sumarry. After debuting, hype came to the conclusion that Katseye needed a seventh member. So, when you joined, the girls who were used to being six weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea. As a result, they each started doing things individually to try to make you want to leave the group. But their methods… are quite peculiar.
content. g!p megan, g!p manon, humiliation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, threesomes, mommy kink, degradation, others…
It's not that Dani had suddenly become a warm and affectionate person. She was still the same one who crossed her arms when you entered a room, the same one who looked at you with that slightly furrowed brow. But something had changed. Something subtle, something anyone who wasn't paying attention wouldn't have noticed, but you did.
Last night, when everyone had gone to their rooms, you heard three sharp knocks on your door. When you opened it, Dani was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and the same poker face she always used, the one that revealed nothing.
"I have things to do," she said, her voice as neutral as her face. "So you shower first. I'll do it later."
She didn't say "I'm giving you my spot." She didn't say "you go first so you get hot water." She said "I have things to do," as if it were a matter of logistics, of schedules, of simple convenience. But you knew. You knew it was a silly excuse, one of those white lies people tell when they don't know how to say what they really feel.
"Okay," you said, and you said it as if you believed her, as if you hadn't noticed what she was doing. Because you knew that if you thanked her, if you returned the gesture too clearly, she would close up again. She would put on that armor she used with everyone and that was starting to crack with you.
Dani nodded too, a short movement, and turned to leave. But before taking the first step, she stopped. One second. Nothing more. And you saw how her jaw tensed, how her fingers pressed against her own forearms, how she fought with herself for an instant before continuing down the hallway.
You didn't say anything. You closed the door slowly, but when you heard her bedroom door close, you smiled. Because she had come. Because she had cared. Because, in her clumsy and rough way, she was starting to take care of you.
The official announcement came out on a Tuesday at ten in the morning.
When the post appeared, the world stopped for a second. A photo of you and a simple text: "Welcome to the family. #KATSEYE #NewMember."
One thousand followers. Ten thousand. One hundred thousand. The screen refreshed every time you blinked, comments accumulating in a waterfall of names and profile pictures you couldn't keep up with. Your hand was shaking. Your phone kept vibrating nonstop with notifications piling on top of each other. One million. One million two hundred. One million five hundred.
You couldn't believe it. You had been in the studio all morning, oblivious to the world, and when you came out you found that your life had changed without you doing anything. The Eyekons had adopted you.
You went down to the kitchen with your phone still in your hand, notifications still coming in. Sophia was making coffee, Lara was reading something on the couch, Megan and Manon were sharing an earbud watching a video on Dani's phone. They all looked up when you walked in.
"What happened?" Sophia asked, her voice carrying that note of alert she used when something was out of place.
"Nothing," you said, and a smile escaped before you could contain it. "It's just that… they posted the announcement."
Megan was the first to grab her phone. Dani followed. Then Lara. Then Sophia. Manon was the last, and when she did, her expression didn't change. But you saw her. You saw her jaw tighten, saw her fingers tense around her phone, saw her gaze fix on the numbers that kept growing.
"One million seven hundred," Megan said, and her voice held something that wasn't resentment or indifference, it was something else, something more complicated. "In two hours."
"One million seven hundred," Dani repeated, and she looked at you in a way you couldn't read.
"The Eyekons are crazy," Lara said, and there was something in her voice that sounded like admiration, or surprise, or both.
Manon said nothing. She put her phone down on the table, face down, and got up to get herself some water. Her back was rigid, her shoulders tense, her fingers wrapped around the glass with more force than necessary.
No one said anything. But they all saw it. They all saw how Manon — the visual, the one who had always been the most seen, the one who graced magazine covers and fan comments — clenched her jaw and looked away.
Later, when the others had dispersed and you were alone in the kitchen with your phone still vibrating on the table, Manon came back in. She didn't say anything. She leaned against the counter next to you, so close her arm brushed yours, and looked at the screen where the numbers kept climbing.
"You're doing well," she said, her voice flat, measured.
"It's just the first day," you replied, not really knowing what to say.
"HYPE wants us to do content together," she said, and her voice had changed to the professional one, the one she used in interviews. "That dance Dani did with Yeonjun. Early tomorrow. Don't be late."
And she left. Without looking at you. Without waiting for an answer.
You stayed in the kitchen with your phone in your hand, notifications still coming, numbers still climbing, knowing perfectly well that tomorrow was your new opportunity.
