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“come on, i have to finish this.” you’d chuckled, currently trying to push your boyfriend off as his lips met your face. you couldn’t tell if he was trying to kiss you or eat you.
he’d only whine, shaking his head as he continued his affectionate onslaught.
he’s successfully manage to grab your wrist, holding it down against your side as his free hand gripped your face, pulling you into a sweet kiss. you playfully rolled your eyes, kissing the sweet boy back.
he smiled into the kiss, his lips moving against yours like they’ve been starving for this moment. you have to physically pull away so you could breathe, he of course following after your lips, a pretty pout gracing them.
“babe…” he whimpered, giving you those sad puppy eyes of his.
“wait wait just let me breathe!” you giggled, catching your breath. after a few seconds, he believed you breathed enough, pressing his lips against yours again, fingers tangling in your hair, that same sweet smile widening across his face.
haechan is just a simple guy. he doesn't mean any harm to you, you just happened to catch his eye one afternoon on campus.
maybe it was the way you laughed at something your friend said, head tilted back without a care in the world. maybe it was the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear while reading beneath the shade of a tree or maybe there wasn't a reason at all.
all he knows is that after that day, he couldn't forget you, he tried. he really did but somehow everytime he thought about you led his hand in his trousers.
he was tired, tired of stroking himself alone. he laid in his bed every night, the rhythm of his chest rising up and down, sweat scattered on his forehead, as he imagines you, taking his length, filling you to the brim, tears leaving your eyes. he even thought about impreganting you, so you can't leave him.
but at the end of the day, it's all just a piece of his imagination. however, fate has another plan, the dream house party is this weekend. this time, he'd approach you without hesitation filling his blood.
it was finally the weekend. the one where haechan had been thinking about for weeks, where he was finally going to talk to you. he genuinely felt so pathetic as if he was high school teenage girl trying to confess to her crush, but the thing was that this was exactly the same thing.
he saw you the moment you walked in. the noise of the party didn’t fade, not really, but something about you cut through it anyway. oh god, you wore a short skim dress, not aware at how many jerks might be staring at you (including him) which made him want to gauge their eyes. he swore he popped a boner right there and then.
his hands embarassingly sweaty, resulting him clamping his hands over his crotch, trying to hide his rising length during the whole party. it was 12 am, people were leaving slowly, haechan was still there, still standing somewhere between “i’m going to do it” and “i’ll wait a few more minutes.”
which, at this point, was basically his entire personality for the night, he watched you from across the room. you were still surrounded by your friends, still talking, still smiling at something someone said like the world wasn’t quietly winding down around you. like time wasn’t slipping away with every second he hesitated.
he sighed, finally forcing his feet to move this was it. no more standing there pretending he was “waiting for the right moment.” there was no right moment. there was only this one, messy, real, slightly terrifying one.
he took a step forward, then another, eyes locked on you like if he looked away even for a second, he might lose the courage completely but then–
your group shifted, your friends started moving straight toward him or more specifically, toward his friends’ side of the room. haechan’s steps slowed almost instantly.
of course.
of course this was happening now, his heart kicked up so fast it almost felt loud in his ears, like it was trying to warn him before his brain could even catch up. suddenly, everything felt closer. tighter. like the room had shrunk without asking permission.
haechan caught in his gaze, the way you were walking towards him right now...everytime you took a step, your oh so perfect tits bounce just right, his eyes locked on them, for too long but not too long for you to notice. it drived him to the edge of crazy.
his mind already racing with filthly thoughts, he shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his growing erection in his pants. he let out a small, slightly awkward breath that might’ve been a laugh if he had more control over his nervous system.
one of your friends cut in first, haechan barely had time to register the movement before someone was suddenly in front of him, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“hey! wanna play truth or dare?”
for a second, he just blinked because his brain was still stuck on you being right there. close enough that he didn’t even have to look for you anymore.
“uh—yeah,” he heard himself say before he could overthink it into oblivion, his voice sounded normal. somehow miraculously. his friends immediately reacted like he had just agreed to jump off a building for fun.
haechan shot them a look, but it didn’t really land because his attention kept slipping back to you.
the group started forming a loose circle in the living room, people dragging chairs, sitting on the floor, laughing as the night finally settled into something slower, more contained.
haechan slides into the circle, positioning himself directly across from you so he has a perfect view. he leans back on his hands, legs spread casually as he watches you settle into your spot.
"alright, who's going first?" jaemin asks, spinning an empty bottle in the center. the bottle slows down, pointing directly at one of your friends.one of the friends clapped her hands dramatically, grinning “truth or dare?” the girl the bottle landed on didn’t even hesitate “truth!” immediate chaos.
the group around her reacted at once,
“no fun!!”
“boring!”
“you’re supposed to suffer a little!”
laughter broke through the complaints, filling the space again, light and easy, bouncing off the walls that were slowly feeling less like a party and more like a shared secret between everyone left in the room.
haechan let himself smile a little at that, just watching, but then his eyes drifted.
of course they did, to you.
you were sitting not too far away, listening, laughing at something someone whispered beside you, completely relaxed like the whole thing didn’t have the same effect on him that it did on you.
the girl suddenly leaned forward, eyes scanning the circle like she was about to expose secrets for fun “okay so,” she said, dragging it out for effect, “the people among us… who still is a virgin!" the room went instantly louder.
“oh my god—”
laughter bounced around the circle as people started pointing, teasing, trying to guess before anyone even answered properly. she buried her face in her hands for a second before finally peeking out between her fingers “ugh, fine.”
the room quieted immediately, she pointed across the circle “it's y/n..!" for a split second, everything went still then every head turned toward you, haechan's heart immediately dropped somewhere near his stomach.
the words hit him like a truck, his breath hitching audibly in his throat. immediately, his jeans became painfully tight, the realization that you were untouched driving him absolutely insane. he shifts his legs uncomfortably, trying to hide the massive bulge forming in his pants, his eyes locked solely on you with a newfound, predatory hunger. "fuck..." he muttered under his breath.
you looked completely caught off guard, “what?” you laughed, staring at your friend in disbelief.
“you asked!”
“i didn't think you'd actually say it..”
the room exploded into reactions, some people looked shocked and some looked suspicious. others immediately started teasing you while your friend defended herself with a dramatic, “don't blame me! you told me the truth!”
later, as the party slowly emptied out, people began gathering their things and saying their goodbyes.
the once crowded living room was now scattered with half-finished conversations and tired laughter. the energy had shifted completely from loud and chaotic to soft and sleepy.
haechan stood near the front door, hands tucked into his pockets and somehow, after spending an entire night trying to gather the courage to talk to you, he still hadn't done it.
it was actually impressive.
almost, then he saw you. you were saying goodbye to your friends, adjusting the strap of your bag as you prepared to leave. his stomach dropped.
no.
absolutely not.
if he let you walk out that door now, he knew exactly what would happen. before he could talk himself out of it, his feet started moving and suddenly he was standing in front of you. for a moment, neither of you said anything.
mostly because haechan's carefully prepared speech had completely disappeared from his brain.
"uh..."
great start.
you looked at him expectantly, he nearly laughed from nerves "you're leaving?" the second the words left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic.
obviously you were leaving.
you were standing by the door with your bag on.
genius observation.
but instead of looking annoyed, you smiled slightly. "yeah."
"right. yeah." he said, with a hint of hesitation.
silence.
haechan could feel himself actively losing this battle then he forced himself to continue "i was wondering..." his voice came out steadier this time. "would it be okay if i dropped you home?"
for a second, his heart forgot how to function, the question hung between you yet somehow it felt like the most terrifying thing he'd ever asked. you blinked, clearly surprised, not uncomfortable. just surprised which, honestly, was fair.
from your perspective, a guy you'd barely spoken to had suddenly appeared at the end of the night offering you a ride.
haechan immediately rushed to explain "only if you're okay with it," he added quickly. "if not, that's completely fine." he scratched the back of his neck, looking away for a moment "i just thought i'd ask." his honesty surprised even himself.
you studied him for a second and for the first time since he'd noticed you months ago in that university courtyard, haechan realized he wasn't looking at some impossible fantasy. he was standing in front of a real person and for the first time, you were looking right back at him.
ever since that night he dropped you to your home. it stimulates him that he knows where you live, your address. he has no bad intentions, he would never think of doing such a pathetic thing— but here he is, infront of your apartment complex.
he has your routine memorized, like the back of his hand. to anyone it was just a mundane routine but to him? it was poetry. he knew, at five am, the morning light peeked in your apartment causing you to wake up. then you'd get ready til six thirty am and leave for your uni.
you'd return home by seven to seven thirty pm, the real rush that made his blood hum with excitement was that today you were at a sleepover, he heard from your friends meaning you wouldn't be home today.
he has no bad intentions, really. he just wants you to feel loved, loved by him.
right now, he stands in front of your apartment. his eyes are locked on the keypad. he paces slowly in the dimly lit hallway. in his mind, he replays the exact movement of your finger. he had the code completely memorized.
he steps closer and presses the digits one by one. a sharp beep tears through the silent hallway. the lock click turns, as the door opens and all he could smell was remnents of you, your smell and your presence.
he steps inside, his eyes filled with lust scanning the familiarly unfamiliar place, the scent of vanilla and jasmine hits him instantly, your scent. it's intoxicating, driving him mad with desire.
he closes the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet apartment. he pushes open your bedroom door slowly, stepping inside. his breath catches in his throat. the room is a sanctuary, soft pink walls, fairy lights draped across the ceiling, your scent lingering in the air like a beautiful ghost. he runs his fingers along the edge of your desk, his touch gentle, reverent.
he exits youe room, his feet moving towards the bathroom with a hidden ambition. his heart races as he spies your discarded panties on the bathroom floor. he picks them up cautiously, bringing them to his nose, oh god, your smell... something intimate and erotic awakes inside of him. his cock hardens instantly in his sweatpants.
he looks around, checking if someone could see him. the irony, his hand travels down to his trousers. he palmed his crotch as he found himself delving into your scent, he gasps for air.
he presses the fabric against his nose again, inhaling deeply. his free hand travels down his sweatpants, slowly. his throbbing length springs free and he groans softly, stroking himself as he sniffs your panties. he breathes, his thumb circling his tip. his breath is ragged, desperate. desperate for you.
his hand moves faster, pumping his length rhythmically as he imagines you beneath him. he presses your panties against his face, groaning at the intoxicating scent, "fuck... you smell so good, baby..." he pants, his hips bucking slightly, he closes his eyes, picturing your face.
his strokes grow harder, faster. in his mind, he sees you— eyes wide, lips parted as he slides inside you. He imagines your tight warmth gripping him, your soft moans filling his ears, "yes... take it all" he whines, his hips thrusting into empty air, his voice echoing in the empty apartment.
his pace becomes frantic, desperate. his cock twitches violently in his grip as he imagines your walls clamping down on him, milking him endlessly. his other hand squeezes your panties against his face, he strokes himself with the thrill of getting caught by you.
with a guttural, choked moan, his body arches violently. thick ropes of cum spill over his hand and the bathroom floor, his hips bucking uncontrollably into his fist as he rides out the intense orgasm. he gasps, panting heavily. his entire body trembles as the waves of pleasure crash over him.
after shamelessly catching his breath, he moves to your dresser, pulling open the drawer filled with your neatly folded panties. his eyes darken with hunger as he selects a pair. soft, silk, unused. he rubs his drying cum across the fabric, marking them with his essence.
a dark grin spreads across his face as he finishes marking them, his chest swells with twisted pride that every morning you'll slide into these panties, unaware that his cum will be pressing against your folds, coating your delicate flesh. you'll walk around, go about your day, feeling nothing but the fabric.
the next few days, he sees you across campus and his heart swells with this dark secret. you wave at him brightly, completely unaware that your sweet pussy is basically wraped around his essence. he waves back, playing the naive friend while inside he's burning with possesion.
for the next few weeks, the space between you teo seemed to shrink with every passing day. it became a fixture in the lecture halls, always sliding into the same creaking wooden seats, shoulders brushing with every shared laugh. but the casual hangouts and quiet study dates were no longer enough to quiet the restless storm brewing inside him.
a heavy, aching dissatisfaction had taken root. he didn’t just want to be close to you anymore; he wanted to tear down every remaining boundary, to consume you completely and feel you wrap around him from the inside out.
he just couldn't wait no more. he tried. he really did. but you would test his patience when you showed up in the shortest shorts, and tight tanks that barely covered you. sometimes he wondered if you were intentionally straining his patience, pushing his self-control to the limit.
today, he stood just a step away, his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. the usual easygoing warmth in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something dark, intense, and unreadable as he watched the rain drip from your jawline.
you'd asked him to drop you off to your apartment, but it started raining, heavily. oh, how haechan thanked the heavens.
the rain fell in punishing sheets, standing under the shelter of the apartment awning, you were both completely soaked. strands of wet hair clung to your face, and your clothes felt heavy, plastering themselves to your skin.
haechan's eyes flickered, catching the way your white shirt had become translucent from the rain, clinging to your curves like a second skin. through the thin, wet fabric, your black bra was clearly visible, the lace pattern barely concealed.
he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he watched the water droplets trail down between your breasts, disappearing beneath your collar.
it took every ounce of his self-control to keep his composure. he clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from the tantalizing sight of your wet shirt clinging to your breasts. he shifted his weight, discreetly adjusting his stance to hide the growing problem in his jeans, his knuckles turning white as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"uh, i'll go now.." he said, diverting his eyes from you. "you're going to freeze out here," you said, your voice shivering slightly as you offered a kind, sympathetic smile. you gestured toward the heavy glass doors of the complex.
