Older than Chan tho (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧28 y .... Is it wrong to have Jeongin as an Bias? (｡•́︿•̀｡)Y'all so creative with your works (◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*。
a drunk voice note meant for your best friend gets sent to a stranger instead. what starts as pure embarrassment turns into the most addictive conversations of your life. late-night texts. long phone calls. a voice that lingers in your head long after you hang up. you both agreed to keep it anonymous.
but what happens when that voice starts sounding a little too familiar?
warnings: 18+ content, strong language, heavy tension, eventual smut, minors dni.
Enhypen x reader 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 Hard thoughts , mdni ⋆.˚ nsfw * enjoy!!
Heeseung - The type of partner who would let you choose what you wanted. He can go hard or he can go soft, no shame in any. Unless he comes home drunk and decides that the choice is his now, it can go two ways. One : With you riding him, praising him like he is your good little boy or Two : you, face down, ass up, hands tied, doggy style until he has made sure you can no longer even breathe without feeling what he has done to you.
Jay - A true gentleman. He would make sure to prep you up properly, following the 2:1 ratio where he would make you cum at least twice before allowing himself to cum. He loves taking care of you, showering you with kisses, gentle thrusts, pure love-making and divine. But when you feel like being the top? Yes, of course, why not? He loves when on special occasions you take control, love when you order him around, pin him or lock him up. In those moments, no one save him because he is exactly where he wants to be.
Jake - The one who would moan ‘Mommy’ while you are cooking to show you how much he needs you. He is a true baby when it comes to intimacy. Bag hugs, prepping while he mutters sweet nothings in your ear, making you feel like you are the only person to ever exist for him. And he is a secret thing for thick, curvy women where he can just go down and make her squirt on his tongue non-stop, loves to kneel into the soft plump thighs where he could spend his entire life.
Sunghoon - The silent killer. Would leave barely audible moans but loves to make you scream. Has a special kink to hear his name leave your lips like a sweet prayer. Hard, unforgiving thrusts that would hit your womb, breasts bouncing, slick running down your thigh, that's his favourite part of the whole process. To turn you into his private cumdump but in public? Super calm and patient, never gets annoyed by you and loves teasing you because you give him the reactions that get him rock hard and painful.
Jungwon - Looks very cute and innocent on the outside, but don’t let that fool you. He is the nastiest and the kinkest out of all the members, would fuck you for hours with no stop because of his crazy stamina, leaving you into a complete where you can’t even mutter a single word. He loves seeing you all fucked out and marked by him, his cum leaking down you thighs. But would he only have sex in your bedroom? Hell no. Whenever he is horny and wherever you are, he would find you and get into it. No guilt.
Sunoo - Another member who has a “mommy” kink. Super submissive and cute, making you want to ruin him and also not want to ruin him at the same time. The one to whimper when you take him in, bounce hard while he sucks on your nipples, his favourite part your body. But when drunk? He is the most dominant out of everyone. Extreme BDSM lover, pain kink who would tie you up and fuck you dumb. So, be ready for both.
Riki - Cute puma who loves to eat you out. Waking up in the morning? His face buried between your thighs. A small break? Fingers immediately finding your sweet cunt and abusing it until you come silently on his fingers. His favourite part of you is definitely your pussy. But beware, he is very possessive about it and doesn’t like it when you use your own hands to on yourself. So, punishment? Denial and edging for hours on end until you finally pass out of exhaustion.
Made this at a random ungodly hour, crazy- ik, hope you enjoyed!!
Synopsis : you’d had enough of Sunghoon’s wicked games and decided to beat him at the very game he created.
Contains: angst, smut, eventual romance, teasing, raw/unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), creampie, jealousy, fingering, big dick sunghoon, mean sunghoon, teasing, arguing, kinda frenemies to lovers, Sunghoon is an asshole in this- he does redeem himself ( we love character growth)
A/N : hiii, this is my first fic on here, I’m aiming for it to be 3 parts at most, this is a very short teaser and is also acting an interest check.
Taglist : comment or like if you’d want to be added to a tag list for when I post the fic.
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He rested his head on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths, and then just as quick as this had all happened, he pulled away from you, tucked himself back into his trousers and started walking away.
Stopping in his tracks momentarily, he looked over his shoulder, threw you a “Not too bad” and then he was gone, leaving you just as you were, confused and in a compromising position.
You stared after him, horrified by what a momentary lapse in judgement had resulted in; you knew he was an asshole and yet, you let lust take over and allowed him to fuck you senseless and then walk away like it was nothing, like you were some sort of easy whore.
The feeling of his still warm cum trickling down your legs snapped you out of your thoughts and back to the sick and twisted reality you were currently in.
You quickly pulled your panties up, tugged your dress down, and tried to make yourself look presentable enough to go back out and face everyone knowing what had just happened… in poor Jake’s kitchen of all places.
You were seething, the ache in your chest was still deep but you were now also astronomically pissed off, the audacity of that man was absolutely ridiculous.
Not bad?… NOT BAD?
How dare he?
There was a special place in hell reserved just for Park Sunghoon and you were going to make sure he would get there.
Fist time discovering your vlog, also I Fainting on the street like 2h ago, this never happened before, my vision was black and I couldn't hear and the next thing I know I was at the ground, little scar on my hand, that's scary it was night and I was alone.
The sungjakejay sucking got me here I would love to read more threesome mlm
mxm thought :)
“Fuck, your asshole is so tight.”
Sunghoon is impossibly wet. His precum oozes from his hard dick and coats himself more than he usually does. Jay, of course, brought lube from his bedroom and let’s Sunghoon use it on himself (or, more accurately, Jay gives his friend a short handjob with lubing up Sunghoon’s cock as the excuse). Jay took the liberty to squirt some of the cold gel onto his fingers to prepare Jake to take Sunghoon’s exceptionally fat dick. The brown-haired boy looked like an innocent puppy feeling fingers near his asshole for the first time, eyes squinting with his mouth hung open. Sunghoon thinks he saw Jake drooling.
The youngest of the trio guides the mushroom head against Jake’s warm hole. It inches in little by little. Sunghoon tries not to push all of his cock in at once no matter how good it feels to be inside of his best friend. Jake’s asshole is so hot and it makes Sunghoon lose his mind. It’s so much tighter than any pussy he’d ever tried. He wonders if any girl would ever let him stick his cock inside of their ass just like Jake is.
“Your cock is massive,” Jay tuts, stroking his own cock with the sound of the lube against his palm echoing around him. “Can barely fit that thing in Jake.”
“I’ll make it fit,” Sunghoon grunts, pushing another inch in only for Jake to scream and clutch onto his friend’s bicep.
“Fuck! Sunghoon!”
“You make my dick so fucking hard, Jake,” Sunghoon groans, pulling himself out just a little only to fuck himself back inside.
“You take him so well,” Jay moans.
Sunghoon presses his chest against Jake’s very own, engulfing his mouth in a kiss that’s spit-ridden. He feels Jake’s cock pressed against his abdomen and the feeling is enough for Sunghoon to shove himself all the way inside his friend, making the boy scream right into his mouth.
“It hurts,” Jake whines, hands clawing at Sunghoon’s broad and muscular upper back. “Too much.”
“But you make me feel so good,” Sunghoon moans against Jake’s messy mouth. “You take my cock so fucking good. Your tight little asshole’s gonna milk me. I’m gonna drain my balls into your sexy fucking ass.”
“Fuck,” Jake moans.
Jay climbs on the bed, knees softly landing on the mattress as he watches his friends fuck before him. Sunghoon, pressing himself on top of Jake with his legs spread, fucks his dick into Jake’s small ass. His big balls swing until they hit skin, slapping away the harder Sunghoon fucks.
Their mixed moans, along with the sound of kissing, brings Jay to his first orgasm. He groans deeply and positions his cock towards the back of Sunghoon’s sack, squirting his cum all over the wrinkled skin as he emptied his cock. Sunghoon moans at the feeling of Jay’s warm cum hitting him where he’s the most sensitive, pushing his tongue flat against Jake’s when he feels Jay pushing his tip against the mess.
Jay drags the head of his cock against Sunghoon’s balls and relishes the way he tenses underneath the unfamiliar touch before standing on the mattress. He drags his tip up his balls, up the crack, and finally right against Sunghoon’s ass before pushing in, making him scream in pure agony because of the dry push.
pairing: billionaire!sunghoon x f!reader
genre: strangers to lovers, smut
warnings: explicit sexual content,unprotected sex (wrap it up irl!), oral (m & f receiving), rough intimacy, overstimulation, possessive themes
synopsis: When Sunghoon is going to be married to the girl he hates, he pulls up at the coffee shop at which you work with a marriage contract!
word count: 11k!
The Seoul skyline glittered like a sea of stars, the city’s pulse humming through the glass walls of Park Sunghoon’s penthouse apartment. At twenty-three, Sunghoon was the epitome of effortless charm—sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a quiet intensity that made hearts race. As the heir to Park Enterprises, one of South Korea’s leading tech conglomerates, his life was a carefully curated blend of privilege and pressure. But tonight, the weight of that pressure felt suffocating.
He leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, his dark hair slightly tousled, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid swirled as he stared out at the city, his mind replaying the conversation from earlier that day. His mother, Park Ji-yeon, had dropped a bombshell over lunch at their family’s sprawling estate in Gangnam.
“Sunghoon-ah,” she’d said, her tone deceptively sweet as she sliced into her kimchi jjigae. “You’re not getting any younger. It’s time to settle down.”
Sunghoon had nearly choked on his rice. “Eomma, I’m twenty-three. I’m not exactly collecting pension checks.”
Her eyes had narrowed, that familiar glint of determination flashing. “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Kang. Her daughter, Soo-jin, is perfect for you. She’s elegant, well-educated, and from a respectable family. I’ve already arranged a meeting for next week.”
The memory made Sunghoon’s jaw clench. Kang Soo-jin. He’d met her once at a charity gala—polished, poised, and painfully artificial. She’d spent the evening name-dropping designers and subtly flaunting her family’s wealth. The idea of spending his life with someone like her made his skin crawl. He wasn’t opposed to marriage, not entirely, but he wanted something real—something that didn’t feel like a business merger.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him from his thoughts. A text from his best friend, Jay: “Heard about the arranged marriage fiasco. You good, man?”
Sunghoon snorted, typing back: “Define ‘good.’ I’d rather jump into the Han River than marry Soo-jin.”
Jay’s reply came instantly: “Then don’t. Find a way out. You’re Park Sunghoon, you always figure it out.”
A way out. Sunghoon set the whiskey down, his mind racing. He needed a plan—something drastic, something his mother couldn’t argue with. That’s when the idea hit him, reckless and bold, like something out of the K-dramas his sister was always watching: a contract marriage.
If he was already “taken,” his mother would have no choice but to back off. But who could he convince to play along? It had to be someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and definitely someone who could handle the scrutiny of his high-profile life.
His thoughts drifted to you.
You, Y/N, were the furthest thing from Sunghoon’s polished world. A barista at a cozy café in Hongdae, you lived paycheck to paycheck, your biggest worry being whether you could afford to fix your ancient laptop or pay your rent on time. At twenty-three, you were fiercely independent, with a sharp wit and a tendency to speak your mind—a trait that often got you into trouble but also made you unforgettable.
You’d met Sunghoon by chance six months ago. He’d wandered into your café late one night, looking like a lost puppy in his tailored suit, clearly out of place among the fairy lights and mismatched furniture. He’d ordered a black coffee, and when you’d jokingly asked if he wanted “a side of existential crisis” with it, he’d actually laughed—a low, genuine sound that had surprised you both.
Since then, he’d become a regular, stopping by whenever his schedule allowed. You didn’t know much about his life beyond what the tabloids screamed—“Park Sunghoon: The Ice Prince of Seoul’s Elite”—but you liked his quiet humor, the way he’d linger at the counter to chat, and how he always tipped generously. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, though neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it.
Tonight, as you wiped down the counter after the evening rush, the bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, expecting another overworked college student, but there was Sunghoon, his black coat dusted with snowflakes, his expression unreadable.
“Hey, stranger,” you called, tossing the rag aside. “You’re late. We’re out of your fancy espresso beans.”
He smirked, shaking snow from his hair. “Good. Your regular coffee’s better anyway.”
You raised an eyebrow, sensing something off. “Rough day? You look like you just lost a fight with a boardroom.”
“Worse,” he said, sliding into a seat at the counter. “My mother’s trying to marry me off.”
You laughed, assuming he was joking, but his serious expression made you pause. “Wait, for real? Like, an arranged marriage? In 2025?”
“Welcome to my life,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “She’s got her heart set on pairing me with some heiress I can barely stand. I need a way out, Y/N.”
You leaned on the counter, intrigued. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your grand escape plan, chaebol boy?”
He hesitated, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There was a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe?—that you’d never seen in him before. “I need someone to marry me. Temporarily. Like… a contract marriage.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” he said, leaning closer, his voice low. “It’d be a business deal. Would you do it with me? We sign a contract, pretend to be married for a year, maybe two, until my mother backs off. I’d make it worth your while—money, a place to live, whatever you need.”
Your heart pounded, not just at the absurdity of the proposal but at the way his gaze held yours, steady and intense. This was straight out of a K-drama, complete with the brooding male lead and the impossible situation. But you weren’t some starry-eyed heroine. You had bills to pay, a life to live, and no time for fairy tales.
“Sunghoon, I’m a barista, not a rom-com actress,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why me? You’ve got a whole rolodex of socialites who’d jump at this.”
“Because I trust you,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. “You’re real, Y/N. You don’t care about my last name or my bank account. And… I don’t know, I just feel like you’d get it.”
You studied him, searching for a catch. The logical part of your brain screamed that this was insane—marrying a near-stranger, even on paper, was a recipe for chaos. But another part, the part that noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with his coffee cup, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, was curious. Maybe even tempted.
“What’s in it for me?” you asked, keeping your tone light to mask the butterflies in your stomach.
“Name your price,” he said. “A new apartment, tuition for that art degree you mentioned once, a car—whatever you want. I’ll take care of everything.”
You whistled, leaning back. “Wow, you’re really selling this. What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he said, but then he hesitated, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Well… we’d have to make it convincing. Public appearances, maybe some events together. And you’d have to move in with me.”
“Move in?” you echoed, your voice rising. “Like, live with you? In your fancy penthouse?”
“It’s part of the deal,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “My mother’s nosy. She’d know if it wasn’t real.”
You laughed, half in disbelief, half in nervous excitement. “This is insane, Sunghoon. You get that, right?”
“I know,” he said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “But I’m desperate. And I think you could use a break from this place.” He gestured at the café, where a leaky pipe dripped in the corner.
You followed his gaze, your resolve wavering. Your life wasn’t glamorous—late nights, sore feet, and a landlord who raised the rent every chance he got. Sunghoon’s offer was a lifeline, but it came with strings. Big, messy, potentially heart-breaking strings.
“I need time to think,” you said finally, your voice softer now.
He nodded, standing up and sliding a business card across the counter. It was sleek, black, with his name and number embossed in gold. “Take as long as you need. But… don’t take too long, okay? The meeting with Soo-jin is next week.”
As he walked out, the bell chiming behind him, you stared at the card, your mind spinning. A contract marriage with Park Sunghoon. It was ridiculous, reckless, and maybe the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to you.
The next few days were a blur. You worked your shifts, smiled at customers, and tried to ignore the way your heart raced every time you thought about Sunghoon’s offer. You’d always prided yourself on being practical, but this? This was uncharted territory.
On your day off, you sat in your tiny studio apartment, the walls paper-thin and the air faintly musty. You pulled out a notebook and started listing pros and cons, like you were planning a grocery trip instead of a fake marriage.
Pros:
Financial security (goodbye, ramen dinners)
A chance to pursue your art degree
Living in a penthouse (hot showers! No leaks!)
Sticking it to Sunghoon’s meddling mom
Cons:
Lying to everyone you know
Pretending to be in love with a guy you barely know
The risk of actually falling for him
The fallout when it ends
That last one made you pause. You’d always kept Sunghoon at arm’s length, treating him like a friendly customer rather than… well, whatever he was becoming. But there was no denying the way your pulse quickened when he smiled, or how you’d started looking forward to his late-night visits. Could you really live with him, act like his wife, and keep your heart out of it?
Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. A text from an unknown number: “This is Sunghoon. Any thoughts yet?”
You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was your chance to back out, to stay safe and keep your life simple. But as you glanced around your cramped apartment, the weight of your dreams pressing against the reality of your bank account, you made a decision.
You typed back: “I’m in. Let’s talk details.”
The next evening, you met Sunghoon at a quiet restaurant in Itaewon, far from the prying eyes of Gangnam’s elite. He was already there when you arrived, dressed down in a black sweater and jeans, but still looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. He stood as you approached, pulling out your chair with a small, nervous smile.
“You came,” he said, like he hadn’t been sure you would.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased, sliding into the seat. “I’m not the one proposing fake marriages.”
He chuckled, but there was a tension in his shoulders, like he was carrying the weight of the world. “Fair enough. So… how do we do this?”
You leaned forward, your voice low. “First, we need ground rules. No funny business, Park. This is a business deal, not a love story.”
His eyes flickered with something—amusement, maybe, or disappointment. “Agreed. No funny business. We’ll keep it professional.”
You spent the next hour hammering out the details: a one-year contract, renewable if needed; a generous monthly stipend for you; a shared penthouse but separate bedrooms; and a strict no-falling-in-love clause, which you insisted on even as your stomach twisted at the thought.
“We’ll need to sell it,” Sunghoon said, sipping his coffee. “My mother’s sharp. She’ll smell a rat if we’re not convincing.”
“Meaning?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hand-holding, maybe some couple-y stuff in public. Nothing too crazy, just enough to make it believable.”
You nodded, ignoring the way your heart skipped at the idea of holding his hand. “Fine. But if you try to call me ‘jagiya’ in private, I’m out.”
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Deal. Anything else?”
You hesitated, then said, “Yeah. Don’t break my heart, okay? I know this is fake, but… let’s keep it clean.”
His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more. But he just nodded. “I promise.”
