day under the sun. He backed you up against the kitchen counter, the edge digging into your lower back as he pressed his body to yours. His chest heaved against your breasts, his hips pinning you in place, the hard bulge in his pants grinding subtly against your core.
"Sunghoon..." You gasped against his lips as he peppered kisses along your jaw. Your hands clawed at his back desperately.
“Yes doll?” Sunghoon’s calloused hands slid up your sides, sending shivers racing across your skin, “What do you want me to do?”
He broke the kiss just enough to nip at your lower lip, then dived back in, sucking on your tongue while his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. The fabric bunched up as Sunghoon explored higher, palms cupping your tits firmly. He squeezed them, thumbs circling your hardening nipples, pinching hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
“Oh you like that huh?” The counter creaked under the pressure as he kneaded your breasts, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers, drawing out filthy sounds from you, “Never knew you’d be a dirty little girl for me, baby.”
Sunghoon leaned down and captured one of your nipples between his teeth, nipping at the sensitive bud. You cried out, tangling your fingers in his hair to hold him against you. His tongue swirled around the stiff peak before switching to its neglected twin. Each brush of his mouth and teeth against your breasts sent jolts of pleasure straight between your thighs.
Sunghoon’s hand slid down again under your skirt, cupping your warm pussy in your panties. He groaned at the wet feeling on his fingers.
"You're so fucking wet for me already." He chuckled, gripping your pussy tighter. You bucked against him, desperate for more friction. He chuckled again, darker this time and pulled his hand away. "Beg for it, baby."
You glared up at him, heat flushing your cheeks as frustration mixed with the ache building inside you.
“Fuck off, I’m not doing that.” You snapped, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. Your body betrayed you, nipples still hard from his attention, pussy throbbing with need, but your pride wouldn't let you cave so easily. Sunghoon raised a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he stepped back just enough to loom over you.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it now doll? Especially to the guy who’s got you dripping like this.”
“What are you talk—”
Unfortunately for you, his fingers were faster and before you could retort, his hand dove under your panties, two thick fingers pushing past your slick folds and straight into your pussy. You practically screamed, knees buckling as he curled them upward, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Sunghoon—fuck….oh!” You gripped the counter edge to stay upright, as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, but he didn't move, just held them there, letting you feel the stretch.
“Come on baby.” Sunghoon murmured, free hand bracing your hip to pin you down, “Just admit you want my cock buried in this tight little pussy and maybe I’ll let you cum.” He started pumping slowly, in and out, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to build the tension but not enough to tip you over. You rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, but every time your breaths quickened, he eased off, denying the release.
Oh fuck it.
“Sunghoon please please pleaseee.” You finally breathed, hating how desperate it sounded, “Need your cock—oh fuck!” He added a third finger and thrusted harder, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room, “Need your cock in me, please Hoonie?”
Your legs trembled, barely holding you up as his fingers twisted inside you, scissoring to stretch your pussy wider. Sunghoon pinched your clit lightly, making you jolt, your back arching off the counter.
“Please what? Use your words, baby.” God why were his fingers so fucking thick, “Tell me you want to cum on my fingers.”
“I—ah—want to cum.” You managed, voice breaking as he sped up, digits slamming into you now, hooking against your g-spot with sharp precision. The pressure coiled tight in your belly, orgasm hovering just out of reach. Your thighs quivered, threatening to give out entirely, and you clutched onto his shoulder for support, nails digging in.
But right as the edge loomed, Sunghoon pulled his fingers out of your soaked pussy with a wet pop, your juices glistening on his skin, leaving you clenching around nothing.
“Sunghoon!” You whined, slapping his chest, “Wha—”
“Not yet pretty girl.” He said casually, bringing his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean while locking eyes with you, the taste of your arousal making his cock throb painfully in his pants. “'Bedroom—now. I want these pretty little legs spread out for me.”
You stumbled after him up the stairs to your bedroom, panties soaked and clinging uncomfortably. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you, and Sunghoon wasted no time, pushing you toward the bed. He took off his jacket as slow as he could, as if to test your patience. Cocky bastard, you thought, though your pussy was basically screaming for his stupid dick to be put in her, as you ripped your skirt off. Your panties were left untouched, you needed his skilled fingers for that.
“You wanna make this more fun princess?” Sunghoon climbed up the length of the bed and sat on his knees between your parted legs, a lazy smile dancing on his face. You caught a peek of his sharp canines (almost fangs) and heat rushed to your core. From his pocket, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs—real ones, the metal glinting coldly under the lamp light.
“Stole these from the sheriff’s last week.” On his knees, Sunghoon looked like a sinful worshiper. He climbed over you, one hand on your hip to keep you there beneath him, as he leaned in to lick a stripe on your neck. “Though they’d come in handy for a naughty girl like you.”
You shivered at the wet heat of his tongue tracing your neck, the sharp graze of his canines sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs. Sunghoon's weight pinned you to the mattress, his hand firm on your hip, fingers digging in as if to remind you who was in control.
The scent of his cologne mixed with the musky hint of your combined arousal hung heavy in the air, making your head spin. The idea of being restrained by him, helpless under his mercy, made your pussy clench in anticipation.
He guided your wrists above your head, snapping the cuffs around them and securing the chain to the headboard. And you didn't even protest.
How pretty, Sunghoon thought.
The cold bite of metal against your skin made you tug experimentally, but they held firm, leaving you exposed and helpless on the mattress. Sunghoon stripped off his shirt, revealing toned muscles and a faint trail of dark hair leading down to where his pants strained against his erection. He unzipped slowly, freeing his big cock—thick and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum.
Your mouth went dry at the sight, pussy aching anew as he stroked himself once, twice, lining up at your entrance. Sunghoon didn't bother with your panties, just shoved them aside and pressed the tip against your folds, making you gasp.
His gaze raked over you, sharp and hungry, lingering on the way your face scrunched up merely at his tip. God why were you such a pretty little thing?
“Loook at this pussy.” His voice was rough as his hands gripped your knees, pushing them wider until your pussy was on full display, slick and swollen, “Drippin’ for me like she’s been dreaming of my cock aalll night.”
“Just—” You sighed, “—put it in already.” If your hands weren't restrained right now you would have grabbed his stupid face and put your tongue in his stupid mouth.
Stupid stupid Park Sunghoon.
An entire life of good decisions and yet here you were, wriggling pathetically under him, dying for his cock.
“Gonna fill you up so good.” Sunghoon said, rubbing the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. The tease made you whine, pulling at the cuffs, “You ready, baby?”
But of course, the absolute asshole that the west’s most notorious cowboy was, didn't even give you time to answer. He pushed in—slow at first, the stretch burning deliciously as his cock split you open.
As Sunghoon slowly pushed himself deeper inside your tight channel, inch by exquisite inch, you could feel yourself stretching to accommodate his thick girth.
“Sunghoon—t-too big!” You cried out, nails digging into your own palms as you felt his hard length throb deep inside you. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it nestled inside you, an amazing pressure that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine.
“Oh no honey, this is your fault.” The sheer size of him filled you completely, every inch draaagging against your walls, “You’re just too tight baby.”
His grin was feral, canines glinting. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming—his cock splitting your walls, inch by thick inch. The fullness hit you like a punch, your pussy clamping down hard around him, and an orgasm ripped through you without mercy.
You cried out, back bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure ripped through your core, juices gushing around his cock, soaking the sheets beneath. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, every nerve alight, and you thrashed against the restraints, the metal biting into your wrists.
Sunghoon froze, buried deep, his eyes widening in surprise before a laugh bubbled up from his chest, letting you ride it out as your walls milked him.
“Fucking hell princess, you came just from me putting it in?” He didn't pull back, just ground his hips in slow circles, while your walls fluttered helplessly around him, “So sensitive baby….your greedy little pussy’s sucking me dry already.”
The head of his cock nudged your cervix, prolonging the spasms. Heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and lingering bliss, but his words only made you clench tighter, drawing another hiss from him.
“Shut up and fuck me already.” Your chest moved up and down rapidly as you slowly wrapped your legs around his waist, “Or don’t tell me cowboys only know how to put it in and nothing more than that?” You didnt know what invisible force prompted you to say that, but thank fuck it did, because the dark look that came into Sunghoon’s eyes was perfect material for you to masturbate to for the next few weeks.
“Big words from someone who has their hands tied, princess.” Sunghoon chuckled, digging his nails into your waist, “I’m gonna enjoy this.”
With that, he pulled back almost all the way out, the drag of his thick fucking cock against your oversensitive pussy making you whimper, then slammed back in with brutal force. The headboard thumped against the wall as he set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward relentlessly, each thrust driving his cock deep into your core.
An obscene moan escaped you, the sound raw and unrestrained, as he pounded into you, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider to a perfect angle, hitting that spot inside that made your vision blur.
The cuffs rattled with every brutal slam, your wrists straining as you arched into him. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss, tongue thrusting in time with his hips. His cock stretched you wide, the friction building heat that coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Hoon oh right there!” You cried out, the wet slap of skin on skin punctuating your moans, “You’re so big—fuck fuck fuck!”
His hands gripped your thighs, hiking them over his shoulders to fold you in half, allowing him to drive even deeper. The angle hit your g-spot perfectly, reigniting the fire in your core almost instantly.
“Take it for me baby.” Sunghoon grunted, sweat beading on his forehead as he pounded into you, “Take it aaall for me—that’s my good fucking girl.”
His pace never faltered, relentless and hard, balls slapping against your ass with wet smacks. He broke the kiss to trail bites down your neck, teeth sinking into the flesh as he rutted harder, the sharp points of his canines drawing a thin line of blood that he lapped up with a satisfied hum. The pain mingled with pleasure, pushing you higher, your pussy fluttering around his cock.
“Gotta let the whole town know yeah?” Sunghoon murmured against your skin, “That their pretty little bartender is a cumslut for me.” He released one thigh to slide a hand down, thumb pressing down, down, down on your clit and rubbing in rough circles, ‘Go on baby. Who’s cumslut are you?”
“Y-Yours Hoonie!” It was too much—the brutal pace, the targeted strokes, the unyielding pressure on your clit, “Your cumslut Sunghoon—oh goddddd…”
“Yeah you are baby.” He chuckled, a deep moan escaping him as he felt your pussy squeeze him particularly hard, “My—hah—cumslut hmm?”
The dual assault overwhelmed you; pleasure spiked sharp and intense, your pussy fluttering around his pistoning cock.
“Sunghoon—please, I'm—” Your words dissolved into a scream as your orgasm hit, fiercer than the first, a guttural scream tearing from your throat as your pussy convulsed, walls clamping down like a vice around his cock.
Sunghoon groaned, thrusts stuttering as your release pushed him closer, but he held on, fucking you through it with savage intensity. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin on skin, your shared breaths ragged.
“That’s it baby—cum all over my dick.” He rasped, chasing his own peak now, “Fuck—pussy’s milkin’ me dry.”
Sunghoon's muscles tensed, cock swelling inside you, and with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came—hot spurts of cum flooding your pussy, painting your walls white, the warmth spreading through you as he ground against your cervix.
“Fucking hell….” He rasped, collapsing forward, forehead resting against yours as you both panted. Aftershocks rippled through your joined bodies, Sunghoon’s cock twitching inside your filled pussy.
He finally pulled out with a wet slide, cum leaking from your abused hole, and unlocked the cuffs with a click. He rubbed the red marks on your wrists with surprisingly gentle thumbs—a complete contrast to the man who had been pounding into you five minutes ago without any mercy.
You lay there in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, limbs heavy and trembling; every muscle ached from the brutal pounding, your wrists tender from the cuffs, and all you wanted was to curl into him and drift off.
Unfortunately cowboys were known for having immense stamina.
And Sunghoon was known for being absolutely ruthless.
"Oh no pretty girl." He murmured, voice low and commanding, his sharp canines peeking through his smirk, “We’re not done yet.” His cock, still half-hard and slick with your combined juices, twitched against your thigh as he propped himself up on one elbow, that predatory glint returning to his eyes.
Before you could protest, his strong hands gripped your waist, hauling you upright with effortless strength. You whimpered in exhaustion, head lolling against his shoulder, but he didn't relent—shifting to sit against the headboard, legs spread wide as he pulled you onto his lap.
"Sunghoon…..I can't." You breathed, even as your body betrayed you, core clenching at the feel of his thickening cock pressing against your inner thigh. Your thighs burned from being folded like a damn leaf earlier, and the sensitivity between your legs made every shift send sparks through you.
"You can, and you will." Sunghoon’s tone left no room for argument, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat. He nipped at your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to sting, drawing a gasp from you. “Ride me like a good girl would baby, go on.”
He guided your hips up, positioning you over his lap, and you felt the head of his cock nudge your entrance—still swollen and dripping from before. With a firm push on your ass, he lowered you down, his thick length stretching you open once more.
“Ah—ahhh Sunghoon!” Your breath hitched, hands bracing on his broad shoulders as you sank fully onto him, “God you’re so big!”
His cock throbbed inside you, harder now, veins pulsing against your sensitive inner walls. Sunghoon was so deep in this position, the tip kissing your cervix not so gently with every subtle shift, and you clenched involuntarily, drawing a guttural groan from him.
“Pretty girl takin’ every inch…” Sunghoon rasped, large hands sliding to your hips to control the pace, “like your pussy’s made for me.”
“Feel so gooood Hoonie…” You whined as he lifted you slightly, then dropped you back down, the motion forcing his cock to drag along your g-spot. The wet squelch of your pussy swallowing him echoed in the room.
Sunghoon watched you intently, eyes dark with lust, one hand roaming up to pinch your nipple hard, twisting until you yelped and clenched around him.
"Harder," He demanded, bucking his hips up to meet your downward stroke, “Ride this cock like you mean it baby.”
“C-Can’t….Sunghoon please.” You sobbed, exhausting warning with the building heat inside you.
“Tch tch tch.” Sunghoon clicked his tongue, “Poor baby’s tired already? We haven't even done much baby.”
You started moving tentatively, his words spurring you on, rising up until just the head remained inside, then sliding down with a shuddering sigh. Each descent stretched you wider, his girth splitting you apart, and the friction against your clit from grinding at the bottom made your toes curl.
Your breasts bounced with each bounce, and he took one into his mouth, sucking roughly on the peaked nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud. His cock pistoning deep, his mouth devouring your chest—all of it pushed you higher and higher. If there really was a heaven you were close to reaching it.
"Sunghoon—oh god, too much too much!" You cried, head thrown back.
Your pussy fluttered erratically, oversensitive walls gripping Sunghoon like a vice, but you couldn't stop. The way he filled you completely, the lewd sounds of your arousal coating his shaft, it all blurred into a haze of need.
He released your nipple with a pop, leaving it red and glistening, and grabbed your ass with both hands, spreading your cheeks to thrust deeper.
“Fuck princess you’re soaking me.” He helped you grind down harder, cock hitting that spot inside you relentlessly.
The pressure built fast, your clit throbbing against his pubic bone with every roll of your hips. You rode him wildly now, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks on his skin.
"Gonna cum—fuck, I'm gonna cum again," You sobbed, the words tumbling out as your ecstasy crested.
“Shit—you’re so tight.” Sunghoon moaned, slamming up into you one final time, his thumb finding your clit to rub furious circles, "Cum on my cock baby—squeeze me till I fill this pretty pussy full again."
The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision whiting out as your pussy convulsed around him. You screamed his name, body seizing, walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that pulled him deeper.
Sunghoon followed seconds later, a deep moan ripping from his throat as he held you down, hips jerking erratically. His cock swelled, then erupted, pumping thick jets of cum straight into your core, overflowing and mixing with your juices to leak down your thighs.
He bit down on your shoulder, canines piercing just enough to draw a bead of blood, the sharp pain prolonging your climax until you were a trembling mess in his arms.
Finally, you collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat and spent. His cock softened inside you, but he didn't pull out, wrapping his arms around you possessively.
“Knew you had one more in you.” He whispered, kissing the mark on your shoulder as you panted against his chest.
“I’m dead.” You mumbled, pushing at his chest half heartedly, “You killed me you big dicked asshole.”
“So you admit my dick is big.” He laughed, gently pulling you off, and laying you down beside him, “Sorry about your sheets by the way.”
You snorted, eyes closing as you sunk into the mattress, utterly exhausted.
“You’re doing the laundry in the morning before you leave.”
________________________
It was safe to say you didn’t go back to work for an entire weekend. Your legs were—to say it in simple words—dead.
God damn Park Sunghoon and his huge fucking cock.
When you did go back, Sunghoon acted like he had reached Mount Olympus. His cocky attitude only got cockier—flashing you smirks across the bar, spreading his legs wide as he threw his head back to expose his Adam's apple every time he sipped on his Sazerac, his eyes promising nothing but more trouble.
Over the past few days, you were utterly disappointed every time you rolled onto your bed before sleeping. Your fingers were nowhere near as good as his, and you had failed to make yourself orgasm about five times now.
God damn Park Sunghoon and his huge fucking cock.
God also damn your huge ego, that prevented you from calling him over again, preferring to just press down the carnal hunger in your chest every time he looked you up and down with those sharp eyes of his as he spit out cherry pits.
“Who’s cumslut are you?”
You’d have to go out back, violently shake your head and come back every time that stupid voice drifted into your head.
“Are you listening to me?” Your sister tapped on the bar as you absent mindedly wiped a glass, staring off into the distance, “Honestly sweetheart, you’ve been drifting so much lately.”
“Sorry.” You sighed, placing the glass down, “Just need a drink.”
“That makes two of us.” She laughed as you poured sweet rum into two glasses, “Just one though, I have to stop by the bakery to pick up something for Jay.”
“That damn husband of yours reminds me.” You sighed, “Can you please tell him to stop scaring my patrons off? It’s bad for business.”
She snorted into her glass. “He doesn’t scare them. He just….stands there.”
“He stands there,” You repeated flatly. “with that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’ve buried men for less’ look.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s just his face!”
“Well, his face is costing me money.” You scoffed, pouring more rum into your glass. You loved your brother in law of course, but him being the sheriff was definitely not good for your bar sometimes.
“You didn’t complain when he chased those gamblers out last month.” Your sister took a sip, studying you over the rim of her glass.
“That was different.” You avoided her eyes—they always managed to squeeze out the truth from you.
“But you know who else stands there with that look?” She tilted her head slightly, a mischievous grin on her face. You shot her a warning glare and she gasped dramatically, leaning forward, “So you are drifting because of a man!”
“I am not.” You declared like a defeated judge.
“Sweetheart,” She said, reaching across the bar to poke your forehead, “you just poured rum into the tip jar.”
You froze and looked down. Sure enough, the (thankfully empty) tip jar sat half-full of amber liquid. You set your glass down and groaned, hiding your face in your hands.
Your sister grinned slowly. “Want to tell me his name, or should I start guessing cowboys?”
“And how do you know it’s a cowboy?” You stared at the ruined tip jar like it had personally betrayed you.
“I practically raised you.” Your sister laughed, “You think I don’t know your type?”
“I don’t have a type!” You defended yourself, while your sister looked on with a tinge of amusement in her eyes.
“Let’s see.” She cleared her throat, “Tall. Quiet. Brooding, definitely.” She checked points on her fingers, “And there’s one person in this entire town who fits that criteria.” She studied you for a moment before smiling, “It’s Sunghoon isn’t it?”
You stared at her before flopping down like a deflated balloon on the bar, pressing your forehead to the wood. You didn’t answer, but she didn’t need you to.
“Don’t even start right now.” You mumbled, looking up at your sister, who raised her hands in surrender, “That man….” You banged your head lightly against the wood again, “pisses me off so much.”
“Is that why you let him into your house at 10 p.m last week?” Your sister said, laughing at your shocked expression, “What, you think the sheriff’s wife doesn't notice what’s happening two houses over? You better thank god Jay came home late that evening.”
“He doesn't even do anything that bad.” You said, sitting back upright, “Sunghoon is just….vaguely annoying. I don’t get why Jay’s so hellbent on catching him.”
She studied you for a long second, the teasing fading from her expression. “He’s dangerous, sweetheart.”
“He’s dramatic.” You corrected her, “And smug.” You clenched your jaw. “And he looks at me like he already knows something I don’t.”
“And?” She lifted a brow. You felt heat creep up your neck as you pouted in utter defeat.
“And I hate that I don’t really mind it.”
That made her smile gently. Your sister reached across the counter, took your hand in hers and squeezed it.
“Sweetheart I’m not saying don’t see him.” She softened, but only a little. “I’m saying….know who you’re seeing.” You gulped as she continued, “Men like that live in the moment, and they don’t stay most of the time. And I don't want your heart to be broken because of someone like that.” The quiet, empty bar suddenly felt even quieter. Sunghoon was a cowboy—a criminal. And by god did you want that criminal in your bed seven days a week.
“It’s not like I’m running off with him.” You crossed your arms, defensive heat rising in your chest. Your sister laughed, downing her rum.
“I’ll chase you down myself if you do.” She said, “What a perfect romance it would be though. You and the man your brother in law hates.”
“Jay hates anyone and everyone with a pulse who stands too close to you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep my husband at bay.”
“You will?” Your eyes flicked to hers, as relief flickered across your face before you could stop it.
“For now.” She said pointedly. “You’re allowed to have your fun.” She smirked. “Don’t look so grateful though, I’m doing this because I trust you.”
“And if it goes badly?”