"come inside. just until the storm lets up, i can get you a dry towel." you urged him. how could he refuse you?, to which he reluctantly walked to your apartment, his steps heavy and deliberate as he followed you down the quiet corridor. he kept his eyes locked firmly on the back of your head, watching the way your wet clothes clung to your skin.
his hands curling into tight fists at his sides to keep from reaching out prematurely. he was crossing the threshold into your private world. a faint, dangerous shift passed over his features; a predator recognizing that the cage doors had just been unlocked from the inside.
when you unlocked the door, he stepped inside the utterly familiar house, which once he filled his scent with, inhaling deeply. the air still holds traces of him, ghosts of his presence, of the countless hours he's spent inside your walls. his eyes scan over you, damp and vulnerable, unaware that he's violated this sanctuary of yours dozens of times.
he watches you disappear into the bathroom, his mind racing. the sight of you, soaked and naive, has his heart pounding and his jeans growing tight. when you return with a towel, he takes it from you without a word, deliberately letting his fingers brush against yours.
"thanks.." he said with a soft smile, "yeah, no worries. just make sure don't catch a cold!
he nods, forcing his smile to remain casual as he watches you dry your hair. the gentle concern in your voice sends a jolt of possessiveness through him. he wants to keep you warm, keep you safe... and keep you wrapped around his dick.
"i'll bring you something warm to drink, mhm?" you said softly. his heart swelled at your sweetness. he nodded, watching you walk into the kitchen to make hot coffee. his steps were completely silent as he followed.
he purposely stood directly behind you, pressing his broad, damp chest flush against your back. he leaned his weight against the counter, trapping you between his bodu and the kitchen island. his cock presses against your soaked shorts as he feigns casual indifference, pretending to observe the coffee brewing.
"smells good," yeah, he couldn't give one single fuck about the coffee, the only scent he was craving was yours. he murmurs against your ear, his hips subtly grinding forward so you can't miss it.
you jolted, your breath hitching at the sudden warmth pressing against your back. you quickly convinced yourself he wasn’t doing it intentionally; the kitchen was small, and he was just trying to stay out of the way.
trying to shake off the sudden nervousness, you forced your hands to stay steady and continued brewing the coffee, "uh, yeah..." you stammered, your voice trailing off as you stared fixedly at the mugs, trying to ignore the wetness dripping in your panties.
he notices your nervousness and it intoxicates him. the way you're trying so hard to be normal, to be a good host, while he's violating your personal space. he grinds a little harder, letting you feel the full length of his arousal pressed between your ass cheeks.
you didn't mean to let out a whimper, your clamped your thighs tighter at the contact. haechan's ego swelling at your lack of experience.
his eyes flash with triumph at your unintentional whimper. he swallows hard, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back against him fully. his other hand moves to cover yours on the counter, holding you in place as he continues to grind against you slowly, deliberately.
"shh..." his hand travels around your curves, you didn't stop him, it felt so good.
he feels your knees weaken and it makes him dizzy with power. your body is betraying you, responding to his hidden assault even as your mind remains oblivious. he grinds with more pressure. "just let your body feel it...doll."
his hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle so he can press deeper between your cheeks. he kisses your neck gently as he dry humps you against the counter.
haechan was way more vocal than you, he moaned against your ear, goosebumps spreading across your skin. his hand travels down to the waistband of your soaked shorts and your panties, tugging them down slowly as your whimpers fill the kitchen.
he drops them to the floor, exposing your bare skin to the cool air and his burning gaze. his cock is rock hard against your ass, slick with his own precum. "you're so wet, baby.." he groans, "you can give it to me, right?"
he coaxed you with his sweet and gentle voice, His voice drops to a low, soothing murmur as his fingers find your slick folds, sliding inside you with agonizing slowness. he feels your walls clench around him, your body responding despite your confusion.
"easy there, doll... just relax for me..." he curls his fingers gently, searching for that spot he knows makes you melt. "you feel so good..."
"haechan...i've never done this before..." you let out a breathy moan, his heart stutters at your confession–which he already knows, something dark and predatory burns behimd his eyes. he strokes you slower, gentler, revering the wet heat of you. his thumb finds the bundle of nerves, rubbing soft circles. he continues to stimulate you to the fullest.
he turns you to face him, his hands framing your face gently as he sees your eyes got glossy from the mere pleasure he gave you. he wondered how badly are you going to break when he stuffs you with his cock, filling you up or when he fucks your throat ruthlessly, gagging around his cock.
oh he was just getting started, you were so devastingly innocent, all he wanted to do was to corrupt you beyond any limit.
his lips curl into a dark smile as he takes in your innocent face, your tear-filled eyes. he realizes just how easy it would be to corrupt you, to take your virginity and make you love every second of it.
haechan, then led you into the bedroom, his hand firm on your lower back as he guided you forward. once inside he started peeling off his clothes right in front of you, first tugging his shirt over his head to reveal his chest, then shoving his pants and underwear down in one motion.
his cock sprung free, already half-hard and flushed. he stepped out of the pile of fabric and moved closer, reaching for your own clothes next. he stripped you slowly, pulling your soaked shirt off, as he clipped off your bra as you stood bare in front of him.
suddenly you were hyperaware of everything about you. you felt insecure, your hands rushed to cover your breasts– but haechan burned inside when he witnessed you conceal your beautiful body, the body which he can worship for hours, the body which he could not leave untouched.
"no, no, no." he immediately pushed your hands from covering yourself. he sounded so angered as if it personally offended him, it absolutely did. he let you sit on the bed, standing in front of you with his cock standing hard.
he had climbed onto the bed and pushed two fingers into your mouth, sliding them over your tongue, "suck," he whispered, his other hand stroked his cock. your naive eyes fluttered open, confused but obedient as you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked gently.
he whimpered, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the head of his cock, "you're so beautiful, do you know that?" you took him into your mouth, tasting the salt of his precum while he thrust shallowly between your lips, he removed his cock from your lips, and laid you down on the bed.
he pinned your wrists above your head. he shifted lower between your spread thighs, releasing one wrist so his fingers could trail down your stomach. two thick digits pressed between your folds, rubbing over your clit in slow circles before he pushed them inside.
a moan escaped your lips when he moved his digits inside you, his ego swelling beyond limit. he worked them in and out steadily, stretching your tight walls while his thumb kept stroking that sensitive spot above. the way your back arched oh god, he loved how your tits bounced to the rhythm of his strokes. your juices coated his fingers quickly as he curled them upward, searching for the spot that made your hips twitch.
he pulled his fingers free after a few minutes and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum. then he lowered his face between your legs, leaving small pecks on your stomach, on your pelvic bone and on your inner thigh. his tongue dragged a long, flat stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you fully before he sealed his lips around the swollen nub and sucked resulting a devastingly beautiful moan from you. "mhmg!...haechan.."
"oh you taste like heaven..." he licked and lapped with purpose, tongue dipping inside you now and then while his nose pressed against your mound. you trembled continuously and he showed no signs of stopping his assault on your core.
his hands gripped your thighs, keeping them wide open as he ate you out, saliva and your wetness mixing and dripping down toward the sheets.
he stayed there, tongue working deeper and faster, it made you see white, your toes curled with pleasure filling up your nerves. you squirted until your thighs started shaking around his head, your juices gushing out rapidly. his face, the sheets and your thighs dripped of your cum.
only then did he pull back, lips shiny, and crawl up your body again. he gazed at your dried tears, "oh baby, you did so well," he captured your lips in a deep, consuming kiss, nothing sweet or innocent about it. his tongue invades your mouth. he moaned into the kiss, tasting your juice, suckling on your tongue, a clash of teeth and tongues.
"i'm gonna fill you up raw, baby..." he heaved with lust veiling his eyes, his cock rested heavy against your slick pussy as he positioned himself, the head nudging your entrance without pushing in yet.
he growls, lining the thick head of his cock against your untouched entrance. he pushes forward slowly at first, the fat tip stretching your tight hole, then slams in deeper with one rough thrust. your hymen tears open under the force, the thin membrane ripping apart around his cock as he forces every inch inside you, you screamed out, with pain flowing in veins which slowly transitioned into tempering pleasure.
blood trickles out around his shaft, spilling on the bedsheet and mixing with the slick from his precum as he starts pounding into you without mercy. each thrust drives deeper, stretching your virgin walls that clench and flutter around him.
he pulls back just enough to see the red streaks on his cock before slamming back in, fucking the torn innocence wider with every stroke. his hips snap forward relentlessly, the wet sounds of your bleeding cunt filling the room as he claims your virginity completely.
he doesn't slow down, not one bit. he finally have you under him, after months of longing. hd grinded his pelvis against your clit while his cock rearranges your insides, pushing past the resistance until he's buried balls deep as he fucks you harder, the head of his dick battering your cervix with each brutal thrust.
your body shakes under him while he uses your freshly deflowered pussy, pulling out partially to watch your juices cling to his cock before ramming back inside.
his pace grew erratic as he chased his orgasm, grinding deep and holding there while his cock pulsed. hot cum flooded your insides, thick ropes painting your walls and leaking out around his shaft to mix with the blood.
he stayed buried inside you, rocking gently to push his load deeper, "stay like this, doll.." he ordered, keeping you pinned beneath him, "we don't want any of it to drip out? okay?"
haechan told himself, he can't live without you, never and you can never leave him, ever. the way he can keep you to himself, only to himself is to get you pregnant. his nerves filled with joy, when he envisions you all big and plump with his seed in you.
so, even after he came he kept his cock inside, half-hard and twitching as more cum seeped into you. his hands roamed your body while he whispered about how he'd keep coming back to fill you up until your belly swelled.
you laid there dazed, his fingers back in your mouth as you sucked them clean, completely unaware of how thoroughly he'd claimed you.
𝗈𝗍23! 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: nsfw. heavy kink discussion. dom/sub dynamics. switch dynamics. restraints. impact play. oral fixation. size kink. overstimulation. dacryphilia. voyeurism. degradation. praise. service kink. brat taming. possessiveness. phone sex. mirror sex. fear play (consensual). temperature play. aftercare. light humiliation. exhibitionism. corruption kink. begging. bondage. power exchange. roleplay.
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 4917
𝗆.𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍!
a/n: i absolutely DID NOT wanna make 4 more posts.. so i just put everyone in one post. all current nct units (127, dream, wayv, wish). excludes lucas, *cough* you know who, shotaro, sungchan, ryo, and sakuya. its gonna be longggg, sorry babes!