By the time you left the restaurant, the contract was drafted on a napkin—sloppy, but binding in its own way. As you stepped into the chilly night, Sunghoon beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just signed up for more than you’d bargained for.
The sterile glow of the law firm's conference room felt like a hospital ward, all polished wood and sharp edges. You sat across from Sunghoon, your palms clammy as the lawyer, a middle-aged man with a permanent frown, droned on about non-disclosure agreements. The nap agreement from that night in Itaewon had evolved into a crisp, intimidating stack of papers, each clause a reminder of the surreal choice you’d made.
Sunghoon, dressed in a navy suit that probably cost more than your rent for a year, looked calm—too calm. His posture was perfect, his expression neutral, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped a subtle rhythm against his thigh under the table. Nervous. It was a tiny crack in his polished facade, and it made you feel a little less like you were spiraling into madness alone.
“Miss Y/N,” the lawyer said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “You understand that this contract is legally binding for a minimum of one-year terms, renewable only by mutual consent? Upon termination, you’ll receive the agreed-upon compensation, provided all confidentiality clauses are adhered to.”
You nodded, your throat dry. “Yes, I get it.”
The contract was airtight: one year as Park Sunghoon’s wife on paper, complete with a monthly stipend of ₩50 million (about $40,000), a furnished penthouse in Gangnam, and a full ride for your art degree at Hongik University. In exchange, you’d play the doting wife at public events, live under the same roof, and keep your mouth shut about the arrangement. There was even a clause about “appropriate public affection” to maintain the illusion—hand-holding, smiles, maybe a staged peck on the cheek if the cameras were rolling.
Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon, who was scanning the document with a focus that made you wonder if he was memorizing it. “You good with this?” you asked, keeping your tone light despite the knot in your stomach.
He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Yeah. You?”
You shrugged, faking nonchalance. “Guess I’m ready to be Mrs. Park for a year.”
The lawyer cleared his throat, clearly unamused by your sarcasm. “If there are no objections, please sign here and here.” He slid the contract toward you, pointing to the dotted lines.
You picked up the pen, its weight heavier than it should’ve been. This was it—no turning back. You scrawled your signature, the ink bleeding slightly on the paper, and passed it to Sunghoon. He signed without hesitation, his handwriting sharp and precise, like everything else about him.
“Congratulations,” the lawyer said dryly, gathering the papers. “You’re now legally married.”
The words hit like a punch. Married. To Park Sunghoon. You forced a laugh, glancing at him. “No confetti? No cake?”
He smirked, loosening his tie slightly. “I’ll owe you a cake. Let’s get out of here.”
Two days later, you stood in the doorway of Sunghoon’s penthouse, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder and a cardboard box at your feet. Your entire life fit into those two items, a stark contrast to the sprawling, minimalist luxury before you. The place was straight out of an architectural magazine—open-concept, with sleek black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of Seoul’s skyline that made your jaw drop. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood and wealth.
Sunghoon appeared from the hallway, casual in a white T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair damp like he’d just showered. “You made it,” he said, eyeing your meager belongings. “That’s… all your stuff?”
You bristled, hugging the duffel tighter. “Not everyone needs a walk-in closet, Park. Where’s my room?”
He led you down a corridor lined with abstract art, stopping at a door. “Here. I had it set up for you.”
The room was bigger than your old apartment, with a king-sized bed, a desk by a massive window, and an en-suite bathroom that looked like a spa. A sketchpad and a set of expensive colored pencils sat on the desk—new, still in their packaging. You turned to him, surprised. “You… got me art supplies?”
He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You said you wanted to study art. Figured you’d need them.”
The gesture caught you off guard, a flicker of warmth softening the edges of your wariness. “Thanks,” you mumbled, setting your bag down. “So, what now? Do we start practicing our lovey-dovey act?”
He leaned against the doorframe, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Not yet. First, we need to survive dinner with my mother tomorrow.”
Your stomach dropped. “Tomorrow? Already?”
“She’s insistent,” he said, his tone grim. “She wants to meet her new daughter-in-law. We need to be convincing, or she’ll sniff out the lie faster than you can say ‘contract.’”
You groaned, flopping onto the bed. “Great. Nothing like a high-stakes family dinner to kick off our fake marriage.”
The Park family estate was a fortress of elegance, nestled in the heart of Gangnam. Chandeliers dripped crystal, and the dining room table could’ve seated a small parliament. You felt like a fish out of water in your borrowed dress—a sleek, burgundy number Sunghoon had insisted you wear, claiming it was “appropriate for the occasion.” It hugged your figure in a way that made you hyper-aware of every step, especially with Sunghoon’s hand resting lightly on your lower back as you entered.
Park Ji-yeon, Sunghoon’s mother, was a vision of timeless beauty, her sharp eyes scanning you like a hawk assessing prey. Beside her sat Sunghoon’s older sister, Min-ji, who offered a warm smile that felt like a lifeline.
“Y/N, darling,” Ji-yeon said, her voice smooth but edged with scrutiny. “Sunghoon tells me you met at a café. How… quaint.”
You forced a smile, channeling every K-drama heroine you’d ever seen. “Yes, Mrs. Park. I work there. Sunghoon was a regular, and, well, one thing led to another.” You glanced at him, hoping your nerves didn’t show.
Sunghoon’s hand slid to yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’s being modest,” he said, his voice warm. “Y/N’s the only person who could make me drink decaf and like it.”
Min-ji laughed, but Ji-yeon’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “How charming. And so sudden, this marriage. No engagement, no introduction… just a wedding.”
You felt Sunghoon tense beside you, but you jumped in before he could speak. “We didn’t want to wait,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his. “When you know, you know, right?”
Ji-yeon’s gaze flickered between you, calculating. “Indeed. Well, Y/N, I hope you’re prepared for the responsibilities of being a Park. Our family has… expectations.”
The rest of the dinner was a minefield of pointed questions and subtle jabs. Ji-yeon grilled you on your background, your education, even your taste in wine, while Sunghoon deftly redirected the conversation whenever she got too close to the truth. By dessert, you were exhausted, your smile brittle.
As you left, Sunghoon’s hand found yours again, this time lingering as you walked to the car. “You did good,” he murmured, opening the passenger door for you. “She didn’t suspect a thing.”
You exhaled, sinking into the seat. “She’s terrifying. I need a drink.”
He chuckled, starting the engine. “You and me both.”
Back at the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, collapsing onto the couch. Sunghoon loosened his tie, pouring two glasses of wine from a bottle that probably cost more than your old rent. He handed you one, sitting beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his arm through his shirt.
“To surviving round one,” he said, clinking his glass against yours.
You took a sip, the rich flavor calming your nerves. “Your mom’s intense. Does she ever… chill?”
“Nope,” he said, leaning back. “She’s been like that since I was a kid. Always planning, always controlling. It’s why I need this to work.”
You studied him, the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Why do you hate the idea of marrying Soo-jin so much? I mean, she’s annoying, sure, but is it just her?”
He was quiet for a moment, swirling his wine. “It’s not just her. It’s what she represents. My mother’s been trying to mold my life since I was born—perfect grades, perfect job, perfect wife. Soo-jin’s just another piece of her puzzle. I want…” He trailed off, glancing at you. “I want something that’s mine. Not hers.”
The honesty in his voice hit you harder than you expected. You set your glass down, turning to face him. “Then let’s make this work. We’ll fool her, Sunghoon. We’ll be the perfect fake couple.”
He smiled, but there was something soft in it, something that made your chest tighten. “You’re tougher than you look, Y/N.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “And you’re not as icy as the tabloids say, Park.”
For a moment, you just sat there, the city lights twinkling outside, the silence between you comfortable. But then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.
“What?” you asked, sensing the shift.
“It’s my mother,” he said, his voice flat. “She’s invited us to a gala next week. Says it’s the perfect chance to ‘introduce you to society.’”
Your heart sank. Another performance, another test. “Great,” you muttered. “More pretending.”
He looked at you, his gaze steady. “We’ve got this. Right?”
You nodded, but as you sipped your wine, you couldn’t shake the feeling that pretending was starting to feel a little too real.
The next few days were a whirlwind. Sunghoon’s assistant, a brisk woman named Ms. Kim, showed up with a stylist, a makeup artist, and a rack of designer dresses for the gala. You spent hours trying on gowns, each one more extravagant than the last, while Sunghoon worked in his home office, fielding calls and emails.
But at night, when the penthouse was quiet, you’d find yourselves on the couch again, sharing takeout and stories. You told him about your childhood in a small town, your dream of becoming an artist. He told you about sneaking out to skate on frozen ponds as a kid, the one place he felt free. The walls between you were crumbling, and you weren’t sure if that was part of the plan or something neither of you could control.
One night, as you practiced “couple poses” for the gala—his arm around your waist, your hand on his chest—you caught him staring. Not at your face, but at the way your fingers rested against his heartbeat.
“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He shook his head, stepping back. “Nothing. Just… you’re good at this.”
You smiled, but your heart was racing. “Told you I’m a quick learner.”
As he walked away, you touched your hand, still warm from his chest, and wondered how long you could keep calling this a game.
The grand ballroom of the Lotte Hotel Seoul shimmered like a fever dream, its chandeliers casting prisms of light across the sea of silk gowns and tailored tuxedos. The air was thick with perfume, ambition, and the soft clink of champagne flutes. You stood at the top of the sweeping staircase, your arm looped through Sunghoon’s, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it over the string quartet below.
Your gown, a deep emerald creation with delicate lace sleeves, felt like armor—beautiful, but heavy. The stylist had swept your hair into an elegant updo, and the diamond necklace Sunghoon had insisted you wear glittered coldly against your skin. You weren’t Y/N the barista tonight; you were Y/N, Park Sunghoon’s wife, and the weight of that role pressed against your chest.
“Ready?” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low and steady. He looked devastating in his black tuxedo, his hair swept back, every inch the untouchable chaebol heir. But his eyes, when they met yours, held a flicker of something warmer—reassurance, maybe, or a shared secret.
You forced a smile, gripping his arm a little tighter. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s not trip down the stairs and ruin the illusion.”
He chuckled, the sound easing your nerves. “Follow my lead. We’ve got this.”
As you descended, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd—“Is that her?” “Park Sunghoon’s wife?” “She’s not what I expected.” You kept your chin high, your expression serene, but inside, you were cataloging every glance, every smirk. This was your first real test as a couple, and failure wasn’t an option.
At the bottom of the stairs, Park Ji-yeon waited, her silver gown making her look like a queen surveying her court. Beside her stood Kang Soo-jin, the heiress Sunghoon was supposed to marry, her crimson dress clinging to her like a second skin. Soo-jin’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass, her eyes flicking over you with thinly veiled disdain.
“Sunghoon, darling,” Ji-yeon said, kissing his cheek before turning to you. “Y/N, you clean up well. I was almost worried you’d show up in… what was it? An apron?”
The jab landed, but you laughed, light and practiced. “Thank you, Mrs. Park. I figured I’d save the apron for the kitchen at home.” You leaned into Sunghoon, your hand brushing his chest, and felt him tense slightly before relaxing.
Soo-jin stepped forward, her voice syrupy. “Y/N, is it? Such a… charming story, you and Sunghoon. A barista and a billionaire. It’s like a fairy tale.”
You met her gaze, your smile unwavering. “Isn’t it? Sometimes life surprises you.” You glanced at Sunghoon, letting your eyes soften just enough to sell the lie. “I’m lucky to have found him.”
Sunghoon’s hand slid to your waist, his touch warm through the fabric of your dress. “I’m the lucky one,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that made Soo-jin’s smile falter.
Ji-yeon clapped her hands, drawing attention. “Let’s not stand here gawking. Sunghoon, Y/N, you’ll join us at the main table. The press is watching.”
The gala was a whirlwind of names and faces—CEOs, politicians, socialites, all eager to curry favor with the Park family. You smiled through introductions, laughed at bad jokes, and sipped champagne to steady your nerves. Sunghoon was a natural, charming without effort, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened when someone mentioned his “sudden marriage” or asked about your background.
At the main table, you were seated between Sunghoon and his sister, Min-ji, who whispered, “You’re killing it, Y/N. Mom’s rattled, and that’s rare.” Her grin was infectious, and you felt a surge of gratitude for her kindness.
Ji-yeon, however, was relentless. “Y/N,” she said over the salad course, her voice carrying, “what do your parents do? We know so little about your family.”
The table went quiet, forks pausing mid-air. You’d prepped for this, but the spotlight still burned. “My parents run a small bookstore in my hometown,” you said, keeping your tone warm. “It’s nothing grand, but it’s home.”
“How sweet,” Soo-jin said, her smile predatory. “A bookstore. So… quaint. Must be quite a change, moving into Sunghoon’s world.”
Sunghoon’s hand found yours under the table, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “It’s a change I’m grateful for,” he said, his voice firm. “Y/N brings something real to my life. Not everyone can say that.”
The dig wasn’t lost on Soo-jin, whose eyes narrowed. You squeezed his hand back, your heart doing an inconvenient flip at his words, even if they were just part of the act.
The night wore on, and you found yourself relaxing into the role. You laughed at Sunghoon’s dry humor, leaned into his touch when he draped an arm over your chair, and even managed a playful whisper in his ear during a lull, earning a genuine smile that made your chest ache. The line between pretending and feeling was blurring, and you weren’t sure how to stop it.
After dinner, the band struck up a waltz, and couples flooded the dance floor. Ji-yeon’s voice cut through the chatter: “Sunghoon, Y/N, you must dance. It’s tradition for newlyweds.”
Your stomach twisted. You’d practiced a few steps with Sunghoon in the penthouse—clumsy, laughing attempts that ended with you stepping on his toes—but this was different. Hundreds of eyes would be on you, judging every move.
Sunghoon stood, offering his hand. “Shall we, Mrs. Park?”
You took it, your pulse racing, and let him lead you to the floor. The music swelled, and he pulled you close, one hand on your waist, the other guiding yours. His grip was steady, his posture confident, and as you began to move, you realized he was an excellent dancer.
“Don’t look at your feet,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Look at me.”
You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him. The room faded—the crowd, the cameras, even Ji-yeon’s piercing stare. It was just you and Sunghoon, swaying to the music, his dark eyes holding yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured, spinning you gently. “Better than when you crushed my toes last week.”
You laughed, the sound surprising you. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Never,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. But his hand tightened on your waist, and for a moment, you forgot this was a performance. The way he looked at you, the way his touch sent sparks across your skin—it felt real.
The song ended, and the crowd applauded, snapping you back to reality. Sunghoon stepped back, bowing slightly, but his hand lingered on yours a second too long. You curtsied, your cheeks flushed, and as you returned to the table, you caught Soo-jin’s glare, sharp and venomous.
Later, as Sunghoon spoke with a group of investors, you slipped away to the balcony for air. The city sparkled below, but your mind was a tangle of emotions. The dance, Sunghoon’s words, the way your heart kept betraying you—you needed a moment to breathe.
“You’re quite the actress.”
You turned to find Soo-jin leaning against the railing, a flute of champagne in her hand. Her crimson dress glowed under the balcony lights, but her expression was ice-cold.
“Excuse me?” you said, keeping your voice even.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know a gold-digger when I see one. Sunghoon’s just a stepping stone for you, isn’t he?”
Anger flared, but you held it in check. “You don’t know anything about me. Or us.”
She laughed, low and mocking. “Us? Please. Sunghoon’s only with you to spite his mother. You’re a placeholder, a cheap distraction. He’ll tire of you soon enough.”
Her words stung, hitting every insecurity you’d buried. You opened your mouth to retort, but a voice cut through the night.
“That’s enough, Soo-jin.”
Sunghoon stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous. He stepped between you, his presence a shield. “You don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”
Soo-jin’s smile didn’t waver. “Wife? For now, maybe. But we both know this won’t last, Sunghoon. You can’t run from who you are.”
He took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “I know exactly who I am. And I chose Y/N. Get used to it.”
Soo-jin’s composure cracked, her eyes flashing with fury, but she turned and stalked back inside without another word. Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then turned to you.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.
You nodded, but your throat was tight. “Yeah. She’s… intense.”
“She’s jealous,” he said bluntly. “And she’s wrong. You’re not a placeholder, Y/N. You’re…” He stopped, like he’d said too much, and the unspoken words hung heavy between you.
You wanted to ask what he meant, but the vulnerability in his eyes stopped you. Instead, you touched his arm, your voice quiet. “Thanks for having my back.”
He looked at you, his expression unreadable, then nodded. “Always.”
The ride home was quiet, the city lights blurring past the car windows. You replayed the night in your head—the dance, Soo-jin’s venom, Sunghoon’s defense. Your heart was a mess, and the contract’s “no falling in love” clause felt like a cruel joke.
At the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, the silence between you heavy. Sunghoon loosened his tie, his movements restless.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I mean it. You held your own.”
You managed a smile, unzipping your dress at the side. “Team effort. You’re not bad yourself, Mr. Park.”
He laughed, but it was strained. “Y/N… about what Soo-jin said—”
“Don’t,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. “She’s just trying to get under my skin. I’m fine.”
He studied you, his eyes searching. “You sure?”
No, you weren’t. But admitting that would mean admitting how much his words, his touch, his presence were starting to mean to you. So you nodded, turning away. “I’m sure. I’m going to bed.”
As you walked to your room, you felt his gaze on your back, heavy and unspoken. You closed the door, leaning against it, your heart racing. This was supposed to be a game, a contract, a lie. So why did it feel like you were falling for real?
The penthouse felt like a cage, its sleek luxury mocking the chaos in your heart. Three days had passed since the gala, and Sunghoon’s defense against Soo-jin still echoed in your mind—his voice, firm and protective, calling you his wife. But the warmth of that moment was fading under the weight of his distance. He was drowning in work, leaving before dawn and returning long after you’d retreated to your room. His smiles were fleeting, his words clipped, and the growing silence between you was louder than any argument.
You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered pencils and half-finished sketches. Your latest drawing—a study of Sunghoon’s hands, their elegance and strength—stared back at you, a quiet confession you couldn’t voice. The contract forbade feelings, but your heart was breaking the rules, and the ache was unbearable.
The doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. Frowning, you glanced at the clock—9:23 p.m. Sunghoon hadn’t mentioned visitors. Brushing charcoal dust from your jeans, you opened the door to find a delivery boy, barely older than a high schooler, holding a steaming bag of takeout.
“Order for… Mrs. Park?” he said, squinting at the receipt.
The title still made your stomach flip. “That’s me, but I didn’t order anything.”
He shrugged, thrusting the bag at you. “It’s paid for. Have a good night!” He darted off before you could argue.
Inside were boxes of japchae, bulgogi, and your favorite spicy kimchi jjigae, still hot. Tucked between the containers was a napkin with a scrawled note: Stop skipping meals. You’re worse than me. —S. Your chest tightened. Even buried in work, Sunghoon had noticed. You set the food on the counter, the note tucked into your pocket like a secret.
When he came home at 11:47 p.m., you were still awake, nibbling on the japchae. He looked wrecked—tie askew, hair mussed, shadows under his eyes. “You’re up late,” he said, dropping his briefcase by the door.
“Thanks for the food,” you replied, gesturing to the containers. “Didn’t expect you to play delivery fairy.”
He managed a tired smile, grabbing a water from the fridge. “You looked like you were about to eat your sketchbook yesterday. Had to intervene.”
You laughed, but it felt hollow. The distance between you was a chasm, and you couldn’t keep pretending it was fine. “Sunghoon,” you said, setting your chopsticks down. “What’s going on? You’re… gone. Physically, mentally, all of it.”
He froze, the water bottle halfway to his lips. “It’s just work, Y/N. You know how it is.”
“Do I?” you pressed, standing. “Because it feels like you’re avoiding me. Ever since the gala, you’ve been a ghost.”
His jaw tightened, and he set the bottle down with a thud. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m trying to keep things together.”
“Things?” you echoed, stepping closer. “What things? The company? Us? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”
His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or fear—but he masked it quickly. “You’re reading too much into it. I’m just swamped.”
The dismissal stung, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”
The words hung in the air, raw and exposing. Sunghoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something real. But his phone buzzed, slicing through the tension. He glanced at it, his face hardening.
“I have to take this,” he said, already turning toward his office.
“Sunghoon—” you started, but the door clicked shut, cutting you off.
Frustration burned in your chest. You weren’t his real wife, but you were his partner, weren’t you? Why was he locking you out? Grabbing your phone, you texted Min-ji: Can we meet? I need to talk about Sunghoon. Her reply was instant: Tomorrow, 2 p.m., Café Bloom. Hang in there.
Café Bloom smelled of roasted beans and fresh pastries, its cozy vibe a stark contrast to the storm in your head. Min-ji was already there, her usual brightness dimmed by concern. “Y/N,” she said as you sat, “you look like you haven’t slept. What’s wrong?”
You exhaled, the weight of everything spilling out. “Sunghoon’s shutting me out. He’s barely home, and when he is, he’s… not really there. I don’t know if it’s the company, or his mom, or me. I just… I don’t know what to do.”
Min-ji’s expression turned serious. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but you need the truth. Sunghoon’s company is in deeper trouble than he’s letting on. There’s a hostile takeover bid from a rival conglomerate—not Soo-jin’s family, but close enough that Mom’s using it to push her agenda. She’s threatening to cut Sunghoon off completely if he doesn’t agree to merge with Soo-jin’s company. He’s been fighting it, but it’s killing him.”
Your heart sank. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he’s stubborn,” Min-ji said, frustration lacing her voice. “He thinks he can fix it without dragging you into the mess. But there’s more. Mom’s got people watching you two, looking for any crack in your marriage. She’s convinced it’s fake, and if she proves it, she’ll use it to force Sunghoon’s hand.”
The news hit like a punch. “Watching us? Like… spies?”
“Not spies, exactly,” Min-ji said, sipping her latte. “But she’s got connections—people who report back. Photographers at events, even staff at the penthouse. You need to be careful, Y/N. And you need to talk to Sunghoon. He’s drowning, and he won’t ask for help.”
You nodded, your mind racing. The stakes were higher than you’d realized, and Sunghoon’s distance wasn’t just work—it was sacrifice. But the secrecy hurt, and you couldn’t keep playing this game blind.
That night, you waited up, determined to break through. Sunghoon stumbled in at 1:03 a.m., his suit rumpled, his eyes bloodshot. He stopped short when he saw you on the couch, a mug of tea gone cold in your hands.
“Y/N? It’s late,” he said, his voice rough.
“We’re talking,” you said, standing. “No excuses, no phone calls. I met Min-ji today. She told me about the takeover, your mom, the merger. Why didn’t you trust me with this?”
His face paled, and he sank onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “Min-ji shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t blame her,” you cut in, sitting beside him. “I deserve to know. We’re supposed to be a team, Sunghoon. You can’t keep me in the dark and expect me to play along.”
He looked at you, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. My mother… she’s ruthless. If she thinks you’re a liability, she’ll go after you—your art, your future, everything. I thought I could handle it alone.”
“Alone doesn’t work,” you said, your voice softer now. “We signed that contract together. Let me fight with you.”
He was quiet, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers cold but steady. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”
“I do,” you said, squeezing his hand. “And I’m not running.”
For the first time in days, he smiled—a real, broken smile that made your heart ache. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one,” you teased, but the air was heavy with unspoken truths.
He exhaled, pulling you closer until your shoulder brushed his. “Okay. No more secrets. The takeover bid is from HanTech. They’re offering a buyout, but it would gut the company—layoffs, rebranding, everything my father built. Mom’s pushing Soo-jin’s family as a merger partner to counter it, but their terms would give them control. I’ve been meeting with investors, trying to raise capital to fight HanTech, but it’s not enough.”
The weight of it crushed you, but you kept your voice steady. “What’s our next move?”
He looked at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Our?”
“Our,” you confirmed. “I’m your wife, fake or not. We do this together.”
He nodded, a spark of determination returning. “There’s a charity auction tomorrow night. Big players will be there—potential investors. If we can charm them, show a united front, it might buy us time.”
“Then we charm the hell out of them,” you said, a fierce resolve settling in. “But Sunghoon… no more walls. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he said, his voice low and raw. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering, and the simple touch sent your heart racing. The line between pretending and feeling was razor-thin, and you were teetering on the edge.
The next evening, you stood before the mirror in a sapphire-blue gown, its off-shoulder design accentuating your collarbone, the fabric shimmering like starlight. Sunghoon had chosen it, saying it matched your eyes, and the memory of his quiet compliment warmed your cheeks. Your hair was styled in loose waves, a diamond choker glinting at your throat.
Sunghoon appeared behind you, his reflection in the mirror stealing your breath. His tuxedo was tailored to perfection, his hair swept back, every inch the chaebol heir. But his eyes, when they met yours, were soft, almost vulnerable.
“You look…” He paused, searching for words. “Like you belong here.”
You turned, smiling to hide the flutter in your chest. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Park. Ready to save your empire?”
He offered his arm, a playful glint in his eyes. “With you? Always.”
The auction was held at the Four Seasons, its ballroom dripping with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light, and the air buzzed with the chatter of Seoul’s elite. You and Sunghoon moved through the crowd, your arm looped through his, your smiles practiced but genuine. You laughed at his dry humor, leaned into his touch, and played the perfect couple, all while scanning for allies.
During a lull, you excused yourself to the balcony, needing air. The city sparkled below, but your mind was on Sunghoon—his promise, his touch, the way he’d looked at you tonight. You were falling, hard, and it terrified you.
A voice broke your thoughts. “Enjoying the view, Mrs. Park?”
You turned to find a man in his forties, his suit impeccable, his smile too sharp. “I’m Choi Min-ho,” he said, offering a hand. “HanTech’s CFO. I’ve been… curious about Sunghoon’s new wife.”
Your guard went up, but you shook his hand, keeping your smile. “Y/N. Nice to meet you. Curious in what way?”
He chuckled, leaning against the railing. “Oh, just business. Sunghoon’s fighting a losing battle, you know. HanTech’s offer is generous. He’d be wise to take it—and you’d benefit, too. A fresh start, no strings.”
The implication was clear: he knew, or suspected, your marriage was a sham. “My husband’s not one to give up,” you said, your voice cool. “And neither am I.”
Choi’s smile didn’t waver. “Loyalty’s admirable. But if you ever… reconsider, here’s my card.” He slipped it into your hand, his fingers brushing yours too long. “Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets.”
Before you could respond, Sunghoon appeared, his expression thunderous. “Choi,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Step away from my wife.”
Choi raised his hands, smirking. “Just a chat, Park. No harm done.” He walked off, leaving you with the card and a chill down your spine.
Sunghoon turned to you, his eyes searching. “What did he want?”
You hesitated, then handed him the card. “He’s trying to rattle us. Said you’re fighting a losing battle. And… implied he knows about us.”
Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, but he took your hand, grounding you. “He’s bluffing. HanTech’s desperate. We’re getting to them.”
You nodded, but Choi’s words—Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets—echoed in your mind. What did he mean? Was there something Sunghoon was still hiding, or was it just a ploy?
Back inside, you danced with Sunghoon, his arm steady around you, his gaze never leaving yours. The world faded, and for a moment, it was just you two, hearts beating too close. But as the song ended, you caught Ji-yeon’s stare from across the room, cold and calculating, and reality crashed back.
Later, in the car, you leaned against the window, the card burning a hole in your clutch. Sunghoon reached for your hand, his voice soft. “You were incredible tonight. Thank you.”
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “We’re a team, right?”
“Right,” he said, but his grip tightened, like he sensed the storm coming.
At the penthouse, you slipped off your heels, your mind racing. Choi’s words, Ji-yeon’s stare, the secrets—something was brewing, and you needed answers. Tomorrow, you’d dig, starting with HanTech. But as you glanced at Sunghoon, loosening his tie, his eyes catching yours with quiet intensity, you wondered: could you handle the truth, whatever it was?
The penthouse was a fortress of glass and steel, but it couldn’t shield you from the storm brewing inside. Choi Min-ho’s cryptic words from the auction—Sunghoon’s not the only one with secrets—had burrowed into your mind, festering alongside the weight of Ji-yeon’s relentless scrutiny and the fragile trust you’d built with Sunghoon. The contract marriage, once a clear-cut deal, was now a tangled web of emotions, and you were running out of time to unravel it.
You woke to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, the city below already humming. Sunghoon was gone, a note on the kitchen counter scrawled in his sharp handwriting: Early meeting. Back by lunch. Don’t skip breakfast. —S. The gesture warmed you, but it couldn’t erase the unease gnawing at your heart. You needed answers, and you couldn’t wait for him to hand them to you.
Over coffee, you pulled out your laptop, diving into research on HanTech. Their takeover bid was aggressive, backed by a consortium of investors with ties to Soo-jin’s family. Choi’s involvement as CFO suggested he was more than a messenger—he was a player, and his interest in you felt calculated. A quick search on his name turned up polished profiles and bland interviews, but a buried article from a small business blog caught your eye: HanTech CFO Linked to Shady Offshore Accounts. The piece was vague, lacking hard evidence, but it hinted at secrets worth digging into.
You texted Min-ji: Need your help. Can you find anything on Choi Min-ho or HanTech’s finances? Discreetly. Her reply was swift: On it. Give me a day. Be careful, Y/N. You tucked Choi’s business card, still in your clutch from the auction, into your desk drawer. Meeting him was tempting, but too risky—yet.
Sunghoon returned at noon, looking sharper than his note suggested, his suit pristine but his eyes tired. “You’re up,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Thought you’d sleep in after last night.”
“Couldn’t,” you said, closing your laptop. “Too much on my mind. We need to talk about Choi.”
His expression darkened, but he nodded, sitting across from you. “What did he say to you, exactly?”
You recounted the balcony conversation, leaving out nothing—Choi’s veiled threats, his implication about secrets, the card. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming the table. “He’s trying to scare you,” he said. “HanTech’s desperate. They know we’re close to securing an investor to block their bid.”
“Then why did he say you have secrets?” you pressed, your voice steady but searching. “Is there something I don’t know, Sunghoon?”
He met your gaze, his eyes conflicted. “Y/N, I’ve told you everything that matters. The company, my mother, the merger pressure—it’s all on the table. Choi’s just playing mind games.”
You wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered, a splinter you couldn’t pull out. “Okay,” you said, forcing a smile. “But if we’re a team, no more surprises. Deal?”
“Deal,” he said, his hand brushing yours, the touch brief but electric. “We’ve got a plan. There’s a dinner tonight with Kim Joon-ho, a potential investor. If we convince him, we can fend off HanTech without my mother’s merger. You in?”
“Always,” you said, but your mind was already elsewhere, plotting your next move.
The dinner was at a private room in Le Ciel, a Michelin-starred restaurant overlooking the Han River. Kim Joon-ho was a silver-haired tycoon with a warm laugh and sharp eyes, his wife, Eun-sook, a former actress who radiated charm. You wore a sleek black dress, your confidence bolstered by Sunghoon’s quiet approval as you left the penthouse. His hand rested on your lower back as you entered, a gesture that felt less like an act and more like instinct.
The evening went flawlessly. You charmed Eun-sook with stories of your art, while Sunghoon pitched the company’s vision to Joon-ho, his passion cutting through the corporate jargon. By dessert, Joon-ho was nodding, promising to review the investment terms. “You two make a good team,” he said, raising his glass. “Rare to see a couple so in sync.”
You clinked glasses, your smile genuine, but Sunghoon’s hand under the table found yours, squeezing lightly. The line between fake and real was dissolving, and you weren’t sure you wanted to redraw it.
Back at the penthouse, you kicked off your heels, adrenaline still buzzing. “We did it,” you said, turning to Sunghoon. “Joon-ho’s in, right?”
“Close enough,” he said, loosening his tie, a rare grin breaking through. “You were incredible tonight. I almost believed we were a real couple.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. “Almost?” you teased, but your voice betrayed you, soft and searching.
He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Y/N, this… us… it’s not just a contract anymore. Not for me.”
Your breath caught, the world narrowing to the space between you. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m tired of pretending,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek, his touch igniting sparks. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not just my fake wife. You’re… everything.”
The confession shattered your defenses. You leaned into his touch, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel it too. But the contract—what happens if—”
“Screw the contract,” he said, his voice fierce. “We’ll figure it out. I want you, Y/N. For real.”
Time stopped, and then you were kissing, his lips urgent and warm, your hands tangling in his hair. It was desperate, raw, a release of everything you’d held back. The penthouse faded, the contract, the threats—all of it drowned out by the pounding of your heart.
But reality crashed back with the sharp ring of your phone. You pulled away, breathless, as Sunghoon’s forehead rested against yours. “Ignore it,” he whispered.
“I can’t,” you said, your voice shaky. You grabbed your phone, the unknown number sending a chill through you. Against your better judgment, you answered.
“Mrs. Park,” a man’s voice said—Choi Min-ho. “We need to meet. I have proof your marriage is a fraud. Han River Park, tomorrow, 7 p.m. Come alone, or I go to Ji-yeon.”
The line went dead. You stared at the phone, your pulse roaring. Sunghoon’s eyes searched yours, concern etching his face. “Who was that?”
You hesitated, the weight of Choi’s threat pressing down. Telling Sunghoon risked everything—his company, your heart—but hiding it felt like betrayal. “It was Choi,” you said finally, your voice steady. “He says he has proof our marriage is fake. Wants to meet tomorrow.”
Sunghoon’s face hardened, but his hand cupped your face, grounding you. “He’s bluffing. We’ll handle this together. No more secrets, remember?”
You nodded, but fear coiled in your gut. Choi wasn’t just a threat—he was a blade, and you didn’t know where it would cut.
The next evening, you stood at Han River Park, the wind sharp against your skin. Sunghoon had insisted on coming, hiding nearby with a discreet security team. You wore a wire, a tiny device taped under your jacket, Sunghoon’s voice a faint reassurance in your ear: “I’m right here, Y/N. You’ve got this.”
Choi appeared at 7:02 p.m., his suit crisp, his smile smug. “No husband tonight?” he said, glancing around.
“He’s busy,” you said coolly. “What’s this proof you claim to have?”
He pulled out a tablet, swiping to a grainy photo—Sunghoon signing the contract in the lawyer’s office, your signature visible. Another image showed you moving into the penthouse, timestamped days after the “wedding.” “Sloppy,” Choi said. “A real couple doesn’t need a contract. Ji-yeon will love this.”
Your stomach lurched, but you kept your voice even. “That’s it? Photos? Could be anything. Why not take this to Ji-yeon now?”
He smirked. “Because I’d rather have you on my side. Leave Sunghoon, and I’ll make sure these disappear. You’d be set for life—no fake marriage, no lies.”
Anger flared, but you played along. “And if I say no?”
“Then Ji-yeon gets everything,” he said, leaning closer. “And your little art dreams? Gone. HanTech doesn’t play nice.”
You stepped back, your voice firm. “You’re pathetic, Choi. Threatening me won’t save your takeover.”
His smile vanished, but before he could retort, Sunghoon emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding and a revolver in one hand. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice lethal. Two security guards flanked him, their faces stone. “Hand over the tablet.”
Choi’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, tucking the tablet away. “This isn’t over, Park. You can’t hide forever.”
He walked off, but Sunghoon’s hand found yours, steadying you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.
You nodded, but your mind was racing. The photos were real, and Ji-yeon was a ticking bomb. “We need to end this,” you said. “All of it.”
Back at the penthouse, you and Sunghoon sat at the dining table, the tablet’s images now in your possession—Choi had handed it over under pressure. Min-ji arrived, her research on HanTech’s finances in hand: offshore accounts, shady loans, enough to discredit Choi if leaked strategically.
“We go public,” Sunghoon said, his voice resolute. “Expose HanTech’s dirt before they can use the photos. It’ll weaken their bid and buy us time to secure Joon-ho’s investment.”
“And your mother?” you asked, the weight of her wrath looming.
He exhaled, his hand covering yours. “We tell her the truth. About the contract… and us. She can’t control me anymore.”