“Then I got a nice little revolver in my bedside drawer that’s been dying to go out for a spin.” She shrugged. She squeezed your hand once before pulling back. “Just don’t lose your head over him.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, saying her last goodbyes and stepping back into the morning light.
The bell chimed as you stood there alone again in the quiet bar, sunlight stretching across the floor, rum still floating uselessly in the tip jar.
Ten in the morning.
Open sign flipped.
And somehow, he was already the first thing on your mind.
And he stayed there, through the slow trickle of noon customers, through the clatter of lunch plates, through the way you reached for rye instead of rum twice and through every creak of the door that made your head lift on instinct.
By the time evening rolled in, the bar had transformed. Rush hour on a Friday was the worst. Patrons packed the dimly lit space, their chatter and clinking glasses forming a cacophony that grated on your already frayed nerves. You and your fellow bartenders raced to keep up with the relentless flow of orders, beads of sweat trickling down your temples.
“Two lagers!” “Whiskey!” “Another round here!”
You moved fast—faster than most—hands steady even when your thoughts weren’t, as bottles uncorked, glasses slid and coins clinked. One of your fellow bartenders nearly collided with you and muttered an apology before diving back into the chaos. The air grew thick, warm and loud and you found yourself completely and utterly overwhelmed.
From across the room, a pair of piercing eyes inspected you—Sunghoon, slouched nonchalantly in his usual seat at the bar. A knowing smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you rush about, his gaze raking over your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.
As if sensing your mounting frustration, Sunghoon pushed off from the bar and made his way towards you, effortlessly parting the sea of bodies. He paused beside you, close enough for his musky scent to invade your senses.
“You’re about to drop that,” He said quietly near your ear. You glanced down, at your shaking hand pouring far too much gin into soda, and scoffed.
“I’m fine.” You muttered, shoving past him to reach for a row of shot glasses.
They say cowboys have excellent reflexes.
In one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. His hand hovered near your waist for half a second, before grabbing it decisively.
“Five minutes.” He said.
“I don’t have—”
“Yes you do.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, despite your irritation, "Please don't make me repeat myself, doll." His grip tightened, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your racing pulse. "You need a break. Now."
Before you could protest, he tugged you away, a firm hand at your lower back guiding you through the labyrinth of tables and towards the back. His large frame shielded you from prying eyes as he steered you down a narrow staircase leading to the cellars.
The cool, musty air enveloped you as you stumbled into the dimly lit space, wine racks towering on either side. Sunghoon kicked the door shut behind him, engulfing you in a heavy silence broken only by the distant thrum of the bar above.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You leaned back against the stone wall, breathing hard, adrenaline slowly draining from your system. The cellar was dim, a single lantern casting warm light over dust and stacked crates.
“You push yourself way too much baby.” Sunghoon gripped your hips possessively, trapping you with his body, “I know you got stamina but hell even I can’t do all that without a break.”
“You telling me how to run my bar now?” You scoffed, though your hands slowly went up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers pricking the back of his neck, “Is that why you dragged me all the way back here? To give me business advice?”
“Of course not sweetheart.” Sunghoon leaned in, now pinning you to the wall completely, “Just thought I’d relieve your stress a bit.”
The cold stone bit into your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth, his tongue pushing in to taste you, and it made your pussy throb with need. You grabbed his hair, tugging hard, and he moaned right into the kiss, the vibration hitting your lips and sending a jolt straight to your core.
The cellar was cramped, shelves lined with bottles and crates stacked haphazardly, leaving just enough space for a worn workbench in the corner. Faint voices from the customers who'd lingered outside seeped through the thin walls, a low murmur that reminded you how close the world was.
You broke the kiss first, gasping for air, your nails digging into his scalp as you pulled his head back to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with lust, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and glistening from your shared saliva.
“Relieve my stress huh?” You purred, “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” His mouth curled into a faint smirk, as Sunghoon released one hip to trail his fingers up your skirt, brushing the damp lace of your panties.
“Like this.”
Two fingers pressed against your clothed slit, rubbing slow circles that made your hips jerk forward. The friction sent sparks through your nerves, your arousal soaking through the fabric instantly.
“Pretty pussy remembers my fingers, yeah?” He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as he nipped at your neck, “Already so wet for me.”
Sunghoon’s free hand yanked your top up, exposing your bra, and he shoved the cups down roughly, freeing your breasts to the chilly air. He latched onto one, sucking hard while his teeth grazed the sensitive tip. You arched into his mouth, a moan escaping despite your attempt to stay defiant, while his fingers dipped under your panties, parting your folds to slide through your slickness.
“Fuck, Sunghoon…” Your thighs parted wider, as if on instinct, giving him better access.
He plunged one finger inside you, then two, and then three, curling them to stroke your inner walls with expert precision. Your pussy fluttered around the intrusion, juices coating Sunghoon’s hand as he pumped in and out, thumb circling your clit in tandem.
He released your nipple with a pop, leaving it shiny and red, before capturing your mouth again in a bruising kiss. His tongue mimicked the thrust of his fingers, deep and demanding, swallowing your cries. You rocked against his hand, chasing the building pressure, but he slowed down, teasing you with shallow dips that barely grazed your g-spot.
“So impatient, baby.” Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, withdrawing his fingers entirely. You whined in protest, but he silenced you by shoving his slick digits into your mouth, “Taste how desperate you are?”
The tangy flavor of your arousal flooded your tongue as you sucked obediently, eyes locked on his. Satisfaction flashed in his expression as he pulled his hand free, wiping the saliva on your exposed breast, before roaming down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he ground his hardening cock against your thigh, the thick length straining through his jeans.
The bar's distant hum of voices and clinking glasses filtered through the cellar door, a reminder of the thin veil separating this hidden depravity from the oblivious patrons above.
Sunghoon grabbed your wrist, pulling you against his chest, his free hand yanking his leather belt from the loops of his jeans with a sharp snap. The sound made you jolt, but before you could speak, he looped it around your head, threading it between your teeth like a gag. The thick leather bit into your lips, muffling any protest as he buckled it tight at the back of your neck.
“Hoon..” You tried to say his name, but it came out garbled, saliva already pooling under the restraint. Your eyes widened, heart hammering as he tested the hold, tugging lightly to make your head jerk forward.
“Need to be quiet for me, yeah?” His lips curled into a smile as led you to the workbench, “Those assholes up there don't need to hear you screaming my name.” His voice dropped to a growl, hands already shoving your panties down.
Sunghoon spun you around, bending you over the workbench. Your palms slapped against the rough wood, elbows buckling as he kicked your legs apart. The position exposed you completely, ass up and pussy dripping in the cool air.
Sunghoon's belt dug into your jaw, the taste of leather sharp on your tongue, forcing your mouth open in a perpetual O. You could hear the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of fabric, and then the heavy weight of his cock slapping against your ass cheek—thick, veined, and hardening fast. He rubbed the head along your slit, coating himself in your arousal before notching at your entrance.
Without warning, Sunghoon thrust in, burying half his length in one brutal shove. Your muffled cry vibrated against the belt, body arching as your walls stretched around his girth. The last few days were enough to make you forget how fucking huge he was, filling you to the brink as he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise.
“Still so tight for me—fuck!” Sunghoon grunted, pulling back only to slam forward again, bottoming out until his balls pressed against your clit. The workbench creaked under the force, bottles rattling on the shelves nearby. Upstairs, a customer's laugh barked through the wall—way too close and it only heightened the thrill, your pussy clenching around him.
Sunghoon set a punishing rhythm immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, obscene slaps. Each thrust drove his cock oh so deep, the head battering your cervix. You gripped the edge of the bench, nails scraping wood, trying to push back but he held you pinned, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back.
The belt muffled your moans into pathetic whimpers, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth to drip onto the surface below.
“Quiet now, pretty girl.” Sunghoon whispered mockingly. “Don’t want them to hear now do we?”
He pounded harder, the angle letting him grind against your g-spot with every plunge. Your thighs trembled as pleasure coiled tight in your core. His fingers pinched your clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, while his cock hammered relentlessly.
“No no doll, you’re not runnin’ from me are you?” You shook your head, the belt pulling taut, but he yanked your hair harder, forcing you to stay bent.
The pain was what finally tipped you over—your pussy spasmed, walls clamping down hard on his shaft as a feeling of ecstasy ripped through you. Muffled screams tore from your throat, vibrating against the leather, body convulsing as you squirted, hot liquid gushing out around his cock to soak his jeans and the floor beneath.
Sunghoon finally lost control, burying himself to the hilt as thick ropes of his cum flooded your pussy, overflowing to mix with your squirt and drip down your legs. He fucked you through it, prolonging the waves until your legs buckled, only his grip keeping you upright.
“Oh my god princess.” He groaned, his chest pressing to your back, “So tight for me fuckkkkk” The warmth spread, filling you until it leaked out with each twitch.
Sunghoon pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. He unbuckled the belt with deliberate slowness, peeling it from your mouth, leaving your jaw slack and lips swollen. Drool coated your chin, and you gasped for air, voice hoarse.
“You…bastard.” You panted, voice heavy due to exhaustion.
“And you loved every second of it.” He smirked, tucking himself away before helping you stand on wobbly legs. Sunghoon wiped your chin with his thumb, then kissed you roughly, tasting the leather on your tongue.
“So?” He cocked his head to the side as you straightened your skirt, “Has your stress been relieved, doll?”
“I will actually shoot you.”
___________________
Wednesdays really pissed you off.
And it wasn't for no reason. First off, it was the dead center of the week—too far from Sunday to feel hopeful and too far from Friday to feel close to relief. Second of all, there were never any customers on Wednesday. They’d all be at the ranches for the bull fight and you’d be left all alone with your thoughts—which rarely led to any good outcomes.
Still, you tried your hand at mediation, but unfortunately, staring at the dramatic font of the gin bottle wasn't doing anything other than pissing you off about the uneven space between the letters. You sighed and pushed yourself off the bar. Might as well close shop for today, maybe even go visit your sister and bake—
Ding!
The bell above the door chimed and your heart jumped so hard it was embarrassing.
And there he was.
Park Sunghoon stood just inside the doorway, breathing slightly heavier than usual, hat missing, dark hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His cheeks were flushed, his shirt clinging faintly at the collar, dust streaking his sleeves. He looked unfairly beautiful.
“What happened to the bull fight?” You asked, trying very hard to sound normal. Sunghoon shut the door quickly behind him, glancing through the window before turning back to you.
“My horse chipped a hoof so I got late.” He said, stepping forward. “Which would’ve been fine—except your brother-in-law decided to conveniently step out right when I was walking by the saloon..”
“Jay saw you?” You rested your cheek on your palm, elbow propped up on the counter. This was amusing.
“Jay saw me,” Sunghoon confirmed grimly. “And since I may or may not have promised I’d behave myself this week, he wasn't exactly thrilled.”
“You have atleast three guns on you.” You crossed your arms. “Why are you running?”
“I’m not running.” He said, shrugging at your raised brow, “I’m just….strategically relocating.”
“You are literally out of breath.”
“A man can’t be out of breath now?”
You walked around the bar slowly, eyeing him up and down. His chest rose and fell faster than usual, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light at his temple. A loose strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he shoved it back impatiently.
“This was really the first place you thought to come to?” You chuckled, “The place your chaser’s sister in law owns.” Sunghoon held your gaze for a second too long, before sighing heavily. Your lips twisted into a winsome smile.
“You know if you ask nicely enough, I’ll hide you.” You said briefly.
Sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh, prodding his inner cheek with his tongue. “Nicely.” He moved closer to the counter, palms resting against the wood as he leaned in. “And what would that sound like?”
You shrugged. “Why don’t you try it out, pretty boy?”
If this was what power felt like, god damn you wanted to feel it everyday. For a brief second, Sunghoon looked almost offended. Then, surprisingly, he straightened.
The next few seconds would be laid down in history as the greatest moment of your life.
“Please.”
There wasn't any sarcasm, not even that cocky smirk. Sunghoon looked down at you with softened eyes. You wondered momentarily what it would feel like to see those eyes between your thighs.
“What was that?” You tilted your head, "Couldn't hear you that well.”
Sunghoon barked a haughty laugh and sighed again. Greatest moment of your life for sure.
“Please can you hide me from the big bad sheriff?” He said, his tone completely exasperated, “Pretty please?”
Outside you heard distant hoofbeats echo faintly down the street. You arched a brow, pretending to consider it.
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
“Don’t toy with me right now, doll.” He muttered, though there was no actual bite to it.
“Oh, but you look sooo good all flustered.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the bar, a cheeky smile spread across your face. His jaw flexed, a faint flush creeping higher along his carved cheekbones.
“Are you going to help me,” Sunghoon asked, voice dipping lower, “or keep admiring the view?” Another set of hoofbeats sounded, closer now. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed on you. You grabbed his shirt and yanked him towards the counter.
“Get under.”
“Under?”
“Under the bar, idiot.” You shoved him down, “Unless you’d like to test how fast Jay can draw his cattleman.”
Sunghoon held your gaze one last time, a faint twinkle in his eyes, before muttering something under his breath before crouching down on his knees, just as the bell chimed again.
“Don’t move.” You whispered sharply, shooting him a quick glance before going back to wiping down the neat counter with a rag.
A heavy set of boots thudded against the wooden floor as Jay walked in, scanning the room with sharp eyes under the brim of his hat. His uniform stretched taut over his muscled chest, a silver badge glinting as he approached the bar.
“Morning, troublemaker.” Jay’s voice carried easily through the bar.
“If you’re talking about yourself, good morning.” You looked up and gave him a gentle smile.
Jay snorted and dropped onto a barstool with a heavy sigh, hat coming off and landing beside him. He ran a hand through his hair, already damp from the heat.
“It’s barely noon and I’m melting.” He complained, “Why’d we decide to live somewhere that feels like an oven again?”
“You married into it.” You shot back lightly.
“Worst decision of my life.” You raised an eyebrow at his words, “Second worst,” He corrected quickly. “Don’t tell your sister I said that.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Jay leaned his elbows on the counter, giving you a sideways look. “You look suspiciously calm today.”
“Am I not usually calm?” You scoffed. Below the counter, a hand brushed your ankle. This absolute dickwad.
“You are.” Jay narrowed his eyes, “But not on Wednesdays.”
“I’m evolving.”
“What a terrifying thought.”
“Why did my sister marry you again?” You reached for a glass, setting it down in front of him, “Want something cold?”
“Yes please.” Jay smiled, drumming his fingers on the countertop. If only he knew who was mere centimeters away from his feet, separated by nothing but wood.
Below the counter, Sunghoon was thanking his luck.
You had decided to wear your short black skirt today—the one that hugged your hips and barely skimmed mid-thigh, paired with a fitted top that dipped low enough to tease cleavage. In short, it was everything that drove Sunghoon insane.
His eyes traced over the smooth expanse of your legs. Your thighs were basically inviting him in, a beauty that would distract any man from his duties. Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, drinking in the way the fabric clung to your skin, the faint outline of your lace panties visible if he looked close enough.
You, on the other hand, were completely immersed in filling a tall glass with ice, pouring in lemonade before adding a splash of whisky. You knew Jay hated drinking on the job, but this wasn't anything fancy. Just something to take the edge off.
“Have I told you I love you?” Jay muttered as you slid the glass over.
“If you loved me, you’d let me have a colt.” You grumbled. Under the bar, Sunghoon’s presence was impossible to ignore; his hand kept going up your leg and all you wanted to do was smack him across his pretty eyes.
“Yeah and then the both of us can die at the hands of your sister.” Jay laughed, “And I’m not one to disobey my wife.”
“Ok lover boy.” You rolled your eyes, “How’s wor—”
That's when you felt it—a warm hand on your calf, tentative at first, then bolder, sliding up the back of your knee. His breath was hot against your skin as he shifted closer below the bar, emboldened by the shadows and the thrill.
Your breath hitched, but you covered it with a cough, straightening up to grab a coaster. Jay's eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering in between them.
“You alright there?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“Fine, just a tickle in my throat.” You lied, forcing your voice even as fingers— thick, rough and calloused—traced higher, bunching the hem of your skirt. Sunghoon’s palm flattened against your inner thigh, parting them just enough to expose more skin, his thumb stroking the sensitive flesh there.
“Uh huhhh.” Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he went back to being seduced by the cold glass of lemonade, “Anyways, did I tell you about the case we got last week?”
“Go on, sheriff, bore me with your details.” You busied yourself wiping a nonexistent spill, hips shifting subtly to discourage Sunghoon, but of course, the bastard took it as an invitation.
With agonizing slowness, his fingers hooked the edge of your panties, the thin lace barrier between propriety and chaos. Jay was mid-sentence, recounting some vague pursuit—“Had a lead on that rustler, but he slipped away like smoke”—when Sunghoon yanked.
A lighting bolt should have struck you down right there and then.
Your panties slid down your thighs in one swift tug, pooling at your ankles before you could react. Cool air kissed your bare pussy, already damp from the illicit excitement, lips swelling with arousal.
You gasped softly, disguising it as a laugh at Jay's story, but your knees locked, thighs trembling as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips from below, pulling you forward until your ass perched on the edge of your seat.
“Sweetheart seriously what’s wrong with you toda—” Jay started, brow furrowing, but you cut him off by pouring him another shot of whiskey, the liquid sloshing slightly from your unsteady hand.
“And then what happened?” You prompted, “Did you catch the guy?” Your voice was breathy, leaning back to create space—or so you told yourself.
Underneath, hot breath ghosted over your exposed folds, Sunghoon’s nose brushing your clit as he inhaled deeply, savoring your scent. Your pussy throbbed, juices gathering at your entrance, and before you could whisper a warning, his tongue flicked out.
Jay kept dragging on about some bullets and some moon crap, but your senses were already done and dusted. It was a tentative lick at first, flat and broad, dragging from your dripping hole up to your clit. Electricity shot through you, making your fingers white-knuckle the table.
“And then the bastard told me to…”
Sunghoon was absolutely ravenous, muffled groans vibrating against your core as he sucked your labia into his mouth, tugging gently with his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, knees pressing against the bar's supports, holding you open for his assault. Saliva mixed with your arousal, dripping down your ass crack to the floor, the wet sounds (thankfully) barely audible over Jay’s loud voice.
Jay's eyes were on your face now, searching, as he swirled his whiskey. “You sure you're okay right? You’re all red.” He reached out a free hand to press against your forehead.
“I’m fine Jay.” You murmured, “It’s just the heat. Go on, I wanna hear about the suspect.” You pursed your lips to stifle a moan as his tongue delved deeper, lapping at your slit with hungry strokes.
Jay nodded, oblivious, launching into details about the suspect—tall, dark-haired, evasive—while you nodded along, words tumbling from your lips in fragmented agreement. God damn Park Sunghoon and his glorious fucking tongue.
“Sounds dangerous.” You managed, voice pitching higher as a finger joined the tongue, circling your entrance before plunging inside. It curled immediately, hooking against your front wall, stroking that spongy spot that made your toes curl in your heels.
Sunghoon pumped his finger slowly, then added a second, stretching your pussy with scissoring motions while his tongue battered your clit. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the nub just enough to spark pain-laced pleasure, your hips bucking involuntarily. You gripped the counter's edge, knuckles paling, as Jay's boot tapped the stool leg—dangerously close to brushing the hidden figure.
“Another round please, sweetheart, thank you.” Jay said, pushing his glass forward
You reached for the bottle, arm trembling, and as you poured, Sunghoon's free hand snaked up, rolling your clit between his fingers. Your pussy spasmed around his fingers, walls fluttering, arousal gushing out to coat his palm. He lapped it up greedily, tongue thrusting alongside his digits.
Sweat beaded on your forehead, your top clinging to your breasts, nipples hard peaks—thank god you wore your good bra today. Sunghoon added a third finger then, and you were gone, stretching you wide, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit in a rhythm that had your vision blurring.
“You know, if you’re bored, you can come over in the evening.” Jay hummed, downing his whiskey in one go, “I think it’s pecan pie tonight.” But all you could focus on was the building pressure in your core, the way the cowboy’s mouth sealed over your pussy, humming vibrations straight to your nerves.
You smiled despite yourself. “I’ll be there.”
Your thighs quivered, muscles straining to stay composed, but Sunghoon was relentless, knuckles-deep now, twisting his wrist to grind against your g-spot. His teeth nipped your inner labia, pulling them taut before releasing, then diving back in to suckle your clit like it was his lifeline.
“Well I better get back.” Jay set his glass down with a clink, “That bastard Sunghoon got away from me before I came in.”
That bastard Sunghoon is currently eating your sister in law out, you thought, feeling Sunghoon smirk against your legs. His fingers curled harder, faster, pistoning in and out with squelching sounds that you prayed the bar's ambient noise drowned out.
“I’m surprised you haven’t proposed to him yet.” You laughed, eyes flicking down for a fraction of a second, “Sis says she hears more about him than anybody in your bedroom.”
“She told you that?” Jay said, putting his hat on, “Huh, might have to ask her about that today.”
“You do that.” You said, seconds away from collapsing on the floor, “I’ll be over by 7 today.”
“Yep.” Jay tipped his hat, “Thanks for the drink sweetheart.” He paused at the door and smiled back at you, “Take care of yourself yeah?”
With that, he turned, boots thudding toward the door, as he finally left, The bell jingled as he exited, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving the bar in sudden, echoing quiet. Relief—and release—crashed over you like a wave.