JOHNNY: dominant. size kink. orgasm control.
johnny’s biggest thrill comes from knowing he’s too much for you. too long, too thick, too deep. but still watching you take every inch like you were made for it. he teases you until you’re begging, smirking as your legs twitch and hips squirm under the weight of his palm. nothing makes him hornier than hearing you gasp when he first presses in, the way you whimper out his name in disbelief at how full you feel. he’ll coo in your ear, chuckling softly as he says, “you can handle it, baby. you always do.” he doesn’t move until you ask him to, and even then, he’s slow. dragging it out, making you beg for each thrust.
he has a habit of overstimulating you without mercy. one orgasm isn’t enough. not for him. he needs to see how many times he can push you over the edge before you’re crying into the sheets. his favorite thing is holding you down after you’ve already come, just to keep fucking you with that same smooth rhythm, his fingers stroking over your overstimulated clit while he keeps whispering how good you’re doing for him. he uses pet names like they’re part of his rhythm. “good girl. just like that. give me another.” and he always gets it. eventually.
TAEYONG: dom-leaning switch. rope bondage. mirror sex.
taeyong is all about control. but he’s delicate with it. he loves beautiful restraints: thick red rope across your thighs, wrists tied softly behind your back, the intricate knots resting gently against your skin like decoration. he takes his time, sometimes longer tying you up than actually fucking you, and murmurs about how pretty you look like this. he wants your trust. the way you surrender to him is what makes his cock twitch, not just the act itself. every inch of your body is his to explore when you’re like this, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity. he’ll edge you, overstimulate you, all while running soft fingers across the silk-tight ropes like he’s playing an instrument.
he’s obsessed with seeing you. taeyong fucks you in front of mirrors as often as he fucks you on the bed. his hand fits perfectly around your jaw, tilting your face toward the reflection while he presses into you from behind. he whispers into your ear, asking what you see, forcing you to look at the way your body trembles every time he thrusts deep. his voice is quiet, but strict. “don’t look away.” the way your eyes flutter under his command has him groaning against your neck, fucking you harder just to keep that ruined expression in your reflection a little longer.
YUTA: degradation. hair pulling. breeding kink.
yuta doesn’t fuck you like you’re fragile. he wants your makeup smudged, your voice gone from screaming his name, your legs shaking from how rough he gets when you beg for more. he’s vocal, sharp-tongued, and merciless. his dirty talk leans toward degradation, but never in a way that feels hollow. he calls you names because he knows it gets you wet. his hand is constantly in your hair, tugging your head back so he can spit in your mouth and tell you how much of a mess you are. “look at yourself. crying already? pathetic.” he says it with a smile, because he knows you love it.
the breeding kink is constant, primal. he presses you into the mattress, body heavy over yours, murmuring about how good your pussy would look dripping with his cum. he doesn’t pull out. ever. not unless you beg for it. even then, he pretends he’s going to finish inside you just to watch your face twist in panic-pleasure. when he’s close, he wraps your legs around his waist, thrusts hard and deep, and groans about how tight you get when he says he’s going to fill you up. “that’s what you want, isn’t it? fuck. greedy little slut.” it’s filthy. it’s possessive. it’s addictive.
TEN: exhibitionism. mirror kink. shibari.
ten likes being seen. he performs even in private. he ties you up and fucks you in front of a full-length mirror, hands on your thighs, eyes on your reflection. he loves the symmetry of it. the way your body trembles under his, the sounds you make, the glossy heat in your eyes. “watch us,” he whispers. “look how good we are together.” he gets off on your reactions. on how messy he can make you. on how desperate your moans sound bouncing off the mirror, ricocheting through the room.
his love for rope isn’t just about restraint. it’s about art. he takes his time with the knots, lacing them across your chest and thighs like you’re his canvas. it’s ritualistic, almost reverent. he makes you pose for him after, still tied up, naked and exposed. sometimes he doesn’t even fuck you right away. he just watches you squirm, blush, twitch under his gaze. “you don’t even know how hot you look like this, do you?” when he finally takes you, it’s with all the buildup of a practiced routine. like he’s waited his whole life to ruin you in this exact way, at this exact angle, while you cry out in front of your own reflection.
DOYOUNG: sub-leaning switch. praise kink. overstimulation.
doyoung is the type who blushes at praise but still begs for it. he thrives when you’re on top, hands pressed against his chest, hips rolling while you ride him slowly. he’s sensitive, vocal, and gets overwhelmed easily. but that’s part of the appeal. you can ruin him with soft whispers and a vibrator. he’ll hold your hips, mouth open in shock every time you move faster, moaning your name like he’s about to fall apart. when you kiss him and call him your good boy, he completely melts beneath you, clinging to your body as he fucks up into you with trembling desperation.
he doesn’t know when to stop. if you push him past his limit, again and again he’ll cry for it. overstimulation is his favorite form of torture. you can make him come once, wait a few minutes, then wrap your lips around him again until he’s sobbing and shaking and whimpering about how it’s too much. his voice breaks in the prettiest ways. “please- fuck, i can’t- it’s too- too good, please.” you can drag another orgasm out of him just by stroking him slow while he cries. the more you praise him, the harder he comes.
KUN: service dom. impact play. soft control.
kun doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his control is quiet, gentle, unwavering. he ties your wrists with velvet ribbons, kisses each one, and tells you to breathe through it. he touches you like he’s sculpting something out of you, coaxing your pleasure out with patience and precision. he loves making you come with his hands. thick fingers curling just right, knuckles slick, wrist steady. he watches your face the whole time, moaning softly when you arch into him, whispering things like “that’s it, baby. you’re doing so well. let go for me.”
but there’s a rough edge under all that sweetness. when you beg for more, when you need it harder. he delivers. he likes spanking. his palm cracks against your ass, sharp and deliberate, followed by his fingers soothing the sting. “you can take it. i’ve got you.” he’ll press kisses to your shoulder blades while pushing your face into the mattress, fucking you slow but deep, each thrust punctuated by a soft command. kun doesn’t fuck to dominate. he fucks to protect, to possess, to worship you with discipline. and when it’s over, he unties you with shaking hands, holds you in his lap, and murmurs about how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.
JAEHYUN: exhibitionism. mirror sex. choking.
jaehyun doesn’t mind being watched. in fact, he likes it. he has no problem dragging you into the nearest empty room during an event, lifting your dress and bending you over the counter while he keeps one hand in your mouth and the other down your panties. he’s rough but quiet, eyes flicking toward the door every time someone walks by outside. it makes his cock twitch. the thrill of getting caught, of being inside you with your moans muffled into his shoulder, is a drug he can’t quit.
he’s obsessed with mirrors. jaehyun pulls you into hotel bathrooms, sits you on the counter, and fucks you while making you watch. his hand curls around your throat, thumb resting gently against your pulse while he groans about how pretty you look like this. “look. eyes on the mirror. don’t hide from me.” his grip tightens just enough to make you lightheaded, just enough to make your legs tremble around him. his voice gets lower, more breathless, the closer he gets. and when you finally meet his eyes in the glass, he loses it completely.
WINWIN: power bottom. size kink. temperature play.
winwin is quiet, but he’s not submissive. he lets you take the lead, sure, but it’s an illusion. he’s in control without needing to say it. when he lies back on the bed, legs spread, cock flushed and hard between his thighs, he doesn’t ask you to ride him. he waits. confident you’ll give in. and when you do, when you sink down on him and he stretches you open inch by inch, he smiles. slow, smug, lazy. “you needed it that bad, huh?” he doesn’t move at first. lets you fuck yourself on him while he watches, barely lifting a finger, until the urge to take over becomes too much.
he likes temperature play. dragging an ice cube down your chest while you’re tied up. warming his hands under your shirt and sliding them between your legs until you whimper. the contrast makes him hard. he likes watching you flinch, gasp, beg for more. and when he finally fucks you properly. hips snapping up to meet yours, hands gripping your waist, voice low in your ear. it’s with all the power he’s been holding back. you’re never really in charge. you just think you are until he flips the script and leaves you shaking in his lap.
JUNGWOO: sub-leaning switch. service kink. begging.
jungwoo is eager. not just to please you, but to be told exactly how to please you. he’s the type to kneel between your legs, wide eyes glancing up for approval, lips parted like he’s ready to worship. when you touch him. run your fingers through his hair, press his face where you need him. he moans so sweetly you almost forget how filthy it is. he eats you out like he’s starving. tongue slow, patient, reverent. it’s not just about making you come. it’s about making you feel adored, like your pleasure is sacred and his only purpose is to serve.
he’ll beg, softly at first-“please let me taste you, please let me make you feel good.”but the longer you tease him, the more desperate he gets. his voice breaks when you make him wait. when he’s tied to the bed, cock leaking and untouched, watching you take care of yourself instead, he practically cries for it. “i’ll do anything, anything you want, please-” and when you finally ride him, he thanks you. breathless and trembling, he holds your waist like it’s all he has left, whispering how perfect you feel and how lucky he is to be yours. he wants to be used. he wants to be ruined. he wants to be good for you.
XIAOJUN: praise kink. possessiveness. dirty talk.
xiaojun fucks like he loves you and owns you at the same time. he praises you constantly. soft at first. “you’re doing so well,” “look at how perfect you take me”. but as he gets rougher, the praise turns desperate. “that’s right. take it. take all of it. fuck, you’re made for this.” he moans against your neck, his voice raw and open, hips moving in deep, full thrusts that leave you breathless. he makes you feel so wanted it’s dizzying. like you’re the only body he’s ever needed.
but he gets jealous. possessive. if he sees someone else touching you, even innocently, he drags you back home and fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. his hands are firm on your hips, fingers digging in, his rhythm punishing but still filled with affection. “no one else gets to see you like this,” he says, thrusting harder, watching your face crumble beneath him. “say it. say you’re mine.” and you always do. because under all that filth is devotion. and when he kisses you after. sweaty, breathless, still inside you. it feels like you’ve been marked in more ways than one.
HENDERY: roleplay. brat tamer. fear play (consensual).
hendery’s playful in the most dangerous way. he’s the kind of guy who’ll start something in public. his hand on your thigh under the table, pressing against your panties with a smirk. and act innocent when you squirm. he’s into roleplay. likes scenarios where he pretends to be someone else. someone in charge. someone who caught you doing something bad and needs to teach you a lesson. he ties you up in character, calls you names with a twisted grin, fucks you deep while whispering the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. it’s a game. but he plays to win.
he’s interested in pushing boundaries. consensual fear play. the edge of danger, the illusion of something darker, the kind of sex that makes your heart race not just from pleasure but from the thrill of it. he’ll pin you down, growl threats you know he won’t follow through on, keep your wrists bound while he grinds against you slow and cruel. “you should’ve thought twice before teasing me.” and when it’s over, he always brings you back. soft kisses, warm blankets, a trembling apology that doesn’t really need to be said. because he knows how to take care of you. even when he’s being a monster.
MARK: dom. breeding kink. emotional degradation + praise.
mark’s dominance doesn’t come from experience. it comes from instinct. from the way he reads your body. from how desperate you are, and how good it feels to finally give in when he takes control. he’s gentle with his words, rough with his hips, one hand gripping your waist while the other slides up to choke you soft. his favorite position is you on your back with your legs pinned to your chest. he likes being close. watching your face when he fucks you slow, then watching it fall apart when he starts pounding into you without mercy. and when you whimper that it’s too much, he only presses deeper. “you said you could take it. so take it.”
mark’s a little twisted when he’s deep in it. he degrades you like he’s in love with you. voice shaking, forehead pressed to yours, cock throbbing inside. “look at you. can’t even think straight, huh? just want me to fill you up and fuck it out of you?” he has a breeding kink he’s shy about until you’re under him, whining and begging to be stuffed full. then he breaks. his thrusts get messier. his breath stutters. “gonna come in you. gonna ruin you.” and when he finally finishes, hips locked tight, he holds you there like he needs to stay inside. like his come in you means you’re his now. his voice shakes. his hands tremble. but the way he fills you? that’s deliberate.