The plan was risky, but it was freedom. You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Let’s do it.”
The next week was a blur. You leaked HanTech’s financial scandals through an anonymous tip to a trusted journalist, and the media pounced. Choi’s reputation crumbled, and HanTech’s bid faltered. Joon-ho signed the investment deal, giving Sunghoon’s company the lifeline it needed.
The final hurdle was Ji-yeon. You and Sunghoon faced her in her office, the contract on the table. Her eyes were ice, but you stood tall, Sunghoon’s hand in yours.
“You lied to me,” she said, her voice venomous. “A contract marriage? Pathetic.”
“It started that way,” Sunghoon admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s real now. I love her, Mother. And I’m done letting you dictate my life.”
Ji-yeon’s gaze flicked to you, searching for weakness, but you met it head-on. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “Not for you, not for Soo-jin, not for anyone.”
She laughed, cold and brittle. “You’ll regret this, Sunghoon. Both of you.”
But her threats were empty. With HanTech weakened and the company safe, her leverage was gone. She stormed out, leaving you and Sunghoon in the quiet aftermath.
That night, you stood on the penthouse balcony, the city glittering below. Sunghoon joined you, his arms wrapping around you from behind. “It’s over,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple.
You leaned into him, your heart full. “Not quite,” you said, turning to face him. “We still have a year on that contract. What do we do about that?”
He smiled, pulling you close. “We rewrite it. No clauses, no lies. Just us.”
You kissed him, slow and sure, the future wide open. The contract had brought you together, but love would keep you there—real, messy, and yours.
The Seoul skyline glittered under a twilight veil, its lights pulsing like the city’s restless heartbeat. You stood on the penthouse balcony, wine glass in hand, the October breeze teasing the hem of your oversized sweater, your bare legs prickling. Sunghoon stepped out behind you, his presence a magnetic pull, as familiar as your own pulse. His black hoodie clung to his frame, hair slightly tousled, but his eyes burned with that dark, unraveling intensity that always made your core tighten.
“It’s chilly,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “Gonna catch a cold, baby.”
You leaned into his heat, smirking. “Worth it for the view. Besides, you’re my personal furnace.”
His low chuckle vibrated against your back, his hands tightening on your hips. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll warm you up right here,” he teased, his voice a dangerous purr.
The past months—HanTech’s takeover, Ji-yeon’s wrath, Choi Min-ho’s threats—felt like a fading nightmare. The scars lingered, carved into the bond you’d built with Sunghoon, a bond that had outgrown its contractual chains. Two weeks ago, you’d faced Ji-yeon, Sunghoon claiming you as his choice, not his obligation. Her influence had crumbled—HanTech’s bid collapsed, Kim Joon-ho’s investment saved the company, and Soo-jin vanished. Sunghoon was free, and you were no longer playing a role. But the contract, still binding for six months, loomed like an unspoken challenge. Were you lovers, partners, or something more? The love was real, but the future was a tightrope.
“You’re quiet,” Sunghoon whispered, his lips brushing your neck, igniting a spark low in your belly. “What’s on your mind, hmm?”
You set your glass on the railing, turning to face him. His eyes, dark and piercing, stripped you bare. “Us,” you said, voice steady despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “The contract. What’s next?”
He exhaled, his breath misting in the cool air, and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Been thinking about that since the night I tasted you,” he said, his voice rough, the memory of that kiss—raw, desperate, all-consuming—flashing in his eyes.
Your breath hitched. “And?”
He pulled out the contract, its edges frayed, and held it up. “This started us,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “But it’s a fucking leash. I want it gone, Y/N. I want us real—no clauses, no bullshit. Just you and me.”
Your heart pounded, desire and fear tangling. “And if we fuck it up without the contract?”
He closed the distance, his hand cupping your face, thumb grazing your lower lip, making you ache for more. “Then we fuck it up together. I’d rather burn it all down than fake this anymore. I love you, Y/N. Not as a deal, not as a lie. I want you—every inch, every breath.”
His words set you ablaze, your body humming with need. You laughed, the sound shaky, needy. “You’re killing me, Park.”
“Good,” he growled, his smirk wicked. “You’ve been killing me since the day you walked in.”
You grabbed the contract, and together you tore it, the rip a final release. The pieces fluttered to the floor, and you surged forward, crashing your lips against his. His kiss was hungry, all teeth and tongue, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. You felt him, hard and ready through his jeans, and a moan escaped you, swallowed by his mouth.
“Inside,” he rasped, voice thick with want, his fingers digging into your skin as he steered you toward the door.
You barely made it to the living room, your mouths locked, hands tearing at clothes. Your sweater hit the floor, his hoodie following, revealing the carved planes of his chest, the faint scars from his skating days you’d memorized with your fingers, your lips. His hands slid under your bra, thumbs brushing your nipples, drawing a gasp as your core throbbed, slick and desperate.
“Y/N,” he groaned, unclasping your bra with a flick, his lips trailing fire down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
“Are you sure?” you whispered, voice trembling with want as you tugged at his jeans, your fingers fumbling in your haste.
He growled, kicking off his shoes, his hands yanking your leggings down, leaving you in just your panties. “I’ve never been more sure,” he said, his eyes raking over you, dark with lust. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
Your laugh was half-moan, your hands shoving his jeans down, freeing him. He was hard, thick, the sight making your mouth water. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and he hissed, his head tipping back, jaw tight.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Keep that up, and I won’t last.”
You smirked, stepping closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Then don’t. I want you to lose control.”
He snapped, lifting you onto the couch, your back hitting the cushions as he hovered over you, his body a delicious weight. His lips claimed yours, rough and desperate, as his hands tore your panties off, leaving you bare. His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you wet and ready, and he groaned, low and feral.
“So fucking wet,” he murmured, circling your clit, making you arch, a needy whimper escaping. “All for me?”
“Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking as he slipped a finger inside, then another, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. “Sunghoon, please—”
“Please what?” he teased, his voice dark, his fingers pumping faster, his thumb relentless on your clit. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sunghoon. Now.”
He didn’t hesitate, positioning himself between your thighs, his cock teasing your entrance. “Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough, and you obeyed, locking eyes as he thrust into you, slow at first, stretching you, filling you until you gasped, your body clenching around him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips snapping harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless. “You feel so good, baby.”
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your moans mingling as he fucked you into the couch, each thrust driving you higher. His lips found your nipple, sucking hard, and you cried out, the pleasure overwhelming, your climax building fast.
“Sunghoon,” you whimpered, nails raking his back. “I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he growled, his pace brutal, his hand slipping between you to rub your clit. “Let me feel you.”
You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls pulsing around him as you screamed his name. He followed, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every wave of pleasure.
You collapsed together, sweaty and breathless, his body still pressed against yours, his lips brushing your temple. “Fuck,” he panted, a lazy grin spreading. “I need to propose every day if this is what I get.”
You laughed, weak and sated, your fingers tracing his jaw. “Don’t tempt me, Park.”
He kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand lacing with yours. “I meant it,” he murmured. “I’m keeping you forever.”
“Good,” you whispered, kissing his chest. “I’m yours.”
The next month was a whirlwind of new beginnings. You moved fully into Sunghoon’s room, your art supplies taking over half the penthouse. He surprised you with a studio space in Hongdae, a loft with skylights perfect for painting, your name on the lease. You enrolled in Hongik University’s art program, your sketches no longer just dreams but steps toward a future you could see.
Sunghoon’s company thrived under his leadership, free from Ji-yeon’s shadow. He worked hard, but he came home to you every night, trading boardroom battles for takeout and late-night talks. Min-ji became your closest ally, her teasing about your “grossly cute” relationship a constant source of laughter.
But Ji-yeon hadn’t vanished completely. She sent a letter, delivered by courier, a week after the confrontation. It was brief, her elegant handwriting laced with frost: You’ve won this round, but don’t think it’s over. Family is forever, Sunghoon. You burned it in the kitchen sink, Sunghoon’s hand on your shoulder, a silent vow to face whatever came together.
One evening, as you sat on the couch, your head on Sunghoon’s chest, he broke the comfortable silence. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.
“Hmm?” you murmured, half-asleep from the warmth of him.
“A real wedding,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Not for show, not for my mother or the press. Just us, the people who matter. What do you think?”
You sat up, your heart pounding. “Are you… proposing?”
He smiled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a ring—simple, with a single emerald that caught the light like your gala gown had months ago. “I guess I am. Marry me, Y/N. Again, but for real this time.”
Tears spilled over, and you laughed, throwing your arms around him. “Yes, Sunghoon. A thousand times, yes.”
The wedding was small, held in a seaside villa in Jeju, with Min-ji as your maid of honor and a handful of close friends. You wore a flowing dress, no diamonds, just wildflowers in your hair. Sunghoon looked at you like you were the only thing in the world, his vows raw and unscripted, promising to love you through every storm.
As you danced under string lights, the ocean whispering nearby, you knew this was the real vow—not the contract, not the gala, but this moment, your hearts unbound, your future yours to write.
Epilogue: One Year Later
The studio smelled of paint and cedar, your latest canvas—a vibrant abstract of Seoul’s skyline—drying by the window. You were halfway through a new piece when the door opened, Sunghoon stepping in with a paper bag from your favorite café.
“Thought you’d need a break,” he said, setting a latte and a croissant on your desk. He leaned against the wall, watching you with that quiet pride that still made your heart skip.
“You’re spoiling me,” you teased, wiping paint from your hands before kissing him, the taste of coffee lingering between you.
“Always,” he said, pulling you close. “Got a surprise, though.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Another one? You’re getting predictable, Park.”
He grinned, handing you an envelope. Inside were two plane tickets to Paris, dated for next month. “For your first gallery show,” he said. “I pulled some strings. Your work deserves to be seen.”
You stared at the tickets, then at him, tears welling up. “Sunghoon… how?”
“Because I believe in you,” he said simply, kissing your forehead. “And because I love you more than anything.”
You wrapped your arms around him, the studio fading as you held on to the man who’d become your home. The contract was a memory, the lies a stepping stone to a truth stronger than any vow. Whatever came next—art, love, life—you’d face it together, hearts open, unbound.
@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ when your childhood best friend found it that you’ve never been touched, he just had to change it .ᐟ.ᐟ .⋆♱ cursing, smut obviously, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, 18+!!! Cum eating lowkeyyy, munch!jay
like & reblog for more ok?
You knew Jay your whole life. He was your best friend since birth: you showered together, helped each other get dates, and maybe even were each others first kiss! You knew everything about him, which made moments like this completely normal.
Porn playing on your laptop while you both lay on your bed. You were on your stomach with your feet in the air while he was watching upside down on his back.
“That’s not even attractive! Not every girl likes to call her boyfriend ‘daddy,’” you complained, leaning your head against the palm of your hand. “This is for the male audience!”
“Well, I kind of like it,” he admits, eyes squinting as if hes trying to mentally zoom into the video. His hands resting on his stomach slowly start to rub against it, like he was trying to distract himself.
“How could you like this? Her whole body is made of plastic and he’s definitely taking some kind of pills to get bigger!” You turned to your side to look at him, watching the way his bottom lip sat between his teeth.
“It’s all the same to me, the only girl I’ve seen naked was you when we were four.”
Yes, even at age of four you still took baths together. It wasn’t anything bad, he was your best friend and his mom thought you both looked so cute with a glittery blue bath bomb staining your skin and the tub.
“Really?” You ask him like it was a crazy question, “never ever?”
He shook his head, taking a moment to try and think about it. “Only in porn.”
“So you’ve never been… touched before?” Your words came out carefully, mentally slapping yourself on the head for such a blunt question. There’s some things people don’t bring up and this was one of them, but you were curious. You’ve known him your entire life, and yes, you thought he was attractive, so obviously other girls had too!
“Nope, only by my own hand,” he said as if it was nothing. It wasn’t just nothing, why was he so nonchalant about this? He took the opportunity to unzip his black jacket, lifting just enough to take off of and tossing it somewhere else. “What about you?”
“Just with a…” You sucked in some air, eyes closing in embarrassment, “…toy.”
His expression stayed neutral, not changing even slightly because of your confession. “Not even by your hand?”
“I mean, I tried but I never finished.” The porn became background noise as this point, the high pitched moaning coming from the girl becoming second to the heated silence.
“Do you want help?” He finally turned to look at you, his brown eyes looking into yours. There wasn’t a sign of joking in his expression, only serious concern.
“You mean like—“ you pointed to the video, where the busty blonde sat on her male colleague’s lap to ride him.
“Not really sex, just… touching each other, yunno?” He asks like it’s the simplest answer to the dilemma. Like he didn’t get to point F from the start at point A.
“You want to help me?” If you could show you were more shocked, you would. Your mouth was slightly agape while you took in this information. The Jay you’ve known since you were born, the Jay who pecked your lips on the field in ninth grade because everyone else was getting their first kiss and you felt left out, the Jay who packed you lunch every now and then for work. He is the one who wants to touch you, and not doing that, but help you finish?
“I mean, you could be helping me too,” he moved his hands down his body, unbuttoning the top of his jeans and pulling down the zipper. His cock came out right after, letting you see it in all its glory. “It’s not like it’s sex, come close.”
You slowly get up and move closer, watching it grow with every small move. Veins all along the base and such a pretty pink on the tip. “What do I… how do…”
He grabs your hand and places it at the top of his shaft, then he moves your hand down and back up. He repeats the motion atop of your hand before letting go for you to do it alone. His eyes close feeling your hand moving on its own, his hips moving up every so often as he felt you.
Your eyes widened when he moaned, not a fake one either. A real life moan that came from the throat. It was quiet and you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t listening, but part of you felt proud for making stoic Jay moan under you. “Fuck,” he moaned out, adding onto his previous. His hips bucked into your hand, using his own strength to help your speed. “Please, baby.”
Your face turned red at the name, your hand squeezing tighter against him while heat pooled in your underwear. You continued listening to his desperate breaths. He was trying his hardest to help you, his hips moving at a pace you weren’t familiar with yet. His moans grew louder, telling you to grip tighter or move faster. He even grabbed the back of your head and shoved it down on his fat cock. Wasting no time, he held your head while he fucked your throat.
You’ve never seen him like this, so needy. Jay’s tip hits the back of your throat every time. You gag every single time, trying your best to handle all of him.
He spills his seed in your mouth soon after, his throats slowing down. You can feel it, the way it’s convulsing while shooting out. The way it’s Salty going down your throat, that itself almost made you gag.
He takes a moment to breathe before reaching to your own buttons, his basketball shorts on your body since you just spent the night. He unties it as fast as he can, pulling it and your underwear off with one fluid movement. His hands guide your body, making you lay down while he positions his mouth. His fingers separate your folds, letting him get a good look at you.
“Not sex, right?” You ask nervously, watching him stare at your most vulnerable.
“Not unless you want to,” he leans forward, using a test lick to see how you taste. Your eyes shut tight, taking in the feeling of his warm tongue on your body.
He licks again, trying to make his tongue go even deeper than before. You let out a soft moan, feeling him come back more continuously. His tongue lapped at your folds, nose hitting your clit in the right angle.
Your hands find their way in his hair, pulling at it and ruining its style. You wonder how long it takes for him to do every morning and how easy it was for you to ruin.
Jay’s obsessed with your taste, obsessed with being this close to you, obsessed with the heat that was radiating out of you and how it keeps pulling him in. He didn’t stop, he couldn’t. Moaning into you the same way you were.
“Tastes so sweet,” he mutters against you, widening his mouth as much as he could. A knot formed in your stomach, tightening while he continues. He knows you’re close when you clench around him and he gets a reminder of he’s seen before in porn.
His mouth moves to suck your clit, bringing you even more sensation than just his nose. His fingers come close, sticking two into your hole.
“Fuck—“ You started, but interrupted with a moan. His fingers now pumping and curling into you at a pace that was better than just you.
Sucking and pumping, all of it too overwhelming for you. The pleasure is getting to be much, making your senses go into overdrive when the knot finally releases.
His fingers and the bottom of his face gets covered, a clear liquid that’s so obviously there. His fingers pull out of you, bringing them to his lips.
He moans tasting it, scooping more and bringing it to your own so you can taste, too. You suck on his fingers, bringing your tongue to lick between, in the sides — everywhere you can.
He laughs breathlessly, placing his head down on your thigh. All he can say is “fuck” because fuck, was that good. “Do you want sex?” He asks like it’s nothing.
You bite your lip, thinking hard about whether or not you should accept it. “Maybe?”
synopsis the priests nephew might not be as god-fearing as you thought.
cw smut, unprotected p in v (wrap b4 u tap!) fingering religious stuff ooppss guys .. jakes also a preacher also lowkey manipulative sorry…….. power dynamics, yn a virgin & doesnt know sex stuff, im Christian so i never did confession lmk whats wrong .. :-( so so so much god talk , Dacryphilia if u squint
“Father forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been… I’m not sure how many days since my last confession.”
“Four days.”
“It’s been four days since my last confession.”Sitting in the confessional, face looking forward as the noise tunes in next to you. The mans airy voice from the other side, “continue.”
You nodded, not like he could see you, anyways. “I have to confess that I lied, I was asked a question and I omitted, I’m sorry.”
“What did you lie about?” There it was, his voice inquisitive, like he wanted to know about what you had to say, he only cares because he gets paid to.
“I was asked if I prayed before bed. If I prayed for God to protect me before my body is at the most vulnerable. I said I did, but I didn’t,” your hands gripped onto the edge of your skirt, flipping it up ever so slightly to keep you occupied.
“And why did you do that?”
“I’m not sure. I just felt like I needed to.”
“How often do you lie, y/n?”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to say my name,” your head turned, looking at the man who was separated from you between a small chain window. You realize now this wasn’t the usual priest, but his nephew you had seen around.
“I’m the middle man between you and God right now, he told me to say your name,” Jake told you, he was already looking at you.
You could only nod, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
“Who here is in charge?”
A silence washed over the both of you before you answered a small “you.”
“Exactly,” he ran a hand through his brown hair, then fixed his suit that he wore. “So, answer my question.”