A moan ripped straight from the bottom of your soul as your pussy clenched violently around the invading fingers, your climax ripping through you in shuddering waves.
Hot squirt erupted from your core, spraying in forceful jets over Sunghoon’s smug face, drenching his cheeks, lips and hair. He groaned in ecstasy, mouth open wide to catch every drop, tongue lashing out to lap at the gushing stream.
“Sunghoon—fuck fuck fuck!” You screamed as his fingers fucked you through it, prolonging the spasms until your legs shook uncontrollably, knees buckling against his shoulders. Cum and saliva mixed, dripping from his chin onto his shirt, but he didn't stop—sucking your pulsing clit, milking every aftershock until you were whimpering, oversensitive and spent.
You sagged against the counter, panting, as he finally withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, licking them clean before planting one last, lingering kiss on your throbbing pussy.
“You taste like heaven, doll.” He murmured from below, voice rough with lust, emerging slowly with a glistening face and a cocky grin, “Better than your Sazerac.”
Your panties still tangled at your ankles, skirt hiked to your waist, you could only stare, chest heaving. The bar felt electric, the risk of it all making your skin tingle.
“I actually hate you, Park Sunghoon.” You hit his chest, “You were this close to getting caught, you absolute dickhead.”
“And yet I didn't." Sunghoon sighed dramatically, his hands caressing your waist gently, “And I got to taste your sweet little cunt in the process. It’s a win-win situation, doll.”
“Whatever.” You scoffed, sneakily leaning into his touch. You gazed into his eyes for a moment, before your gaze flicked to his lips. You smiled, “You know I think I’ll close up early today. I need to be ready by 7.”
“Seven hm?” Sunghoon leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, “We’ll be done by five, pretty girl.”
The west’s most notorious cowboy—a hardened criminal, guilty of half the shit posted onto the bulletin board outside the Sheriff’s office, the ice prince as they called him, unmoving and cold, the most ruthless in all the west.
And the guy who was going to worship you all day long, with his head in between your legs.
God bless Park Sunghoon, his whiskey stained handkerchief and your inability to resist some good fucking dick.
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Nerdy and virgin Jake confesses his love for you with flowers and gifts so as a thank you, you let him fuck you and Jake never thought of himself as big so when you take off his pants you were shocked and said just the tip with a condom and Jake tried it but you were sucking him in too good and he ended up fully inside you, in missionary, condom gone, deliciously stretching you out but like a said Jake is a little nerdy and starts rambling about Legos while moaning at the same time because your gummy walls clenching around him just feel too good
𓂃 𝐵𝑖𝑔 𝑏𝑜𝑦
𖦹 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑛!𝑗𝑎𝑘𝑒 & 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 , 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 / 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖 ꫂ
Jake stood at your door clutching a bouquet of slightly wilted roses and a bag full of limited-edition Funko Pops he’d spent three paychecks on, his glasses fogged up from nervous sweating. His voice cracked the second he opened his mouth.
“I… I’ve been in love with you for two years,” he blurted, cheeks flaming red. “I know I’m just the nerdy virgin who sits behind you in calc and stares too much but I had to tell you before I exploded.”
You looked at the flowers, the gifts, the way his hands shook, and something warm twisted low in your belly. He was sweet. Awkward. Adorable. And honestly, the idea of being someone’s first made you wetter than it probably should have.
So you pulled him inside, shut the door, and kissed him until he was panting against your mouth. His hands hovered like he was scared to touch you until you grabbed them and put them on your tits yourself.
“Consider this your thank-you,” you whispered, already sliding his hoodie off his skinny frame.
He whimpered when you pushed him onto the bed, climbing over him, tugging at his belt with eager fingers. You expected average. Cute little nerd dick to match the cute little nerd. But when you dragged his jeans and boxers down in one go his cock sprung out heavy and thick and long enough to make your brain short-circuit.
“Holy fucking shit, Jake,” you breathed, eyes wide, wrapping your hand around the base and feeling your fingers nowhere near meeting. “There is no way. Just the tip. And we’re using a condom. I’m not letting that monster ruin me on the first try.”
He nodded frantically, grabbing a condom from his wallet with shaking hands like the good boy scout he was. You rolled it down his length, the latex stretching thin over every fat vein, and lined him up while he stared at you like you were a goddess.
You sank down slow, just the tip popping past your entrance, and even that had you gasping, toes curling at how wide he forced you open. The stretch burned so good you saw stars.
“Fuck fuck fuck, you’re huge,” you moaned, trying to stay in control.
But your pussy had other plans. The second that fat head breached you your walls fluttered and clenched and sucked greedily, pulling him deeper on their own. You tried to lift up but your hips rolled instead, taking another inch, then another, until the condom snapped somewhere in the middle and suddenly there was nothing between you and every raw throbbing inch of him bottomed out inside you.
Jake’s eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream as your gummy walls milked him in rhythmic pulses.
“Oh my god oh my god you’re so tight it’s like velvet it’s like—fuck—like those perfect Lego connections where the studs just click in and everything lines up and holds forever,” he babbled, voice cracking into a high whine as you started riding him slow. “The friction is insane it’s like when you force two plates together without lining up the studs and it’s wrong but so right and—ah fuck—your pussy is doing that perfect clutch like a technic axle through a liftarm I can’t—”
You laughed breathlessly, nails digging into his chest as you slammed down harder, taking him to the root again and again, his nerdy rambling only making you wetter.
“Keep talking baby,” you purred, circling your hips so his fat cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. “Tell me how good my pussy feels in Lego terms.”
He was babbling nonstop now, hips jerking up to meet yours, sweat beading on his forehead.
“It’s like—like a perfect 12-stud brick sliding into a 12-stud hole with no resistance but all the grip and I’m gonna lose my mind because your walls keep rippling like those old spring-loaded shooters and every time you clench it’s like firing a missile and I’m—fuck—I’m the missile and you’re the launcher and I’m gonna explode I can’t hold it—”
You clenched deliberately and he sobbed, hands flying to your hips, fingers bruising as he tried to slow you down but you just rode him faster, chasing the way his massive cock split you open, the way your slick dripped down his balls and soaked the sheets.
“Come inside me Jake,” you moaned, leaning down to bite his neck. “Fill me up like a goddamn Lego storage bin.”
That broke him. His whole body seized, cock swelling impossibly thicker as he came with a broken cry, pumping rope after rope of hot cum so deep inside you you felt it in your throat. Your own orgasm crashed over you a second later, pussy spasming and gushing around him, milking every last drop until he was shaking and oversensitive beneath you.
When you finally collapsed on his chest he was still mumbling weakly into your hair.
“Best… connection… of my life…”
You were still trembling from the aftershocks, pussy fluttering around his half-hard cock buried inside you, cum already leaking out in thick white rivulets down your thighs, when Jake suddenly rolled you over like you weighed nothing.
Your back hit the mattress and suddenly he was above you, glasses fogged completely, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, looking absolutely wrecked and feral at the same time.
“I—I need more,” he whimpered, voice cracking like he was about to cry. “Your pussy keeps sucking me in and I can’t stop I don’t wanna stop please—”
He pulled out just enough to slam back in, the wet squelch obscene as his cum and yours mixed and frothed around the base of his cock. You cried out, legs shaking, but he didn’t slow down. He hooked your knees over his elbows and folded you in half, missionary so deep his balls slapped your ass with every brutal thrust.
“Fuck, Jake—”
“It’s too good,” he sobbed, hips snapping faster, harder, losing rhythm completely. “Your cunt’s so hot and wet and gummy it’s like—like melted plastic being injected into a perfect mold and I’m the mold and you’re filling me and I’m filling you and I can’t think I can’t—”
He was drooling now, mouth open, eyes unfocused behind his glasses as he pounded into you like a machine gone haywire. Every thrust dragged the fat head of his cock over your g-spot and punched against your cervix until you were seeing stars, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.
“Jake, baby, slow—fuck—slow down you’re gonna—”
“Can’t,” he choked, voice high and broken. “Your pussy keeps milking me like—like a pneumatic pump on overdrive and every time I try to pull out your walls grab me and pull me back in and it feels so good I’m gonna die I’m actually gonna die—”
He dropped his full weight on you, hips pistoning so fast the bedframe slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm. His cock was swelling again, impossibly thicker, dragging against every ridge inside you until your vision blurred.
You clawed at his back, nails leaving red lines, and he only fucked you harder, babbling nonsense into your neck.
“Too much, too tight, too wet, gonna cum again, gonna cum so hard my brain’s gonna leak out my dick, fuck fuck fuck—”
You clenched down deliberately and he screamed, actually screamed, hips stuttering as he came a second time, flooding you with so much cum it gushed out around his cock with every thrust, soaking your thighs, the sheets, his balls. The feeling of being so full, so used, shoved you over the edge again and you came with a sob, pussy spasming so hard it hurt, squirting around him in messy pulses.
But he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
He was crying now, real tears, face buried in your neck as he kept rutting into you like an animal, oversensitive cock jerking and twitching with every movement.
“Still hard,” he slurred, voice completely dumb and fucked-out. “Still so hard inside you, can’t pull out, don’t wanna pull out, your pussy’s sucking me in like a black hole and I’m falling I’m falling—”
You were limp beneath him, boneless, but he kept going, hips grinding deep and slow now, stirring his cum inside you like he was trying to push it even deeper.
“Jake,” you whimpered, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Good,” he mumbled, licking sloppily at your neck, cock still buried to the hilt and pulsing. “Wanna die inside you. Best way to go. Like a Lego minifigure getting crushed in a hydraulic press but the press is your perfect fucking cunt—”
He was completely gone, brain melted, only able to hump into you with sloppy, desperate thrusts, chasing the overstimulation like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And honestly?
You weren’t far behind.
Jake’s hips finally stuttered to a stop, buried so deep inside you his pelvis was flush against yours, cock still twitching and leaking the last weak pulses of cum. His whole body shook like he was having a seizure, sweat dripping off his chin onto your chest. Then the first broken sob tore out of him, raw and ugly and completely wrecked.
He collapsed forward, face buried between your tits, glasses digging into your skin as hot tears soaked your skin in seconds.
“I—I can’t,” he choked, voice cracking into this pitiful whine. “It hurts so good, it hurts too much, my dick feels like it’s gonna fall off but your pussy keeps squeezing and I can’t—fuck—I can’t take it anymore—”
He was crying for real now, big messy sobs that shook his whole frame, snot and tears smearing across your breasts while his oversensitive cock jerked helplessly inside you with every hiccup. You could feel him trying to pull out, thighs trembling, but your walls fluttered and clung to him like they never wanted to let go, dragging another wounded sound from his throat.
“Shh, baby,” you soothed, running your fingers through his damp hair, nails scraping his scalp. “It’s okay. You’re done. You did so fucking good.”
He whimpered, trying to lift his hips again, but his body betrayed him; he only managed a pathetic little grind that made you both gasp. Another tear rolled down his cheek as he finally went limp, cock still half-hard and trapped inside your swollen cunt.
You cupped his wet face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped, lips swollen and trembling.
“Jake,” you said softly, thumb brushing the tears from his cheek. “Be honest with me.”
He blinked, confused and fucked-out, brain clearly mush.
“You told me you were a virgin,” you murmured, clenching around him on purpose just to watch him jerk and sob again. “But baby… nobody fucks like that on their first time. Nobody lasts that long, cums that hard twice, and then keeps going until they’re crying from overstimulation.”
A fresh wave of tears spilled over.
“I—I swear,” he hiccupped, voice tiny and wrecked. “I never—never even touched a girl before you, I—I just—your pussy felt so good I lost my fucking mind—”
You laughed, low and filthy, and he shuddered as the sound made your walls ripple around him again.
“Uh-huh,” you teased, wiping his tears with your thumbs while your cunt kept lazily milking his spent cock. “Sure you did, big boy. Because that was the best dick I’ve ever had in my life, and I’ve had a lot.”
He let out the most pathetic little wail, hips twitching like he wanted to thrust again but couldn’t, too broken, too sensitive, too utterly ruined.
“I’m gonna keep you,” you whispered against his lips, tasting salt and cum and desperation. “Gonna train that monster cock to ruin me every single day. Poor little virgin doesn’t know what he just started.”
Jake just cried harder, clinging to you, cock giving one last valiant pulse inside your cum-filled pussy like it was already begging for round two, even while its owner sobbed from overstimulation into your neck.
You smiled, stroking his back, and decided right then and there that you were never letting him go.
You eased him out slowly, both of you hissing at the drag of his oversensitive cock through your swollen folds, thick globs of cum immediately dripping onto the sheets. Jake whimpered like a kicked puppy, curling into you the second he was free, face buried in your neck, arms wrapping around you so tight you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your ribs.
You kissed his sweaty temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, tasting salt and the faint sweetness of the energy drink he always carried.
“Hey,” you whispered, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Look at me, baby.”
He peeked up, eyes puffy and red, glasses crooked and completely fogged. He looked so small and soft despite the absolute devastation he’d just delivered between your legs.
“You okay?” you asked gently, thumb stroking the apple of his cheek.
He nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again, sniffling. “I’m… floaty. And my legs don’t work. And I think I died three times.”
You laughed quietly and he hid his face again, nuzzling into your skin like a kitten looking for warmth.
“Stay right here,” you murmured, reaching for the abandoned bag of gifts he’d brought. You pulled out the limited-edition Lego Saturn V he’d been so nervous to give you and set it on his bare chest like a trophy. “You earned this. And every set you ever want. I’m buying you the entire modular building collection, I swear to god.”
His watery little laugh vibrated against your breast. “Really?”
“Really,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose. “My big-dicked Lego prince deserves the world.”
He blushed crimson, ducking his head, but you felt his arms tighten around you, clinging like he was scared you’d vanish.
You grabbed the soft blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. He sighed, melting immediately, legs tangling with yours, sticky thighs and all.
“I brought something else,” he mumbled into your collarbone, voice shy again. He fumbled blindly for his discarded hoodie on the floor, fished in the pocket, and pulled out a tiny velvet pouch. From it he produced a little enamel pin, a tiny Lego heart brick in pink and white.
“I—I made it custom,” he whispered, barely audible. “Wanted to give it to you even if you laughed at me.”
Your own heart actually stuttered.
“Jake…”
He pressed it into your palm like it was the most precious thing he owned. “For your backpack. Or your jacket. Or… whatever. So you remember the nerd who’s stupidly in love with you.”
You pinned it immediately to the strap of the bra still dangling off one shoulder, right over your heart, then pulled him into the softest, slowest kiss you’d ever given anyone. He melted against you, making the tiniest happy noise.
“I’m never taking it off,” you told him, forehead resting against his. “And I’m never letting you leave this bed until I’ve kissed every single freckle on your body. Starting now.”
You started with the one on his left shoulder, then the cluster across his nose, then the tiny one just above his lip. He giggled, soft and hiccupy and perfect, squirming when you found the sensitive spot behind his ear.
“I love you,” he breathed, so quiet you almost missed it. “I know it’s fast and I’m a mess and I cried on your tits but—”
You silenced him with another kiss, slow and deep and full of every gentle thing you suddenly felt for this ridiculous, brilliant, monster-cocked boy.
“I love you too, Jake,” you said against his lips. “Even when you compare my pussy to a hydraulic press.”
He laughed, wet and bright, and buried his face in your neck again, holding you like he’d never let go.
SUMMARY:
showing up to a concert in a skimpy outfit with the sole intent to get backstage might just be the most delusional act you've ever committed. except it works, and when the opportunity presents itself in a hushed proposal that only you can hear, the long flight to houston, texas doesn't seem useless, after all.
TLDR: save a horse, ride jake sim.
WORD COUNT: 4.7k
ꨄ︎: heyyy everybody 🙃 this fic was anonymously requested to follow in the footsteps of non-disclosure! figured i'd put my own twist on it, because i have this thing for a man in a cowboy hat...and like, also jake. so like when he wears them...can you blame a girl for going insane???? aaaanyway, i hope you guys like seeing what my wet dreams look like 💔 enjoy, and as always, happy reading! xo
TAGS: smut, (semi) protected sex, you'll see what i mean by that, oral (f receiving), (semi) public sex, fingering, (minimal) dirty talk, jake is like, big, like she's stuffed, riding, jake's in a cowboy hat, reader is lowkey crazy lowkey me, she's delusional but it works so like is she though, experienced reader, jake calls her cowgirl, creampie
♫ — save a horse, ride a cowboy.
Eyes on the prize.
Follow that, and you’ll get whatever you want. You’ve done it since you were a kid, and you can safely say that it’s worked, for the most part.
Tonight, the prize was Jake Sim. And, well—you won it.
You traveled to see ENHYPEN in Houston, because you wanted—no, needed to see him in those goddamned cowboy hats. So what if you like a man in a cowboy hat? God forbid a girl has hobbies.
You decided to bring one yourself. Decorate it with gems, bedazzle the letters S.JY on it, so everyone would know it was for him. Handwrite ‘Save a Horse’ on the inside just in case he cared to look. And you? You’d wear the exact matching outfit to it and hope that it would be enough to catch his attention. You’re entirely aware that you’re good-looking, so why not take advantage of that in the only way you know how?
Flaunt it.
Black, leather cutout pants. A cow print top with attached lace straps that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. White pumps. You’re confident—perhaps even too much with the number of dirty looks you received when you arrived. But you didn’t care then, and you especially don’t now, standing at sendoff with him in front of you, practically undressing you with his eyes and making his best effort not to be obvious.
He wore the hat on stage, kissed it. Tossed it back to you. You gladly hand it to him again at the barricade when he asks. He studies it, reads the inside, bites his lip so discreetly that nobody even notices. When he looks back up, he studies you, if only for a moment, before he has to move on. Mouths you want to? and watches as you respond with a nod. And this time, he doesn’t give it back. Keeps it on his head when he walks to the other people around you, mumbles something incoherent to the guard behind him, and makes his way down the line.
You don’t think much of it until someone pulls you aside, and you turn to make eye contact with the guard from earlier. The look he gives you is telling, and when you return a confirming glance, he knows he doesn’t have to speak for you to put two and two together.
In short, you’ve come out the other end victorious. Now you have to retrieve the prize with more courage than you’ve ever needed.
The guard drops you at Jake’s dressing room and leaves faster than you can process. His demeanor the whole time suggested that he wants nothing to do with what Jake does behind closed doors, and he’s likely the one who always has to deal with it.
Your knuckles gently knock against the door, which you determine to be freshly painted and lacquered. You wait for a response, something to invite you inside, but instead, the door swings open, and you’re met with him.
Sim Jaeyun, in all his glory, his presence reserved for you only, with no other fans around to distract him. His smile is smug—confident, but not cocky, though he seems aware of the obvious dynamic between you two.
Still, you front a matching smile and walk in, although he gave no instruction. And from that, he knows he chose correctly. He likes you—the confidence in your stride, how you’re so sure of yourself, even when he hasn't given any indication that he’ll humor you. Your lips stretch into a grin when you catch a fleeting glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, and you’re proud.
“You know,” you finally break the silence, planting your ass on the nearest surface, which just so happens to be the back of the small sofa that sits in the middle of the room. “My mom always told me to go after what I want. Eyes on the prize, and you’ll get it. Isn’t that funny how things work out?”
He laughs. “You have a lot of confidence for someone who I could kick out with the snap of a finger.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but something tells me you wouldn’t do that, considering you and I both know why I’m sitting here,” you counter, crossing one leg over the other. “And I don’t think I have to be Sherlock to figure that out.”
He walks over, taking slow, calculated strides as he sizes you up. Motions you to stand with a curt jerk of his head, and you obey, standing before him, bodies but a few inches apart. You see the gears turning in his head, watch as his eyes lose focus and study your figure, mostly exposed from the sluttiest outfit you could conjure up.
“You got a name, Cowgirl?”
In his hand sits a piece of paper that you’re all too familiar with.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you retaliate, folding your arms.
He holds the paper out to you, along with a black pen. You take the pen, skim the page just enough to get the gist—it’s not like you don’t already know what it’s asking, or really demanding, of you. His signature’s already there. You scribble a lazy version of yours on the line and give him back the pen. He sets them aside. Deal’s made.
His hands perch on each side of your torso, finding purchase on your hips as he draws you closer, letting you feel his breath on your face when he exhales. He only remains this close, never more, not offering a release of tension with a kiss. He studies, looks through you, and decides how he’s going to have you because he’d be damned to give a choice to someone with your attitude.
He takes tentative steps forward, watching you catch on and move back to accommodate until the backs of your knees make sudden contact with an unfamiliar wooden surface that you quickly identify to be the vanity. He lifts you, and you assist him as best as you can, letting him place you atop the (semi) flat surface. It’s not all that stable.
“Kinda wobbly, don’t you think?” you point out with a raise of your brow.
“You won’t be here for long,” he replies with what you can only assume is attempted reassurance, and though it doesn’t quite serve its purpose, you guess it’ll do.
It doesn’t seem to matter when his lips find the soft skin just below your jawline, peppering kisses along it and down the column of your throat. You flatten your palms on each side of you and tilt your head to give him better access. Soft and warm, his mouth focuses on the place where your shoulder meets your neck, quick to locate the sweet spot there and coaxing a gentle moan from your parted lips, the sound like music to his ears.