RENJUN: possessive dom. dacryphilia. overstimulation.
renjun likes control, but not in the way that screams for attention. it’s subtle. deliberate, precise. he reads you too well. the tilt of your head, the hitch in your breath, the tremble in your thighs when you’re trying to hold it. it turns him on to know he’s the only one who can push you there. he’s the type to have your legs locked around his waist, whispering in your ear about how no one else will ever fuck you this good. he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn’t have to. his words are sharp enough. his hips are relentless. and he likes it best when you’re crying for him.
it’s not sadistic. he doesn’t want to hurt you. he wants to see you overwhelmed. body overstimulated, head spinning, tears clinging to your lashes while he kisses them away. “pretty when you cry,” he murmurs, voice breathless as he grinds deeper. he keeps going until your body can’t take it anymore. even then, he doesn’t stop. not until you’re sobbing into his neck and begging for mercy between orgasms. it’s not about being mean. it’s about being unforgettable. he’ll ruin you with a hand around your throat and a mouth full of praise. soft, sweet, and just cruel enough to keep you coming back.
JENO: primal dom. bondage. manhandling.
jeno has the kind of strength that makes your breath catch. it’s not just physical, though the way he can throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing does something to you. it’s in how confidently he uses his body, how steady his grip is on your waist, how easily he pins your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trails down your thigh. he likes watching you struggle a little, like a caught thing. it makes him feral. especially when you act like you can handle it. he gets off on pushing your limits, both physically and mentally. just to see that moment when the fight leaves you, and all that’s left is need.
he’s into restraints. leather cuffs, belts, thick rope tied quick and tight. he binds you because he wants your full attention. wants you squirming, helpless, panting into the pillow while he takes his time. every thrust is deliberate. every word is low and growled against your neck. “stay still. i didn’t say you could move.” if you act out, he’ll flip you onto your stomach and make you beg for forgiveness with your face in the sheets. his hands are everywhere. controlling, bruising, possessive. he marks what’s his and leaves you trembling for hours after.
HAECHAN: switch (dom-leaning). overstimulation. cockwarming.
haechan doesn’t dominate with brute force. he does it with attitude. with a sharp tongue, a hand fisted in your hair, and the type of cocky smirk that tells you he’s already won. he’ll tease you until you’re shaking. hold you down and grind against you for what feels like hours, whispering shit like, “is this what you wanted? you’re so easy, it’s pathetic.” and the worst part is, you are. he makes you needy. makes you cling to him, beg for more, cry from how much he gives and how much he withholds. overstimulation is a game to him. you can’t come without permission, but once he gives it, he doesn’t stop. “again. you’re not done yet. not until you’re ruined.”
but when he switches, it’s dangerous in a different way. he crawls into your lap and rides you slow, cockwarmingly slow, whining through gritted teeth while refusing to speed up. “you wanna come so bad, huh?” he gaslights you mid-thrust, calling you desperate even as he’s the one clenching down and crying from the pressure. he’s a brat when he bottoms. mouthy, teasing, bold. but always gives in eventually. especially if you break him the way he breaks you: slow, relentless, full of praise and punishment. no matter what role he’s in, he stays in control. he’s not just here to fuck. he’s here to fuck you up.
YANGYANG: switch. thigh riding. overstimulation.
yangyang is greedy. greedy for your body, greedy for your attention, greedy for the way you fall apart when he keeps going after you’ve already come twice. he’s a switch in the truest sense. confident on top, cocky and in control, but absolutely down to be used if you take the lead. he’ll let you ride his thigh, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other traces circles over your clit. he grins when you gasp. “keep going. don’t stop until you come.” he loves watching you get off on him, loves how messy you get when you lose control. he’ll make you do it again. and again. until you can barely speak.
he overstimulates you like it’s second nature. he won’t stop even when you start crying, not unless you say the word. “you’re okay,” he coos, even as his fingers keep pumping. “you can take it.” and he doesn’t ask you to make it pretty. he likes the tears, the broken sounds, the way your legs shake when he pushes one more orgasm out of you. his voice stays calm. smug. gentle. he makes it impossible to tell whether he’s being sweet or cruel. maybe both. either way, he’s not done until you are.
JAEMIN: corruption kink. praise and filth. aftercare obsession.
jaemin gets off on making you fall apart. especially if you’ve never done this before. or if you’ve done it before, but never like this. he wants to hear you say it. how much better he is, how no one’s ever fucked you like he does. the idea of corrupting you makes him feral. he’s the kind of guy who’ll walk you through your first orgasm with soft praise and degrading filth in the same breath. “you feel that, baby? that’s your body begging for me. so sweet, so wet, so fucking perfect. no one else gets to see you like this.” and the more wrecked you look beneath him, the more obsessed he gets.
he’s tender with his aftercare in a way that makes you ache. it’s almost jarring, how filthy his mouth is when he’s fucking you and how gently he wraps a blanket around your shoulders after. he brushes your hair back, wipes your tears away, kisses your fingers while you try to come down. “you did so good. i’m proud of you.” if he makes you cry during sex. overstimulation, rough words, the overwhelming feeling of being completely undone. he’ll cradle your face afterward like he’s never going to let go. the contradiction is addicting. you crave it before you even realize you do.
CHENLE: bratty switch. voyeurism. phone sex kink.
chenle is cocky, loud, and doesn’t care who hears. if anything, he wants people to. he gets off on the idea that someone could catch him with his hand between your legs in a public place. bathroom stalls, the back of the van, against the wall of a dressing room with your moans muffled into his shirt. he doesn’t need full-on sex to get off. he just needs you to look at him the way you do when you're about to fall apart. he’ll whisper shit in your ear while you’re trying to keep a straight face in front of others. “you’re shaking. they can see that, you know.”
he’s got a phone sex kink he doesn’t even try to hide. he calls you at night when he’s hard and whiny and too far away to do anything about it. “i can’t sleep. talk to me. tell me what you’re wearing.” his bratty energy comes out when he’s frustrated. when you tease him or hang up early or leave him hard on purpose. but he crumbles fast. if you moan his name and say you need him, he’s already rutting into his fist and gasping for breath. “fuck, i miss your pussy. i’d fuck you so good right now. i’d make you scream.” he’s a tease, but he breaks easily under the right touch.
JISUNG: obedient sub. hand kink. power exchange.
jisung is all nerves and flushed cheeks at first, but he wants to give in. he’s just scared of getting it wrong. if you talk him through it. kiss his temple, tell him he’s doing well. he turns to mush in your hands. he follows orders with wide eyes and shaky breaths. “like this?” “am i doing okay?” he doesn’t want to take control. he wants you to take it from him. he’s most comfortable when he’s on his knees, hands behind his back, waiting for your next command. and when you praise him? he gets hard instantly.
he has a hand kink he doesn’t understand but can’t deny. he stares when you touch him. trails your fingers down his chest, stroke his cock with slow, open-palmed movements, trace your thumb over his lips. it’s hypnotizing to him. you holding his jaw when he’s sucking you off. you gripping his hair when he moans too loud. you wrapping your fingers around his throat while he whimpers for more. he wants to be used. wants to make you feel good. and when he does? he’s glowing with pride, practically begging you to let him do it again.
SION: soft dom. oral fixation. possessive praise.
sion wants to make you feel taken care of. physically, emotionally, and sexually. he has an oral fixation that’s more about intimacy than control. his lips find their way to your neck, your collarbone, your thighs, and finally between your legs like it’s instinct. he eats pussy like it’s a language he was born fluent in, like he’s worshiping something sacred. there’s no rush. he kisses your clit before he licks it. breathes in your scent with a low groan. and when your fingers tangle in his hair and you tell him not to stop, he moans into you like he’s the one coming.
he’s a dom, but a gentle one. his possessiveness shows in how he speaks to you. soft, firm, with a hand around your waist and his voice warm in your ear. “mine. all mine. say it.” he’ll stroke your cheek, slide inside you slow, and tell you how good you’re doing with every thrust. even when he’s fucking you hard, his praise is constant. it’s obsessive in a way that feels safe. like he’d never let anyone else see you like this, touch you like this. when you fall apart for him, trembling under the weight of his body and his words, he kisses you through it. “so pretty when you break for me. you’re perfect. you’re mine.”
YUSHI: brat. teasing. light impact play.
yushi knows exactly how hot he is, and he uses it to drive you insane. he’s mouthy, smug, always testing your patience. it’s a game to him. he’ll push your buttons with a cocky smile, roll his eyes when you get serious, and whine about your rules even as he breaks them. but the moment you pin him down, and tell him to stop? he folds. “i was just playing,” he says, but his voice is breathless, and his cock is hard, and he’s already spreading his legs wider. he wants to be punished. he just doesn’t want to admit it first.
he thrives off teasing. if you take it slow. drag your fingers along his thighs, hover just above his dick, whisper filth in his ear. he’ll start squirming, fists clenching in the sheets. he begs with attitude, voice full of whines and curses. “fuck, just touch me already. what are you waiting for?” and when you finally give in, and ride him without mercy, his whole act shatters. he moans for it. cries for it. and when you ask him who owns him, he answers fast, no hesitation. “you. fuck, it’s you. only you.”
JAEHEE: quiet dom. restraint kink. voyeurism.
jaehee is dangerous in the quietest way. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his dominance is calm, measured, almost clinical. he ties your hands behind your back and kisses your forehead before leaving the room. makes you wait on your knees, naked and aching, until he comes back and decides you’ve earned his touch. and when he touches you, it’s slow. focused. a single fingertip over your nipple, down your stomach, between your thighs. he learns your body like a study. not just what makes you cum, but what makes you beg.
he has a voyeur streak he doesn’t talk about often. he loves watching you touch yourself while he sits back in a chair, legs spread, arms crossed, commanding every movement. “two fingers. no cuming yet.” he watches your body twitch and your breathing hitch with sharp, hungry eyes. if you disobey, he makes you do it again. and again. until you’re wrung out and ruined. when he finally fucks you, it’s possessive, purposeful, deep. “no one sees you like this but me,” he says, voice low as he wraps a hand around your throat and fucks you slow. “and no one ever will.”
RIKU: switch. overstimulation. praise + begging.
riku might look quiet, but when he gets control, he’s unrelenting. he knows how to read your body. knows exactly when to slow down and when to ruin you. he’ll straddle your hips, pin your wrists gently above your head, and thrust deep and slow until you’re trembling under him. then he starts talking. “you feel that?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, voice low and dangerous. “you’re clenching like you want more. beg for it.” he loves the push and pull of control. when you try to take over, only for him to flip the script, hold you down, and fuck the fight right out of you.
but riku breaks just as beautifully. if you edge him, ride him slow, kiss his throat and tell him how good he’s being. he starts falling apart. “please, please, don’t stop, i’m close..” he can’t handle your praise. his hips twitch when you call him perfect. his fingers dig into your waist when you say you own him like this. he’s vocal. messy. the kind of switch who wants to ruin and be ruined in the same night. whether he’s making you come over and over until you’re crying, or gasping through his third orgasm with tears in his eyes. he’s at his best when you’re both wrecked together.
pairing. xiaojun, wonbin, sion x 7th member!reader
warnings. gangbang, dubcon to noncon (it's implied that reader's been conditioned to like it), recording, pet play, dom/sub dynamics, dumbification, choking/breath play, reader's a member of wayv, mention of physical abuse, everyone's mean and perverse :c
a.n.: i actually did write it, this pic haunted me for days so yeah. may peace find you after reading this <3
“look up here, baby,” xiaojun snaps his fingers and you blink, your gaze drawn back to the phone in his hand recording you.
you squint your eyes, blinded by the flash shining bright in your face, accentuating the drool running down your chin and the black mascara smeared around your eyes. you’re a bit dizzy already, not really registering what’s happening—why xiaojun is filming you on his phone, why wonbin and sion are standing around you.
they’re all looking down at you, on your knees with your hands in your lap, opening your mouth for xiaojun who pushes his fingers down your throat once more. his bracelets hang around his wrist and you can see the veins pulsing out along his arm, your eyes following up to the sleeves of his shirt rolled over his biceps.
xiaojun’s fingers press down on your tongue, reaching far inside your mouth, feeling your gag reflex coming in, but you try your best to ignore it. stand still, take it.