The set was already set up when you arrived. A tripod with the phone in recording position. A ring light behind it ensuring the recording had the best possible quality. Manon was in the center, arms crossed, jaw tight. She was wearing a black matching set, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail that exposed the line of her neck, her ears where two small earrings glinted under the light.
"Let's start as soon as possible, I want to leave already," she said, her voice sharp, professional.
There was no "hello." Manon walked to the phone, pressed the record button, and the red light became fixed, unwavering. Then she stood in front of you, at a distance that was professional, measured, and waited.
The music started. The choreography was contact-based. The first movement already had them pressed together; you could feel Manon's presence behind you.
You started moving. Arms intertwined, hips came together, torsos twisted in opposite directions while legs stayed aligned. On the second turn, when your hip pressed against hers in the next movement, you felt it.
It wasn't just any bulge. It was big, hard, pressing against your ass through the thin fabric of her black pants. The shape was visible against the cloth, the tip pointing upward, and every time the choreography brought you together, every time your hip moved against hers, you felt it get harder. Your body responded before you could think: your hip moved against hers with a brush that wasn't in the choreography, a movement that was slower, more intentional, wetter.
In the next step, Manon stopped you. Her hands grabbed your hips with a force that wasn't part of the choreography, immobilizing you against her body. Her mouth was inches from your ear, her breath hot against your neck, and when she spoke, her voice was a rough thread, barely audible.
"I can't," you whispered, and your voice was also a thread, also broken. Your hip moved against hers again, a slow, deliberate movement that made her clench her teeth.
The red light on the phone was still on, fixed in the corner of the frame, recording every movement, every breath, every touch.
Then Manon spun you around to face her and kissed you. The kiss was punishing. Her teeth bit your lower lip with a force that made the taste of blood fill your mouth. Her tongue entered without asking permission, without softness, and you let her, let yourself be devoured, your body responding to hers with the same urgency.
Your hands moved from her shoulders to her waist, found the waistband of her pants, and before she could stop you, you pulled them down. Her erection sprang free, big, skin taut and glistening, the tip already dripping a clear thread that slid down the side.
"What are you doing?" Manon said, her voice a gasp, a warning, a question.
"What you want," you replied, and knelt down.
The studio floor was cold against your knees, the white panels reflecting the light from the phone that was still recording, but you didn't care. Your eyes were fixed on her, on the way her hands trembled at her sides, on how her chest rose and fell with breathing she could no longer control.
Manon looked at you for a second. Two. Then she grabbed the phone from the tripod, adjusted the angle, and pointed it directly at you.
"Look at that," she said, her voice rough, strained. "The internet star kneeling in front of me."
You looked up. The phone lens was watching you. You were on your knees in front of Manon, her pants down to your thighs, your shirt hiked up, your mouth open and waiting.
You opened your mouth. The tip of her cock brushed your lips, hot, heavy, and then it entered. It was sudden, without the slowness you had expected, and the tip hit the back of your throat before you could prepare. Tears sprung from your eyes, your breath caught, but Manon didn't give you time to recover.
"Suck," she said, and her hand tangled in your hair, squeezing, guiding. "Suck like the slut you are."
You obeyed. Your tongue slid along the underside, sucking, licking, feeling her pulse against your palate. Manon was moaning through her teeth, her head thrown back, her fingers tightening every time you reached the base. But then, suddenly, her free hand moved to your chin, grabbed your face, forced you to look at her.
"No," she said, her voice a growl. "Not at the camera. At me. Look at me."
Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated, breath ragged. She held your gaze while your mouth kept moving, while your tongue kept sucking, while her fingers gripped your hair with a force that made your scalp burn.
"Like that," she said, her voice a thread. "Just like that. You're good at this, huh."
Her hips thrust forward, the tip hit the back of your throat again, and you stayed there, not breathing, while she held your head against her pelvis. The phone was still recording, your eyes full of tears, your face wet, your mouth full of her.
"Mmm, what a bitch," Manon said, her voice a venomous whisper, a sharp caress that ran through your entire body. Her hand loosened the pressure on your hair, let you breathe, but didn't let you pull away. "You think the Eyekons would still love you if they saw this? If they saw you on your knees for me? How you open your mouth like a needy little bitch?"