His touch is at first reverent, worshipping your body, its curves and crevices, the thin clothes that inhabit it, and the warm, exposed skin he knows is only on display for him. His fingers glide along your side, studying your figure and committing it to memory, for later, he’ll need it. But for now, his hand dips lower and reaches the waistband of the useless shorts you opted for.
When he unzips them, you sit back, letting him slide them down your legs and lift one at a time to get them off. It leaves your lower half clad in only cutout pants and a pair of black lace panties, ones you chose to wear tonight with intent, accompanied by the matching bra that’s built into your top.
His fingers toy with the fabric, and he smiles when he looks down, admiring the sight. Then, his eyes are back on yours, gaze dark, but not daunting. Determined.
“These for me?” he asks, fingers dancing along the lace, and you offer a grin.
He seems pleased enough by that, if the immediate sinking to his knees in front of you is anything to go by. The smile on his face widens when he notices how wet you’ve become in such little time. You feel a little sheepish due to the obvious reason you’re like this already, but you figure it doesn’t matter in the long run. His finger hooks in the waistband, and his eyes trail up to yours, looking at you almost innocently, like a small dog.
“May I?”
You nod, and he pulls them down, letting you kick them off before peppering tiny, worshipping kisses along your inner thighs. He trails them up further until he reaches the exposed skin where the panties previously lay, and you feel his breath fanning against the skin, damp and inviting. Anticipating. His fingers pry your thighs further open. Let him slip between them.
The first touch is a slow, deliberate lick, parting you and collecting the slick on his tongue, a test of the waters to gather your taste and gauge your reaction. It coaxes a gentle moan, almost a whimper, from you, and your arms stiffen, hands digging into the vanity for stability.
Then, he’s kissing it. Slow, languid ones, almost teasing, yet it’s as if he’s still trying to gauge you. His lips find your clit and draw it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then applying pressure on it with his tongue. He earns another moan, even gives off one of his own that vibrates against your skin. His intensity heightens when he licks again, picking up the pace only slightly, but adding more pressure and letting you feel his tongue against every bit of skin you have to offer. Your hips chase the feeling, rolling against him, his nose gliding between your folds with every movement.
A trail of spit leaves his mouth and lands on the soft skin beneath it. You gasp, the wetness cold to the touch, and suddenly, his fingertips are spreading it around.
It’s when his finger nudges inside, the slide made easy from the mixture of your arousal and his spit, that it becomes more than gentle caresses. He starts somewhat slow in the beginning, but the pace almost instantly becomes near relentless, teeth grazing your sensitive skin and pulling more breathy groans from your throat, needy and desperate, but ringing deliciously in his ears. Your hand snakes into his jet black hair, silky smooth under your fingertips when you fist it, keeping him closer, and you feel the pull of his lips into a smile against your skin.
He adds another finger and pushes them deeper, harder than before. Scissors them while inside to stretch you out, curls them to hit places that make you squirm and force him to hold you down. All the while, his mouth works at your clit, adding and removing pressure, sucking, doing whatever he sees fit to bring you towards your peak. He’s enjoying it all the same, speeding up as he becomes more desperate himself, mumbling nonsense into your skin, strings of you taste so good and various profanities that are just barely able to be deciphered.
You finally cry out, the noise too strained and broken to be considered a moan, and clench around his fingers, coating them in white. As he continues to work on you, prolonging the sensation, the warm liquid begins to drip down the sides of his pistoning fingers, eventually reaching the crevices between them. He finally pulls them out, drawing a whine, and stands up carefully. You watch as he brings them into the light, glistening and thickly coated, and cleans them with his tongue, the grin on his face unmistakable.
Before you have time to recoup, his hands are sliding beneath your ass and hoisting you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist—a little weak now, but you have enough strength to stay in place. With one arm holding you up and yours loose around his neck, he uses the other to sift through the duffel bag that sits on the coffee table, roughly pulling something out and stuffing it into his pocket.
Finally, he sits on the small sofa, letting you straddle his waist, and he breathes out, resting his hands on your hips, still bare beneath your waist, save for the pants that don’t serve as such.
“Still gonna hide that name from me?”
You look up, pretending to ponder his question, and return your gaze to him. “Yep.”
He laughs, “Why?”
“Gotta keep you guessing somehow,” you smile sweetly, subconsciously rolling your hips in anticipation. And he feels it, shooting blood straight to his dick, already hard, yet worsening with each fleeting second. But he offers an eye roll in response, paired with a laugh that sounds a little too pained to be sincere.
“Fine, then,” he replies, leaning over to grab the hat you gave him earlier and holding it up in front of you. “Saw what you wrote in here,” he says, his thick Brisbane accent suddenly sounding smooth as velvet. “You offered. You gonna keep to your word?”
“Gladly.”
His lips curve into a smirk as he places the hat atop his head, tipping it up just enough to see you from beneath the brim. Your fingers tactfully unzip his hoodie, worn as a part of their final stage outfits and now hanging open, exposing the lack of clothing beneath it. Soft, toned abs stare back at you, shining just slightly in the light from the sweat that must have formed over time.
You run a hand along his torso, from his stomach up to his chest, then slowly back down, discarding his belt and hooking your fingers in his jeans with one fluid motion. Your thumb loosens the button with ease. You’re more experienced than he probably accounted for, and it makes things easier for him, allowing him to sit back leisurely and let you do the work. Taking an educated guess, you stick your hand in his pocket to pull out what you can only assume is a condom that he shoved in there before. Your guess is right.
Within twenty-five seconds (give or take), you’ve managed to rid him of the jeans and boxers beneath, getting them down his knees enough for them to pool at his feet. You knew he was big because the tent he pitched in his pants was freaking massive, but even you hadn’t expected this, painfully hard and already leaking with pre-cum. Your thumb brushes the tip and collects the warm droplets on it so you can have your turn getting a taste, and it proves to be delicious, although it’s not something you’re inherently surprised by.
He watches it all, eyes glazed over, gaze dark. Anticipation clouding his features, his fingers pressing deep into your sides, skin on full display because you really pushed the venue’s dress code to its limits with that goddamned outfit.
Once you’ve finally secured the condom on, he wastes no time adjusting your position and sheathing you on his cock, drawing an elongated moan from you that he matches soon after. Based on the experience you seem to have, he didn’t assume you’d be so tight, but here you are practically fucking squeezing him like a constrictor around some poor guy’s neck. No matter how primed he thought you were, it doesn’t seem to have worked.
God, have you only slept with guys that have fucking micropenises?
Meanwhile, you’re already a mess on top of him, breaths coming out in waves as you try to adjust. Eyes squeezed shut, palms squeezing his shoulders under the hoodie, because they somehow ended up there, and, well—you’re clenching.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “You’re tight.”
“You’re big,” you retort, rolling your eyes yet gripping him tighter.
He bites his lip and nudges your hips, urging you to stop talking and start keeping to that promise you made. “Come on, Cowgirl,” he all but whispers, “let’s see what you’ve got.”
So you start to move. Slow at first, because God only knows you’d snap in fucking half if you did the opposite. But fuck, he feels good, even at the stupidly crawling pace and with the condom separating you from him. You feel him, fucking feel every inch of him from whatever angle he perfectly managed.
It’s tantalizing. It’s embarrassing how frequent the noises spilling from your mouth have become in a matter of minutes. How stupidly hot he looks in that godforsaken hat you basically put on his head in the first place. His teeth still dig into his lip; you swear he’ll draw fucking blood at this rate. But hey—at least you know you’re doing your part, and damn good, at that.
You slide a hand down his front again. More sweat has beaded since earlier. You let your palm sit atop his abdomen, tense, hot to the touch. He groans, and fuck, if you’ve ever heard anything so profoundly filthy. And your moans don’t even sound familiar to you. Whatever noises he’s managing to pull from you are the first of your bloodline.
His hips are bucking. He’s growing out of the slow bullshit. You’re more than willing to give that to him.
So you speed up. You’ve gotten used to him, the length, the sheer thickness that feels like you’re stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. You’re in your groove—the one you’re almost always in instantly, yet it took much, much longer to reach that point of strength with Jake.
Perhaps you’re not as tough as you thought. Or maybe the guys you’ve slept with just fucking suck.
But you won’t let him know that.
It’s faster, harder, his hands are moving all over you like they can’t find a place to stay. You whine when he takes a handful of your breast into his hand, already sensitive, the other back on your waist, tightly gripping it like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.
“Fuck this,” you huff, tearing the tube top off entirely and throwing it away irritably. And then his hand is back, gripping, teasing, kneading, making sure you feel every touch.
Strands of hair are starting to stick to your sweat-slicked forehead. Your mascara’s reached the middle of your cheek. The red lipstick has smudged itself to oblivion and isn’t even noticeable anymore. And your moans? They sound fucking wrecked. You’re babbling almost nonsensical words and phrases—a mixture of pleas and yelps of his name, which has left your mouth so many times that someone would think it’s some sort of prayer if they didn’t know any better.
In short, you’re a mess.
Which gives Jake the perfect opportunity to lift the hat from his head and place it on yours. God, and the look on his face when you just sit there and accept it, taking on the role and being determined not to do otherwise.
You can’t tell if you’re grinding or bouncing on it anymore with the adrenaline rush, the overwhelming sensation, and the obscene sounds it’s creating. Sometimes it’s skin slapping, sometimes the squelch of the sheer wetness being fucked in and out of you, and mainly the loud moans mixing and reverberating around the room like it’s a damn porno.
If you heard someone else being fucked this good, you’d probably think it was.
“That’s it,” he encourages, eyes honed in on the place you’re connected, watching his cock disappear into you repeatedly with each grind of your hips. His expression is a constant display of tension with his bottom lip pushed out just enough to be considered a pout, and you’d typically find it in you to point it out but with the nonstop surges of pain and pleasure shooting through you like a lightning bolt, you don’t really care that he’s getting off on your weakness.
The first push of his hips to meet yours hurts. Really in a good way, but still.
Now he’s hitting that spot. You’re not just crying out anymore—you’re actually in tears. They’re pricking at the corners of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, bringing more of that smudged mascara right down with them. You look even filthier than before, and he’s eating it up, loving how disoriented he can make you look, despite the confidence you once strode in here with.
God, if he bites his lip one more time, you swear you’ll rip it clean fucking off.
But even in his expression, you can see the mental turmoil, the need for more—to cross a boundary you’re not sure he ever has in this particular situation. And to your surprise, he actually fucking does.
In one motion, he discards the hat by practically shoving it off your head, brings his hand to the nape of your neck, and yanks you towards him, lips crashing into yours in a hungry kiss.
There’s no hesitation. No gentle quality to it, if at all possible. It says everything it needs to without words, a transparent release of tension and desperation as any remaining shred of resistance fades away in the blink of an eye. His tongue is already dragging along your teeth, licking into your mouth with no warning and familiarizing itself with the spanse of it. The sheer intensity and deliberateness of it prove that he’s crossed the line he so carefully constructed all that time ago, because it would be ridiculous and totally fucking irresponsible to let that realm of intimacy be entered with someone who worships the ground he walks on and could get attached so easily.
Yet here he is, devouring your mouth with his because he clearly underestimated his weakness in this situation and decided you seem to have a decent enough head above your shoulders, and honestly, even if you didn’t, he’d probably have to convince himself otherwise because you’re fluttering around him, and he needs this to take his mind off of that, and you really have no clue at all.
You moan into the kiss and let it vibrate against his pillow-soft lips, feel him pushing you impossibly closer from the nape of your neck. Your hand, not sure what to do, slides into his hair all the same, tugging and curling into the messy, black strands with an intensity even you aren’t so familiar with yourself. It’s not enough. You need more.
You’re not quite sure what washes over you when you break away, only to lift your hips and reach between you to remove the condom altogether.
“Are you sure?” he asks, but you’re already slamming back down into his lap before he can even finish the question.
The slide is anything but easy, causing a wave of pain to shoot through your body, and you moan at the feeling like some sort of freak that gets off on it. Though maybe it could fall under the umbrella of ‘hurts so good’, because he’s thicker and hotter and pulsating, and you can feel all of it.
So much for those useless fucking boundaries. He set two, and his half-baked, debilitated ass discarded one himself and didn’t as much as protest to breaking the other. He is far too gone for that and at this point can only hope you’ve taken your own precautions because he’s not pulling out and he’s sure as fuck not going to stop now.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” he wonders out loud, and it only serves to make you grip him harder, pull yourself closer, sink further down. “Fuck,” he rasps, and your stomach curls.
You’re not really doing much work anymore when he starts fucking up into you, clouding every last sense. You hear his breathy groans, see the desire in his gaze between each kiss, taste him on your tongue, smell the raw air around you.
And fuck, do you feel him.
It’s not pretty, and it’s not calculated—it’s impulsive and reckless and full of want, dripping with it, despite how you’ve both been there, done that upwards of a hundred times. Yet still, it goes and will stay unspoken that both of you have proved yourselves to be different than your predecessors.
“Jake,” you moan weakly into his mouth as his hips continue to drive into yours, almost fucking you dumb because his name and yes are the only two things you’ve been able to properly choke out.
And finally, his hand moves to your clit, connecting with his pelvis with each disgustingly painful thrust, and rubs it with consummate precision that forces a choked-out cry.
As he keeps going, bringing you closer and closer to your release, his lips move again to your jaw. He kisses along your jawline and moves down your neck, finding that same spot from earlier and kissing the sensitive, marked skin like his life depends on it. The combination of that, his hand on your clit, the way he mumbles ‘come for me’ into your skin like a mantra, and the tip of his cock driving repeatedly into your sweet spot is enough to finally bring your orgasm to fruition.
It washes over you in a wave that forces a guttural noise from your throat, so loud and obvious that it would’ve been sure to bleed through the walls had he not decided last-minute to envelope your mouth with his again. He swallows every last moan, lets out one of his own as you completely unravel above him, nails forcing crescent-shaped marks into the golden skin they rest on. And still, he’s working you through it, milking every last drop from you and prolonging the sensation for as long as your body can withstand it.
As if it wasn’t tight enough, you’re practically strangling him now. Needless to say, it’s enough to bring him right along with you.
The noise that he makes is absolutely fucking obscene. And a string of incoherent praise follows in the form of a rasp that sends a shiver down your spine.
At first, you felt a pang of apprehension when he went in raw (albeit by your request), but the sheer feel of him in his entirety, warm and velvety and every inch without restraint? Yeah, it didn’t seem to matter anymore after that.
Besides, it’s not like you were actually stupid enough to show up completely unprepared for that possibility.
And it surely doesn’t matter now—not with the sensation that comes with him spilling into you, hot, white ropes decorating your walls like they’re a sacred painting. It feels so good and soars entirely above any other time you’ve had some guy finish inside (and it’s not many), because nothing, and you mean nothing, will compare to the feeling of Jake Sim fucking the mixture of his and your cum back into you until you’re both spent.
Then, stillness.
“Shit,” he whispers when a few warm droplets hit his bare thigh, a reminder of his blatant ignorance.
Your head rests on his shoulder, half-bare from the sweatshirt that has managed to slip off a little. You breathe in harmony, setting a pattern with him as you match one another, letting the sound hang in the space between you. It’s silent save for that and the faint back and forth of crew members outside the door that separates this closed-off world you’ve conjured up from reality. It’s now that realization hits, and you process who you’re on top of, who you’ve just let finish inside you with almost no forethought, and who made you feel higher than you’ve ever felt in your life, despite the body count that you’re not so sure you’re proud of anymore, seeing as it clearly lacks any sort of substance.
He’s bigger than all of them, better than all of them, and worst of all, more unattainable than all of them combined.
“Not so bad, Cowgirl,” he murmurs, fingers tracing gentle lines along your back.
“…It’s Y/N,” you whisper back, breathing softly against him. A quiet chuckle falls from his lips, and for the first time, he gives a smile that lacks its usual smugness.
There’s something beyond the surface of his gaze that sticks out to you, screams that you’ll be someone he remembers for a long time. A precedent you hoped to set when you first walked into this room. And now you almost wish you could backtrack, because he’s not the only one experiencing this feeling. Hell, you let him get away with things you typically have too much pride for, or at least…one thing in particular. The warmth still resides in your stomach to keep that decision fresh in your mind. Yeah, choosing to come back here probably wasn’t one of the smarter choices you’ve made. Yet still, you return the smile with a glint of softness in your eyes.
yes pls more baby daddy ki im foaming at the mouth
JUST TAKE IT. › › 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 🕊️⚰️ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ────── 西村 力 x 𝑓!reader
𓄵 𝓉w。dubcon cnc dead dove toxic relationships riki is TOXICCC breeding kink creampie rough sex dom!ki very brief mention of them being fuckbuddies dirty talk pet names manipulation protected sex that turns into unprotected sex the condom breaks but ki doesn't stop reader says no but she DOESNT MEAN IT !! manhandling babytrapping reader described having a bush all my reader inserts have bushes fyi. this one just says it out loud. bush enjoyers unite / 1.8k
〔 밤비 〕 guys.... babytrapping w toxic bd ki..... hear me out..... here r some writing crumbs after blueballing u guys for weeks. im getting back on the grindset soon i promise.. thank u all for putting up w me and not stoning me to death every time i said i would post something and then Didn't. if i could kiss u all individually on the mouth i would. this is not even slightly proofread. if this reads like garbage pls dont kill me im rusty (first riki smut kind of nervous.)
"what's the matter, baby?" riki breathes against the shell of your ear, gentle and sweet, a stark contrast to the way he grips your wrist tight enough to bruise. he's playing dumb, like he doesn't know exactly what it is you're thinking, like he can't read the frightened look on your face as if it were an open book.
you can't meet his eyes, too occupied with peering down between your legs-- riki's got his cock slid up between your pussy lips, shaft hard and throbbing against your weeping entrance, the bulbous tip poking out to nudge at your clit when he rocks his hips forwards. It's an angry red and leaking pearly precum, mixing it together with your juices and smearing it across the short curly hairs gathered toward the top of your mound. You hate the way he does this every time, just because he can; the sick sadist in him gets a rush out of it, how he can make you cry and beg for it without even trying, without even raising a finger. How you'll bend to his whim even when it humiliates you because you're too far under his spell to fight back anymore.
riki's grin is downright cruel, jerking the base of his cock in his hand, slapping his mushroom head lightly against your throbbing clit. Your cunt aches with emptiness, the stimulation doing nothing more than riling you up further. his free hand holds both of your wrists above your head, pinning you flat against the mattress and leaving you defenseless to his onslaught of teasing.
"it's-- it's too big, 'ki, you gotta-- i need--" your warning is cut off by a strangled whimper falling from your lips, your legs twitching from where they dangle over riki's shoulders. his hot breath fans across your face, making you ache for a kiss from his plump, slick lips that dripped with your arousal. he'd had his head between your thighs for the better part of an hour, til you were shaking and drenching his cheeks, but still you were far from prepared for the way his cockhead pushes at your rim. you're frightened by the sheer size of it, veins gnarled, thick and pulsing. the pressure is already overwhelming, no matter how familiar.
"you're bein' a baby." riki sneers, his large hand splayed out across your tummy. your shirt and bra are pushed up to your armpits, exposing your breasts and stomach to his hungry gaze and even hungrier touch. "you don't need me to stretch you. already made me put this stupid condom on 'n you're still being bossy. just stay still 'n take this cock for me-- i know you can. you've done it before."
but your pussy is making it difficult, hole so wet his cock keeps missing your hole, instead slipping against your folds and bumping at your clit. the pleasure of it is both too much and not enough, leaving you unsteady and shaking, scratching raw red marks into riki's biceps. with a growl of frustration he folds your legs even farther back, to the point that your knees were nearly knocking at your ears. the bid to keep you from squirming works enough that he's finally able to get his cockhead to catch your entrance and slide in-- you gasp from the sudden overwhelming stretch, unable to do anything but take it with the weight of riki's hips holding you down, gravity guiding his fat shaft deeper and deeper without pause. agonizingly slow he sheathes himself to the hilt, until his heavy balls rested against your ass and his flared tip kissed your cervix with warning. your eyes roll back in tandem with riki’s deep, guttural groan, overtaken by the burning stretch as he forces your pussy to open up for him. it’s just on the right side of painful, setting your nerves alight like live wires, a hazy fog rolling over your senses and clouding any ideas that weren’t to spread your legs wider, buck your hips up a little more. yes, it hurts, just like you knew it would, but the ridges of his shaft and the delightfully full feeling in your tummy were twisting the pain into something bordering on pleasurable. it would give way entirely to complete ecstasy, you knew, once your muscles manage to loosen.
“there you go, baby. just like that.” riki coos, goading as he rolls his hips to test the waters. your pussy’s grip on him is chokehold-tight, gummy walls stretched to their limits, yet he still manages to unsheathe himself and plunge in again in the beginnings of a slow, rough rhythm. you can feel every ridge and vein, dragging hot and heavy against your sensitive walls-- clawing at his tanned skin works to ground you, just enough to keep you from floating away. "atta girl, taking it so good. gonna make you scream."
“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as his blunt cockhead nudges your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, riki, fuck—!“
“yeah?” he huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”
he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you. you desperately want him to really move, to start pounding your pussy like you know you've both been wanting so, so badly… you stupidly nod at riki's teasing words, bucking your hips the best you can folded practically in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me!”