“she takes it pretty well,” you hear a voice saying from your right. you feel a hand gently stroking your hair, a hand that belongs to sion, you realize as you look to the side.
“she had the best teacher,” xiaojun says from above, watching you through the screen of his phone. “huh, didn’t you?” he shakes his hand from side to side, making you move your head as well like a dumb puppy.
your eyes sparkle while looking at him, you’re sure of it. you want to say yes, sir, but how do you do that with his fingers inside your mouth?
you can barely form another thought that the pressure on your tongue disappears and you receive a sharp slap across the face. your head follows the fast movement, a whimper slipping past your lips. xiaojun takes a hold of your face immediately after, squishing your cheeks between his fingers.
“yes,” you manage to croak out, your face still stinging from the strike, skin on fire. “the best.”
“i know,” xiaojun grins. “such a painslut.”
as if to confirm his words, you feel your core heating up, your panties wet against your pussy. you’re meant to take it.
“check her panties, you’ll see how well i’ve trained her.”
someone kneels behind you—wonbin, you think—and your torso is pushed down, both of your hands landing flat on the floor. cold fingers hook under the hem of your leggings and they’re being pulled down not long after, resting at your mid-thighs, your sex exposed, bare to the eyes of the three men surrounding you.
“dripping wet,” wonbin confirms, humming as he pulls your pussy lips apart, inspecting you, seeing how your folds glisten under the dim light of the gym. two thick fingers enter you and you gasp out, the intrusion foreign, but you find yourself liking it, longing for more.
the drag of wonbin’s fingers between your walls is painful at first, dry and slow, but your slicks help to ease it up. you whimper and your thighs shake, pussy clenching around him out of instinct. you hear wonbin hissing, saying something about your pussy sucking his fingers in, and then a hand grips your hair, pushing your head down. your ass remains in the air, but your back is arched, cheek pressed against the cold floor.
“stay down, pup. no grabby paws, m’kay?” xiaojun softly instructs you, though his grip on your hair is starting to sting your scalp. you pout, bobbing your head up and down the best you can.
you hide your face behind your arms as the fingers inside of you start to move, thrusting back and forth, xiaojun holding his phone up and filming the whole scene. sion is standing not far away from you, hands shoved in the pockets of his pants, watching you getting fingered right in the middle of the empty gym.
you want to reach for something so badly, hold onto someone—maybe sion’s leg? it’s so close to you. or reach behind to grab wonbin’s hand? but you remember; no grabby paws. xiaojun wouldn’t be happy if you disobeyed him.
after a few thrusts of his fingers, wonbin pulls them out of you, leaving you confused and empty, but you let out a gasp of surprise when you instead feel his tongue prodding at your entrance, nose buried in your pussy. after dipping between your folds, tasting you, his tongue moves to your clit, which makes you moan, the shy sound muffled by your arm covering your mouth still. wonbin holds the back of your thighs firmly, preventing you from moving too much, keeping an inch or two of distance between each other. it’s a lot to take in, especially the moment he digs his teeth into the flesh of one of your ass cheeks, definitely leaving a print behind.
you feel so exposed in front of them, scrutinized and watched. you’re not even completely bare and you still feel the humiliation of being naked, three pairs of eyes on you at the same time. it makes you dizzy, makes you feel so, so dumb. useless, only worth being the object of their desires—but you don’t mind as long as you’re being good for xiaojun.
when you cum, you’re barely recovering that they’re switching positions and you have a hard time catching what’s happening. your pulse is going quick, legs shaking, feeling your wetness dripping down your inner thighs and the moisture of wonbin’s tongue still on your cunt.
you’re placed on your butt and someone pulls you to his chest, recognizing sion’s legs on either side of your body. you look up at xiaojun, then wonbin, wondering for a second what will happen next, but you’re caught off guard when sion wraps his arm around your neck. you gasp out audibly, hands flying up immediately to grasp sion’s arm, trying to pull on it, but it does nothing at all. he squeezes more and more until your eyes fill up in water and you fight for air. you kick your legs on the floor, attempting to push yourself up somehow, and you’re in utter distress as wonbin sits down in front of you and catches your ankles between his hands.
“shh, shhh. come on, pretty,” sion whispers, his breath fanning across your cheek. “don’t be so difficult,” he chuckles and you can hear the others laughing, too. you want to behave, you really do, but you physically can’t. your body is telling you to fight, anything to get some air.
why is xiaojun letting this happen? he hits you, yes, countless times and really hard sometimes, but depriving you of air? it’s a first and you’re not sure if you like it.
you think xiaojun says something that makes the others laugh again, and you can see him grinning, making fun of you. you feel defeated, hoping that it’ll end soon.
sion tightens his arm, his bicep flexing around your neck, tilting your head to the side. your mouth closing and opening, clawing at his arm, wriggling in his hold. it’s long, so long until he unfastens his arm from around your throat and you immediately gasp for air, but it doesn’t last a second before he squeezes again, this time taking a chunk of your hair in his other hand. you look at xiaojun, silently begging him with your tearful eyes.
“she looks so dumb,” sion says, his tone light-hearted, as though enamoured of you.
“wait for when she gets fucked,” xiaojun adds in, getting closer to you, recording how his friend holds you in a headlock, leggings down to your mid-thighs, making it so humiliating for you. “she’s even dumber than that—cock makes her so stupid.”
the moment sion lets go of you, you roll off to the side, coughing and crying, massaging your neck. it hurts so much, there’s no way you don’t have it bruised by tomorrow. you really thought this would be it, if sion only held you for a little longer, but he stopped at the right moment. you don’t know if you’ll recover from this, ever.
“here, take the phone.”
it’s blurry all around you and your head feels heavy, it’s like their voices are really far away from you, when you know in reality they’re all very close to you. hands grip your leggings while another pair yanks your top, both undressing your legs and revealing your boobs at the same time.
the head of a cock is pushing at your entrance, and you almost scream as he bottoms out, filling you up to the brim, walls spasming around him. you don’t need to look behind your shoulder to know who it is, you already recognize him by his size and his shape, his familiar hands grabbing your hips.
“fuck, that’s it, that’s my girl,” xiaojun moans, palm traveling up your back and fingers closing around the hair at the back of your head, rising it up from the floor. “look at wonbin, pup. tell him what it’s like getting your little pussy fucked.”
your eyelids are heavy, threatening to close, but you force yourself to look up, finding wonbin crouched down in front of you, xiaojun’s phone in hand. the flash of the phone blinds you once again, making you squint your eyes. sion is a little off to the side, probably the one who pulled on your top earlier.
“i- i like it,” you sniffle. your voice is hoarse and talking hurts your throat a lot. “ngh- feels so good!” you squeak as xiaojun pounds into you, sounds of skin against skin echoing in the room.
—-
less nasty and gross as i said it'd be, i hope you guys aren't too disappointed... let me know what you thought of it please! don't forget to reblog <3
a/n: hey guyssss. its been like a week. heres some hendery texts because hes genuinely bias wrecking me so hard rn. yall better still be streaminf big bands. lmk what yall think!
nsfw: smut, explicit language
content/warnings: bf!ten x fem!reader x kun, noncon > dubcon (it’s like 10% physical force and 90% raw coercion so whatever that means to you), mild-moderate alcohol use, somnophilia, humiliation/degradation, lil bit of dacryphilia, oral, pnv sex, completely immoral but also…maybe...affectionate <3, whole dynamic toxic & weird, but basically just two guys on some trifling depraved bullshit
w.c. 4.6k
a certain amount of alcohol can make ten a bit of a bully.
he gets snarky and mean in ways only he thinks are funny, and then says, 'ugh, you’re such a crybaby — you know, that’s why i love you.'
it’s true; you can be sort of emotional, maybe even quick-tempered after a few drinks, but to ten, that’s perfect; he loves a game of cat-and-mouse and you’re such a natural at playing along.
bickering couples and weird tension, however, isn’t really kun’s thing. even when he’s having a fine time out with friends or colleagues, if you and ten are there, trampling all over each other’s nerves, he takes it as a cue to pay his tab and walk home. usually, no one cares if he leaves, nor do they want to go with him — especially not you, and especially not you without ten.
needless to say, when he’s already well out the back door of the bar, kun’s thrown off by hearing you call out from behind him, asking sheepishly if he’s headed back to his apartment, and if it’d be okay if you came too.
“my phone’s dead, and i’m tired, and my feet hurt, and —”
well, you’ve got a whole list of complaints. he’s a little too buzzed to care, and doesn’t even stop walking while he half-listens. you tripping over a crack in the pavement as you catch up to him though — it’s at least enough to make him pause and laugh.
“watch your step,” he says, and begins to ask ‘where’s ten?’ but you cut him off before the name can leave his mouth.
“somewhere– i don’t know, he’s with– whoever.”
there’s that peevish edge in your voice that kun’s heard a few too many times; from you, yourself, but also from ten doing crude impressions of your nagging.
“well, you should tell him if you’re–” again, he’s cut off.
“if i’m sick of him? if i’m leaving?” you scoff. “i don’t need permission, ten doesn’t own me.”
“oh,” his brows raise with mock curiosity. “does he know that?”
kun thinks it’s funny how quickly you turn offended, but a few seconds of silence pass and he realizes it might be in poor taste to wind you up over your boyfriend when that’s probably the exact thing you’re trying to escape at the moment.
he obliges with, “kidding, sorry.”
the apology wasn’t meant as an invitation, but that’s apparently how you perceive it.
a whole city block goes by with you walking alongside kun, and although he doesn’t particularly want to bring you back to his place, there’s technically no harm in it. the two of you are friends enough to trade favors every now and then. worst case scenario, ten owes him one for looking after his oh-so-precious, little twit of a girlfriend who hates his guts.
kun has never understood the type of girls ten likes to keep around — hardly younger, yet somehow still immature, impractical dressers, can’t handle their liquor, cries defensively, etcetera — but despite that, kun’s always found you to be pretty cute. no, not very clever, and frankly a bit annoying with a few drinks in you, but cute.
to be prudent, he still tells you, “text ten once your phone’s charged, just so he doesn’t worry,” then a few steps later, tacks on, “and so i don’t have to do it myself.”
you nod in agreement, but truthfully, you’d prefer ten to worry about you — he should do it more often. if it shows he cares, you wouldn’t even mind if he’s a little angry. you told him you wanted to go home, and he picked on you, said you’re being sulky, go order yourself a stronger drink and perk up. so you walked towards the bar, and then you simply walked past it and out the door, thinking: why don’t i just leave since i’m spoiling so much of his fun?
yes, it’s petty to go with kun. you’re not so tipsy that you don’t realize it, but you’re tipsy enough to not care.
the whole thing's puzzled out in your head already anyway: the second your phone has enough battery, you’ll just order a car and get yourself home, ten doesn’t even have to know where you went, or with who, or for how long…although, in theory, being at kun’s apartment would really add some dimension to the whole guilt-trip situation you’re concocting; you being such a damsel in distress, and kun being sooo dependable and considerate, and as for ten — why doesn’t he take some notes from his friend on how to treat a lady?
but no, that’s not likely to go over well. to be fair though, ten guilts you too, and he does it worse, or according to him, better. with more skill, in any case. you should probably stick to your own areas of expertise (disappearing, silent treatment, senselessly self-abasing make-up sex), but it’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.
okay maybe it is. maybe you’re just kinda drunk and should walk a step or two faster in case ten already cares that you’re gone.
by the time you’re inside kun’s apartment, you’re smiling, speaking softly, making funny little observations about his living space. he gives you a glass of water, asks if you’re hungry, lets you sit on the side of his bed while your phone charges on the nightstand.