“I lie often. Something inside of me tells me that I need to and I always listen,” this small booth was starting to make you claustrophobic. You were unsure if the rising temperature was because the heater or confessing.
“Do you know who the voice is?”
“The devil.”
“Correct,” he coughed slightly, only clearing his throat. “What do they say about the devil?”
“An idle brain invites the devil in.”
“Good girl.”
Your breath hitches. His words crawl your mind, nuzzling a spot into your brain. You weren’t so sure how you were able to feel, not so sure what it was supposed to mean either. You turn your head towards him to see him still looking at you through the small window.
“And that is all I have to confess. And for these sins I am truly repentant and ask you, Father, for your guidance, prayers, and absolution,” You say fast, palms pressed against each other in front of you to pray, head down and eyes closed.
Jake nods, despite you not being able to see it, quickly copying your actions and mumbling the words to your absolution (which never was quick, everyone took their time).
You leave soon after, mostly out of the uncomfortable feeling that now sat deep inside you. You needed to go home and figure out whatever it was.
Which you did… sort of.
You got home, put your things down, and immediately went to the cross that sat in your house. It was in your living room, the size of your torso, screwed to the wall like it was the only thing it needed.
You dropped to your knees and closed your eyes, repeating the prayer position you had just done. “Our father who art thou in heaven…” you mumble, words slipping from you like muscle memory rather than belief. “Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come.” You felt the same as before, unholy and sinful.
You open your eyes and look at the cross looming above you, the silver jesus and the nails to signify his crucification. You’ve had this your whole life, something you inherited from your parents when you moved out, yet now it feels like it’s almost accusing you of something.
You stand up, dusting your knees off and turning back. Trying to get the lord off your mind from any possible sins you will commit.
He’s all forgiving, he’ll understand the sudden insatiable pit you feel in your stomach. You’ve never felt this way before, unclear on why exactly you did.
You walked to your bedroom, trying to do everything to distract you. You look in your closet, change out of your church clothes, make your bed. Everything you had to do, was done by the end of the hour.
But it didn’t help, the feeling still there.
Your bed was comfortable, almost like it could be a distraction, a sign even. Something the lord up in Heaven gave you to help your needs.
Your needs.
You stare at the ceiling with your hand on your stomach, the white paint peeling slowly in a corner of the room. What were your needs? As a human, you needed water and food — but what did you need exactly?
Your hand starts to drift down almost subconsciously, meeting the top of your pajama shorts you had changed in to.
This was a sin, you were aware of it more than anything. Millions of verses flooded through your mind, different people flooded your brain with their opinions and disgust.
Everything leaves the minute your hand finds your clit. You were unsure what to do, trying to move your fingers at a pace that doesn’t hurt.
Using your pointer and your middle fingers, you find your rhythm, moving in a circular motion that brought ease to the mess you felt. A small moan left your lips, something you were unaware could even happen. You felt the sensation climb up your body, getting rid of the feeling you had prior.
Your fingers continue to move faster, your stomach tied in knots in a way you couldn’t yet tell if it was good or bad.
When the feeling was too overbearing, a loud moan left your lips and something coming out of you.
You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but you were embarrassed nonetheless. You committed an act of sin, something you found yourself doing often nowadays. How were you supposed to feel?
The pit in your stomach soon returned and all you could think about was how you were going to phrase your next confession.
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. It’s been one day since my last confession,” your hands gripped the bible in your lap, refusing to look at it but needing some form of reassurance.
“Continue.”
Fuck. It was Jake again. Where was your pastor? Why did he continue to leave you with his nephew?
“I have committed a sin that is going to get me in trouble,” you admitted sheepishly, fingers going between the pages.
“Just admit it, God is forgiving,” he tells you. His voice soft, almost telling you that you can believe him.
You took a deep breath, your eyes closed shut before you admit it. “I let the devil order me around again. He told me too—“ You bit your lip, taking a moment to think about your next words, “he told me to give in to my… urges.”
“Urges?” Jake’s voiced changed. Once soft and warm, now completely different. “What urges?”
“You know… urges,” you tried to inform him, embarrassment creeping up your face.
“Like, sexual urges?” He asked you. You could hear him turning his body to look at you in the small booth.
You could only nod, not wanting to answer anymore.
“Well, what’d you do?”
The question lingered too long, stretching the silence until it felt like it was suffocating you. The booth suddenly seemed smaller and the air thicker.
You swallowed, nails digging into the thin leather cover of the Bible as if it could help you. “I shouldn’t say,” you whispered.
Jake exhaled slowly, “this is confession,” he said. “There’s nothing you can say here that God hasn’t already seen.”
Your pulse thudded in your ears. “I… lost control,” you admitted.
Another pause. Then, you hear the door open.
You refuse to look up, to look anywhere, really. You were a sinner, he probably left because he was disappointed.
Your door opened soon, lighting your world with the suns rays. Jake stood there, his outfit (a dress up white shirt and slacks) wrinkly.
“What did you do?” He asked again. Tension filled the air, you debated whether this was the devils work or not. “Show me,” he ordered you when you didn’t speak. He grabbed the bible off your lap and threw it to God knows where.
You looked at him, eyes wide. He just told you to sin… again. You came here to beg the Heavenly father for forgiveness and Jake wants you to sin? In front of, not only him, but the hundreds of Jesus paraphernalia around you?
His eyes never left your hand, watching as you slowly lifted your skirt (which didn’t help in your case, barely going past the tops of your thighs).
Your bruised knees split, allowing him to see your core. Awkwardly, you moved the tips of your ring and middle finger on top of your clothed clit. You rubbed small circles on it, leaning back to allow you to get more comfortable.
You looked at him the entire time, his eyes glued to your actions as if he could heal you. Your teeth plunged into your bottom lip, attempting to conceal the noises that were trying to escape from you.
“Do you like that?” He asked you, eyes full of hunger while he watched.
You shook your head slowly, “it’s not enough. I don’t know how to get more.”
He nods, tongue poking his cheek like he’s debating on something before speaking, “can I try?”
Your eyebrows furrowed. Him, try? Isn’t that the opposite reason for why you were here?
He noticed your confused expression, moving his body closer before you answered. “It’s Gods will.”
You didn’t answer, moving your hand to allow him free rein. He wasted no time, hands gripping the sides of your panties and slowly dragging them down your legs to your heels.
Your core was cold, hit with a sudden burst of air as if God was warning you.
Your thoughts left you the minute you feel something slip inside of you. Everything left you, really. A moan escaped your lips before you could even process what happened, eyes squeezing at the sudden fullness you felt.
“Open.”
You looked at his face, now he looked haunted. As if it wasn’t him, but something else entirely.
His fingers began thrusting inside of you, pushing in to open you even more. You tried to close your legs, to move, to do anything to stop this sensation. But he stayed inside of you, moving his fingers back and forth like it was second nature to him.
You couldn’t hold it back, releasing your moans like a second language.
Jake enjoyed this view, watching you moved like you needed to in order to survive. He liked watching you grab every thing you can as if it could save you. Your hands, that squeezed so hard he could see your veins, were shaking from the sensation. Your whole body was shaking, your core tightening as he continued. He was in power, anything he said you had to do. He was a man of God after all, everything he did was to protect the patrons of the Church of Saint Luther.
“Ja— fuck!— jake,” you moaned out, unable to stop. Your body tried to move instinctively, the feeling building up was new, uncomfortable even. He didn’t respond, continuing to work you open until you became undone on his fingers.
The brim of your eyes were filled with tears that threatened to fall out, body shaking, and despite him not moving his fingers, you were still moaning at the sensation.
“How did that make you feel?” He asked, moving his fingers ever so slightly again. His sleeve rolled up and hair falling in front of his eyes ever so slightly.
You nodded, “so so good.”
You moaned as he slowly retreated his fingers, looking in your eyes while he slowly put them in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, letting a whimper escape him because of you.
His fingers left his mouth and into you again, scooping up whatever he could before putting the digits in your mouth.
“You taste how good you are?” His head moved fast, dipping onto your neck. He swapped between kissing to sucking while you sucked on his fingers, dragging your tongue slowly on them.
“You want more?” He whispered into your ear after he kissed your helix. His fingers leaving your mouth to go to the button of his slacks.
“Please— God, please!”
In an instant, his slacks fell down to his ankles, his boxers down to his knees. Jake gave himself a few pumps, letting the precum slide down his tip onto the floor like it was practiced.
His hands placed on your legs, lifting them up from the bench you sat, holding them above his shoulders.
He entered himself into you fast, like he had done it before with some other girl. Your eyes shut when he entered, his cock, while not the longest, was definitely thick. It stretched you so much, it burnt.
Tears spilled from your eyes, falling down your face in a precise motion to drop on the bench. Jake shushed you, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips. His hips moved back, making him exit you, then a quick thrust in.
“Jake—“ the burning turned to pleasure, every inch of you wanting more. Needing more of everything he has to offer.
His pace is consistent, hands gripping onto your waist so hard that it surely will leave bruises long after you’re done. “You slut, you want this cock so bad you’re taking it at church?”
Your eyes open at his statements, taking in the surroundings. You almost forgot, the place of worship is the place you’re losing your innocence. “It’s not like that—“ your words got interrupted when Jake’s pace started to speed up. His hips were slapping into yours, his balls hitting your ass, and his lips sucking hickies on your neck.
If you were to die, this is what would play in Heaven.
Your volume increases with his pace, hitting into you while you’re already sensitive from your previous climax. You were close, so close. He could tell by the way you were clenching around him. Jake didn’t care, bringing a hand to grip your throat and squeezing it every so often.
You came again soon after, but he didn’t slow, continuing to pound into it like his life depended on it. He finished inside of you, his white sticky liquid painting your insides like it had never been before.
The both of you were panting, trying to catch your breath over such a sinful act.
Jake pulled himself out of you, watching as his cum spilt out of you while he did so. He bit his lip and looked between it and you, “you liked that?”
You could only nod, your words stuck in your throat and your heart hammering out of your chest.
He helps clean you up and puts your clothes back on. He hands you his water bottle that he brings for when he’s preaching, letting you indirectly kiss him when you drink from the opening.
“I have to go,” you mumbled after a second of silence, not daring to look him in the eyes.
He moved your head to look at him, staring at you with an intensity you weren’t sure what it could mean. He kissed you again, slow, sensual, and completely different from what he done just a second ago. “See you next Sunday?”
You nodded, collecting your purse and start walking out. When you get to your car you sit and think, hands on the wheel as you realize. He wants to do it again next week?
SYNOPSIS:- ✸ (🎰) what happens when two strangers go to vegas, argue within five minutes of meeting, black out and wake up married. before they can annul it like normal people, a lucky slot machine spin turns their drunken mistake into a 3 million dollar jackpot and suddenly it's not, “we need a divorce”, it's winner takes it all (yes the 3 million dollars)
STARRING LEE HEESEUNG -> as the man who flew to vegas after hearing a 4 hour podcast that claimed to change the trajectory of his life, and going to vegas would help him with, “exposure therapy” AND STARRING Y/N L/N -> as the tired finance girl who just needed a trip away from her muffin shaped boss breathing down her neck.
TAGLIST: ( 📢 ) OPEN | updates will be every alternative day;
TAGS AND WARNINGS : based very much on the movie, “what happens in vegas” with my own twist towards it, warning: heeseung and reader are both stupid as fuck, sunghoon and sunoo will get into a relationship in the future chapters (sorry yall I need that sunsun crumbs) heeseung is disgusting, crack, reader and heeseung are insanely petty, fluff, angst, profanity.
FEATURING -> park sunghoon, kim sunoo, yang jungwon, sim jaeyun, nishimura riki, park jjongseong (from enhypen)
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.
THE 3RD DEGREE ──.୨ৎ kim sunoo x park sunghoon one shot
Just a night that was meant to be the peak of your relationship with Sunoo starting to look like the "best friend" you invited into your bed is never leaving.
nsfw warnings ── SMUT ── minors do not interact (oral f&m receiving) angst if you’re a pussy, reader is insecure but is justified (kinda), toxic dynamics, jealousy, threesome, established relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, slow burn tension, secret pinning. let me know if i missed any.
wc ── 6.4k
You turn the spare key in the lock with a familiar, metallic click that usually signals the start of your favorite part of the week. It's Friday night so that means no work, no school, just you in Sunoo's clothes and his scent enveloping your senses for the next seventy two hours. You swing the door open, a playful "Guess who?" already perched on the tip of your tongue but the words die before they can even hit the air.
Your boyfriend's living room is bathed in the low glow of the lamp in the corner, there’s a low fi beat you recognize as something from your shared playlist and Sunoo is on the sofa with his legs tucked under him but he isn't alone...unfortunately. Sunghoon is leaned deep into his space, eyes fixed on a notebook they're both looking at, shoulders pressed firmly together.
"Oh," you say, the syllable feeling heavy and even a little clumsy in the doorway. "He's here."
Sunghoon looks up first, you hate the way his gaze is always so sharp and composed, it makes you feel like you're being cataloged. "Hey you," he says, sending a confusing jolt of memory straight to your gut.
Two weeks ago, that same voice had been whispered filthy things against the shell of your ear while Sunoo fucked his tongue into your pussy. Two weeks ago, the three of you had been a tangled breathless mess of "no regrets" and "just this once". It had been transcendent to say the least, like an explosion of heat that felt like a new experience in your relationship with Sunoo. But tonight, walking in to see the way Sunghoon's hand lingers just a second too long on Sunoo's knee as he points at something in the notebook, the "no regrets" feels like a lie you've been telling yourself.
It was the silence of the last thirteen days that did the most damage in your head, you call it the aftermath, that hazy period after the three of you had shared a bed for the first time. It was supposed to be a one time thing, a mountain you climbed together and then came back down from but while you were trying to find your footing back on solid ground, it seemed like Sunghoon had never actually left the damn mountain.
The observations started small, in these tiny pieces of a puzzle you were dreading finishing. It started with the ‘best friend’ shorthand and you only noticed it because of a stupid cup of coffee. They were sitting at the kitchen island when Sunghoon reached for Sunoo's coffee without asking, taking a sip and handing it back. It's a best friend move, sure but there was something in the way Sunghoon's eyes lingered on the rim of the cup, aiming for the exact spot where Sunoo's mouth had been, with a look of quiet satisfaction. It wasn't exactly bro energy, it almost seemed like a lingering taste of the intimacy they'd shared with you, only now Sunghoon seemed to be intentionally filtering you out of the memory.
Then came what you called the erasure, which was basically whenever three of you were in a room, Sunghoon's body language was a masterclass in subtle exclusion. He would pivot his chair or his body just a few degrees away from you, creating this closed unit with just Sunoo, he spoke in inside jokes from ages ago, weaving a web of history that you couldn't touch, like was reminding you and Sunoo that he was here first.
What came next was the look, this one really did keep you up at night. During the sex, you had been so caught up in the sensory overload from two mouths on you at the same time that you hadn't processed it. But in the quiet of your own apartment days later, you remembered how Sunghoon hadn't looked at you with the same desperation he had for Sunoo. When he touched you, it felt like he was performing for Sunoo, like he wanted Sunoo to see how good he was with you.
But when he looked at Sunoo or touched him? Oh that was different, you remember a brief moment when Sunghoon had his mouth wrapped around Sunoo's cock, working his hole with one long finger. You remember how loud he had your boyfriend moaning and whining, chasing his mouth when Sunghoon would pull back just to be a tease, you didn't have enough time to dwell on it though cause Sunoo had grabbed you and thrown you over his face, pressing you down so harshly on his mouth, his tongue frantic as his moans vibrated through you. You remember making eye contact with Sunghoon in that position before Sunoo sucked so good on your clit your eyes rolled back and that was a man looking at a life raft, there was an obvious hunger there that felt ancient and terrifying and it definitely wasn't for you.
Every time Sunoo laughed at one of Sunghoon's jokes this past week, you felt a little bit of your territory being taken. Every time Sunghoon accidentally left a shirt at the apartment, it felt like a flag being planted.
By the time you walked in tonight and saw them on the couch, the best friend label almost felt like a cruel joke. You weren't crashing out over nothing, you were watching a slow motion heist where the prize was the man you loved.
Sunoo finally beams at you, that bright cat like grin that usually melts you, but right now it feels like he's looking through you. "We're just finishing up this project for the gallery, baby. Sunghoon brought over those prints I needed."
"Right," you say, dropping your overnight bag by the door. "The prints."
You walk over and as you sit on the arm of the sofa, you notice Sunghoon doesn't even bother to pull away from Sunoo. If anything, he shifts closer, a subtle claim of territory that wasn't there before you invited him into your bed. He knows exactly what he's doing, you know he knows. He probably remembers the way your back arched under his touch two weeks ago, he probably remembers the way your face scrunched up when he made you cum all over his huge dick, calling his name in a way that stripped away every layer of your pride.
You hate to think that to him, you aren't just Sunoo's girlfriend anymore—he’s looking at you right now like a boundary he's already crossed. "You look tired, baby girl," Sunghoon says, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a terrifying ease but it hits you like a physical blow. It's a name reserved for intimacy, for the dark four walls of a bedroom, not a casual Friday night in the living room. You freeze, feeling your heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes darting instinctively to Sunoo, who doesn't even look up from the sketches. He just hums in vague agreement, a distracted smile playing on his lips as he flips a page. "He's right, you've been working too hard, baby. Come sit down."
You watch Sunghoon's smirk deepen just a fraction, a silent victory on the corner of his mouth. He definitely saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes, and he saw Sunoo's utter obliviousness—or even worse, what you’re interpreting as his permission cause by not correcting him, Sunoo has effectively handed Sunghoon the keys to the kingdom.
Sunghoon shifts, making a show of patting the small, narrow space on the cushion between him and Sunoo. It's a trap, you think, he’s daring you to squeeze in and reclaim your spot, knowing that if you do, you'll be pressed against his side just as much as Sunoo's.
"Yeah, come here," Sunghoon adds, dragging that memory of his whispered commands back to the surface of your skin. "Wanna see the prints?"