“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole again . you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. "you think you deserve it? for teasing me all fuckin' day, for making me wear this condom--"
“i do! i deserve it, i want it so bad-- i-i’m your good girl, i'll be so good for you!” your legs kick uselessly over his shoulders, core burning from how you were bent underneath him, immobilized. “please, please, i’ve been so good!”
he revels in your whimpers and whines, in the way you toss your head back and shake in desperation-- your reward is him beginning to thrust in earnest, immediately setting an impossible pace, pounding your pussy like he hated you. “you’re so good for me, baby doll, my good little girl. begging for me so nicely… can’t live without this cock, huh?”
you can't reply, can't even string together a sentence; he's just begun and you're already tipping into too-much territory, your cervix battered and your walls stretched wide. the seat of his palm digging into your clit only serves to overstimulate you further, pulsating as he stirs your insides. "fuck, fuck, rik', you gotta slow down--!"
your whiny voice stutters with every thrust into your hole, greedy wet pussy squelching obscenely around him even as you struggle in his grip. the pleasure is overwhelming, his cock so deep inside of you it’s dizzying, as if he’s pushed past your cervix and was fucking into your womb-- his heavy balls clap loudly against your ass as his thrusts pick up speed, deaf to your cries and pleads.
“sh-shhh princess, it’s okay, i've got you,” riki coos down at you in a broken voice, drunk on the way your walls squeeze around him. he’s chasing after his own pleasure and release like an animal, groping your tits, your waist, your thighs, his hands so big that your perky fat breasts are completely engulfed by his fingers.
the knot in your belly feels different, hotter than ever before, reaching a fever pitch you never thought possible. you wrap your shaking legs around him the best you can, grasp desperately onto the arms that hold you down.
“'ki!” you sob, pawing desperately at his broad chest. “i’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me c-cum—!”
“a-ah fuck.” riki grunts, sweat dripping from his furrowed brow. “i'm gonna cum too. you-- you gotta ask for it first. beg for it.”
“oh my god, please!” you wail, “i wanna cum so fucking bad! i wanna-- i wanna cum with you!”
“good girl, that’s my girl, fuckin' do it, make a mess all over my cock—“
suddenly, in the midst of your pleasure, you can feel the condom snap inside of you, the fat mushroom head of riki's cock poking out through the flimsy latex as he thrusts deeply-- if he notices, it doesn't stop him from continuing to fuck you vigorously, squeezing your breasts as they bounce with his thrusts.
"wait, riki, you gotta pull out!" you yelp, digging your nails into his thick bicep, "the condom broke, you can't cum inside, please pull out--!"
and riki just shakes his head, jaw set and eyes fiery, focused and determined.
your stomach flips with fear-- you can tell by the way his hips stutter and shake that he’s just on the edge, fat cock filling you up so good your mind is nearly blank. despite the way you squirm and push at him, a dark, primal part of you didn’t really want him to pull out… sickeningly it craved to feel his thick hot cum flooding your womb and marking you from the inside out.
"i wanna cum inside of you so fucking bad." he pants, deliriously like he was mumbling to himself. "gonna fill you up. gonna get you pregnant. make you... make you mine. no more of this fuckbuddy shit."
"no!" you squeal, but even you can tell from the tone of your crying that you don't really mean it. you could fight him harder, push back more... yet you choose to lay back and take whatever riki gives you. just as he's conditioned you to do.
riki's hands leave your jiggling tits, instead grabbing tightly ahold of your thighs to fold into an even deeper mating press— the new angle makes you scream, your arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as you bury your face in his neck. “come on, fuck. let me do it. let me breed you."
your nod is microscopic, but he picks up on it immediately, nearly howling with delight as his hips come crashing down on you. his climax is explosive, triggering your own as his heavy twitching balls dump his load right against your cervix, so deep it feels like he’s filling up your empty aching womb. helpless to your body, you squirt all over his abs and pelvis, the force of your orgasm so strong it knocks the wind out of you and leaves you gasping for breath.
there's so much cum it leaks out everywhere, your mixed releases dripping down your pussy lips and his balls to collect in a sticky pool on the bedsheets. it feels so warm and thick in your belly, leaving you oddly satisfied. you wrap your legs tight around riki's waist, trapping him against you with his cock slowly softening against your pulsating gummy walls.
"you're gonna be so hot pregnant." he whispers in awe, chest heaving, and you don't have the energy to do anything but moan.
꒰ 이희승 ꒱ x 𝒻!reader ｡ ⧼ 🦢 ⧽ ─ cheating ◟ car sex ◟ unprotected sex ◟ fingering ◟ riding ◟ degradation ◟ creampie ◟ breeding
𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 ✶ ◜ᯅ◝
you didn’t even like heeseung at first.
he was just your best friend’s boyfriend — tall, smug, always manspreading on the couch like he owns the place. too many jokes. too many sharp little smirks. he’d tease you, you’d roll your eyes, call him annoying. normal.
and she loved him.
like, stupid in love. she would text you screenshots of their convos. asking if her skirt was too short, if this lipstick was too much. you’d hype her up every time, you truly wanted her to be happy.
so when heeseung offered to give you a ride, it didn’t sound like a big deal in the moment.
just a ride.
“mnh, ah seungie!”
and during that ride — somehow — you had both found your way to the back seat of his old car, which resulted in you straddling his lap and rocking your clothed cunt against the large bulge growing in his sweatpants.
your hands gripped his graphic tee as you arched into his chest. his mouth was hot on your throat, his pointy nose dragging across your skin as he trails wet kisses and bites down your clavicle. his middle and ring finger were busy fucking into your needy pussy from under your lacey panties.
“fuck pretty, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to touch you like this,” he whispered in your ear, making you squirm in his lap, the friction pulling a guttural groan from his chest.
“hngh hee— f-fuck we shouldn’t,” you whined.
heeseung damn near came in his pants hearing his nickname roll off your tongue, it sounded so much better when you moaned it.
“hm, why not? you’re the one whose humping my thigh like a bitch,” he teases with a sharp slap to your ass cheek, before soothing over the warm area with his palm. you yelp at the sudden contact, even hornier than you were before. the guilt was quickly fading into a burning lust.
“bet you’re way tighter than her too, been wanting to feel the way your sweet cunt wraps around my cock the moment we met, baby.” heeseung removes his wet fingers from your pulsing hole and taps your ass, signaling to lift off his lap. and well, it doesn’t take much convincing for you to pull down his sweats and boxers in one go.
his thick veiny cock springs free and slaps his abdomen. the tip is flushed an angry red and leaking with pearly beads of precum. he hisses when he feels your small hand wrap around his shaft, taking the opportunity to hook his fingers to your soaked panties under your tiny miniskirt and push them to the side.
you slide the tip of his cock between your folds, gathering your slick on it, “s-shit, ah i dunno if we should do this hee,” yet your body was saying otherwise wasn’t it?
“shit— yn, come on. . . just the tip? doesn’t count as cheating if we don’t go all the way.”
but you both know that’s not true.
“mm’ kay,” you fold without much thought, lining him up with your entrance and slowly sinking down on the mushroom tip. you feel the slight burn from your tight ring being breached causing you to gasp, “oh fuck— s’ already too much.”
“go ahead, fuck yourself on it,” heeseung encourages as you slowly lift yourself off of his cockhead. your slippery hole now so empty you could cry as it clenches around air in attempt to keep him trapped inside.
heeseung chuckles between grunts as you find a rhythm bouncing yourself on the tip. he relishes in the wet soft pop sound each time you pull your cunt off of him as he watches you under hooded eyes.
“wha—what’s so funny?” you pant, eyebrows furrowed as you focus on your movements.
“just. . . that i— fuck— i can’t believe my girlfriends slutty friend is fucking herself raw on my dick right now is all,” he teases. and just as you are about to smack him, he thrusts his hips up to meet yours and sinks the thickest part of his cock into your sopping cunt.
“heeseung!” you gasp falling forward, letting your forehead rest into the crook of his neck.
“shit— sorry, you feel so much better than her though. could get used to t-this,” he moans as he pumps himself into your tight walls until he bottoms out, your glossy pussy lips now spread open and kissing the base of his cock.
“agh, it’s too big,” you cry out, thighs burning as he spreads your asscheeks apart in attempt to bury himself impossibly deeper.
“mm, yeah? this slutty pussy was made to milk my cock though.”
he feels your gummy walls tighten a fraction at his words. “oh? you like that?” he cooes, “being a whore? sneaking around and fucking your best friends’ boyfriend?”
“n-no! fuck— heeseung please,” you whine as you lean back, both elbows propped on the seats behind you for leverage as you move on his soaked cock. your swollen clit rubs back and forth against his pelvis everytime he bottoms out, making your eyes roll back.
“please what? should i dump my boring girlfriend for you, huh?” he fucks up into your heat as you hold yourself up, your round tits bouncing wildly in that little babydoll top he loves so much.
“or maybe i’ll just cream in you till it drips out right infront of her so she’ll get the hint,” and just as he says that his phone rings.
sooha 🖤 is calling . . .
heeseung sighs in annoyance and picks up the call without hesitation, “f-fuck— hello?” he groans into the device.
“hi baby! did you get home safely?” you can hear your best friends sweet voice through the speaker, but you could hardly bring yourself to care as you were getting fucked dumb on her boyfriends dick.
“sooha, shit— i’m kinda busy right now,” he bites his lip as his eyes travel down to where your stretched pussy swallows his veiny cock over and over again. heeseung thinks you’ve probably never been properly fucked before. hell, you felt like a fucking virgin.
“oh um, is everything okay?” she questions.
a wave panic passes over you suddenly, causing your walls tighten around heeseung’s length making him moan out, “fuck! yeah, yeah squeeze me like that again, yn.”
“yn? wha— heeseung, what the fuck is going on?!” you could hear her shout through the speaker. heeseung only rolls his eyes with a smirk, taking it upon himself to lower the phone to your joined area — plap plap plap — his lap was such a sticky mess from your slick :(
“what’s it sound like?” he replied simply, tossing the phone onto the seat without bothering to hang up. heeseung digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass so he can pound into you, the fat head hitting that particular spongey patch against your walls.
“shitshitshit, right there! ohmygod, cummin’ hee!” you let out borderline pornographic moans as his tip releases small spurts of precum, which your cervix swallows up.
he groans in response, “fuuuuck right there? that’s it pretty girl, milk my cock, wanna feel you come,” he presses his palm on your tummy and the added pressure is enough for your milky cum to gush down his cock without warning.
“holy fuck— you’re squeezing me so tight— gonna breed this greedy cunt, make you mine,” heeseung whines, his thrusts growing sloppier. he crashes his lips onto yours, tongues tangling as he moans into your mouth like a bitch when he shoots his warm load deep into your womb.
heeseung pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips while he rocks into you slowly. his mouth hangs open as he throws his head back in pure bliss. he ensures none of his seed goes to waste as his deflated balls rub against your ass and his thick cream slides up and down his cock as he slowly fucks in and out in attempt to ride out his high.
he bottoms out once more and keeps you in place when he notices his milk oozing out of you. you whine softly from the overstimulation and your eyes flutter closed. it’s safe to say you are utterly fucked out as your bones turn to jello and you fall limp in his lap.
heeseung chuckles breathlessly, eyes darting to his dark phone screen laying on the seat and tugs a strand of your damp hair behind your ear, “so, you think she got the hint?”
author’s note : ty to the dear anon that requested this, i had so much fun writing it! sorry this isn’t proof read.
what's better than riding a big horse? ride the owner, and his bigger horse!
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 i make a lot of noise 'cause the girls they are so pretty. riding up and down broadway. on my old stud leroy. and the girls say, "save a horse, ride a cowboy!" everybody says, "save a horse, ride a cowboy!" ─ save a horse ride a cowboy, big & rich ⫶ 𐔌masterlist꒱
𓆩♡𓆪 you know i have to. i have to. speedrun the crap out of this <3 !! this is so nasty ahwhejdxj so just brace yourself for little plot n just filth >.< i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless~ as usual, reblogs, comments, likes, and asks are soo appreciated!
word count 10k
warning advisory cheating, sexual tension is crazy, light possessive behaviour, lots of flirting, he's so fucking hot, they're so down bad for one another but adult style, innaccurate cowboy jargons, i don't proofread the smut because i'm shy
smut advisory more fucking than plot, making out all the fuckin' time, sunghoon has a big cock sorry, pussy eating/licking, squirting, fellatio, throat fucking, fucking against the countertop, face sitting, cowgirl (duh!), mating press, creampie, lots of dirty talking, profanity, reader orgasms a lot, reader's a lil bratty, dom!hoon, fucking while wearing the cowboy hat yeehaw >.<
“what the fuck…?”
the car sputtered one last time before the engine died completely, rolling to a pathetic stop on the empty stretch of highway. dust kicked up around the tires as you gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“no, no, no—come on!” you slammed your palm against the wheel, once, twice, the horn blaring uselessly into the dry air. the dashboard lights flickering like it’s mocking you before going dark.
dead.
just completely dead.
you twisted the key in the ignition again—nothing. not even a weak cough or a vibration—just silence. “baby, seriously? now?” your voice cracked with frustration as you let your forehead thud against the steering wheel—once, twice—hands gripping the wheel.
“i just got you out of the workshop!”
you were already running late, even dressed up nicer than usual—your baby tees that weren't oil stained for once, the one that hugged your curves just right, paired with shorts that fit, and the delicate necklace your boyfriend had given you last month.
not to mention, your hair was done, a touch of makeup—with that fluttery feeling in your tummy because tonight was supposed to be special. weeks of texting, late–night calls, finally seeing him again…
and now you were stuck on the side of some forgotten highway with a dead car and no signal.
you let out a shaky breath. thank god the sun wasn’t dipping yet—it was only around 4 p.m. there was plenty of daylight left, hours before the sky would think about turning purple orange. that bought you time to get some help and inform your boyfriend the car was broken.
except…
your phone had no signal.
“oh my gosh—is this a joke?” you shook your phone again, tapping the surface on your palm in hopes it’d suddenly receive a signal from somewhere. when it didn’t—you tossed your phone to the side, landing on the passenger seat.
“okay… okay yn, think,” you muttered to yourself, leaning back and rubbing your temples. pop the hood? you weren’t a mechanic—you’d only do damage to the car. or wait it out—someone had to drive by eventually, right?
you stared out the windshield at the empty road stretching both ways, the quiet was almost too loud. your eyes trailed up to the little hill. you could walk a little ways to see if you could find higher ground for signal?
but it’s so… high and your last meal was a brunch that was almost four hours ago…
sit here and… hope?
you reached for the door handle, about to step out and at least look like you were doing something, when a sound caught your ear—clearer and closer.
hoofbeats.
steady… unhurried… like the rider itself had all the time in the world.
you froze, hand still on the handle, and watched from the rearview mirror as he emerged fully into view.
a lone rider on a sleek black horse, moving along the edge of the highway. dark jacket opened over a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his black cowboy hat pulled low, shadowing his face just enough to make your stomach flip with curiosity.
the way he sat on the saddle—straight–backed, relaxed but controlled—that quiet confidence dripping off him.
the man guided the horse closer, slowing to a stop a respectful distance from your car. the animal snorted softly, tossing its head to the side, and the rider leaned forward to calm it with a gentle pat on the neck.
then—those dark eyes lifted to meet yours through the mirror.
sharp. intense.
your breath hitched in your lungs—he swung down from the saddle effortlessly, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. tall—taller than you’d expected—long legs, lean build … biceps… the kind of presence that made the wide–open desert space around you feel suddenly smaller.
he adjusted his hat with one hand, the other holding reins loosely, and took a few slow steps toward your opened passenger window.
“hey there,” he said, voice low and smooth like… whiskey over ice, a faint tint drawl curling around the edges. he tilted his head just slightly, studying you—and the dead car—with calm interest.
“car troublin’ ya?”
your mouth went dry and you swore you forgot how to breathe. up close—he was even more fuckin’ striking. high cheekbones, honey skin glowing in the sunlight, lips pressed into a subtle line that hinted at amusement.
you… you didn’t know who this guy was—but fuck, he’s fucking hot.
you swallowed, managing a small nod. “y—yeah,” you finally said, voice coming out softer than you meant. “it just… died. won’t start—and there’s no signal out here.”
his gaze flicked to your phone on the passenger seat, then back to you. one corner of his mouth lifted.
“mind if i take a look?”
you gave him a small nod—he knew you’d say yes anyway, what option did you have? he stepped toward the front of the car. you popped the hood from inside, the latch clicking, then pushed the door open and climbed out.
the warm, dry, afternoon air hitting your skin.
sunghoon moved with that same unhurried motion, grace, looping the reins over his horse’s neck so she stayed put. he took off his jacket and rolled off his sleeves a little higher as he approached the engine, revealing his… toned forearms and biceps dusted with dust and sunlight.
you tried not to stare.
he leaned over the hood, one had bracing against the metal, the other tracing—his index and middle fingers—along the battery cables, checking connections… peering at belts and fluids… things that a pretty girl like you wouldn’t and shouldn’t know anyway.
those nice… slender fingers… suited being somewhere… better.
your eyes travelled at the way his black shirt stretched across his back and shoulders when he shifted… the light caught the sharp line of his jaw.
you stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed against your chest, pretending to care about the car—but there’s a better view before you.
“battery looks fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. he straightened slightly, wiping a smudge of grease onto his jeans without care, then glanced over at you.
his eyes lingered.
not that… quick check–in if you were okay; but that slow… deliberate… lingering sweep—down the length of you. sunghoon swallowed in the baby blue baby tee clinging softly to your frame, the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the faint flush rising on your cheeks.
sunghoon tried so hard—so fucking hard—to not let his eyes fall onto the dip of your cleavage.
he failed.
when his gaze came back up to meet yours, he made it so obvious he was checking you out. there was something dark and unreadable flickering behind those orbs. curiousity—interest, something warmer than… the polite stranger act.
you shifted, suddenly hyper–aware of how close he was, how the faint scent of leather and sun–warmed skin drifted on the breeze.
“there’s a leak,” he said finally, tipping his chin toward your engine. “that’s why she overheated and shut down.” his tone was matter–of–fact, but he held your eyes longer than necessary made it feel anything but casual.
“...oh,” you managed, stepping closer—to see what he was pointing at—but honestly, just really drawn into his aura. you were so close to see the faint sheen at his temple, the way his lashes cast shadows. you were so close sunghoon could see the droplets of sweat trailing down the side of your neck, the way your upper teeth caught on your bottom lip.
he didn’t move.
instead, sunghoon stayed leaned against your car, arms loosely folded, watching you—not the engine—so painfully obvious it made your pulse flutter.
wow—you had no idea what’s leaking… in terms of the car, at least.
“you headed somewhere importan’?” he asked, voice dropping a fraction lower. his gaze flicked to your lips, then back up before you caught it. you swallowed. “mmhm. i… was supposed to meet… someone.”
a beat.
sunghoon’s head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched into the tiniest smirk. “must be real disappointed right now,” he said, soft and slow, eyes never leaving yours. your breath hitched and the tension coiled tighter, warm and heavy in your chest… spreading lower.
“i—it’s okay,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out shy and a little breathless. your laugh soft and nervous as you tucked a strand of hair. “they’ll understand.”
his eyes stayed on you for a beat, dropping down just a little on your collarbone—but that faint smirk deepened just enough to make your tummy flip. after what felt like hours, sunghoon pushed off your yellow car, straightening to his full height that just towered over you.
“sunghoon,” he said simply, extending his hand. his voice was low, steady.
sunghoon, you rolled his name mindlessly in the back of your mind, tasting his name on your tongue. “mmhm,” you slipped your hand into his—warm and rough against your bare, softer skin—his grip firm but careful, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
the contact lingered, and neither of you pulled away first.
“yn,” you answered.
“yn,” he repeated, tasting the name like he was trying it out. a small nod, almost approving. sunghoon licked his lips before continuing. “pretty name for a pretty girl stuck on the side of the road.”
heat rushed to your cheeks and you quickly glanced away, pretending to look at the engine, but you could feel his gaze still on you. it’s so unfair, you thought.
you broke it first. “well,” sunghoon sighed, closing the hood with a gentle thud, wiping his hands on his handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. “car’s ain’t gonna fix themselves out here. leaking like that—you’re not drivin’ anywhere tonight without coolant.”
you bit your lip, shaking your head, glancing at the empty hallway. “yeah… i figured.”
sunghoon looked at you—pity girl—then at his horse, then back at you—something flashed in his eyes.
“look,” he said, running his fingers through his dark locks. “i’ve got tools back at the ranch. spare house, too. it’s only a couple miles down the road.” he tilted his head slightly, making his gaze feel more intense.
“you can ride with me. get it fixed before dark, get your back on your way.”
your heart stuttered. ride with him..? ride him? on the horse? or…?
he must’ve seen the question in your eyes because the corner of his mouth lifted again. “my girl can take us both. or i can lead and walk, and you just sit pretty.”
you swallowed, glancing at the sun still high enough in the sky, the golden light catching on his shirt. then your gaze flicked back to the horse—big, calm, but still a horse…
what about… stranger danger…?
the thought slipped out before you could stop it, soft and uncertain, fingers twisting around the hem of your baby tee.
“um… what about stranger danger?” you asked, half laughing to cover your nerves, cheeks heating up again. you supposed you could just… ask this kind sunghoon stranger to return with a pipe… or something…
“i mean, i don’t know you—you don’t know me… and you want me to just… hop on your horse and ride off to your ranch?”
sunghoon paused. for a second, his expression didn’t really change, but the corner of his mouth curved. he’d find your worry both endearing and adorable.
cute.