with your bad mood all but disappeared, kun thinks to himself that you don’t seem too difficult to please. you’re easy to warm up to, easy to dote on, all he had to do was hum and nod and let you exhaust yourself with mindless chatter. he’s not sure why ten acts like you’re such a chore. granted, kun doesn’t mind taking care of chores, certainly enjoys it more than ten does. the alcohol may also be helping him see you less as ten’s girlfriend, and more as just a pretty girl in a remarkably short skirt that wanted to come home with him. that could have something to do with it.
although he knows better than to ask, he does wonder whether you have the audacity to actually cheat on ten, or only enough audacity to go home with his friends as if you might.
since you’re sitting so politely upright on the bed, he thinks it’s most likely the latter.
then again, maybe the former, when you slowly recline, first on your elbows, then to your back. you mumble at the ceiling — something about the smell of his blankets, and you’re impressed he makes his bed every morning — while idly wiggling your bare feet where they hang above the floor.
suddenly, it feels very possible that making ten jealous is what you came here to do in the first place.
if kun were a selfish person, he’d join you on the mattress and remind you that he’s really good at a lot of things. keeping secrets is one of them. fucking while drunk is another. pretending it never happened in the morning could be a third.
but he’s not selfish. he’s responsible, and he’s a loyal friend of ten’s, and would never go behind ten’s back to mess with his things — which is the category kun mentally files you under: ten’s things.
a thing, like a little token. a comfort item. something ten fiddles with to keep his hands and mouth and dick occupied. a cutesy, locked pocket diary for him to deposit his lovey-dovey heart shape scribbles and/or most horrendous thoughts into without consequence.
you’re certainly among ten’s favorite things, and considered specially for his amusement. not kun’s.
so rather than sit at the desk in his room from where he can see the color of your underwear and think about how incredibly fucking usable you look, kun leaves to wash up the dishes in his sink and brainstorm what kind of heinous words he’ll need to string together in a porn-site search bar to find just the right video to fuck his own hand to once you’re gone — soon.
he hopes you will be gone soon. he only has so many dirty dishes.
when returning to check on you, he wants to see your phone in your hand, and hear you say ‘ten’s meeting me outside in five minutes, thanks for your sympathy, you’ll never see me like this again, goodnight’.
instead, he finds you silent. very still. upon closer inspection, fallen asleep.
you’re unresponsive to your wrist being wiggled between kun’s fingers, or his quiet repetitions of your name. he stands over you, cursing himself for leaving you alone to doze off at all, and when his mind quiets, he studies your legs. they’re supple and parted, dangling from the knee over the edge of his bed. he gives your ankle a small, defeated shove with his toe; it swings once like a pendulum. left, right, rest. deadweight.
the awareness that he can be this close to you, staring at you, touching, talking, and you’ll never know it happened makes him a little queasy, and a little stiffer against the fly of his pants than he’d like to admit.
nearby, your phone shows a couple texts and a missed call on its lock screen, all of them from the same, unsurprising contact: tennie <3, tennie <3, and more tennie <3.
this is exactly what kun didn’t want to do — he told you that — but he takes his own phone from his back pocket anyway, opening his messages with ten (plain and simple, no frills, no nicknames - ten.) he doesn’t try to think of anything proper, just sends the bare minimum, glancing at you with a touch of resentment while he’s at it.
▸call me
every minute that passes without a response is another minute where kun is mulling over the idea of sinking to his knees and nosing his way between your legs, inhaling your scent, skimming a finger along the seam of your cunt till it drips. he could do it if he felt so inclined. he won’t, but he could.
maybe ten will call faster if he knows that.
kun snaps a photo.
▸i think you lost something
▸[attachment-1]
▸finder’s keepers?
it’s an incriminating photo. your hair is messy, shirt twisted up awkwardly around your middle, thighs on full display, but it’s as modest as kun could really get if he wanted to capture the whole lovely scene — which he did. he knows it’ll have ten aggravated, and is well-pleased with himself as he sends it anyway.
ten has never called faster.
…
there’s nothing quite like sleeping off a buzz. you’re tired — both physically and mentally — and you wish you were resting as deeply as possible, but instead you’re caught in that wavering state. aware but not. dreaming but not.
some fragmented conversation is vaguely audible, as though you left the TV on in another room.
the voice is familiar, but not enough to name in your sleep.
“at least she’s with me, i mean, it could be worse…probably just to piss you off, isn’t that how it goes with you two? …i guess, yeah...yeah...
i’ll send another, but it won’t be any different from the first one, she hasn’t moved an inch…oh……okay wait, if you want her clothes off, then come do it yourself.”
“ten, that’s messed up,” laughter fills the gap in the sentence. “this is why all your girlfriends turn fucking neurotic, you know.”
for a while, everything goes quiet. you really do sleep peacefully despite weight shifting the mattress beneath you, but you’re used to that. it’s comforting, makes you dream of ten, his warmth on your skin, his voice from up close.
“it’s fine, i told you.” he sounds happy. “if she likes running off and getting in your bed like a whore, then she should like getting treated like one.”
you’ve had dreams like this before, the ones where sensations don’t make sense; heat makes you shiver, softness while your muscles are tense. you have a stomachache, but in a good way. there’s a wet, blooming pressure coming from your middle, and your heartbeat is spilling over in your chest.
stretching and squirming, you try to find footing where there is none. your heels shuffle weakly against a warm smoothness — a body, you realize. your legs are bent over shoulders, spread open. you don’t want to close them, you don’t even want to try.
words are still beyond your grasp, and you’re too freshly conscious to open your eyes, but you rock your head to the side and manage some muddled whines.
in response, you hear a groan you don’t recognize, and then a laugh that you do.
“aw, is he waking you up, sleepyhead?” ten’s voice is hushed, and his breath ghosts over your face. it smells stale. beer and table mints. “feels nice, hm?”
nodding, you hum back to him. it feels so nice, illogically nice...
ten's phrasing has you putting together sums in your head:
two hands smooth up and down the backs of your thighs, one more hand on your arm, another that gently collars your neck with fingertips tickling you behind the jaw.
one mouth is ten’s, cooing at you in his faintly patronizing tone, and one mouth is affixed between your legs, persistently coaxing an orgasm out of you.
you’re missing roughly two, three, four…well, every piece of clothing.
that’s too many hands, too many mouths, too few clothes, and this bed doesn’t feel like one you’ve ever been naked in.
when you begin to writhe, you whimper out, “tennie,” because you always do, but it doesn’t feel right. something’s not right.
“shh, careful,” ten replies in a whisper that almost turns into another laugh, “kun probably doesn’t want to hear that.”
instantly, drowsiness vanishes from your body and sets every last nerve aflame on its way out.
if ten didn’t sense your sudden fluster and lift your head up to place in his lap, you might not have gained the sensibility to move at all, much less blink your eyes open, but it’s important that you do; this is something you need to see for yourself to try and understand.
you watch your hips curling upwards, chasing a climax with each wide, heavy pass of kun’s tongue. kun’s tongue. kun. it’s as if your lower body is detached from you, like your brain refuses to trust your vision. you watch his hands petting your legs, watch his fingers tending to your clit as he pulls away for a breath. the loss of warmth from his mouth makes you gasp, then gasp again, harder, when it returns.
looking up at ten with fevered eyes, you find him already studying your every twitch, every expression, each beat of your pulse in the bend of his thumb. he’s still dressed, making you that much more embarrassed to be stripped down and trembling in his friend’s mouth, although you can feel that he's enjoying the view; alongside your cheek, the length of his cock is firm and straining through the fabric of his pants. you tuck your face against it, somewhat as an apology for the moans you’re ashamed to let escape you.
“m’gonna cum–” you choke out, half-hating yourself for it and squeezing your eyes shut to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.
you brace yourself for a release — it's right there, right there, right there on the tip of kun’s tongue — and then it stops short, it’s gone, stolen away.
what should’ve been an orgasm becomes nothing but a horrible, fluttering lump in your throat. your hands search the bedding surrounding you, as if it’s a physical thing you might locate, pick up, and put back. you reach for kun’s head between your legs and find nothing. when you lurch forward, trying to sit up, your neck snags on ten’s hand.
“don’t– don’t stop,” you stutter and stumble over words, “i’m almost– don’t–”
all you can grasp from ten’s reaction is that he’s entertained.
“listen to yourself — don’t, don’t, don’t,” he does an insulting job mocking your pleas, more for kun’s amusement than anything else. “begging like a slut right in front of me.”
“bad manners.” kun’s jokes along with ten, although he’s more satisfied than scolding. his hands pad up the mattress till they’re on either side of your shoulders, and he’s overtop of you. “you shouldn’t act like that and not even say please.”
oh, you could just curl up and die of humiliation right on the spot.
looking at kun makes you question if you’re still drunk, or just going cross-eyed. possibly both. he’s an odd amount of undressed; shirtless, beltless, pants undone but still there, slipping down his hips as he lowers himself, nearer and nearer. it doesn’t click that he’s kissing you until it’s already happening; slowly, carefully, his plump lips wet with the taste of your arousal.
“and you shouldn’t be in my bed either, but it’s okay,” he mumbles and kisses you, “‘cause i was kinda hoping i’d get to try you out tonight,” and kisses you again, “and i don’t think we’re done here, are we?”
kun’s so casual, his tone even-keeled, his eyes dark and untroubled — not much different from earlier when he brought you to his room in the first place. it’s unsettling, in hindsight.
“we’re not done,” ten answers on your behalf, “she knows.” then gives your cheek a condescending pat — two times, pat-pat — it means good girl with a hint of i hate you.
this is your trade off for playing cat-and-mouse with him; wanting to be chased comes with getting caught, and ten doesn’t come after things that aren’t worth his time. in that aspect, you never fail him, and he’s not about to let you start now. you’re always such a good sport. perfect loser.
the worst part about kun touching you surprisingly isn’t that you feel taken advantage of, double-crossed, or unfairly tattled on by him. actually, the worst part is how impossible it is to hide just how badly you want it.
kun puts his mouth anywhere that isn't already occupied by ten’s hands. his teeth graze your nipples, and his lips drag trails up and down your midsection. then he ruts two central fingers into you so solidly that it nudges your body up on the mattress and makes your head dip around in ten’s lap. they can both tell you like it — that's the worse-r worst part. with every noise or wriggle you make, ten sighs in disappointment, petting your hair like you’re so weak-willed you just can’t help betraying him, while kun tells you, “just fuck yourself on my hand, it’ll make you feel better.”
he’s probably right, but what does it matter? it’s only meant to taunt you. he knows you’re too mortified to hump yourself stupid in his palm, and you don’t trust him to leave it there long enough to count anyway.
small reassurances keep you tame; you know you’re exactly where ten wants you to be, that he’s pleased with himself, and as backwards as it may be, handing you over to be dirtied by kun is ten’s weird way of reclaiming you.
it’s your reluctance to the dirtiness that makes you ten’s, but just as much, it’s the dirtiness itself. eventually, it’s something like enjoyment or at least need — a need to have kun rub every bit of his dirtiness off on you — that makes you ten’s too.
it’s possible that you belong to him now more than ever, as he’s hurrying you to straddle kun’s lap with little pushes and staccato words: up, c’mon, good, shh– good. you’re compliant, but he nearly places you there himself anyway, arranging you from behind, posing you limb by limb for kun, who’s moved to laze against the wall at the head of the bed with his cock hard and twitching on his stomach.
staring is impolite, you’ve been trying to remind yourself that ever since kun kicked off his last couple pieces of clothing, but now that your bodies are so close you just can’t pull your attention away. if your mouth isn’t drooling for him, your pussy definitely is.