Her hips thrust again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch, every pulse. Her hand held the phone with her arm extended, the camera pointing directly at your face, at the way your lips stretched around her, at the tears running down your cheeks.
"I bet HYPE would kick you out," she said, her voice trembling. "If they saw this. If they saw how the new member, the one the Eyekons adore, the one who got one million seven hundred followers in two hours, chokes on my cock like it's the only thing keeping her alive."
Her hand in your hair was guiding you now, setting the rhythm, moving your head up and down with a slowness that was torture. Every time you reached the tip, your tongue coiled around it, sucking, and Manon moaned, a low, rough sound that vibrated in your ear.
"What do you think they'd say?" she asked, her voice a thread. She pushed deeper, and you choked against her, lungs burning, hands clutching her thighs.
"If they knew," she said, her voice a whisper. "If they knew that that pretty face they hired you for is now completely ruined by my cock."
She let go of your hair. You pulled back to breathe, coughing, saliva mixed with her fluids running down your chin, your face stained with tears and smeared makeup. But you didn't move away. You stayed where you were, mouth open, eyes fixed on her, waiting.
Manon looked at you. But instead of pushing your head back down, instead of continuing to use your mouth like she had been doing, she lowered the phone. She set it against the wall, the red light pointing at the empty space, and knelt in front of you.
She grabbed you by the arms and turned you around, and before you could process what was happening, your back was arched and your chest was against the floor, your leggings lower than before, your body open for her.
"Look," she said, her voice rough, her hand grabbing your chin, turning your face toward the phone. "Look at the camera. Look at how I fuck you."
She entered all at once. All of her. A single movement that filled you completely, that made you push your ass closer to her and bite your arm to keep from screaming. Manon stayed there for a moment, inside you, not moving, feeling you clench around her.
"Like this," she said, her voice a growl. "This is how I wanted you. Quiet. Clenching around me."
She started moving. It wasn't slow, it wasn't gentle. Each thrust was deep, hard, pinning you down. Her hand on your hip held you, her fingers digging into your skin, and her other hand moved to your hair, pulling back, arching your back even more.
"You think you're special," she said, her voice a gasp between each thrust. "You think because the Eyekons look at you, you're going to take my spot?"
"I don't think I'm better," you managed to say, the word cutting off when she pushed deeper.
The hand that was on your hip moved to your clit, and her fingers started circling while she kept thrusting. The orgasm started building in your belly, slow at first, then faster, closer and closer.
"Come," Manon ordered. "Come now."
You couldn't hold it back. The orgasm ran through you completely, shaking you, making your knees tremble and your scream muffle against your arm. Manon didn't stop. She kept moving, prolonging each contraction, taking you higher until you didn't know where one spasm ended and the next began.
"Inside," you managed to say, voice broken, legs trembling. "Come inside."
You felt her tense behind you, felt her fingers dig into your skin, felt the heat fill your inside in waves while she moaned against your neck, a rough, low sound that mixed with your ragged breathing.
She stayed inside you for a moment. Her hands loosened their pressure, her fingers spread on your hips as if she didn't want to let go. Her forehead was resting on your back, her breath hot against the fabric of your hiked-up shirt.
"You better behave with me," she said, her voice shaky as she recovered from the high. "Because I have this on my phone."
She smiled. It was a small, dangerous smile, but you knew that no matter how mean she acted with you, she would never share something like that. She said it just to mess with you.
"And when I'm alone," she said as she slowly pulled away. She felt her liquid drip down your thighs, hot, thick, and she stared for a second. "I'm going to masturbate so badly watching this video."
Then she turned you around. She pulled your leggings up with a care that contrasted with everything that had happened before, pulling the fabric over your hips, adjusting the waistband at your waist. She pulled your shirt down, smoothing the fabric over your stomach, over your shoulders. Her hands were trembling, barely, but you felt it.
When she finished, her fingers brushed your cheek, moved aside a strand of hair that had stuck to the corner of your lips. She looked into your eyes, and for a second, just one, her expression wasn't the visual's, wasn't the one who had been angry since you walked in. It was something else. Something more fragile.
But before you could say anything, her hands dropped. Her expression closed off. She stood up, grabbed the phone from the floor, and when she spoke, her voice was the same as always, the professional one, the one that didn't let anyone in.
"Don't think this changes anything," she said. And she left without another word.
And she was right. The way she took care of you after fucking you so wildly, even if she acted like an asshole afterward, didn't change anything.
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