“fair,” he said, shrugging. there was no defensiveness, or offense in it at all. he let his hand drop to his side, giving you space. “if you’re wonderin’ or scared, i get it. pretty girl alone out here—i’d be worried too.”
he glanced down the road in the direction he’d come from, then back at you.
“i live just a couple miles that way,” he continued, nodding toward a faint dirt turnoff you hadn’t noticed before. “there’s a diner right off the main road before you even get to my ranch—folks and ladies there know me.”
a small huff escaped him.
“or,” he added, tilting his head slightly, eyes softening. “we can walk the whole way. i’ll lead the way slow. you stay ten feet back if you want, i’ll even let you hold the reins.”
he said it completely serious too… like your comfort truly mattered more than getting back quickly. the sincerity in his voice, the way he didn’t push or be weird about it—just offering—made something in your chest loosen.
you looked at him again—you supposed… there was no point in waiting for other help to come by—and your heart gave a traitorous little thud.
“mm… okay. lead me the way.”
you slipped your hand out—and his fingers closed around yours and he guided you toward his horse. the animal watched you with dark eyes—much like the owner—ears flicking as you approached.
“easy now,” sunghoon murmured, more to the horse than you, running his hand down her neck. “snow’s gentle, she won’t throw you.”
he turned to you, smiling. “you ever been on a horse before?”
you shook your head, laughing nervously. “never… not even once—never had a reason to.”
a soft huff escaped him—almost a chuckle. “first time for everything.”
sunghoon moved to the side, cupping his hands together in a boost. “left foot here, grab the saddle horn and swing your right leg over it when i lift.”
your heart pounded, but you did as he said. sunghoon’s hands settled on your waist as he hoisted you up, strong and sure, and then you were in the saddle—legs dangling awkwardly, gripping the horn.
“eek—!”
he chuckled, swung behind you in a motion he’d done a billion times, settling in close—really close. his chest brushed your back as he reached around you for the reins, thighs framing yours, the heat of him immediately and overwhelming.
“you good?” sunghoon asked, voice low near your ear. you swallowed the lump in your throat, his warm breath hitting the shell of your ear. “m—mmhm,” you managed, hyper aware of every little shift and contact.
sunghoon’s arm circled loosely around your waist just to steady you on the horse—and you felt the subtle shift of his body as he nudged the horse forward with his heels.
snow started walking and rolling—making you sway instinctively. you tensed, gripping the horn harder.
“relax,” he said quietly, breathing now against the side of your neck. “lean back a little, i got you.”
you eased against him just slightly. his arm tightened the tiniest bit in response—reassured. the horse settled into a rhythm along the edge of the highway, hooves clopping against the dirt. the sun was still bright, golden, warm breeze carrying the scent of dry grass and… him.
for a minute, neither of you spoke.
until sunghoon broke it.
“so… where were you headed, dressed up like that?”
you laughed softly, glancing down at your baby tee and your nice jeans. “just… meeting someone.” sunghoon hummed, a deep sound that vibrated against your back from how close he was. “poor lad, waitin’ somewhere wonderin’ where you are right now.”
“probably,” you bit your lip, suppressing back a smile.
another beat.
his thumb brushed idly against the rein near your hip. “must be somethin’ special between you two,” he murmured, humming. “to get you out here lookin’ this pretty.”
your cheeks burned. you turned your head just enough to catch him—sharp line of his jaw… the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.
“mayhaps,” you said softly. “could be i just like dressing up sometimes.”
sunghoon let out a quiet breath of laughter. “fair enough.”
snow kept walking, carrying you both on her strong body. you shifted slightly, getting used to the rhythm, and you slowly realised you weren’t as scared anymore.
actually… it felt kind of nice. the warmth of sunghoon, the strength of his arms, the quiet that didn’t feel awkward at all.
“so…” you said after a moment, corner of your lips twitched into a teasing smirk. “you do this often? rescue stranded girls on horseback?”
his lips curved—just a little. “first time of everything.”
you smiled despite yourself. “lucky me, then.”
he didn’t answer right away, just tightened his arm a fraction, guiding snow off the highway and onto the dirt path leading to the ranch. “yeah,” he said finally, voice warm against your ear.
“lucky me.”
——
sunghoon reached up for you, hands settling on your waist again—firm and steady—lifting you down like you weighed a feather. your boots hit the ground, but his hands lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.
“welcome to the house,” he said dryly, gesturing at the perfect tidy yard. a faint smile tugged at his lips as he tied the reins. “come on in, i’ll grab you something while i check the garage.”
he led you up the porch steps and pushed open the front foor—no lock, you noticed. must be safe around here, you thought, humming. the cool air inside hit you—the faint smell of coffee and wood floors.
“make yourself at home,” sunghoon said, tipping off his hat and hanging it on a hook. his dark hair fell slightly messier without it, a few strands brushing his forehead. “water, iced tea, lemon—fridge it through there.” he nodded toward the open kitchen.
“i’ll be in the garage. shouldn’t take long.”
his space was simple and tidy—leather couch facing a fireplace, shelves lined with books and framed photos of … sunghoon and his friends. his six other friends. equally as fine. a worn acoustic guitar leaned in one corner, blankets folded neatly over the couch arm.
no clutter, nothing sterile either.
just him.
you wandered through the big picture window overlooking the fields, the late–afternoon light pouring in soft. a few horses grazed in the distance.
everything was peaceful in a way the city never was.
the glass of lemonade cold in your hand as you turned slowly. your eyes landed on a small cluster of framed photos near the front door—one of sunghoon on horseback, younger; another him with an older man who shared the same features. must’ve been his father.
you didn’t realise you’d drifted closer, drawn in by that smile on his face. you were standing right in front of it, lemonade tilted slightly in your grip—completely lost in the photo,
when the door swung open.
sunghoon stepped inside, grease smudged rag in one hand, the other pushing the door wide—and you startled hard.
the glass jerked in your fingers—cold lemonade sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your baby tee in a sticky streak that soaked straight through the thin fabric.
“oh—gosh—” you gasped, jumping back a step, holding the glass out. sunghoon’s eyes widened half a second before he was moving, closing the door behind him with his boot and crossing to you.
“fuck, sorry—didn’t mean to scare ya’,” he said, voice rushed, already reaching for the rag in his hand. but it was dirty, so he stopped. “gosh, you okay?”
you laughed, breathless, embarrassed heat flooding your face. the lemonade left a cold, clinging patch right… across your front. “it’s fine, i wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, dabbing at the stain with your fingers instead.
“was looking at your pictures.”
he didn’t move back, didn’t look away. the air between you felt suddenly too small and cold again… despite everything burning.
“i’ve got spare shirts in the laundry room,” he said after a beat, eyes dropping to the stain—pervert—once more before meeting yours again. “clean ones, if you want to change.”
you nodded slowly, heart thudding in against your ribs.
“mm.. yeah, sure,” you said softly, glancing up to him from underneath your lashes. “that… might be good.”
——
you peeled off your soaked baby tee, the sticky lemonade making it cling uncomfortably. you’re only grateful your bra was there to soak the rest before the liquid reached your skin.
his… white shirt was huge—falling halfway down your thighs and completely covering your shorts, sleeves past your elbows, the collar loose enough to slip off one shoulder if you weren’t careful.
it smelled like sunghoon—clean cotton and traces of wood musk.
“... nice,” you caught your reflection in the small mirror above your dryer and laughed quietly to yourself. you looked swallowed whole by it.
just then, your eyes landed on something else through the reflection—his brown cowboy hat, hanging on a hook just inside the door. the different one from what he wore earlier. you bit your lip, glancing toward the door.
no signs of him.
just for fun, you never wore a cowboy hat before.
you reached up on your tippy toes and plucked it off the hook, settling in your head. it was too big, obviously—sliding down over your eyebrows until you had to tip it back with a finger.
to be honest, you looked kinda… hot. yeah—seductive, almost.
you smoothed his shirt down, adjusted the hat, and pushed the door open.
sunghoon was leaning just against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, looking down at his boots—but the second you stepped out, his head lifted.
and he froze.
his gaze swept over you—deliberately. the—his—oversized shirt hanging loose on your smaller frame, the hem brushing your thighs (only the little ripped strands of your shorts were showing up), the way the fabric draped over your shoulders.
that… hat tilting playfully on your head.
everything about him stilled. even the air felt heavier. his pants got tighter.
“everything’s… big,” you giggled, laughing to break the sudden tension, tugging at the sleeve that swallowed your hand. you gave a small spin, the shirt flaring slightly—you held the hat by the brim.
“like, really big.”
he didn’t laugh. didn’t even smile at first.
sunghoon just stared, his eyes darker than before, jaw tight, lips… wet.
then he pushed off the counter, closing the distance in one slow step.
“yeah?” he murmured, voice rougher, dropping an octave lower… low enough that you swore it vibrated in your chest. sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing the brim of the—his—hat, adjusting it slightly so it sat better.
so he could see your pretty face clearer.
his thumb grazed your temple as he did.
“looks better on you.”
your breath caught. he was close again—too close—hand lingering near your face. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his musk and sweat filling every inch of space between you.
he didn’t step back.
he took a slow step forward—then another.
until your back met the wall with a soft thud, the cool wood at your spine contrasting to what’s warming you up in front of you. the hat tilted slightly on your head as you tipped it back to look up at him, and his eyes—heavy lidded—locked onto yours.
“r—really?”
his hand dropped from the brim, trailing down the side of your neck, over the loose collar of his shirt on you, until his palm settled at your waist. fingers splayed wide—possessive—puling you in just a fraction closer.
then his hand went lower, skimming the curve of your hip, thumb pressing lightly into the dip above your shorts.
you didn’t want to move.
your hands came up instantly, fingers curling into the front of his black shirt, feeling his heart thumping under your palms.
“mmhm,” sunghoon leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, breath warm against your lips. “you’ve been driving me crazy since i saw you in that car,” he said, voice low. “now you’re in my shirt, my hat—lookin’ like you belong here or somethin’.”
your lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, shaky exhale.
his gaze dropped to your mouth.
“you do this often?” sunghoon murmured, his fingers drumming your skin. “wreck your car hopin’ some stranger’ll come along and fix it?”
you felt the words more than heard them… the teasing edge softened by the way his thumb traced your hip.
“only cowboys like you,” you whispered, the words barely out before—
sunghoon closed that tiny gap.
he slammed his lips against yours—evoking a soft, surprised gasp out of you—his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him and positioning his knee in between your legs.
you melted almost instantly into his mouth, hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him down as sunghoon angled his head to kiss you harder and deeper. his tongue traced your bottom lip, teasing, then slipped inside when you gasped for him—slow, hot, unhurried.
it made your knees buckle and weak.
sunghoon groaned quietly when you tagged at his hair, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “ngh—hngh—” you moaned into his mouth, tugging him down. the hat titled precariously; but he caught it with one hand, readjusting it on top of your head without breaking the kiss.
both of his hands were back on you—one splayed across your lower back, the other cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, lifting your head up. sunghoon glided his tongue along your row of teeth, tasting you slow and thorough.
a low hum rumbled in his chest when you parted for him, your own tongue meeting his in a slick curl that made you tighten your grip around his shirt. “hah—s—sunghoon,” you breathed out. your salivas mixed, messy and hot, a thin strand connecting your lips when he pulled back just enough to breathe—
only to dive back in harder, swallowing every little whimper and moan.
sunghoon kissed like he worked for it… having complete control like he would with snow—angling your head to take it deeper how he wanted it to be. your back arched against the wall as his hand on your lower back slid lower, palm running along the globe of your ass before it spread over the curve of your hip.
“ah—,” you gasped as he pressed forward. you felt the head line of his cock beneath his jeans against your stomach—he was just as wrecked as you were.
sunghoon broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along your jaw, teeth scraping at the sensitive spot under your ear before coming back to your lips, no less filthy than before—long and wet and deep that left you dizzy.
your pussy was growing crazily wet and warm—heat pooling your tummy as you began grinding and rubbing yourself on his knee.
“still wanna get that car fixed?” he whispered, teasing against your swollen mouth, lips brushing but not quite kissing.
you panted, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, before answering by pulling him back in, kissing him open–mouthed and desperate, fingers threading through his hair to keep him there. he groaned into you, low and raw, and kissed you back just as deep.
sunghoon’s hands roamed—down your sides, slipping into the loose fabric of his shirt on you—until he suddenly spun you around in a smooth motion—your palms hitting the kitchen counter with a slap.
“hngh—?” you gasped as he pressed in behind you, chest to your back, hips slotting against you. sunghoon didn’t stop kissing you—his strong… bigger hand came up to your jaw, fingers curled around your soft jaw as he turned your head sideways so he could claim your mouth from this new angle.
deep.. messy, relentless—the other hand splayed across your tummy, pulling you flush.
“fuck,” he murmured, grinding slow and deliberate against the curve of your ass through your shorts, the friction sending sparks down your cunt. a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he rolled his hips again, his hard on pressing hard between your asscheeks.
sunghoon’s lips broke from yours to drag wet kisses along your exposed side of your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he left angry lovebites before he turned your face toward him again, capturing your mouth in another horny kiss.
all while his hips kept that rhythm—rubbing against you, clothed but undeniably fucking horny. “you feel what you’re doin’ to me?”
you could only whimper in response, arching your back and pushing against him—eliciting a groan out him, deeper, his hips snapping forward—so fucking hard—before he slowed.
you pulled back to catch your breath, knees weakening as you braced yourself on your forearms. the words slipped out before you could stop them—half plea, half teasing.
“are you going to keep humpin’ me, or are you going to let me ride you, cowboy?”
the air went still for a beat.
the corner of his lips twitched—and so did his eye—sunghoon scoffed dryly. you barely had time to register the shift in his energy and demeanour before his palm cracked against your ass through the denim.
not gentle.
a firm, stinging smack echoed in the kitchen made you gasp, jolting forward against the corner.
“watch that mouth,” he hummed low against your ear, body still pinned, his hand caressing the globe of your ass where he’d just smacked them. “you don’t get to call the shots just yet.”
you breath hitched at the first rush of the sting, at the command of his voice. you bit your lip to keep another bratty remark to yourself—but failed to hide the way your hips rolled back against him.
he huffed before he moved—hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady, turning you just enough to guide you back against the counter before he sank down.
slowly.
until sunghoon was on his knees behind you, eye level with the curve of your ass, one palm smoothing over the spot he’d just smacked. “i’ll tell you what to do,” he murmured, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t ask; just straight up unbuttoned them with a quick flick of his slender fingers and tugged everything down in one drag—
jeans and panties together—until they pooled at your knees.
“mmmh,” cool air hit your skin, but only for a second before his warm hands were back on your asscheeks, spreading them apart from behind. “hold still, pretty girl,” he muttered—and just like that—
his mouth was on your cunt.
no teasing and no hesitation—just confidence dripping down like your juices down your thighs. sunghoon licked a long, flat stripe up your centre, groaning low at the taste that he’d been starving for. “ungh—oh gosh,” you gasped, knees buckling on his face as you gripped the counter harder, shaky moans slipping out.
sunghoon’s tongue circled your clit from behind—once, twice—sucking the little pea in pressure that made your hips jerk back against his face. “fuckin’ hell, so sweet,” he rasped. his strong arm banded across your lower tummy, locking you in place—on his handsome face, sharp nose digging between your ass.
he didn’t let you move or shift as much as he slipped his tongue inside your cunt—sliding back up, in and out, flicking, and swirling around inside. “s—sunghoon, sunghoon,” you moaned softly, eyes fluttering.
wet sounds filled up his kitchen, filthy and so fucking obscenely loud—his mouth working you open, lips sealing like he’s making out with your pussy lips now before it moved around your clit again and again, sucking until your thighs trembled.
he sucked and tugged the pea towards him.
it’s something you’ve never, not in the years of your life, ever experienced. every time you tried to push back down for more, sunghoon only tightened his hold and slowed down like he’s telling you that you’re not in charge here.
then, he dragged his tongue in lazy, torturous strokes until you whined, before speeding up suddenly—fast with relentless flicks that had you gasping his name. “your tongue feels s’good, oh fuck,”
his free hand came up between your legs, two fingers sliding into you without warning, stretching you tight cunt and curling deep and stroking in time with his tongue. the combo wrecked you badly—your head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool counter as your toe curled inwards on itself.
“w—what—?! oh, fuck, sunghoon—”
he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks in your tummy, and doubled down. “gotta stretch you out before i give you the real thing,” he murmured against your wet cunt, sucking hard, fingers thrusting faster, pressing on that spongy spot inside.
your legs shook as you began subtly riding on his two fingers as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. “‘m cumming, wanna cum, cum—,” you whined adorably, chest heaving as pleasure swelled up in your gut.
“mmhm—?” sunghoon hummed teasingly, you felt the corner of his lips twitched. you tightened around his fingers—walls spasming around his digits. sunghoon curled his fingers inside and traced his name against your walls.
he’s so fucking filthy, it’s disgustingly hot.
an ecstasy tidal wave quickly rushed over you—and before you knew it, your walls pulsated before you came right on his fingers and tongue, against his face. “oh fuck—!” you cried out sharply, curling your hands into fists as you hung your head low.
every limbs of yours felt like jelly, your body twitched—clenching around him as he licked you through every pulse, gulping down your juices and squirt that trailed down your inner thighs.
“fuck, you’re so sweet, so good,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out that left you empty almost instantly, pussy squeezing the thin air. your thighs trembled in pleasure as sunghoon spread your asscheeks with his wet fingers, pressing one last slow, deliberate long lick from your sensitive clit up to your entrance.
“good girl,” he whispered, hands smoothed up your sides before rising behind you.
“now… about that ride you wanted…”
you turned in his arms, still buzzing, still twitching, legs unsteady. sunghoon’s eyes were swimming with lust, lips slick and swollen from you. the hard line of him pressed against your hip through his jeans—impossible to ignore.
a slow, wicked smile tugged at your mouth as you sank down now—your turn, mirroring the way he’d just knelt for you—until you were on your knees in front of him.
sunghoon’s breath hitched, hand automatically coming up to lift the brim of his hat to look at your face. you looked up at him from under your curled lashes, palms sliding up his thighs, feeling his cock tense and twitch under denim.
“fair’s fair, cowboy,”
he exhaled a rough laugh, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “you don’t have to—”
but you were already popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow enough to make him groan—preparing himself. “don’t have to what?” you asked innocently, tugging everything down just enough, and his—
his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, flicked dark and already leaking precum at the tip.
your eyes widened and your breath hitched, his cock throbbed right in front of your eyes—it casted shadow over your face. your lips parted, a gasp escaped your lips.
sunghoon was fucking big—no, huge—the biggest you’ve ever seen before.
you could tell it was painful for him from the way his cock twitched in neediness, a low hiss escaped from his lips. “shit… surprised?”
you wet your lips before swallowing the lump in your throat. there was… almost no way it’d fit in your mouth, much less your pussy. but you wrapped your hands around him—even with both hands, it still wasn’t enough to hold his whole cock—stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in your grip.
sunghoon’s head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed locked on you.
you continued jerking him off in your hands, dragging every skin, feeling every veins, milking more of his precum that trailed on the side of your hands. “i thought only horses have big cocks…” you murmured before leaning in—tongue flicking out to taste the bead at the head, salty and warm—before taking him into your mouth in one slow slide.
“but i guess their owners have too…?”
“fuck—” the curse tore out of him, low and husky, fingers tightening at your hair as his hat tipped to the side a little. he didn’t push, just holding as you took him in deeper, lips stretching around him.
you only managed to take half of his cock inside your mouth before pulling back almost all the way, tongue swirling around the tip, then took him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing. sunghoon tasted manly—sweaty, but not the nasty kind. just… a man.
his hips twitched, but he let you set the pace yourself. you worked him slow at first—wet, messy suckings, hand twisting in strokes at the base at the same time as your mouth—then faster, taking him in as far as you could until the tip hit your uvula, and your eyes watered.
“yn, fuck,” he groaned your name. your mouth was warm and wet, like entering a slimy, hot pond, cock totally engulfed in your saliva. it felt heavenly. you were disheveled and messy—but still so hot. glossy and smudged lipstick over your lips, leaving a pink ring mark around his cock with your flushed cheeks.
every time you pulled off to breathe, you looked up—watching his handsome face, thick brown furrowing, lips parted before his canines dragged the bottom lip, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he fought not to thrust and fuck your mouth.
you hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up his cock that made it twitch and he cursed again, “just like that,” he murmured.
you took him inside your mouth again, this time picking up your speed and pace in sucking him—the tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind.
his veins glided along your wet tongue, sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut as wet, clicky sounds filled the space. sunghoon falls into his temptation and thrusts his hips upward, hitch in his breath as you deepthroat him.
“shit, ‘m cummin, fuck,”
his whole body went rigid, hips jerking shallowly before spilling hot down your throat, pulse after pulse. your eyes widened but didn’t pull away, taking it all. contrasting from how soft you hummed around him while he shuddered through it, curses and your name tumbling from his lips.
your throat worked in gulps as you swallowed his milk down, hands steadying his thighs. sunghoon sagged back against the counter, chest heaving as you eased off low—lips sliding along his cock until he slipped free with a pop.
a thin strand of cum and spit connected you before breaking.