“you’re soaking me, look–” kun swipes his fingers over the shiny wetness that dribbles out of you and spreads onto him. it’s difficult to sit still when he’s right there between your legs, stiff and leaking from his tip for you too. “if you want it that bad, go ahead,” he offers, “don’t make me do all the work myself here.”
that it would’ve been easier, you think, if you had zero control and all of this went down the rough, nasty, ugly way.
getting a load or two fucked into you, rolled off the side of the bed, and made to crawl to the bathroom so you can rub out a sad orgasm alone would be awful, but at least it’d be obviously awful, and you could go home later with the understanding that something awful was done with your body and you didn’t have anything to do with it — hell, maybe you’d even put up a good fight.
instead, you’re a good listener, you play your part, and that’s somehow worse. so much worse, because even though it doesn’t feel quite like your own choice, it still feels completely like your own fault. technically, you are doing it to yourself at this point.
in your hands, you take kun’s thick girth, all slippy at the base from your own juices and rigid with a need that matches your own. you’re acutely aware of ten right over your shoulder. you know his shirt has been discarded because his skin burns hot up against your back, and you assume, maybe, probably, that he’s watching you dumbly toy with his friend’s hard-on like a nervous virgin when they both know you’re anything but.
“treat him just like you do me, okay?” ten says in your ear as he busies himself preening you; smoothing your hair, petting his hands up and down your body, pinching your sides if your posture slumps. “i brag about that pretty cunt of yours too much for you not to show off a little.”
so there’s expectations — that’s not comforting — but ten, with the small amount of charity he has in him, acts like he’ll help you along.
when you shift upwards on your knees, he takes the liberty of lifting you some, spreading you more, letting a bit of your weight lean back against his warm torso.
but it’s too many hands, just as it was before when you had no clue what was going on. kun’s, ten’s, even your own, all feverishly hold you in the spaces between each other’s, guiding you to the same place. it’s not making anything easier, it’s just too much. at the first feeling of kun’s girth throbbing between your folds, you’re immediately back to chasing that lost climax like it’s pure instinct, walls clenching tight, legs turning jittery.
“so fucking tense,” kun sort of chuckles, mostly to cover up his impatience. “relax. just sit.”
just sit. that’s the easiest trick in the book. internally, you’re kicking yourself — just sit sit sit — and on the outside, you’re squirmily teasing yourself over half of kun’s length.
“c’mon, angel, all the way down,” ten urges you once in earnest, hugging his arms loosely around you so they drape over your shoulders. it’s sweet but he’s so heavy, and you’re sinking, and oh– “sit down.” the second time he tells you, he enunciates the words like you’re stupid.
ten stays there, weighing down on you with his mean, fake-hug, whispering mean, fake-encouragements against your ear, until there’s a give in your legs. all at once, you become so full, like there’s nothing else inside you except kun.
the moan you make is like you’ve been punched in the gut, and kun puts his wide, warm hand over your lower belly, knowing exactly where it aches.
“feel me?” his voice comes out in a hot breath as he presses into you — into himself — behind your skin’s surface. “right there.”
god, you’re dizzy. sick. blushing so hard it could burst a vessel, and nodding in reply, “uh-huh...uh…huh…”
“keep doing that and she’ll cum really easy,” ten chimes in, too fondly, like it’s show-and-tell and he’s just sharing a fun fact…except it’s his hand traveling down to demonstrate how your whole body lurches at the slightest hint of a finger on your swollen clit. “see?”
kun definitely sees. he rolls his hips up into yours so he can watch you react even better, feel it deeper, harder. once he’s started moving within you, even at this restrained, dragging pace, you’re pretty sure he can’t stop. you don’t want him to.
“sensitive,” he mumbles. “is that what i did to you?”
it’s what he’s doing to you, right now, his cock touching and nudging at every starved, pulsating space inside of you while ten feathers his fingertip just near the peak of your slit.
“can you–” you’re not asking for anything or anyone in particular, just whimpering out, “more.”
“you sure?” kun teases, “you’re gonna make a mess all over me.”
“mmhm, kun, i–” ew, you hear your voice mixing with the wet, slick-y noises between your legs and it’s grossly pitiful, “please.”
“good manners this time,” he muses, “but ask your boyfriend if it’s okay first, so you don’t get in any more trouble tonight.”
fuck off, you swear in your head. the i-told-you-so stunt he’s pulling is clear, you know he wants to see how silly and drunk and defeated you look while turning around to ask ten for permission to cum on his friend’s dick, when a few hours ago, you wouldn’t even tell him you were leaving the bar.
and that’s exactly what you feel like doing it: silly, drunk, defeated. but also, so aroused you can hardly see straight or get your tongue to make sentences.
“tennie,” from the start, it’s coming out broken sounding, and your words lightly bounce along with kun’s push and pull inside you. “can i– ten, i have to– i wanna cum now–”
it’s surprising ten only makes a short chuckle at how pathetic you are.
“where’d you get the idea this is about what you want?” he asks, then pauses where he’s touching you, leaving you stressed and needily grinding down into kun to make up for the loss of stimulation. “you’re fucking spoiled, baby, you know that?”
nod, nod, nod — that’s the best you can do along with your pouty face and weepy eyes.
if it's any consolation, ten never planned to drag it out this long, you’re just too much fun to play with. he figured, why not milk you for everything you’re worth, even if it’s purely to show kun he can, and you’ll let him?
he just thinks you’re too adorable when you’re in a pretty little fit of tears over him, but it has to be over him.
that’s the main reason ten gives into your begging; anyone could get you off after holding you hostage on the brink of an orgasm for who-even-knows how long, but he needed to be the only reason you’d cry for it.
it takes almost nothing to bring you over the edge. ten’s hand winds around to reach your throat, pulling you closely against him, while the other works tight circles on your clit — for real this time, no delicate cruelty — and kun fucking himself up and in and out, hard all the way through even with such little leverage below you.
good thing there’s two of them to hold you steady after; just because you’re completely wiped of your strength doesn’t mean anyone else is done with you.
kun’s endeared to your dozy eyes and floppy arms, it’s like you’re all soft and sleepy for him again, and ten’s happy to grab the closest piece of stray clothing and use it to scrub your wet, sniffly face clean before dumping you forward into his friend’s chest.
“now let kun-ge see how sweet you look when you’re not being a whiny wreck.” ten tells you, then slumps himself down right next to kun, shoulder to shoulder, prepared to watch with his own erection tucked up into his waistband. “and don’t be a crybaby about it, okay?” he cautions, “save that for my turn.”
the way you nod back to him, your cheeks all pink and splotchy and glittering, has ten smitten. but he’d be smitten in any case, even if you played dead at his feet — wouldn’t matter as long as you know you’re his. you do whatever he feels like, do more, do worse, do it because he loves you…and even when he hates you, he hates you in just the right way.
an: umm writing this fic ruined my life so please lmk if it did something for you lol <3 ok. love u. bye.
Warnings: camgirl work, sexual tension, language, secret-keeping, voyeurism, eventual smut 18+, dom!Yangyang, fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial/edging, public teasing (semi-public setting), jealousy/possessive behavior, dirty talk, rough kissing, praise & mild degradation, sexual tension in public space, strong language.
A/N: this is freaky asl, this is INSPIRED by @hyuckiefluff
Liu Yangyang was your best friend. Not the casual kind who lent you notes once a semester and waved in lecture halls, but the kind who knew you liked strawberry milk in your coffee even though you claimed you hated sweet drinks.
The kind who showed up to your apartment at 2 a.m. with greasy fries and a Powerade because he “had a feeling.” The kind you secretly, shamefully, maybe just a little bit—wanted to fuck.
But Yangyang? He saw you as just a friend. Just a girl who wore baggy hoodies and stole his socks, who cursed too much and watched horror movies like they were lullabies. He didn’t know the version of you that other people paid to see.
At least, that’s what you thought.
You were a camgirl.
Not because you wanted to be forever—but because tuition was murder, your scholarship only covered so much, and frankly? You were good at it.
A few hours a week. Lingerie. Sometimes toys. Always a mask. Always a fake name. Never in person. You were careful.
And Yangyang? He was never supposed to know.
“Dude,” he groaned, flopping back on your dorm bed, legs dangling off the edge. “If Professor Jin assigns one more group project, I swear I’m gonna commit a crime.”
You didn’t look up from your laptop, fingers dancing over your keyboard. “You mean like not showing up to half your lectures already?”
“Low blow.” He kicked your thigh lightly with his socked foot. “You love me.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You bringing your ass to film club later?”
He shrugged. “Only if you promise to actually pay attention this time. Last week you were glued to your phone.”
You stilled for a second.
Last week’s stream. You had just finished a pretty intense session—your most generous subscriber, P1nDown, had sent a massive tip. You’d thanked him with a custom video. The rush afterward was addictive. You couldn’t stop checking for his next message.
You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just had stuff.”
Yangyang tilted his head at you like he was trying to read behind your words. He was always good at that—getting too close, asking too little, and seeing too much.
The problem with secrets was that they lived everywhere: in the way you avoided his gaze when a notification popped up on your phone, in the way you kept a second folder on your laptop labeled “Taxes” that definitely wasn’t about taxes.
You had a system. You were careful.
Until you weren’t.
It happened on a Tuesday. The air was heavy with pre-storm heat, your dorm Wi-Fi was shot, and you had an econ assignment due by midnight.
You didn’t think twice when you texted Yangyang.
you home? need to borrow ur laptop, mine’s dead. i’ll bring iced coffee?
Yangyang💕: only if it’s that trash vanilla almond shit you get Yangyang💕: door’s open
You snorted and headed to his place. His dorm was across campus in the international student housing building—cleaner, nicer, quieter. Typical.
He wasn’t home when you got there. You let yourself in, dropped the coffee on his desk, and booted up his laptop.
That was your first mistake.
The tab was already open when the browser loaded.
It wasn’t porn—not exactly. It was a paused video. Full screen.
Your video.
You blinked, brain buffering.
It was you—wearing the navy lace teddy you’d bought for your two-month streaming anniversary. Knees parted. Lips parted. Fingers wet. Eyes half-lidded under your crystal-studded mask. The words “Thanks for the love, P1nDown 💋” were scrawled in text across the bottom.
And in the top-right corner?
The account name was logged in.
L.Yang99
Your stomach dropped.
No. No way. No fucking way.
You slammed the laptop shut like it had burned you. Your chest felt tight, ears ringing.
Yangyang… was your top subscriber?
He came back ten minutes later, earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat.
“Hey, did it load okay? Wi-Fi was—"
“You’re P1nDown.”
He froze mid-step. Slowly, he took his earbuds out.
“…What?”
You stood, heart racing, pointing at the laptop like it was a crime scene. “Don’t lie. Your tab was open. My video. Your account. Logged in. I saw everything.”
Yangyang went still. Then exhaled a long, shaky breath.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”
Silence.
“You knew it was me,” you whispered.
“I figured it out a while ago.” He looked at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. “Didn’t mean to find it. I was just scrolling and… I saw the mole on your inner thigh.”
Your breath hitched.
He’d noticed that?
“You shouldn’t have—”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have watched. But I couldn’t stop.”
You swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, by the way, I jerk off to your streams every other night and tip you more than my rent’? That’s not exactly best friend behavior.”
Your face flushed. The words should’ve made you angry. Ashamed. But part of you—the part that had fantasized about Yangyang’s hand between your thighs, about him seeing that side of you—lit up like a fucking firecracker.
“You’re my best friend,” you said, throat dry. “This could ruin everything.”
He stepped closer. “Yeah. Or maybe it changes everything.”
You didn’t speak for a long time.
Just stared at Yangyang like he was a stranger wearing your best friend’s face. Your throat was dry, stomach twisted, but your thighs were clenched tight and warm in a way that made you furious at yourself.
This was wrong. He was Yangyang—the boy who used to spoon-feed you ramen when you were too hungover to move. The boy who held your hand through every mental breakdown. The boy who, for the last six months, had been your highest paying subscriber—without you knowing.
And now, he was just standing there. Looking at you like he’d seen you naked a hundred times.
Because he had.
“You saw everything,” you murmured.
“You’ve been seeing everything.”
Yangyang looked wrecked—flushed, eyes glassy, tongue darting out nervously across his bottom lip.
“Yeah.”