Sunoo looks back at you, his eyes bright and completely unaware of the psychological war being waged on his fucking velvet couch. "They’re really good, babe."
There’s a vibration in the air, like a low frequency hum of competition that Sunoo seems blissfully deaf to. You can feel Sunghoon's eyes on you as you slide off the arm of the sofa and press yourself into Sunoo's side, basically on his lap, your hand slides up his chest to tangle in the soft fabric of his shirt, attempting to erase the memory of last week with the reality of now.
"I missed you," you murmur, your voice shifting into that honeyed tone meant only for him.
Sunoo smiles and leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It's soft and familiar but it sure as hell isn't enough, especially with the witness you have tonight. So you tilt your head and seek more, your tongue grazing the seam of his lips to pull him into something deeper but he flinches back just an inch and laughs as his hands come up to your waist.
"Woah, princess," he breathes, his eyes darting momentarily to Sunghoon before landing back on you with a playful reprimand. "We have company, remember?"
The rejection stings worse than the nickname does and you’re immediately flustered, it’s the way he says company as if Sunghoon hasn't seen both of you at your most vulnerable, as if he wasn't an active participant in the very thing Sunoo is suddenly acting shy about.
You feel this desperate clawing need in your chest to prove that the hierarchy hasn't shifted one bit, that Sunghoon is a guest and you are the constant. You let out a frustrated whine, as you tug at his collar, not giving him any space to breathe before swinging a leg over his, and crawling directly into his lap and kissing him again.
Sunoo's resolve breaks with a huff of surprise, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist tighter to keep you from falling. "Okay, okay," he mutters, his voice muffled against your lips, his grip tightening in a way that feels like a small win, for a minute he’s holding you and he feels like yours.
But then, you hear the sound of a page turning followed by Sunghoon's voice, devoid of any awkwardness as usual. "You're making her needy, Sunoo," Sunghoon says. You can hear the smirk in his tone, like he thinks you’re putting on a show for him. "Maybe we should finish the prints later?"
The way he says we makes your blood run cold, like he’s trying to start something, like he thinks the one time he was in your bed was an automatic invite to every single time you and your boyfriend got intimate. You scramble off Sunoo’s lap and stand to your feet with your chest heaving, "Why are you always here?" you seethe the words, "Every time I come over he’s here, Sunoo. Do you even remember what it's like to just have us? To have a night where he isn't breathing down our necks?"
Sunoo looks startled as his hands go up in a placating gesture and he rises from the sofa a little. "Baby, hey, calm down. It's just Sunghoon. He's my best friend, you know that—"
"Is he?" You whirl on Sunghoon, who hasn't moved a damn inch. He's lounging back, one arm draped over the cushions, watching you with a terrifyingly calm expression, like the look of a scientist watching a lab rat lose its mind. "Is that what we're calling it? Because I saw you, Sunghoon. I was there."
Your voice cracks and you hate the way your eyes are stinging with hot tears of frustration. "You barely even looked at me! Isn't the girl supposed to be the center of a threesome? Isn't that the point? But your eyes never even left my boyfriend! You just wanted an excuse to finally touch him, didn't you? You've been waiting for the opportunity to fuck him and you used me to get there!"
The accusation hangs in the air so heavy and ugly as you pant and wait for a denial, for Sunoo to be shocked and maybe even have an epiphany and take your side so the world can realign.
Instead, Sunghoon lets out a huffed laugh, it’s a dry sound that makes your skin crawl instantly. "Are you saying I didn't give you enough attention?" he asks, his voice is so patronizing that it makes you want to scream. He tilts his head, his eyes glinting with a cruel sort of amusement. "Is that what this is? You're upset because you weren’t the main character?"
"No—that's not—don't twist my words!" you sputter feeling backed up into a corner. You sound desperate and he knows it. "Because if I remember correctly you were screaming my name quite clearly," Sunghoon continues, ignoring Sunoo's uncomfortable "Hoon, maybe don't..." He stands up slowly, closing the distance between you until he's looming over you, forcing you to look up at him. "If you wanted me all to yourself, you should have just asked. But don't blame Sunoo because you're feeling insecure about where you fit in now."
"Sunghoon, stop," Sunoo pleads, finally stepping between you placing his hands on your waist. He's trying to pull you back and shield you but right now his touch feels like a consolation prize. "She's just tired, she didn't mean it like that."
"I did mean it!" you cry out, pushing at Sunoo's chest, your eyes fixed on Sunghoon's smug face. "He wants to steal you from me, Sunoo! He's trying to replace me!"
Sunghoon just raises an eyebrow, all mock concern. "She's hysterical. Maybe she should go lie down? I think the stress is getting to her."
This man is gaslighting you in real time, he’s painting you as the crazy girlfriend while he stands there like the loyal and mistreated friend. The worst part is that you can clearly see the doubt flickering in Sunoo's eyes as he looks at you.
It makes you shake as your vision tunnel until all you can see is the infuriating, porcelain perfect mask of Sunghoon's face. He scoffs a dismissive sound that cuts through your frantic breathing, turning his head toward Sunoo with a look of mock disbelief. "Dude, I can't believe your girlfriend is actually crashing out because I didn't give her enough attention," he says, voice dripping with a cruel and condescending pity. "Is she always this...delicate about sharing?"
The words leaving his mouth is the straw that breaks the camels back, it’s the final insult, the utter dismissal of your feelings as nothing more than a bruised ego.
"You absolute bastard!" You lunge, completely ungraceful in a blind hot burst of animalistic rage. Your fingers are hooked like claws, reaching for the curve of his jaw, ready to leave marks that no amount of gallery lighting could hide.
"Woah—hey! Stop!"
Before you can make contact, Sunoo's arms wrap around your waist, your boyfriend is stronger than he looks and without a grunt of effort he hauls you back, hoisting you up until your feet leave the plush rug. You're kicking and flailing as he hitches you over his shoulder.
"Put me down! Sunoo, let me go! He's doing this on purpose!" you shriek, your fists drumming uselessly against Sunoo's back.
From your upside down point of view, you can see Sunghoon step closer, leaning down so his face is inches from yours while you're draped helplessly over Sunoo's shoulder. He looks at you with a scary hungry glint in his eyes—the exact same look he had right before he ruined your life two weeks ago.
"Oh, poor you," Sunghoon whispers, loud enough for only you to hear the obvious sound of triumph in his voice. He reaches out with his fingers and ghosts them over the hem of your shirt with a flick. "Next time, I'll just have to fuck you harder. Maybe then you'll feel like the main character."
The audacity of this man, the way he says it right in front of Sunoo, knowing Sunoo is too busy trying to keep you from catching a domestic assault charge to hear the venom. You’re seeing red all over again. "There won't be a next time!" you scream as Sunoo starts carrying you toward his bedroom. "There is no next time, you fucking lunatic! Get out of here! Get out!"
Sunoo's grip is firm, his shoulder digging into your stomach as he carries you down the hallway. He's breathing hard, a mix of genuine distress and the sheer physical effort of containing your spiral. "My love, please, just breathe," he pleads. "You're not acting like yourself. You're scaring me a little."
He dumps you unceremoniously onto the center of his bed, but before he can even pull back to look you in the eye, the cause of all this is at the doorway. Leaning against the frame with his hands shoved into his pockets, you hate how looks perfectly unruffled, a stark contrast to your tear streaked face and Sunoo's slightly disheveled hair. He looks like he's watching a particularly entertaining film.
"She's not scary," Sunghoon says, "She's just frustrated because she doesn't know how to label what she's feeling. Right, baby girl?"
"Get out!" you scream, grabbing a decorative pillow and hurling it at him. He doesn't even flinch as it thuds against his chest and drops to the floor. "Sunoo, tell him to leave! Why is he still here?"
Sunoo looks between the two of you, his expression agonizingly torn. Sunoo isn’t as oblivious as you think he is, he's seen the way Sunghoon's eyes follow you when you aren't looking, the way Sunghoon's voice changed when he talked about that night after you'd fallen asleep. Sunoo knows this isn't just about him. It's about the fact that Sunghoon has decided he's moving in on both of you.
"Sunghoon, maybe just...give us a minute?" Sunoo asks but it's just a suggestion that the other boy completely ignores and steps fully into the bedroom, pinning you with a gaze that is suddenly honest.
"You're so fucking loud about me wanting Sunoo," Sunghoon muses, his voice low and dangerous. "And you're right. I do. I want him in every way a person can want someone. But you're too busy playing the damn victim that you can’t see what’s right in front of you."
He leans down, hands resting on his knees so he's level with you. "The real problem is that you liked it. You liked the way I looked at you—and the way I didn't. You're only throwing this tantrum because you realize that if I stay, you're never going to be satisfied with just him again."
"That's a lie," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I love Sunoo. I only want Sunoo."
Sunghoon tilts his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He looks at Sunoo, then back to you. "You’re such a bad liar, baby girl. Tell the truth and admit what you really think about me being in this bed."
You feel suffocated with the thick scent of Sunoo's expensive candles and the sharp tang of Sunghoon's cologne. You look at Sunoo expecting to see horror on his face, expecting him to be disgusted by Sunghoon's arrogance, or at least protective of you.
Instead, you watch in real time as Sunoo's expression softens. He reaches out and takes your shaking hand in his, giving you that look that usually makes you feel like the only person in the world. But this time, it's different, it’s more…knowing.
"Baby," Sunoo whispers, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. "Why do you think I let him stay? You really think I don’t see how he gets under your skin? How you let him?"
"Because he's your best friend and you're blind," you snap, though the bite in your voice has began to fade into a shaky uncertainty.
Sunoo shakes his head as a sweet smile spreads across his face. It's the smile of someone who has a secret they've been dying to share. "No. It's because he hasn't stopped talking about you since that night. He's obsessed with you, baby. He's not trying to take me away from you...he's just trying to find a way to stay with both of us."
Your heart stops. "You're lying. He's just saying that to get into your head, Sunoo. He's so fucking manipulative, he's—"
"I'm right here," Sunghoon interrupts, his voice is heavier now, weighted with an intensity that makes goosebumps spread across your skin. "Sunoo doesn't lie for me. He doesn't have to."
You look from Sunoo's encouraging gaze to Sunghoon's dark eyes. You want to keep fighting, you want to maintain the wall of "no, I hate him," but the wall is crumbling quickly. You're so exhausted from the rage and beneath it, there’s a raw pulsing memory of Sunghoon's touch from that night that is screaming to be felt again.
"You hate me," you whisper, but it sounds like a question now, a plea even. "I hate how clueless you are," Sunghoon corrects, stepping into the space between your knees as you sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and this time, he seems to hope you won’t lunge at him again. Your hands go limp from the claws they were in a moment ago. His fingers are cool as they graze your jawline, thumb hooking under your chin to tilt your face up. You look at Sunoo, one last desperate search for a reason to stop this, but Sunoo just nods and leans back against the headboard, watching the two of you with a quiet look of something that seems more like patience rather than jealousy.
As you look back at Sunghoon, the broken pieces of the last week start to come back together, forming a picture that makes your stomach drop. You had been so obsessed with the way he looked at Sunoo, so convinced you were being erased that you had become blind to the trail of breadcrumbs he’d been leaving specifically for you.
The flowers you met on Sunoo’s kitchen counter last Wednesday were from him but you thanked Sunoo so sweetly instead and neither of them had the heart to correct you, Sunghoon had watched you kiss him thank you with a little bit of hurt in his eyes. You told Sunoo he was the best when your favorite takeout order was already sitting on the table when you arrived last Friday, but it was Sunghoon who had remembered you hated cilantro.
Then, the most damning memory of all was the heat of that first night. You remember the blur of it, Sunoo’s voice thick and breathless in your ear as Sunghoon fucked into you so deliciously, your feet were kicking and you were damn near screaming as he pushed your knees further to your chest. Sunoo had asked him "Do you love this pussy, Hoon?" And Sunghoon hadn't answered with a "yes" or a grunt. He had looked you dead in your eyes, his gaze boring into yours with a sincerity that bordered of scary and rasped, "Ah—Fuck! Yes! Yes! I love it! I love her so much." You had immediately written it off as the heat of the moment, a slip of the tongue in a state of high lust. But looking at him now, you realize it was a confession. Sunghoon watches the realization dawn on your face, the way your eyes widen and your breath hitches. Finally.
He’s spent the last two weeks losing his mind, he’s a man who prides himself on precision and on getting exactly what he wants through calculated moves, but you were the one variable he couldn't solve. He had been practically screaming his intentions at you, marking your life with his presence and you had looked past him as if he were nothing more than a threat to your security.
It was maddening, every time he tried to take care of you, you praised Sunoo instead, every time he tried to catch your eye, you looked at the floor. He had started the "baby girl" comments and the territorial displays not to push you out but to force you to see him. To acknowledge that he wasn't just Sunoo’s best friend anymore—he literally belonged to you now.
He had expected you to be smart, to understand the weight of his words that night in the dark. Instead, he’d watched you spiral into a mess of insecurity and accusations of him wanting to steal what was already partly his.
His grip on your jaw tightens just a fraction, his frustration leaking through his composed exterior. He’s really tired of the games, tired of being the villain in a story where he’s trying to be the co-author.
"You’re finally catching up," Sunghoon murmurs, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "I was starting to think I’d have to be even more obvious and I don't think Sunoo’s heart could take much more of my bad behavior."
"I didn't use you to get to him. I used both of you to get exactly where I wanted to be. Right here. You are the prize, baby girl."
Sunoo slides off the headboard, moving until he’s kneeling on the mattress right beside you. He looks smaller like this, a little vulnerable too as his eyes search yours with cautious hope. He’s seen you scream, seen you lunge and seen you surrender, now he’s the one holding his breath. "Baby?" Sunoo’s voice is a whisper, his hand carefully reaching out to brush a stray hair from your damp forehead. "Do you...do you want this? Do you want us? Both of us, for real?"
The no you had been rehearsing all week is gone, dissolved by the heat of Sunghoon’s hand on your jaw and the beautiful reality of Sunoo’s devotion. You don't have the words yet, so you just nod with certainty.
Sunoo’s entire face lights up, that striking grin returning with a force that makes your heart ache. "Yeah? You mean it?"
He doesn't wait for a verbal answer before he lunges forward, capturing your lips in a messy kiss that’s all relief and pure joy. When he finally pulls away, breathless and beaming, you both look up at Sunghoon, he looks down at the two of tangled together, at the way you’re both looking at him with an invitation instead of an accusation now.
Sunghoon lets out a long breath, a hand running through his dark hair as a helpless laugh escapes him. "Fuck," he rasps, his gaze roaming over your flushed face and Sunoo’s triumph. "You’re both gonna kill me, uhn?"
Any lingering doubt instantly flies out the window the moment you’re laid back against the pillows, like your body an open book they’ve both been dying to read. You’re naked and spread out, your head lolling back as the intense wave of pleasure rolls over you.
Down below, both of them are a beautiful as they lap their tongues over your pussy. You’re moaning completely lost in the feeling as both your hands tangle in their hair, pulling them closer as they lose themselves in you and each other. Sunghoon’s mouth is a hot and demanding wrapped around your clit and sucking while Sunoo is pushing his tongue deeper into your pussy just the way he knows you like it, they switch positions but not before meeting each other’s lips mid pussy eating to kiss right over your cunt. You almost can’t believe it, you feel so lucky that the three of you have finally found a rhythm that works, and by the way Sunghoon refuses to let go of your hand even as he kisses Sunoo, you know they aren't going anywhere.
It's like a coordinated assault on your senses that’s leaving you pinned to the sheets. You're so lost in the friction that you can't even tell whose locks you're tugging on. When they finally pull back looking all flushed, the air immediately hits your damp skin with a cold shock. Sunoo doesn't move far, he crawls upward and slides his body right next to yours until his chest is pressed up against your side. He leans in, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear and when he speaks it makes your toes curl.
"Open your eyes, baby." Sunoo whispers, his hand sliding up to cup your chin and tilt your face. "Look at how much he wants you, princess. He's been a nightmare all week because he thought he’d never get you like this again."
You open your eyes and the sight of Sunghoon above you is nothing like the composed man you’ve known so far, the smug mask has been replaced with something so raw and real. He even seems to be shaking as he grabs your ankles, dragging you down the bed until you're flush against him again.
"Sunoo, move," Sunghoon commands, his voice completely stripped of its usual silk and he’s looking at you with a hunger that feels so old you just never noticed it, his eyes blown out and dark. "I can't—I need to be inside her. Now."
If you weren’t shaking so much, you’d be able to notice he’s shaking as well, his movements are lacking their usual grace as he positions his stiff cock right at your hole that won’t stop gushing, his gaze locked onto yours as if Sunoo’s words were true and Sunghoon genuinely thought he’d never get you under him again. "Tell me you're mine," he rasps, his hands sliding up to pin your wrists beside your head. "Tell me I didn't imagine any of this."
As he drives into you, the stretch is so intense you immediately shut your eyes and let out a moan, "Ohh—Fu—Sunghoon!" But Sunoo doesn’t let you keep your eyes closed for long, his lips are still pressed to your ears as he whispers again, "No, baby. You gotta keep your eyes open."
And you really do try to heed your boyfriends words but the feeling of Sunghoon getting deeper and deeper and reaching that spot that makes you lost it is way too intense, you even reach down to place a hand on his stomach to slow him down but that just earns you a grunt, "Move your fucking hand." Sunoo is right then to help him move your hand out of the way as Sunghoon sets a tempo, his hips start to roll into yours with strokes that make it impossible for you not to feel every ridge and vein of his cock against your gummy walls. He's slowly reclaiming his composure, even as his skin glistens with sweat and he watches the way your breath hitches and you let out moans in sync with his thrusts.
Sunoo however, is slowly becoming restless with each moment that passes and he’s the only one still fully clothed, you can feel it in the way his body shifts against your side, his touch becoming more frequent and more demanding, he moves from pinching your nipples to sucking on them but it’s clear he’s no longer content just being spectator. His fingers trail restlessly over your collarbone, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he finally lets out a soft impatient whine against your skin.