“hah… hngh,” you looked up at him, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb before slipping it inside your mouth to lick it clean, a smug little smile tugging at your messy lips. sunghoon stared down at you, breathing ragged, furrowing.
“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he muttered, running his hand down his face before reaching down to haul you up by your arms until you were pressed against him, foreheads touching. “you’re g’nna kill me.”
then he kissed you—deep, filthy—combining both the taste of him and you on your tongue and groaning into it. his hands slid down to grip your thighs, turning and lifting you easily onto the counter.
“my turn again,” he murmured, hiking up your—his—shirt until it bunched at your waist. you were fully exposed to him from the hips down. “i ain’t stoppin’, so don’t tell me to.”
you only whimpered in response as sunghoon’s palm splayed across your lower stomach, holding you while the other hand wrapped around his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. the head of his cock scooped your slickness.
sunghoon teased you by slipping in just the head, stretching you and barely enough to evoke a soft gasp from your lips. from behind, he smirked at your reaction, looking down at how your slick hung down from his cock.
“easy now,” he muttered, hissing as finally pushed in slow. the stretch was immediate though, thick and burning in the best way possible. you gasped aloud, head falling forward, fingers clawing at the granite as he sank deeper—inch by inch—until he almost bottomed out with a low, guttural groan against your neck.
“oh my fuckin’ god, sunghoon,” you cried out, feeling him in your stomach. “shit, you’re perfect,” he rasped, pulling back almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, hard—burying all his inches inside you. the slap of skin echoed in the kitchen as your body jolted forward with the force, the hat you’re wearing tipped sideways.
he set a relentless, needy pace from the start—deep and punishing thrusts that had you moaning and crying with every slam, his hand on your stomach pressed down his bulging cock through your flesh, feeling the skin swelling.
his other hand gripped your hip, steadying you while his fingers dug hard enough to bruise, pulling you back to meet every roll of his hips. “so goddamn tight,” he hissed, teeth grazing your shoulder.
“takin’ me like you’re made for me.”
every thrust only dragged your walls, the head slamming and bullying that soft spot inside you, forming a wave of pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter until you’re left trembling against the counter. your breath hitched, babbling his name.
“more—more, more, more,” you whined. sunghoon didn’t let you up, his fingers moved down to work on your clit, rolling and rubbing his middle finger on that little pea as his hips snapped forward without mercy.
sunghoon’s so horny it’s fucking crazy—he fucked into you deep and hard, every thrust punching air from your lungs. sweat beaded along his neck, rolled down his collarbone; dark hair stuck to his forehead—barely leashed hunger.
he was always like this when he finally snapped—weeks, sometimes months, of nothing but endless ranch work and journey, early mornings, late nights, calloused hands busy with fences and horses and hay to even think about getting laid.
there’s almost no time for bars, patience for games (although he liked to indulge himself in dart games), just pure, pent up need stacking higher and higher.
so when you showed up—pretty, stranded, looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes, spilling lemonade down your shirt and ending up in his clothes and hat, space, hands…
a girl like you, soft and city–sweet and practically begging to be taught how the town works, walking straight into his world—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. he didn’t want to stop.
a guttural sound tore out of him when you tightened, fingers rubbing your clit harder, pressing down. “fuck—take it,” he rasped. “take every fuckin’ inch,”
you gasped, blossoming with excitement and arousal. your pleasure spills out in trembling moans, breathy cries mixing with the echo of your skin slapping together. “fuck, fuck, it feels so good, hoonie,”
his eyes twitched before he delivered a smack against your asscheeck, the flesh jiggling before he quickly smoothed it down with his hand. “good,” he panted, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder. the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt reverberated through the kitchen.
“wanna cum, a—again, please,” you pleaded, lips parting as you hung your head down. his cock was able to delve deeper from this position of your leg on the countertop, spreading your thighs further. “hm—? cummin’ again already?” sunghoon chuckled softly, slamming and bucking his hips up that the tip slammed against your cervix.
you nodded eagerly, whimpering. you’re so overstimulated—couldn’t think straight at the way your pussy spasmed around his throbbing length. “please, please i wanna cum real bad,” you whined, pleading.
sunghoon dragged his nails and held your hips, his cock dragged against your velvety walls. “show me,” his words broke apart, the rhythm of his hips frantic and desperate. he wasn’t as close to cumming, and he wished to keep fucking you—but he supposed city girls didn’t have a lot of stamina.
“cum on my fuckin’ cock, baby,”
you cursed out loud as a gush of warm liquid squirted out and down on your thighs—and his cock totally engulfed him warm and wet. he was buried so deep inside you, not moving as much to allow you to steady yourself.
the orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami—overwhelmingly relentless. your vision whited out at the edges, walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him, pulling him deeper like your body refused to let go.
heat bloomed low in your tummy and spread in shocks as your body twitched, slumping on the counter. “oh gosh—oh my gosh,” you whimpered, thighs trembling, breath sharp, desperate gasps.
“fuck—look at you,” sunghoon rasped, fingers digging into your hips as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own release in the tight, slick grip—still not pulling out. “soakin’ me like that…”
you felt vulnerable and claimed—there was no fucking way any other men can ever come close to this—sunghoon, his demeanour, his energy, his cock—ever again. not your boyfriend, not any boys anywhere.
the wet mess between your legs proof of how thoroughly he done fucked you up.
“hngh—ah, i…” your words trailed off as you panted, pussy twitching around his cock… you stayed like that for a long moment—bent over his counter, wearing his shirt, his hat—his chest heaving against your back.
sunghoon caressed the globe of your asscheek, spreading to see his wet cock and the way your squirt dripped down on his tiles. “you what?”
you shook your head, biting your bottom lip to stifle another whimper, then turned your head just enough to meet his gaze—eyes glassy, cheek adorably flushed, with that little bratty smile.
“i still haven’t ridden the cowboy…”
sunghoon’s eyes widened for a fraction before a grin spread across his face.
“oh darlin’,” he chuckled softly. “you’re takin’ the reins.”
——
“oh fuck—!”
the sound tore out of you, high and whimpery as sunghoon licked straight up between your pussy lips one long stroke. no teasing this time—just pure filth and hunger. his tongue plunged inside you, swirling and thrusting back and forth inside your cunt, lips sealing around to suck hard.
your hands flew to the wooden headboard for balance, gripping the wood, hips rocking instinctively against his handsome face. the tip of his nose brushed your clit every time you moved.
sunghoon groaned into you, the vibration going up your cunt. his hand held your hips from falling, the other wrapped around his throbbing cock, jerking off the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans.
wet sounds filled this room now, his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you from below.
“hoonie—fuuuckkkk,” you whimpered, head falling back as you quickly held the hat on your head. sunghoon insisted—begged—you keep it on your head. said it’s fuckin’ hot, said you’re—
his.
sunghoon answered by clamping his teeth down on your flesh, not hard that it’s painful, but enough for you to feel the pressure and his canines. his one hand left your hip to reach up and palm your tits, thumb flicking the nipple while he sucked your clit relentless.
there’s no way you could last much longer. not like this—not with him eating and tongue–fucking you like a straved man.
and from the way his hips rolled up in his grip, cock leaking against his hand—he was loving every second of it.
“hoonie, here it is’, oh jesus,” your voice broke as you grind harder. the orgasm hit like a bungee—your whole body tensed as your thighs trembled and kept his head locked between you as you came hard down on his face.
a rush of warmth flooded out of you again, coating his mouth, chin, and sunghoon licked you clean, drinking your liquid down. your legs gave out completely and you sagged forward against the headboard, panting, shaking, the aftershocks rippling through you as he gentled his tongue in soothing licks to ease you.
slowly, sunghoon lifted you off him—guiding you down to straddle on his hips again. his face was slick with you, lips red and swollen, eyes dark and triumphant as he looked at you—hair a mess, tipped hat, chest heaving.
your nipples perked up.
“fuck,” he rasped, cupping your tits. “you taste even better the second time.”
you collapsed forward onto his chest, feeling his cock hard and hot against your stomach.
sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, one hand stroking your back, the other tangling in your hair. “ready to be a cowgirl, babe?” he murmured against your temple, hips rolling up once—his cock glided against your tummy. “or you need another minute?” he teased.
you whimpered and shook your head, already shifting your hips and straightening your spine. you placed your hands on his toned chest, biting your lip.
“no more minutes,” you murmured, flicking your thumbs over his nipples. “i want my cowboy now.”
he grinned, rolling his eyes playfully.
“then take him.”
you didn’t need to be told twice.
you sank down slowly at first—teasing the head along your folds, coating, moving your hips and drawing it out until his hands gripped your hips. silent warning to not tease him—he ain’t the strongest soldier here.
you giggled softly before taking him in one smooth drop, all the way to the hilt.
“ngh—!” the stretch burned perfectly, filling and stretching you up that you both groaned at the same time at the pleasure. your head tipped back slightly, his fingers digging into the flesh. sunghoon was thick, hot, throbbing inside and you felt every inch as you adjusted, walls fluttering around him.
you were pretty, tight, warm—wrapping around him nicely.
“fuck,” he hissed, eyes squeezing shut before he opened them again, watching the lewd expression on your face. “juuust like that… ride me, pretty cowgirl,”
you began—rolling your hips in deep, lazy circles, grinding down so he hit every spot inside on every pass. your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you lifted yourself and sank back down.
like a cowgirl—sunghoon let you lead for a while; watching you through half lidded eyes, one hand slipping up to play with your tits, thumb teasing your nipple in the same breath as your movements. the other stayed on your hip, guiding but not controlling.
he lets you take what you want.
but that only lasted a while.
you started moving faster, riding, hoping (more like a bunny, than a cowgirl)—tits bouncing so lewdly, pitchy little ah, ah ah’s moans escaping your lips. the slap of skin got louder, his cock disappeared as quick as he saw it.
sunghoon couldn’t stay still anymore.
his hips snapped up to meet you halfway, driving deeper, harder, making your cries louder as pleasure spiked suddenly.
“that’s it,” his voice wrecked, sitting up suddenly so you were chest to chest, his hands on your hips as he lifted you up and down on his cock, pulling you down harder onto every thrust.
“fuckin’ ride me just like that—use me,”
you clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, moving together in a frantic rhythm. your sweat dripped down on his skin as his did too, sunghoon’s mouth found your neck where he sucked marks into your skin as you clenched tighter.
“hoonie, hoonie, so good, feels s’good,” you whimpered, holding his hat on your head with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck.
“come on,” he chuckled low and filthy against your throat, your head tipped back. one of his hands palmed your tits, pinching your perky bud. “keep ridin’ me like that. fuck—takin’ my cock so good. you’re made for this ranch—made for me,”
you nodded, his balls slapping the curve of your ass as you go—giggling—just mind fucked over his cock.
“love it, don’t cha?” he kept going with his filthy talks, breath hot against your skin. “love bouncin’ on a cowboy you just met, creamin’ all over him while your little guy’s waitin’ somewhere,” sunghoon hummed, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.
“bet he’s never fucked you this good—never made this pussy cream so many times in one evening.”
you moaned louder, clenching at his voice and words. he grinned against your neck, thrusting up harder to meet you.
“say it,” he rasped, rolling your nipple slow and mean between his fingerpads. “tell me how good you’re gettin’ it.”
“hoonie—” you whined, walls fluttering wildly.
“say it,” he coaxed, hands dropping to grip your ass, guiding you faster, deeper. “tell me whose cock you’re gonna be thinkin’ about from now on,”
you were too far gone to care—pleasure coiling tight and how low in your tummy. “yours,” you gasped, hat tilting crooked as you slammed down faster. “only yours—hoonie, fuck—only you, wanna be yours,”
sunghoon’s cock twitched. “that’s my girl,” he praised, voice dripping sin, hips snapping. “cream this cock again. milk me—let me feel that pretty pussy.”
and with his mouth on your collarbone, fingers twisting your nipple, his thick cock dragging your velvety walls—you came.
your whole body seized—back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat. another rush of warmth flooded out of you, soaking where you joined, dripping down his length and onto his thighs. the fourth orgasm rolled through you, thighs shaking.
sunghoon groaned as well, holding you tight but he didn’t follow you over the edge—not yet. the night is still young, after all. his cock throbbed inside, impossibly harder, slick with release, but he gritted his teeth, letting you ride the aftershocks while he stayed buried.
“hngh—i—hah,” you slumped forward, panting against his chest, hat slipping sideways. sunghoon caught it and settled it back on your head. “came so pretty for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“but i’m not done with you yet.”
he didn’t give you much time to recover before his arms hooked under your knees and he flipped you onto your back. the air left your lungs as your body bounced lightly on his mattress. “hm—?”
sunghoon folded you in half, knees pushed to your shoulders, hips tilted up—completely open, bare, exposed, and pinned beneath him in a deep, filthy—
mating press.
the hat finally tumbled off your head and onto the pillow. you barely noticed before sunghoon picked it up and wore it himself.
sunghoon loomed over you, dark hair falling into his eyes, cock still rock–hard and wet as he nudged back inside in a slow thrust. the new angle dragged him deeper than before—stretching you wide, pressing and making your eyes roll back from pleasure.
“fuck… look at ya,” he chuckled, hips rolling slow to let you feel every thick inch. “takin’ me so deep… pussy made for me, wasn’t it?”
you could only nod and whimper, looking up at him with doe, glassy eyes and swollen lips from clamping down. you looked so fucking feastible like this—body filled with his lovebites, nipples perky and red from pinching, your sweaty and glossy skin—
so perfect.
sunghoon only meant to help a poor stranded girl with her broke down car, he swore—but he supposed ending the day with a girl didn’t sound so bad.
he began moving—long, solid hard strokes that punched the air from your lungs each time he pulled up. the position left you no room to move, no escape from the overwhelming fullness, every thrust driving him against your g–spot.
sweat dripped down from his brow onto your chest—sunghoon crashed his lips against yours in open mouthed kisses with tongue involved. “tell me again,” he snapped his hips to draw a cry out of you. “who’s makin’ you feel this good?”
“you—hoonie, only you—,” the words slipped out rushly. sunghoon chuckled, the headboard knocked against the wall from the way your folded body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing. sunghoon gripped the backs of your thighs to keep you spread wide and pinned.
“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he rasped, eyes locked on where you joined—his cock disappeared inside you over and over. “everytime you close your eyes, you’re g’nna remember how deep i got, how hard i fucked you, how many times i made this tight pussy come.”
your heart thumped, tummy’s doing cartwheels at his words. “yes! please, please, please—’m cumming!” you gasped, back arching as you dragged your nails down his shoulders. sunghoon’s relentless thrusts hitting your soft spot without mercy.
the coil snapped again—you came with a cry of his name, walls clamping down around him in tight, waves, another nth gush of warmth soaking you both as you whole body shook helplessly in his hold.
“fuck,” sunghoon cursed filthy, fucking you turned erratic as he chased his own high. a few more deep, brutal strokes and burying himself to the hilt—sunghoon spilled inside of you, pulsing hot and endless streaks of semen, hips jerking through every wave.
he held your hips up, milking himself dry as your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing every last drop. “shit… shit…” he panted, staying pressed for a long moment as he lazily thrusted his cum inside.
both of you panted, trembling, sweat slick, and spent. your body twitched in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you catch your breath. slowly, carefully, sunghoon eased your legs down, letting them fall open around his hips as he pulled his cock out.
cum dribbled down your puffy, swollen cunt, messy—sliding down your folds and onto his sheets beneath you. more followed as your body slumped down.
sunghoon’s gaze dropped between your legs before back on your face—his hand gently stroking your thigh like he couldn’t stop touching you. his cowboy hat tilted crookedly on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes as he fixed it.
you whimpered—too sensitive and overstimulated—but didn’t pry him off when he pushed his cum lazily inside just to watch you shiver. finally, sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing to exhaustedly kiss you—your lips, cheeks, and temple.
“you okay, darlin’?” he murmured, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest as he rolled to the side. sunghoon tucked you against him, tangling your legs together.
you nodded into his neck, fingers tracing idly. “more than okay.” you murmured, “never been better.” sunghoon huffed a hum, kissing the top of your head.
“good,” he said simply, voice low in the dim room. “‘cause car’s definitely ain’t gettin’ fixed anytime soon,” he murmured, pulling the blanket to cover the two of you. “means ‘m keepin’ you here till mornin’. maybe longer.”
the last of the daylight had faded into deep twilight.
oh well—
your… ex boyfriend waiting somewhere could sit tight and wonder all he wanted; his plans had been bucked off the trail the moment the real cowboy rode in.
this filly had found her herd, and she wasn’t wandering back to any old pasture soon.
you supposed some breakdowns are just detours to exactly where you’re meant to end up.
warnings. kissing, skinship, established relationship, desperate men :P
a/n. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! i wanted to do lil hcs of ot7 tropes! hope u all enjoy! lowercase intended, not proofread <3
이희승 — lee heeseung (brothers bsf)
🎧 you open the door, fully ready to shut it again… until you see him.
heeseung. rain soaked, hoodie clinging to his frame, eyes rimmed red like he hasn’t slept. or maybe like he’s been crying. you’re not sure which makes your chest tighten more.
“please,” he breathes, voice cracking as he looks up at you. “just—don’t close the door.”
you fold your arms, fingers digging into your sides. “what are you even doing here? my brother will freak if he finds out.”
he doesn’t answer. instead, he drops to his knees, right there on your porch, gravel digging into his jeans. and that’s when it hits you—he means it. this isn’t a game. this isn’t just the smooth talking best friend of your older brother, jake, anymore. this is heeseung, broken open in front of you.
“i screwed up. i know,” he says. “but fighting for affection from you… it’s never been easy. not when you’ve always looked at me like i’m off limits.”
you clench your jaw. “you are off-limits.”
“then i’ll stay here,” he says, grounding his palms on the cold concrete. “i’ll stay here until you believe that you mean more to me than your brother’s friendship. that i’d ruin it all just to be yours. just—don’t give any part of you to me on a silver platter.”
you want to slam the door. scream at him. ask him why he kissed you like you meant everything, then disappeared like you meant nothing.
but instead, you ask, “why now?”
his voice breaks. “i miss you.”
you flinch like the words hit your skin.
“you don’t get to say that.”
“i do,” he says, eyes searching yours. “i miss how you waited up for me, even when i told you not to. i miss how you looked at me like you saw me. not just as your brother’s friend. not just some guy. but me.”
you don’t even realize your eyes are burning until you blink, and a tear slips down your cheek.
“i miss being someone to you.”
your chest aches. your hands tremble.
and still, you don’t speak.
so heeseung pushes himself up slowly, still kneeling as he takes your hand, hesitant like he thinks you’ll pull away. you don’t.
“i was scared,” he says. “but i’m more scared of losing you.”
the next few seconds blur.
your hands curl into his soaked hoodie as you yank him up.
his mouth crashes into yours—desperate, aching, starved.
you don’t stop him.
you press into him like you’re trying to make up for every second lost. every late night waiting. every almost. his hands find your waist, then your hips, then your face, cupping you like you’re something sacred and slipping through his fingers all at once.
his lips are warm despite the rain, and when he pulls back for half a breath, it’s only to whisper, “tell me to stop and i will.”
you shake your head, grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie and dragging him back in.
the kiss turns messier, hungrier—teeth grazing lips, breath mingling, soft gasps swallowed in the space between your mouths.
his hands slide under your shirt, not too high, not too far—just enough to feel your skin and shiver.
“you have no idea,” he pants, “how long i’ve wanted this.”
“then don’t stop,” you whisper, breathless.
and he doesn’t.
not until you’re both pressed against the doorframe, drenched, lips swollen, hearts racing—like maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something you don’t have to hide anymore.
박종성 — park jongseong (dad’s coworker)
🎧 you weren’t supposed to see him again.
you made that clear. told him it was a mistake, that it couldn’t happen again, that you didn’t want to ruin anything. and he let you go—because he thought that’s what you wanted.
but now jay’s at your front door, eyes wild like he ran the whole way here. hair a little messy, shirt untucked, tie missing completely. and when you open the door, the first thing he does is whisper your name like it’s a secret he’s been dying to say out loud.
“don’t slam the door,” he says quickly. “just… let me talk.”
you hesitate. stare at him. you want to be cold—you practiced this. but your fingers twitch against the doorframe and you don’t move.
“i tried to leave it alone,” he breathes. “i told myself you made your choice. but you didn’t even let me fight for you.”
you laugh bitterly. “you think this is a fight? you’re my dad’s coworker, jay. if he finds out—”
“i don’t care anymore,” he cuts in, stepping closer. “i care about you. i care that i haven’t been able to sleep, haven’t been able to stop thinking about what your mouth tastes like when you’re mad at me.”
your breath catches.