“And you still came over like nothing happened? Let me crash at your place? Let me sit on your bed when you—when you’ve watched me—?”
“I didn’t do it to be creepy,” he cut in, voice strained.
“It wasn’t some plan. I didn’t even know it was you at first. But once I did, I just— I couldn’t stop.”
You backed away a step, pulse erratic.
“So you just kept watching. Tipping. Getting off to me. While pretending to be my best friend.”
“Don’t say it like that.” He stepped toward you, hands open.
“It wasn’t pretending. I’m still your best friend. I just…” He exhaled shakily.
“You were so confident. On camera. It didn’t feel like you were just performing. It felt real. Like you wanted it.”
You did. You do.
But admitting that felt like throwing a match into a pool of gasoline.
“I don’t show my face,” you muttered. “You weren’t supposed to know. That wasn’t you I was performing for.”
“I didn’t care. I still don’t.” His voice dropped.
“I just wanted to see you. All of you. Even the parts you think you have to hide.”
Your skin burned. Your heart pounded. But something deep and hot and twisted inside of you ached at those words.
This was Yangyang. He was the only person you’d ever trusted with your ugly. With your midnight breakdowns and your shame and your softness. You never imagined he’d want the other part of you too.
But maybe he had all along.
“You’ve tipped me over two grand,” you said softly, breaking the silence.
Yangyang laughed weakly. “Yeah. I might’ve had to ask Xiaojun for rent last month.”
You blinked. “You’re serious?”
He nodded.
You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”
Yangyang stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t move.
“I liked making you feel good,” he said.
“Even if you didn’t know it was me. I liked knowing I could do that for you. That I was your favorite.”
Your breath hitched. “You were my favorite.”
“I still want to be.”
The air between you snapped like a live wire.
He reached out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. You didn’t pull away. Your eyes searched his—unsure, trembling, but needy.
“I’ve wanted you for months,” he whispered. “Every time you moaned someone’s name on camera, I pretended it was mine. Every time you said ‘good boy,’ I imagined it was me you were teasing. Touching.”
Your knees buckled.
“Yangyang…”
“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His thumb grazed your cheek. “But if you don’t—tell me what you do when you know I’m watching.”
You didn’t sleep that night.
You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t take your clothes off. You didn’t let things go further than they should.
But you let him stay.
On the floor beside your bed, blanket over his shoulders, eyes locked on you like he could read every filthy thing you’d ever streamed—and still wanted more.
The next few days were weird.
Not bad weird. Just hot and slow and buzzing with tension that you didn’t know how to handle.
Yangyang came over to your place more. He brought snacks. Teased you.
Caught your eye when you leaned too far forward in a low-cut shirt.
You caught his eyes lingering too long when you stretched in your shorts. He never pushed, but the air between you was never innocent again.
He never brought up your streams. Never asked when your next one was. But one night, you checked your page, and your private inbox lit up.
P1nDown: if you’re going live tonight can i request something special?
You: what kind of special?
P1nDown: just want to hear you say my name once just once
You stared at the screen for a long time.
Then typed:
You: only if you ask nicely.
You didn’t say it on the stream.
You thought about it. Played with the idea. Even put on the red lace bodysuit—the one that always made you feel like a weapon.
But when the tip came in—$500, and the caption “Please, baby. Say it for me.”—you only smiled at the camera and whispered, “Not yet.”
You were going to make him earn it.
You didn’t mean to tease him.
Okay. Maybe you did.
Just a little.
The night you wore the red lace on stream, Yangyang didn’t speak to you for a full day.
You didn’t blame him. You were his best friend—his favorite streamer—and you’d stared directly into the lens, lips parted and plush with gloss, and whispered, “Not yet.”
He knew it was for him. And you knew what that did to him.
The silence only lasted until the next night, when he showed up at your door with a bottle of soju and a six-pack of mango sparkling water like nothing had happened.
“Movie night?” he asked, eyes dark.
You nodded. “Movie night.”
But neither of you made it to the end of the movie.
You were sitting on your bed, laptop on your lap, one foot tucked under you. Yangyang was next to you, scrolling on his phone, his body angled slightly toward yours. Close enough that your knees brushed when you laughed. Close enough that your whole body was on alert.
It was suffocating. This weird electric buzz in the air that never left anymore.
When the movie ended, the silence lingered. Heavy. Heated.
You cleared your throat. “I have a stream tomorrow.”
Yangyang’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”
You nodded slowly. “Haven’t done one since… you know.”
His lips quirked. “Since you found out I’ve been jerking off to you?”
Your face flamed. “Yangyang.”
“What?” he leaned in slightly, gaze
locked to yours. “You asked.”
You licked your lips. “You could’ve just pretended you hadn’t seen it.”
“I didn’t want to pretend.”
A pause.
“Do you still…watch?” you asked.
His eyes darkened. “Every time.”
Your breath caught.
“Do you…” You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “Do you touch yourself to me?”
The corner of his mouth curled up, slow and devastating.
“Do you want the truth?”
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
He leaned forward, and this time, there was no space left between you. Just heat. Just tension. Just the past year of him pretending and you hiding and all of it boiling over.
“I’ve come to your voice more times than I can count,” Yangyang whispered. “To the sound of you begging, moaning, teasing. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
You whimpered. Literally whimpered.
“And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice ragged. “It still wasn’t enough.”
Your body moved on instinct. You dropped the laptop to the floor, barely heard it hit the carpet, and grabbed his hoodie, fisting it in your hands.
He didn’t wait.
Yangyang crashed into you like a storm—mouth hot, hands possessive, tongue sliding into your mouth with months of pent-up hunger. You moaned into the kiss, your back hitting the mattress as he pushed you down and slotted himself between your thighs.
“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“You should’ve said something.”
“You should’ve said my name on stream.”
Your laugh broke on a moan as he kissed down your neck, hands already slipping under your shirt. He tugged it off, eyes darkening at the sight of your bralette.
“This the one you wore in the birthday stream?” he asked.
You flushed. “Yeah.”
“I came so hard to that video.” He licked a stripe between your breasts. “Still do.”
“Yangyang—”
“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”
You did.
And he lost it.
His mouth moved lower. Hands under your waistband, dragging your shorts down in one smooth motion. You gasped when his tongue traced your hipbone.
“I always wondered what you tasted like,” he murmured. “Thought about it every time you opened your legs on cam. Wondered if you got wet just for the camera—or if you were already dripping before you hit record.”
“I’m always wet,” you whispered.
“Thinking about who’s watching.”
“You mean me.”
You bit your lip, nodding. “I didn’t know. But maybe part of me hoped it was.”
He growled low in his throat. “Fuck. You’re evil.”
Then he kissed your inner thigh. Your stomach. The crease of your hip.
“Yangyang—”
“I want to taste you,” he said. “But I want to hear you first.”
You blinked. “What?”
He sat back, legs sprawled, hoodie riding up just enough to tease the waistband of his boxers.
“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “Like you would on stream. Like you do when you think about me.”
You should’ve hesitated. But you didn’t.
You spread your legs, fingers dipping between your folds, and started slow. Deliberate. The way you always did for your top-paying subscriber—who, as it turned out, had always been this close.
Yangyang watched with wide, dark eyes. One hand down his pants, gripping himself hard.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re even prettier like this in real life.”
You whined as your fingers circled your clit, thighs trembling already.
“Did you ever think about me?” he asked, voice low. “When you streamed? Did you ever think about what it’d be like if Iwas the one tipping you? Watching you?”
“Yes,” you gasped. “Always.”
That was all it took.
Yangyang was on you in seconds, lips on your throat, hand replacing yours between your legs. He slid two fingers into you, fucking you slow and deep while your mouth fell open.
“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
“Yes—please, please—”
He yanked off his hoodie and pants in record time, eyes locked to yours the whole time.
And when he finally sank into you?
It was everything.
It was soft moans and whispered names and the sound of his hips hitting yours.
It was him biting down on your shoulder, whimpering, “You feel so fucking good.”
It was you wrapping your legs around him and crying out, “Don’t stop—Yangyang, please—”
And when you came?
You didn’t hold back.
You said his name.
Over and over and over.
Just like he’d always wanted.
“You’re still wet.”
Yangyang’s voice was low, right against your ear, as his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh under the table.
“Yang—someone might see—”
“I want them to.”
You squeezed your thighs together, pulse pounding.
You were in the library.
At the back corner table where you and Yangyang usually studied, hidden behind stacks of textbooks and his laptop. You were trying to write an essay while he claimed to be “editing photos” for his class—which clearly translated to “see how wrecked I can get you without anyone noticing.”
You wore a skirt. That was your first mistake.
No panties. Your second.
Letting him come with you today, even after he whispered “You’re not allowed to cum again until I say so” last night—your third.
His fingers grazed the slick heat between your legs again, slow and deliberate.
“You were moaning so pretty for me last night,” he murmured. “Now look at you. Dripping in a fucking library.”
You bit down on your pencil.
“If someone comes back here—”
“Then you better keep quiet.” His fingers
slid deeper, just shy of slipping inside.
“Be a good girl.”
Your hips bucked instinctively, and Yangyang grinned.
“You like being edged like this, huh?” he whispered. “Been thinking about it all day, haven’t you?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He moved his fingers faster, but still shallow. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to torment.
“Bet your subscribers would love to see this,” he said. “You all spread out at a library desk, stuffed full of my fingers, trying not to cry.”
“Yangyang—”
“You’d put on a good show, wouldn’t you?” His lips brushed your temple. “Let them tip while you beg to cum. But I’d be the only one who actually gets to touch you.”
Your walls clenched hard.
He leaned in close, voice like velvet and venom.
“Say it.”
You whined under your breath. “Say what?”
“Say you’re mine.”
You turned to look at him—flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide.
“I’m yours.”
And then—only then—did he let you cum.
Later that night, you were back at your place. Still sore. Still dizzy from the orgasm he wrung out of you with two fingers and a threat.
You didn’t plan to stream.
But something burned inside you.
A need to push the line. To play again.
To see if he’d crack.
So you went live.
Red lace. Lights low. Fingers already glistening.
It was supposed to be short. Just a teaser stream. Something to keep the top tippers active. But then someone new joined.
"S!nner773". You’d never seen the username before.
He tipped $300 within five minutes.
Then $200 more.
“Tell me how wet you are, baby. Want to hear you moan.”
You smirked and kept going—figuring Yangyang was probably watching silently like he always did, getting off knowing only he had actually been inside you.
But then your private inbox pinged.
From P1nDown—Yangyang’s account.
P1nDown: log off.
You blinked.
Another tip from S!nner773 rolled in:
“Spread it wider, babygirl.”
Then Yangyang messaged again:
P1nDown: now.
Your heart slammed in your chest.
You hesitated. Just one second too long.
And the next thing you saw was your door swinging open.
Yangyang walked in—chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes locked on your still-streaming body on your laptop screen.
“You ignored me.”
You scrambled to pause the stream, heart in your throat.
“Yangyang—what are you doing—?”
He slammed the laptop shut.
“You’re mine. You said you were mine.”
“I—I was just putting on a show, I didn’t even respond to the messages—”
“You let someone else talk to you like that. Tip you like that.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Wetness already pooling again between your thighs.
“I’m not mad you streamed,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t tell them who you belong to.”
“Yangyang…”
“Get on the bed.”
You froze. “What?”
“You wanna act like a toy for strangers?” His voice dropped. “Fine. But I’m the only one who gets to play with you.”
Your legs moved before your brain caught up.
Yangyang stalked toward you, dragging his hoodie off. “Tonight, you don’t cum until I say so. Again.”
You whimpered.
And then—he made you show him everything.
Made you keep the red lace on. Made you read the anonymous tips aloud while he edged you again and again. Held your wrists above your head while he fucked you open with his mouth, his hands, his cock—and all the filthy words he never dared say before.
“You gonna moan his name, baby?” he hissed. “Or mine?”
“Yours,” you gasped.
“Say it louder.”
“Yours—Yangyang, please—”
“Then don’t ever let anyone else think they can touch you again.”