Sunghoon catches the movement immediately and a small, dark smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, though his focus remains locked on the way you're unraveling beneath him.
"Look at him," Sunghoon rasps, his voice vibrating deep in his chest as he pushes into you again, slow and deep. "You're both exactly the same." He says before pausing for a heartbeat, staying buried deep within your cunt as he shifts his gaze to Sunoo. Sunghoon murmurs, a trace of fond exasperation through the lust. "Always so hungry for it. Always needing to be touched."
"Oh fuck—Hooooon!" You moan out when he suddenly finds a rhythm that has you egding towards your orgasm so quickly, it’s embarrassing. "I know, baby. I know." He chuckles, slowly returning to his usual smug self, he’s clearly proud he’s gotten you so pilant under his frame. Without breaking his rhythm with you, Sunghoon reaches out and slides his hand down Sunoo's hip, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Sunoo's gray sweats and pulling them down. The sudden exposure makes your boyfriend gasp, his back arching and hips chasing Sunghoon’s hand.
"If you're going to be restless, Sunoo, at least make yourself useful," Sunghoon commands, his thrusts picking up just a fraction of speed, his eyes darting between where you’re taking his thrusts with a plap plap plap and the boy who is now also completely at his mercy. "I'm not the only one she needs to feel tonight."
Sunoo doesn't need to be told twice, with his sweats pooled around his knees, he crawls back over you, and through the blurriness of your vision you watch the last shred of his gentle boyfriend persona vanish, getting replaced by demanding hunger that catches you off guard.
He moves over you with a predatory grace, he positions his leaking red cock right at your lips and his fingers that are usually so soft when they brush hair from your eyes, are now knotted firmly at the base of your skull. He uses that grip to anchor you and pulls your head back to guide your rhythm with a dominance that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. The contrast is staggering, your sweet boyfriend who brought you tea when you had cramps and held you when you cried is now using his strength to dictate exactly how you suck his dick.
As you start sucking him the way you know he likes, he immediately lets out a high whine that somehow vibrates through your jaw. He's vocal in a way that feels unhinged, his hips even start to buck instinctively against your mouth, sending his cock deeper and deeper into the warmth of your mouth while he whimpers your name.
Sunghoon, who’s still pounding into you, watches the display with a darkened gaze. He feels the way your gummy walls squeeze him every time Sunoo's grip tightens just a little in your hair, the dual pleasure is beginning to create a sensory feedback loop that's becoming impossible to manage and it doesn’t help that Sunoo is still pinching and prodding at your over sensitive nipples.
"Fuck," Sunghoon curses, the word rips from his throat as he loses the steady rhythm he'd worked so hard to maintain. His head falls back and his throat works as he tries to keep his composure while being caught between the sight of your mouth wrapped around Sunoo and his own wet friction inside you.
Through his moans and whines, Sunoo manages a breathless chuckle but doesn't let up his grip—if anything, he pulls tighter on your hair and locks eyes with Sunghoon with a look of pure mischief.
The room is practically thick with the sound of desperate breathing and the frantic slap of skin against skin added with the squelch of your throat and lips as Sunoo uses your mouth. You are sitting right in the edge of what you know is about to be am earth shattering orgasm, your body stretched tight like a bowstring ready to snap. Sunghoon's movements have lost their calculated grace and he's now fucking into your cunt with a raw, heavy power, that has him hitting that one specific spot that makes your vision go white every time his hips collide with yours. "I—I’m so close, Hoon! Right there please!" You pull off Sunoo to moan out.
You can feel the tremors starting in his thighs, there’s a way his muscles are corded and vibrating with the effort of holding back and when one particularly deep thrust sends a jolt through you, making clench around him in a desperate vice.
"Oh shit, baby—" Sunghoon gasps, his head falling into the crook of your neck as that clench shatters his remaining restraint. He's falling over the edge very quickly and his body begins to shudder as he spills all his cum into you, pumping you full of his essence that immediately triggers yours. Your vision goes white at the edges and you suddenly go completely incoherent, babbling and screaming nonsense. "Aha! Sss—hoon, Sunoo!"
Sunoo who is still above you with his cock already starting to leak into your mouth, his knuckles have turned white where they're still knotted in your hair and his face twisted in a mask of agonized frustration. "Baby you’re gonna make me cum," he whines, his voice breaking as his hips buck his length into your mouth. "I can't—I'm so close."
Sunghoon doesn't pull away or pulled out of you, even as he's coming down from his own high, he reaches up and wraps his hand around the back of Sunoo's neck and pulls him forward. "Come here," Sunghoon commands, his voice a guttural rasp. "Right here."
Sunoo pulls out of your mouth and collapses forward, he joins Sunghoon and lets out a shattered cry as he finally lets go, the release hits him with a force that leaves him trembling against your skin, spilling his cum right over your pussy. You're caught in the middle of them, caught in the middle of two men who know just how to break you and put you back together. Sunghoon moves so suddenly, pulling back to look at you and he doesn’t look quite satisfied, he looks down at the messy evidence of their shared claim on you, and decides there and then to sweep it all together and push it back into you with two fingers. You let out a soft moan when he begins to finger you into another orgasm, you don’t know whose fingers begin to rub at your clit but from the familiarity you suspect it’s Sunoo. They both have you shaking and damn near crying from the overstimulation.
"There," Sunghoon whispers, bring his hand to your lips and tracing his thump over the line of your lower lip as he leans in to kiss you, making you taste the mix of salt and victory on his tongue.
Sunoo has already curled his body around your side and Sunghoon basically falls over you, the territorial wars and the erasures of the past week feel like a fever dream that has finally broken.
nene’s note ── not so comeback comeback, i can’t stay gone for too long. enjoy!💋
ok so any member x bsf reader where the member(your choice!🩶) starts giving her a massage bc she’s been complaining about sore and stiff. and of course, he can’t help but play with her perky little nipples and her tight, dripping pussy🦋 giving them a “massage”😉 and it escalates from there!
this has been on my mind all day😭 if you could write it, that would be lovely🫠🩶 thank you for everything you do, babe.💋
Falling Apart
I.N x F! Best friend reader
Ooooo you horny lil thing ;) I gotchu babe. I barely ever write innie so I figured why not do it for this one. Bro’s hands are hot asf and you bet your ass I want them ALL OVER ME (I’m not ashamed)
AMAZING first request, I hope you enjoy this panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)
You’d been complaining about it for days — the ache between your shoulders, the tension in your lower back, even your thighs feeling tight after running around all week. Jeongin had been there through every little groan, every dramatic flop onto the couch, every “I swear I’m falling apart.”
And tonight, you were sprawled belly-down on his couch in a loose sleep shirt and shorts, lazily scrolling your phone when he wandered in from the kitchen with a glass of water.
“You’ve been whining all week,” he said, grinning like the little shit he was. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just fishing for sympathy.”
You let out a muffled noise into the cushion. “It’s not whining if it’s true. I’m sore, Innie. My back’s killing me.”
He put the glass down and sat beside you, looking thoughtful for all of two seconds before casually saying, “I can fix that. Turn over.”
You blinked up at him. “You… do massages now?”
“I can at least try,” he shrugged. “C’mon. It’s either me or you keep complaining until you actually do fall apart.”
You rolled your eyes but shifted, laying on your stomach again, head turned toward him. You heard the creak of the couch as he moved behind you, felt his warm hands press lightly onto your shoulders.
At first, it was innocent. His thumbs kneaded gently into the muscles at the base of your neck, pressing in little circles that made you let out a tiny hum of relief.
“God, you’re tense,” he murmured.
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
He chuckled, digging a bit deeper. “Tell me if I’m too rough.”
The minutes stretched on — his palms sliding over your upper back, thumbs pressing in just the right spots, the heel of his hand smoothing down along your spine. You sighed, melting a little more into the couch.
His hands moved lower, kneading into the sides of your ribs through your thin shirt. “Okay, why does this part feel tight too? What have you been doing?”
“Existing,” you mumbled. “Existing is exhausting.”
He laughed softly — but then you felt his fingers skim just under the edge of your shirt as he smoothed over your sides again. Warm fingertips, slow and steady. His touch lingered there a fraction longer than necessary.
His hands slid lower, thumbs grazing the top of your shorts as he worked at the muscles in your lower back. You swore he pressed in a little slower this time, palms flattening over your hips before dragging up again.
You were relaxed — but not in the same way as before. Your skin prickled where he touched, heat curling low in your stomach.
“Better?” he asked, voice a little softer now.
“Mhm…” you breathed, not trusting your voice with more than that.
⸻
His hands were warm — almost too warm — as they roamed across your back. Jeongin’s thumbs pressed in small, deliberate circles along each side of your spine, drawing lazy paths up to your shoulders, down again to your waist, then repeating the motion like he had nowhere else to be tonight.
He’d pause every so often, palms flattening over a spot, his thumbs working deeper until you let out that little sigh he seemed intent on chasing.
“See?” he murmured, almost smug. “Told you I could help.”
“Mmm… feels good,” you mumbled into the couch cushion.
“Good,” he echoed softly, as if he liked the sound of you admitting it.
Another slow pass down your back — only this time, when he reached your lower waist, his hands smoothed outward, fingertips brushing the curve of your hips before coming back in. Barely there, like a whisper over your skin.
It was nothing. Probably nothing. Except now you noticed everything. The way his fingers sometimes drifted higher up your ribs before returning to safer territory. How his palms seemed to mold against you, memorizing the shape of your body under the thin cotton.
He moved lower again, kneading into the tops of your thighs through your shorts. His thumbs pressed into the muscles there, and a shiver ran up your spine despite the fact that you were supposed to be relaxing.
“Too hard?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
You shook your head quickly. “No… it’s fine.”
“Mm. You’re warm,” he commented absently, as though it was just an observation — but his hands didn’t leave your thighs. They lingered, squeezing lightly before sliding upward again, tracing along the sides of your shorts until his fingers just barely brushed the soft crease where your thigh met your hip.
Your breath hitched — quiet enough you hoped he didn’t notice.
He noticed. You could feel it in the way his hands stilled for half a second before continuing, his touch a little slower now, more deliberate.
“You’re still tense,” he said, thumbs dragging up along your lower back. “Want me to go a little higher?”
You hummed in what you hoped was a neutral answer.
His hands traveled upward — not to your shoulders this time, but along your sides, fingers grazing the outer edges of your breasts in a way that could still just pass as an accident.
Except he did it again. And again. Each pass was slower, fingertips curling in slightly, pressing just enough that the friction of your shirt caught against your nipples.
Goosebumps prickled down your arms.
“You okay?” Jeongin asked softly, voice a little lower now, his thumbs lazily circling over the thin fabric.
You swallowed. “Y-yeah. Just… sensitive.”
A faint hum left him — the kind that could’ve meant anything. “Sensitive’s fine.”
He didn’t move away. If anything, his palms settled more firmly over the sides of your chest, his thumbs pressing in small, careful circles that had nothing to do with knots or sore muscles. His touch was unhurried, like he was testing how much you’d let him get away with.
When his thumbs brushed over your nipples this time, he didn’t pull back. He rolled them gently through the fabric, slow and deliberate.
And still — still — his voice came soft, almost innocent.
“Does that help?”
⸻
Jeongin’s thumbs moved in lazy circles over your shirt, each pass brushing the peaks of your nipples just enough to make them ache. He wasn’t squeezing, wasn’t groping — but the steady, feather-light friction was somehow worse.
Your breath kept catching in tiny, embarrassing hitches, and every time, you swore you felt his hands slow… like he was listening for them.
He dipped his palms down your sides again, thumbs tracing the curve of your waist before sweeping upward in one long stroke that pulled your shirt slightly higher. Cool air licked at your skin for a moment before his hands returned, pressing gently along your ribcage.
“Still okay?” he asked, tone almost gentle.
“Mhm…” you hummed, even though you weren’t sure if “okay” was the right word anymore.
He chuckled under his breath — a sound that sank warm and low into your stomach.
“Good. I just want to make sure I’m getting everywhere you’re sore.”
Your skin prickled at the phrasing.
His hands swept up again — slower this time, fingers sliding inward another centimeter, brushing closer to the swell of your breasts. You bit your lip, but your hips shifted subtly against the couch cushion.
The movement didn’t escape him. His palms paused against your sides, and you felt the tiniest flex of his fingers before they retreated… only to return seconds later, almost like he’d been thinking it over.
This time when his thumbs met in the center of your back, they dragged upward in parallel lines — stopping right where your bra clasp sat beneath your shirt. He pressed into the muscle there, kneading, but every so often his fingers would slip outward and skim the sides of your breasts again.
“You’re breathing different,” he murmured near your ear.
You froze. “…Am I?”
“Yeah.” His voice was soft, almost teasing. “It’s… deeper. Like you’re trying not to move too much.”
Heat rushed to your face. “Maybe because your thumbs are basically right there,” you muttered, hoping to deflect.
“Right where?” he asked, all faux-innocence, but his fingers spread wider over your chest until there was no mistaking where “there” was.
Your shirt shifted as he leaned over slightly, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. “Want me to… skip this part?”
The question hung in the air — a perfect out — but your silence said everything.
He hummed like your answer pleased him. “Thought so.”
His hands moved again, slow and deliberate now, cupping over the sides of your breasts through the thin cotton. Not squeezing… just holding. Feeling. Testing the weight of them like he was mapping your body in his head.
Then his thumbs began small, careful circles right over your nipples.
⸻
Jeongin let his hands linger over your chest for another long moment, thumbs circling until you were warm all over and biting your lip against the little noises you wanted to make. Then, almost as if he’d decided to give you a break, his palms slid down again, fingers gliding over your ribs and waist until they settled on your hips.
He squeezed lightly, his thumbs pressing into the muscles there. “These feel tight too,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
You huffed out a tiny laugh. “Didn’t realize hips could get sore.”
“They can,” he said simply, kneading slowly. “Especially if you’ve been… moving around a lot.”
The pause before “moving around” felt intentional, but you didn’t call him on it.
His thumbs pressed lower, tracing the slope of your hips into the curve of your outer thighs. He worked at the muscles there with slow, steady pressure, kneading in a way that sent little jolts of heat upward.
“Tell me if this feels weird,” he said, though his tone was far from innocent now.
It didn’t feel weird. It felt like your heartbeat had dropped straight between your legs.
He shifted his hands inward, palms warm against the top of your thighs, kneading slowly toward the center. Each movement dragged his fingers a little closer to the sensitive crease where your legs met your body, until his knuckles were just grazing the edge of your shorts.
Your breath caught, and he stilled for half a second.
“Too high?”
You swallowed. “…No.”
His thumbs stroked upward again, and this time they slipped fractionally under the hem of your shorts. The skin there was tender, delicate — and the light pressure of his touch made your hips twitch.
“Here too?” he murmured, voice low like he was talking about any other sore spot.
“Mhm…” you breathed, though you weren’t thinking about muscle knots anymore.
He kept working in slow, deliberate circles — higher each time, until his thumbs were brushing dangerously close to the heat between your legs. You felt the couch cushion warm under your body, the soft cotton of your shorts clinging faintly from where you were starting to get wet.
“You’re… warm here too,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Like… really warm.”
You bit your lip, half certain he could feel your pulse through his thumbs.
Then, casually — as though it was the most natural thing in the world — he let one thumb drift up along the center seam of your shorts, a feather-light stroke that made your whole body tense.
That single stroke along the seam of your shorts made your breath stutter — and Jeongin heard it.
Felt the way your thighs tensed, the way your hips shifted just slightly into his hand.
A sharp breath escaped you before you could stop it, and his quiet laugh ghosted against your neck.
“Yeah… I don’t think this is about sore muscles anymore.”
⸻
His fingers flexed against you once… twice… and then he let out a quiet curse under his breath.
“Fuck it.”
Both hands gripped your hips, guiding you to roll onto your back so he could look at you. You blinked up at him, startled, and saw something in his expression you’d never seen before — pupils blown wide, lips parted, his chest rising a little faster.
“No more pretending,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’ve been… making these little noises all night and acting like you don’t notice what I’m doing.”
You opened your mouth to protest — not because he was wrong, but because your brain was scrambling — only for him to cut you off by sliding one hand up your inner thigh.
“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he murmured. “Otherwise…” His fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts and dragged them slowly down your legs, tossing them aside.
The air was cool against the heat between your thighs, and his gaze dropped there instantly. “Fuck… you’re already—” He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe it.
You swallowed hard, your voice quiet. “You said you wanted to help…”
He gave a soft, breathless laugh. “Yeah, but not like this.” His thumb pressed gently over the damp spot in your panties, rubbing a slow circle that made your hips twitch. “You feel that? That’s not muscle tension.”
Your cheeks burned, but your legs parted instinctively under his touch.
Jeongin’s eyes flicked up to yours, holding them as he slid his thumb along your slit through the thin fabric. The heat of it was unbearable — teasing pressure, the friction making you wetter by the second.
“You’re… fuck, you’re soaked,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “And I haven’t even…” His fingers slipped under your panties, finally touching you bare.
The first glide of his fingertips over your folds had you gasping, and his eyes snapped up again, like he was memorizing the sound.
“God, you’re warm,” he breathed, stroking you slowly, exploring every slick contour. His touch was tentative at first — careful — but the more you whimpered under his hand, the bolder he got.
His middle finger slid between your folds, circling your clit in slow, deliberate motions that had you clutching at the couch cushion.
“Tell me if I’m doing it right,” he murmured, eyes fixed on your face.
“You… are,” you gasped, arching into him without meaning to.
That drew a small, smug smile from him. “Good.” He pressed a little harder, his strokes growing more confident, more rhythmic. “God, why didn’t we do this sooner?”
Your head fell back, and he took the opportunity to slip lower, positioning himself between your knees. His free hand pushed your shirt up to your chest, exposing your breasts, and he groaned quietly at the sight.
“Perfect,” he muttered, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth while his fingers kept working between your legs. The combination made you cry out softly, your hips rolling against his hand.
He moaned against your skin, the vibration shooting straight through you. “You taste so fucking good” he said, flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking again. His other hand’s pace on your clit didn’t falter for a second.