“i miss you,” he says, quieter now. “i miss the way you looked at me like i wasn’t a mistake. like you wanted me even when you weren’t supposed to. i miss the way you said my name when i touched you.”
he drops to his knees. right there. on your doorstep.
rain just starting to fall, soaking into the fabric of his dress pants, making him look even more undone.
you get lost staring at his disheveled form.
he’s begging on his knees, hair sticking to his forehead from the rain, eyes pleading glossy and desperate, the soft flicker of light accentuating his jawline.
he’s somehow even more beautiful like this.
he snaps you out of your thoughts when he speaks, his voice low, even. “tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll leave. right now.”
you stare at him. jaw tight. fists clenched.
and then you’re pulling him inside.
the door slams shut behind you and you shove him against it, fingers fisting in his shirt as your mouth crashes into his—furious, messy, breathless.
he groans into you like he’s starving, hands flying to your waist, your face, your neck. touching everywhere at once like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.
your lips part and his tongue slides against yours, hot and slick, and you gasp into the kiss, nails digging into his shoulders.
he pulls back just enough to pant, “i’ll get on my knees again if that’s what it takes. i’ll beg.”
you shake your head, dragging him back in. “shut up and kiss me.”
and he does.
with everything he’s got.
like he’s finally getting oxygen after weeks underwater.
like you’re the only thing worth ruining everything for.
심재윤 — sim jaeyun (soccer captain x art club pres)
🎧 the art room was hushed, filled with the soft scratch of pencils and the faint smell of graphite and paper. you sat near the window, bent over your sketchbook, shadows pooling around your frame. you hadn’t spoken to him in days, and in that silence, jaeyun felt himself unraveling.
he stood at the door for too long, watching you. on the field, he was fearless. the captain. the one everyone looked to. but here, with you refusing to meet his eyes, he felt small. smaller than he ever had in his life.
finally, he crossed the room, his footsteps loud in the quiet. “y/n,” he said, voice soft, almost unsure.
you didn’t look up.
he swallowed hard, voice broken. “please.”
still nothing.
something inside him cracked. he sank down to his knees beside your chair, the scrape against the floor startling a few art club members. he didn’t care. his pride had already been stripped away the moment you’d turned from him.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered, hands pressed together like a prayer. his head bowed, dark hair falling into his face. “i’m so, so sorry.”
your pencil paused mid-line, though you didn’t raise your eyes.
“i was selfish,” his voice shook, raw, stripped of the easy confidence he wore for the world. “i let pride get in the way. i let soccer get in the way. i said things i didn’t mean, and i hurt you—when you’re the only person i never wanted to hurt.”
the words tumbled out, too fast, too desperate. “the truth is, none of it matters without you. not the trophies, not the goals, not the crowd screaming my name. i don’t hear any of it if you’re not there. it’s you i look for in every corner. it’s you i want to share it all with. and when you’re gone, it’s just… empty.”
finally, you looked at him. your gaze was steady, but he could see the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers clenched around your pencil.
jaeyun drew in a shaky breath. “so let me make it right. let me be yours, in whatever way you’ll allow. make me your muse. sketch me, paint me, tear me apart on the page if you need to—just let me stay in your world. i don’t care if i’m nothing more than a shadow you keep in your sketchbook, as long as i’m still yours somehow.”
his knees ached against the floor, but he didn’t move. he reached out slightly, fingers trembling before curling back into his palms. “i don’t need forgiveness right away. i don’t even know if i deserve it. but i love you. i’ve loved you longer than i’ve had the courage to say, and i can’t stand knowing the last thing i gave you was hurt instead of love.”
the words hung heavy between you, the rest of the room blurring into nothing.
your lips parted, a slow inhale, your expression unreadable. “you don’t get forgiven just because you kneel, jaeyun,” you said quietly.
he nodded, eyes burning. “then i’ll stay here as long as it takes. i’ll stay on my knees until you believe me. until you believe i’m yours.”
for the first time in days, the faintest smile ghosted across your face. fragile, hesitant, but there. you set your pencil down, eyes softening just slightly.
“sit still,” you murmured, lifting your sketchbook. “we’ll start with an outline.”
jaeyun’s chest loosened, his smile breaking through the tears that threatened to fall. and as you studied him with the same quiet intensity you gave to your art, he thought there was no place in the world he’d rather be than right here—on his knees, in front of you, finally seen.
박성훈 — park sunghoon (nonchalant x chalant)
🎧 the night was heavy, the kind where the world seemed to press in on itself. you stood with your back to him, arms crossed tightly against your chest. your breaths came shallow, uneven, as if you were holding yourself together by threads.
behind you, park sunghoon lingered. the same boy who always looked untouched, unbothered, cool in every moment—now he looked anything but.
“y/n,” he said quietly.
you didn’t move.
he tried again, his voice rougher this time. “please.”
you turned just enough for him to see your eyes, glinting in the dim light. they were sharp, wounded, and he hated that it was his fault.
“i shouldn’t have said it,” he murmured, his throat tightening. “that you were too much. i thought i was protecting myself, keeping distance the way i always do. but all i did was push away the one person who cared the most. and i didn’t realize how much i needed that—needed you—until i felt what it was like when you stopped.”
your arms tightened around yourself. “you always act like nothing touches you. like nothing matters. but it matters to me. and when you said that… it was like i mattered too much. like loving you out loud was wrong.”
the words cut him deeper than any blade could.
before you could step away, he sank to his knees on the cold floor. the sound of it echoed softly in the room, and you froze. park sunghoon, always so composed, kneeling. his hands pressed together loosely, trembling slightly.
“you’re not too much,” he said, voice breaking. “you’re everything. you’re the only person who’s ever seen me—really seen me—and i was terrified of that. i thought if i pretended to be unaffected, i wouldn’t have to admit how much power you had over me. but the truth is… you already had all of me. you always did.”
tears prickled at your eyes, but you shook your head. “sunghoon, you can’t just—”
“i can,” he interrupted, his tone steady for the first time. “i can kneel here until you believe me. i can apologize until my voice gives out. i don’t care if it ruins whatever image people think i have. i only care if it brings me back to you.”
you looked at him then—really looked. his eyes, usually unreadable, were raw and shining. his jaw clenched like he was fighting to hold himself together, but his posture was broken open, offering himself to you without a shield.
“i love you,” he whispered, and the words sounded foreign on his tongue, as if they’d been locked away too long. “i love you in every way i don’t know how to say. i love you in every silence, every glance, every time i pretended not to care but couldn’t stop watching you anyway. and if loving you means being ‘too much,’ then i want it. i’ll take it. i’ll take every part of you.”
the room fell into silence again, except for your breathing. his knees pressed harder into the floor, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch.
finally, your arms loosened, your defenses cracking. your voice was small when it came out: “you hurt me.”
his eyes softened further. “i know. and i’ll spend as long as it takes proving i’ll never make you feel that way again.”
and for the first time, park sunghoon—who had always been untouchable—felt fragile in front of you, on his knees, waiting not for forgiveness, but for the chance to love you the way you deserved.
김선우 — kim sunoo (sunshine x grumpy)
🎧 the rain had been falling for hours, the kind that soaked into your bones and made the city feel smaller, tighter. you sat on the steps outside the dorm, knees pulled to your chest, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. your phone lay face-down beside you. six missed calls. all from him.
kim sunoo was sunshine—everyone knew that. smiles too bright, laughter too easy, love handed out like it couldn’t ever run out. but you’d learned the hard way that even the sun could burn when you stood too close.
fighting for affection from you never been easy.
the lyric looped in your head, cruel and accurate.
you hadn’t meant to say it. not like that. not during the fight, voices raised, words sharp and ugly. but you’d been exhausted—tired of reaching first, of wanting more than he seemed able to give you in those quiet moments when the smile faded.
“sometimes,” you’d said, bitter and shaking, “it feels like i’m begging you to care.”
his face had fallen. not angry—hurt. that was worse.
“i do care,” he’d said too fast. too light. like he was trying to smile it away.
and that was it. the snap.
“then why does it feel like i’m fighting for scraps?”
you hadn’t stayed long enough to hear his answer.
now the door behind you creaked open.
“y/n.”
his voice was softer than the rain. you didn’t look up.
“if you’re here to tell me i overreacted, don’t,” you said quietly. “i don’t have it in me.”
he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stepped down until he was sitting beside you on the wet concrete, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. you felt his warmth anyway.
“i’m here,” he said, voice trembling just slightly, “to tell you i’m sorry.”
you scoffed, eyes burning. “sorry doesn’t fix it.”
“i know.” his hands twisted in the sleeves of his hoodie. “but i need you to hear me anyway.”
you finally looked at him. his hair was damp, curls flattened by the rain, eyes glossy and red around the edges. sunshine dimmed, flickering.
“i didn’t realize how hard you were fighting,” he whispered. “because loving you feels easy to me. and i thought—stupidly—that if it was easy for me, it must be for you too.”
your chest ached.
“but it’s not,” he continued, swallowing hard. “because i don’t say the things i should. i don’t show it the way you need. and instead of stepping up, i just… smiled. like that would be enough.”
tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them. “i just wanted to feel chosen,” you said, voice breaking. “not like i was asking for too much.”
his breath hitched.
“you were never asking for too much,” he said fiercely. “i was giving you too little.”
then, slowly, impossibly, kim sunoo slid off the step and onto his knees in front of you, rain soaking straight through his jeans.
your heart lurched. “sunoo—what are you doing?”
he shook his head, eyes shining as he looked up at you. “letting you see me. really see me.”
his hands rested on his thighs, trembling. “i’m terrified of failing you. of not being enough once the smiles wear off. so i hide behind them. but you—” his voice cracked, “—you deserve more than a performance.”
the rain blurred everything. the world narrowed to him on his knees, soaked and shaking, pride stripped bare.
“i don’t want you fighting for me,” he whispered. “i want to fight for you. i just didn’t know how to say it without sounding weak.”
your throat tightened. “you hurt me.”
“I know.” tears spilled over now, unchecked. “and i hate myself for it. but please—don’t stop choosing me because i was too scared to choose you out loud.”
your hands trembled as you reached for him, fingers brushing his wet hair. he leaned into the touch instantly, like he’d been holding himself upright on willpower alone.
“this doesn’t fix everything,” you said, echoing the truth you were afraid of.
he nodded, pressing his forehead to your knee. “i don’t want instant forgiveness. i want time. i want to earn it. every day, if that’s what it takes.”
the rain softened to a drizzle. your fingers threaded through his hair, slow and careful.
“i’m tired,” you admitted.
“then rest,” he whispered. “i’ll stay. i won’t make you fight alone again.”
and when you finally pulled him up, wrapping your arms around him as he buried his face into your shoulder, you realized something quietly, painfully true—
loving kim sunoo was never about chasing the sun.
it was about trusting that even when the light dimmed, he would still choose you, and learn—slowly, honestly—how to say it out loud.
양정원 — yang jungwon (stuco pres x delinquent)
🎧 the classroom was empty after hours, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears. you sat on a desk near the back, legs swinging idly, leather jacket hanging off your shoulders, a cigarette you hadn’t even lit twirling between your fingers. the “bad girl” mask was snug, perfect—sharp smirk, heavy eyes, untouchable.
but inside, you were still stinging. his words from earlier clung like smoke.
“i can’t do it anymore, y/n. you’re going to drag me down and you’ll burn me alive with your fire.”
jungwon had said it in frustration, the perfect, disciplined student council president finally snapping under the weight of his feelings for you. and now, here he was, standing in the doorway, his tie loosened, his posture uncharacteristically unsure.
“y/n,” he said quietly.
you didn’t even look up. “go home, president. i’m not in the mood for lectures.”
he flinched at your tone but stepped further in. the air felt heavy, his usual composure stripped thin.
“i’m not here to lecture.”
you tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “oh? what, then? another warning? gonna tell me again how i’ll ruin your perfect little life?”
his throat tightened. shame burned through him. “no. i’m here to say i’m sorry.”
before you could scoff, he dropped to his knees right there on the classroom floor.
your eyes widened. “jungwon—”
he looked up at you, his dark eyes stripped bare of the usual calm, controlled mask he wore for the world. “i didn’t mean it. i didn’t mean a single word. i said those things because i was scared—scared of how much i want you, scared of how you undo me just by being near. i thought if i pushed you away, i could keep control. but the truth is, i lost control the moment i first looked at you.”
you stared at him, cigarette frozen between your fingers, your chest aching.
“you’re not going to drag me down,” he said, voice breaking. “you’re the only one who makes me want to climb higher. and your fire—” he swallowed hard— “it doesn’t scare me. it’s the only thing that makes me feel alive. burn me, y/n. i’d rather be consumed by you than live cold and untouched.”
his knees pressed harder into the tile, his hands trembling as he reached slightly toward you but stopped short. “please. don’t shut me out. i’m not asking for forgiveness tonight. i’m begging for a chance to love you the way i should have from the beginning. properly. honestly. without fear.”
your lips parted, but no words came out. you’d built yourself up to be the fire everyone warned him about, but here he was—on his knees, willing to walk straight into the flames.
“i’m yours,” he whispered. “i’ve been yours all along. i just… needed to stop lying to myself. so here i am. if you’ll have me, i’ll stay on my knees for as long as it takes.”
the silence between you ached, sharp and heavy, until you finally let out a shaky laugh. “you’re insane, jungwon. you know that, right?”
his lips curved into the faintest, broken smile. “only for you.”
and when you finally flicked the unlit cigarette aside and reached down to tug him up by his tie, his chest caved with relief. because for the first time, yang jungwon—the perfect, untouchable student council president—had surrendered, fire and all.
西村力 — nishimura riki (plug!ni-ki x stoner!reader)
🎧 the night was heavy, the kind where even the streetlights buzzed too loud. you sat on the hood of his car, hoodie pulled over your head, smoke curling from the joint in your hand. you looked like stone—like nothing could touch you—but inside, your chest was splitting open, over and over, with the memory of what he’d said.
“i never asked for you.” “you were just a distraction. nothing more.”
the words had come out cold, sharp, in the middle of one of your fights. maybe he thought they’d shut you up. maybe he thought they’d give him back some control. but they’d gutted you instead.
you hadn’t answered a single call since.
“y/n.”
his voice broke through the night. you didn’t look up. you dragged in another breath of smoke, exhaled it slow.
“don’t freeze me out,” he said, closer now. “please.”
you laughed—short, bitter. “what do you care? i was just a distraction, remember? the plug’s toy. the girl you never asked for.”
he flinched like you’d slapped him. and then, before you could blink, he dropped to his knees on the cracked pavement in front of you.
your heart lurched. “riki, get up.”
he shook his head, his voice breaking. “no. not until you hear me. not until you believe me.”
his hands pressed flat to the ground, his hair falling into his face. when he looked up, his eyes were wet, shining with something you’d never seen in him before—fear. “i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t. i said it because i was drowning in how much i want you, in how much i need you. and i thought—if i pushed you away first, if i made you think i didn’t care—then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when you finally saw how fucked up i am and left.”
your throat tightened.
“but you didn’t leave,” he whispered, voice raw. “you stayed. you stayed until i shoved the knife in myself. and i hate myself for it. i hate myself for every second you’ve been carrying those words like they’re true, when the truth is you’re everything. you’re not a distraction. you’re the only thing that ever made all this shit feel real.”
your eyes burned, but you turned away, your voice sharp. “you broke me, riki.”
his own tears fell then, sliding down his cheeks. “then let me break too. let me crawl, let me beg, let me do whatever it takes to put us back together. i’ll bleed on this concrete if that’s what it takes to show you i meant none of it. because the truth—” his voice cracked hard, “—is that i asked for you every damn day i woke up without you. i just didn’t know how to say it.”
and there he was. nishimura riki, the boy no one could touch, the boy who never bent, never begged—on his knees in front of you, broken open, pleading with everything he had left.
the silence between you stretched long, sharp as broken glass. the only sound was the faint buzz of the streetlamp and the shaky breaths leaving riki’s chest. his knees pressed into the pavement, his palms flat against it like he needed the ground to hold him up.
you stared down at him, your jaw tight, your chest aching. seeing him there—nishimura riki, the boy everyone bowed to, the boy who acted like he was untouchable—on his knees, undone, begging… it split something inside you wide open.
but the wound was still raw.
“you can’t just say that,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “you can’t take everything back like it doesn’t matter. you looked me in the eye when you said i was nothing to you.”
he squeezed his eyes shut, his head bowing lower. “i know. i know, and it kills me. i’d give anything to take it back. i thought if i hurt you first, you couldn’t hurt me. but i only ended up cutting myself open with the same blade.”
your throat burned.
he lifted his face again, tears clinging to his lashes, his voice trembling. “i don’t care if you never forgive me, y/n. i just need you to know the truth. i asked for you. every single day. every time i saw you leaning against that wall, laughing at something stupid, every time you rolled your eyes at me. i wanted you. i still want you.”
you blinked hard, fighting the sting. your fingers, still holding the joint, trembled.
slowly—hesitantly—you let it fall to the ground, crushing it under your shoe. and before you could change your mind, you reached forward. your hand brushed against his hair, tentative, shaky.
riki’s breath caught. his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“you hurt me,” you said softly, almost accusingly, though your hand stayed.
his lips parted, his voice breaking. “i know. and i’ll spend the rest of my life proving that i never should’ve. i’ll do whatever it takes, y/n. i’ll crawl through glass, i’ll beg on my knees every night if i have to. just… don’t shut me out.”
his hands lifted, hovering at your knees like he was terrified of pushing too far. “can i?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
your heart thudded painfully. you hesitated, then nodded once.
his fingers touched your knees lightly—so lightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish. you felt the tremor in his touch, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing holding him together.
“i thought i was strong,” he admitted, voice cracking. “but i’ve never felt weaker than i do when you’re not mine.”
your walls splintered. your hand slid down from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against the damp trail a tear had left. he leaned into it instantly, pressing his face into your palm like he could hide there.
“this doesn’t fix everything,” you murmured, your voice fragile.
he nodded quickly, desperate. “i know. i don’t want easy forgiveness. i just want a chance to try. to be better. to be yours.”
you exhaled, shaky, the fight bleeding out of you. and when he finally lowered his head into your lap, arms wrapping around your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away, you didn’t push him off.
instead, you let your fingers thread through his hair, both of you quiet, both of you raw.
and for the first time since his words shattered you, you let yourself feel the truth in his touch—that for all his mistakes, all his fear, nishimura riki was yours. messy. broken. begging. but still, undeniably, yours.
SYNOPSIS ⟢ after suffering a gruelling break-up, y/n vowed to start doing all the things her ex-boyfriend had never let her do before; partying, having fun, and making reckless decisions. during a usual night out, y/n spontaneously decides to try to get inked – which ultimately led her to meet lee heeseung, an independent tattoo artist. meeting heeseung was an embarrassing memory that y/n would like to forget (which she had forgotten by the next morning anyways considering she was completely hammered), however, after encountering each other again by chance – or luck if you call it that – heeseung decides he’s found the perfect canvas for his art; his next muse.
pairing ⟢ tattoo artist! heeseung x party girl! reader
genre ⟢ social media au (smau) + written, strangers to lovers, university au
contains ⟢ profanity, suggestive [sexual] discourse, humour/crack, friendly bullying, highly suggestive scenes, smut (18+), story mainly occurs in NYC, luck as a symbolism like everywhere, alcohol and marijuana consumption, family issues, mentions of mental illness, flawed character(s), gets angsty later on.
featuring ⟢ all of enhypen, yeonjun, beomgyu, and soobin of txt, giselle of aespa, yunjin and chaewon of le sserafim + some cameos of other idols
status: COMPLETED! (21/10/25)
author's note: hii, this is my first smau + fic and i'm also rlly new to tumblr so pls lmk if there are any areas where i can improve on! i've always wanted to write but never had the platform to until i found this community on tumblr!! ANYWAYS enough yappin, i hope you enjoy this smau + fic, this took A LOT of detailed planning to come to life!!! <3
TAGLIST [CLOSED]
reblogs appreciated ♡
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PROFILES
husband beaters | mama a tattoo artis t behind u
CHAPTERS
00 PROLOGUE
01 can i please get uhhh
02 lucky me + written (1.1k words, 7 screenshots)
03 BULLSHIT THATS PRETTY PRIVILEGE
04 no bitch DUCK
05 who are you? + written (1.1k words, 6 screenshots)
06 let me make it up to you
07 agent rik and j-won
08 hee’s behind me isnt he.
09 oh shit, WORLDSTAR! + written (2k words, 7 screenshots)
10 we need to talk.
11 you have a visitor! + written (1k words, 6 screenshots)
12 this is WORSE than a situationship. + written (2.1k words, 9 screenshots)
13 bodega cat except you’re in a tattoo shop instead
14 like NYPD type shit
15 the trolley dilemma (ft. riki)
16 can’t miss my chance + written (1k words)
17 unexpected guest + written (1.3k words, 3 screenshots)
18 computer science with a side of beer and family trauma
19 playing house
20 happy birthday 2x
21 lucky you + written (2.1k words)
22 “what are we?”
23 spring break in albany + written (2.5k words)
24 four-leaf clover + written (2k words)
25 some things are better left unsaid
26 we need to talk, again.
27 ran out of luck + written (1.3k words, 3 screenshots)
28 waiting for you in west village + written (2k words, 3 screenshots)
29 new person, same old mistakes
30 winter in boston + written (2.8k words)
31 disappearing act
32 say it again + written (2.1k words)
33 busy woman
34 why can’t we just give it a shot? + written (1.5k words)
35 last hurrah!
36 graduation day + written (2.4k words, 8 screenshots)
37 EPILOGUE: luckiest man alive
SPIN-OFFS
gen z luv! <3 (sunghoon), part 2
we found love on… hinge? (jake)
PLAYLISTS ⊹˚♬₊⋆
black heart ink’s store playlist (heeseung’s pick)
jacobvanloon
areudirty
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
stormborns
pixelskylines
ellievsbear