⸻
Jeongin’s lips left your nipple reluctantly, but only to trail down your chest, leaving a soft, wet path along your skin before returning to nibble gently. His eyes never left yours, watching your reactions like he’d memorized every gasp and shiver.
Meanwhile, his fingers between your legs moved with patience, slow circles over your clit, sliding in and out lightly, teasing your entrance without pressing too hard — not yet. Every flick of his finger made your hips jerk, your thighs squeeze instinctively, and your breath hitched with growing desperation.
“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “Fucking perfect.”
His thumb pressed more firmly against your clit, tracing little circles, and you cried out, hips lifting into his hand. Jeongin chuckled softly, catching the sound like a drug.
“Shh… just relax. I’m taking care of you,” he whispered, pressing one hand firmly to your hip to hold you in place while his other hand explored every slick fold, sliding inside lightly, teasing the rim, dragging his fingers just far enough to make your toes curl.
You were trembling, back arching, and he didn’t even let you catch your breath. His fingers glided between your folds in slow, deliberate strokes, alternating between gentle teasing and firmer, more insistent plunges that had your hips rocking against his hand.
Every time you felt close, he would slow, lift his fingers, or drag a teasing line along your inner thigh, making your whole body shiver in frustration.
“Not… yet…” he murmured against your skin, pressing his lips briefly to the side of your neck before resuming delicate, maddening circles with his fingers.
Your head lolled back, mouth open, gasping as he slid two fingers in slowly, curling them inside you just right. The friction of his thumb circling your clit while his fingers fucked you with patience you didn’t know you could endure made your knees tremble.
“Fuck… Innie… please…” you whimpered, your voice barely a breath.
He pressed closer, letting his thumb drag over your clit in teasing sweeps while his fingers explored deeper, curling inside in ways that made your vision blur. “I want you to feel every little thing,” he murmured, dragging out each word. “Soaking… all for me.”
His mouth returned to your nipple, sucking and nipping just enough to make your chest arch and your hips jerk. Every touch, every slow press of his fingers, drove you wild — you were practically shaking, but he refused to let you cum. Not yet.
Minutes stretched on. He alternated between circling your clit, pressing inside you lightly, dragging a finger along your entrance, and letting you think maybe — just maybe — he’d let you reach the edge… only to slow again. The teasing, the drawn-out torturous patience, made your stomach coil with tension.
“God… you’re so… tight, warm… perfect,” he breathed against your shoulder, slipping a third finger in slowly now, dragging in every curve and fold as your hips bucked uncontrollably.
You were shaking. Your legs quivered around him. Your voice caught in little gasps and cries. And yet… he continued, slow, deliberate, teasing, letting you feel the overwhelming pleasure without granting release.
“Just a little more… almost there,” he whispered, circling your clit with his thumb while curling his fingers inside, dragging you to the edge again and again. Your thighs trembled, your back arched, and your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.
By the time he let you finally cum, it was a shuddering, quaking release that left you drenched and trembling, clinging to the couch cushions. Jeongin groaned low, holding you through it, teasing you with slow, careful strokes until every shiver had passed.
He didn’t pull away, didn’t let you catch your breath fully. Instead, he rested his forehead lightly against yours, fingers still tracing your sensitive folds, murmuring softly, “Mmm… should’ve done this a long fucking time ago”
TYSM for reading!!
Feel free to check out my master list to see more of my works!
Tags : oral ( f ), munch! Hyunjin, overstimulation, explicit language, hair pulling, dom! Hyunjin, lmk if I missed any
[ Yu’s lovenote .ᐟ ] the fucking honey skin..mm i could just get wet rn. Lmfao the title though i let a giggle out
“F-fuck, hyunjin- AH!” Your strangled moans were filling the room, yet went right into one ear and out the other as Hes completely focussed on your slick entrance practically pulling his tongue in, the wet sounds having him groaning and tightening his grip just a tad.
Hes been at this for hours, you’ve tried pushing, you’ve tried slapping at his shoulders to get him to pull away just to let you breathe. But it’s no use, Hes literally stuck to your pussy, fixated on it some might say. But no doubt he’d leave it alone when it just looks so..
His hips were rutting down against the mattress with each torturing, burning lick of his aching, soaked muscle against your folds, hair an absolute mess from the way your hands were yanking and pulling at the bleached strands. Screaming his name into the sheets. He could cum in his boxers right then and there.
“G-god you taste..s-soo fucking good angel..so so so good..” he mewls, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the sight of you wrecked from just his tongue. “You take it..s-so well..” his voice was shaky, uneven with how bewildered he was, eyes blown wide, body shaking just as hard as yours, knuckles white under the sheer pressure of his grip around the plush flesh of your thighs.
You’ve already been through a horribly long period of orgasms, the bottom of his face drenched in your juices, eyes hazy and face fully flushed. It was a sight, you barely see him like this. But now? A complete, utter mess.
It’s like he can’t spend a day without his mouth on you, he couldn’t survive without the sweet taste, how all the sounds you make were because of him. It just gets him so fucking turned on he forgets how overstimulated you even become. Yet the ushered apologies clearly were sarcastic.
“M’ so..sorry baby- so so sorry..” he whispers, voice low and praising, a dark contrast of his constant abuse of your swollen clit, walls fluttering around his tongue with every push inside.
You were reaching your peek before you knew it, back arching violently, body thrashing beneath his evil ministrations, voice cracking in a hushed shudder, “shit i-fuck im cumming,,hyunjin!” You sob, hand reaching down to push down at his head, the overstimulation going right over you, shoved down by the amount of raw pleasure.
“Cmon..you can do it, for me-L-love..” he whispers roughly between sloppy, open mouthed kisses against your cunt, arms locked shut around your legs as he pushed you on and on.
And that last, long swipe of his tongue had you coming undone almost immediately, draping his chin in a mix of your juices, screeching as he suddenly presses it back against you, lapping your release messily, moaning quietly against you.
You were completely spent, body slick with sweat, hand darting up to wipe the drool from your mouth,
“Im not done..with you love..” his voice was quiet, but the choked sob that pushed past your lips when his mouth latched onto you again, abusing your sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. Swirling it around with a fast pace.
The knot in your stomach was tight, it felt almost uncomfortable as your legs clamped around his head, squeezing so tight his cheeks were flushing with a pink tint. Moaning into your used cunt, the vibrations sending your body hurling off the soaked mattress beneath you.
He was eating you like he’d not eaten for fucking years, ravishing in the amazing taste of you, the scent of sweat and sex filling his nostrils.
“Quit..fucking moving.” He grumbles against you, eyes burning right up into yours as he pushes you further and further. Hands splayed across your hickey stained skin of your thighs, warm from his relentless sucking beforehand.
His nose didnt help either, perfectly sculpted and nudging straight along your folds every time his hot muscle breached your tight hole.
Your shocked and bewildered noises sent a wave of heat straight to his neglected cock, angry and swollen in his boxers. Practically begging for attention.
When you first met him, you didnt expect him to be a certified munch. Especially someone this experienced to have you toppling and turning under his vice-like grip. But it’s definitely not a complaint— not when Hes getting off on devouring your pussy whole as if it was his last meal.
As if his tongue wasnt enough, his ringed up fingers came up and down your slick folds, the wet squelches of your juices mixing with the sounds of pure pleasure and satisfaction coming from him, eyes glowing at the sight— his fingertips pushed in slow, gently navigating that spongey spot deep in your gummy walls, lips sucking on your nub at the same time.
—scissoring the two fingers to open you up more, pad of his fingers poking and prodding at that forbidden spot inside you, your head spinning and screeching into the pillow, hands clawing at anything stabilised you could get ahold of, breathing ragged and choked.
Another orgasm was preaching, pending as the signals of your body gave it away, eyes rolling back at his fast rhythm, fingers plunging deep in and out of your heat. You could adjust to this, not until another finger was added, wrist curling at the perfect angle. “Yeah..just like that, shes doing soo fucking good for me..”
But just as you reached your peak, his movements came to a fast halt, your eyes snap open as you gaze down at him, “h-Hyunjin fuck- keep..Moving!” You cry out, but he just tilts his head, a mocking smirk plastered on that stupid face.
“Mm..i dont know, sweetheart..im getting tired..” he mumbles against your thigh, eyes blown wide with adrenaline.
“F-fuck..” you sob, walls clenching around his stilled digits in a low beg, the pulse making him groan but keep ahold of his manner.
You tried moving your hips against them, tried grinding down on his fingers, but before you even could, he began again, pace violent and aggressive, palm burning against your weeping cunt. Your breath caught in a high pitched squeal, hands scraping at his scalp, and his mouth was on you again, lapping at the leaking entrance, where juices spilled and piled just beneath the fine curve of your ass, tongue following the flow of release with a slow motion.
You didn’t have time to react before you clamped down against him, the knot in your lower stomach bursting completely as spurts of arousal gushed out of your pussy violently, coating his hand in a pearly substance down to the curve of his wrist, his tongue darting out to sweep at it.
genre - smut
word count - 1.1k
content warning - public sex, unprotected sex
⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆
"Come on, fuck me, emo boy" - Ayesha Erotica
There's a song on the overhead that everyone's heard of, but no one really knows. The cashier that's covering you is a bitch to anyone who doesn't think My chemical romance is the best there is and it's Saturday, so the store is packed with teens tearing through band tees, but you're stuck in the back room.
“fuckfuckfuck” okay, so maybe not stuck, just conveniently pinned to the wall of the cramped storage room behind a sloppily placed wall of boxes with your co-worker deep enough inside you that you can actually see the black parade.
“quiet, doll, don't wanna get caught” Hyunjin moves, shallow and slow, sinking deeper by the second. His fingers are splayed over your sides like he's framing them. “gotta be quick, locks broken
The lock is always broken but that's never stopped you before. You and Hyunjin never intended for things to end up this way. You were assigned to train him for a month, that's all. But he was easy, a fast learner, an expert at smudged eyeliner, and by the time you realized you two were heading for more than training, the lines got too blurry to go back.
Before you knew it, he was flipping your skirt up in a changing room, and now you're here, sneaking to the backroom for a fix when you're supposed to be restocking tees.
“can't keep quiet—shit—if you're in my fucking guts” he huffs a laugh, something too cute for the way he ruts into you.
Your tights are ruined, ripped up the middle in a hole far too inappropriate for the setting, his jeans are down just enough to free what you must admit is a generously sized cock.
The sound of skin on skin is faint; the squeeze is tight and that alone threatens to finish him before he truly gets to start.
“such a tiny cunt, I can barely fit.” his pace evens out, deeper now and fast enough to give your both away if anyone even started to open the door.
“fuckin wet, I bet you couldn't wait for this. you were counting down the seconds for me to drag you in here, weren't you?”
You manage a hum and push back against him, taking him all in the next thrust and it nearly ruins you both. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, eyes rolling back just like yours. You press your open mouth to the back of your hand that's pressed to the wall, struggling not to make a sound.
“you want all of it that badly?” his voice is a rasp that he doesn't bother to clear. “show me you can take it.”
He doesn't have to tell you twice. You do it again, push back and meet him in the middle until he's buried to the hilt. His nails dig into the plush of your waist, hips pressed to the swell of your ass and he watches every damn movement.
He groans, tries to bite it back and fails, “that's how you make me fucking cum.” you do it again, and again and by the sixth time your moans start to climb in volume. Hyunjin slips his arm around you, staying inside and standing you up for a deeper feel.
It's paralyzing.
“nuh uh–deep too fuckin deep, I can't.” you gasp, you swear you feel the head of his cock pressing against your belly button. “hyun, so fucking–too fucking…” he grinds up before you get to finish. you yelp, like, actually squeak.
“cute.” his hand comes up and around to cover your mouth, the other grabs your hip. “let me hear that again.”
He goes at it. He's deep deep, pulling back and bullying himself back in like he's making room for every inch of him. Your legs shake, your mouth hangs open and wet against his palm. You're so gone. blissed out on the clock and not giving a fuck about it.
“you're soaking me to my balls.” you manage a moan that's drowned out by the sound he tries and fails to choke back. “you feel me twitchin’ for ya?”
You do, you feel every twitch and pulse of his cock and you know he's close, so fucking close. You are too, but you're too gone to say it. So you come undone in his arms, no warning, legs trembling and whimpers escaping the tight seal of his palm.
Hyunjin holds you up, presses your chest to the wall and pins your hips forward so that he's flush to you. you could cry at the feeling.
“that's my girl, feel good? needed that?” he picks up pace, slipping two fingers over your tongue to keep you quiet. “suck”
You do. God, you do. Like your life fucking depends on it cause you know your job does.
Hyunjin is panting, sweating, blonde and black hair stuck to his neck and perfectly smudged liner running and still looking perfect.
“oh fuck oh fuck, here I come, baby.” then he does, hot and heavy in your cunt until you're flooding. Hyunjin presses his forehead against your shoulder in an attempt to brace himself, trying to keep silent. It barely works.
“holy shit, you're full.” You can't answer, too busy coming down from your second orgasm, it snuck up on you but you can't tell when.
Hyunjin slips his fingers from between your lips and you huff a heavy breath. You're quiet, this is the part that takes focus, cause you're filled to the brim with him and you can't spill a drop.
His rule, not yours.
It's routine, slip your panties up and he pulls out nice and slow, then, you pull your panties in place and trap what you can snug in your cunt.
Once they're up, you turn around and nearly moan again. He's a mess. Liner running, hair a mess from where you've tugged it, lips a pretty pink just like his stubborn half-hard cock.
“good?” he asks, trying to tuck himself away, still sensitive.
You nod once, eyes flicking up to meet his, “good.”
Once Hyunjin is settled he turns his attention to you. Fixing your hair, tee, cleaning up your liner with a swipe of his thumb. When he gets to your skirt—tights ripped up the middle, fabric hiked up and twisted—he takes a second to feel the aftermath. He runs two fingers over the messy gusset of your panties, feeling the warm sticky weight for a second, just a second, then smooths down your skirt.
It's still quiet, he steps back, looks at you, and smiles, pretty and satisfied—for now.
Then it hits him, “we're closing, right?”
You smile back, your mind already wandering too far too fast, “yeah, we are.”
a/n - hyunjin posted on insta and i didn't sleep for this. it's 3:19am. I crawled out of my bed and turned on my computer to post this. boom, there you go <3.
also, to my sister @foxytoxxic who said "ima wake up to a hard thought" yes tf you are :))
ೃ༄* Summary !! Living with the maknae and the oldest member of skz was so fun...or so everyone thought but when the lights go off they aren't what they appear, innocent and sweet. ೃ༄*
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Warnings - +18, smut, mentions of breeding, threesome, tapped sex, and heavy language, lmk if I forgot anything!!"
༉‧₊˚. "Fuck, baby your practically dripping on our innie," Chan says holding up the skz talker camera to your pretty fucked out face. Jeongin grunts in your ear as he nibbles on your earlobe thrusting into you like this the best pussy he's ever had, cause it is. He's obsessed with you every second of the day he has you ready to be able to take him anywhere. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. "Channie, mmh please I need to cum!" Chan smiles scooting back on the bed zooming in to what he thinks is true photography, Jeongin demolishing you. Although Jeongin's jn the position Chan strictly told him he can't let you cum until he says so. "Fuck, Hyung she keeps clenching i'm not gonna last-" Jeongin says grunting as Chan lifts your head up to lay on his thighs as Jeongin continues to have your legs wrapped around his waist railing into you. "Not till I say so baby," Chan grits his teeth as he zooms into you breast, the light hitting them perfectly. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. You and the boys landed in Paris for tour as you travel with them everywhere, as you are Jeongin's girlfriend. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. Little did all the other six boys know, one day you were in the studio with Jeongin in Chan just normal music stuff one thing led to another they had you on all fours on the couch as Jeongin thrusted into you from behind, while you gagged on Chan's cock. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. So today you were sharing a hotel with Jeongin, although Jeongin still allowed you and Chan to have your fun, That's when Chan had the best idea to record the best things he did in Paris. That being you, for his skz talker vlog. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. Jeongin finally cum's. Hard. Leaving you full yet still not being able to reach your climax because of Chan demanding he gets to make you cum. Obviously you and Jeongin agree due to Channie being the oldest one in the room. He passes the camera to Jeongin, as he's still panting from his massive orgasm. Chan strips infront of you fixing his long blonde hair as you watched with lustfull eyes. You look down to his thick, hard member and moan. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. You loved Jeongin of course he's your boyfriend, but something about Chan is how huge and dominant he was and that always made you so wet and ready for him without prep. Chan slips into you easily as your eyes are glued to his abs and the light happy trail leading to a very happy meal. "Eyes on the camera baby," He says pointing to Jeongin still recording. And you listen your eyes stay glued to it as Chan folds you in half holding your legs as he demolishes your soft plush pussy. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. "Channie-! Please i'm not gonna last!!" He grits his teeth knowing damn well he won't either the way you're clenching around him like you want him to stay there. Every single thrust making the bed creak so loud the hotel might sue as you feel like the bed's about to snap. After five deep thrust you finally cum, it feels like heaven then you get flipped around. Your face forced down into the mattress as Jeongin goes behind Chan to get the best viewing to make you rewatch it with him later. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. Thrust after thrust he just won't stop, your ass burns by how hard his balls are snapping against you. He's gripping on you so tight the bruises from his and Jeongins will bruise for months. "Innie your so damn lucky you get to have this whenever you want, fuck- I would have you pregnant already baby." Chan says so fucked out as he finally cums. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
༉‧₊˚. Jeongin cleans you up thanking you for letting them have fun with you as he kisses you, as sweet kiss the reason why you picked him because of how patient and passionate he was with you. As Chan's on the sofa of the hotel watching the so called "skz talker" trying to put in the right videos to post. Telling you how beautiful you look that maybe he should post it instead. "Haha, so funny channie" You say wobbling to the bathroom to wash off all the mess between your legs. ⋆·˚ ༘ *
Authors note !! Hii, I'm so glad you guys liked my last post it being my first one too!! This is basically always running through my mind I always say BOAF. To channie and innie so why not make a fic about it!! Thank you guys hope you like it!!
