Chapter Text
ENHYPEN: a globally insane boy group made up of seven guys with seven completely different auras, yet somehow they fit together like they were carved from the same, perfect mold. They sing, dance like they’re trying to fuck up the stage, and yeah, they’re stupidly, painfully hot. Fame’s been snowballing so hard it’s a miracle the planet hasn’t tilted off its axis yet.
Of course, fame like that comes with a schedule that would break lesser men.
Back-to-back concerts, endless world tours, magazine covers, brand deals, fan signs, award shows; just one giant, suffocating loop with zero breathing room.
And when you lock seven dudes in their absolute sexual prime inside that kind of grinder with no real privacy to nut in peace, people get cranky. Horny. Ready to bite someone’s head off…or something else.
But ENHYPEN always finds a way.
No matter how brutal the day is, they’ll still sneak in a little “relief” to scratch that itch. Quick, dirty, and one hundred percent discreet.
A heated fuck with some random female idol in a hotel they stayed at, a frantic backstage pounding right before it starts or right after the encore, and those mysterious thirty-minute “bathroom breaks” with a staff noona where they both come back limping and grinning; if they’re horny, they make it happen. Simple as that.
Five years in, they’re absolute legends at covert sex. The stories alone could fill a whole damn porn saga; we’re talking multiple seasons, spin-offs, the works, all that good stuff.
They’re shameless about it too. Whenever they finally get a rare night off together, they swap tales like it’s a dick-measuring contest: who had the tightest cunt, who screamed the loudest, who swallowed like a pro, etc. They even trade contacts of the really good fucks. Brothers gotta share, right?
Except for the fact that Heeseung never joins in.
Lee Heeseung: the eldest, the one who drips raw, filthy sex appeal on stage like it’s just normal sweat, yet somehow remains the only member who’s never touched the group’s favorite hobby.
Kinda wild when you think about it. The maknae, Ni-ki, literally started railing girls the second the clock hit midnight on his eighteenth birthday, but Heeseung? Zero action. Never.
He gets all flushed and quiet whenever the others start bragging. Jay describing how he folded that blonde in half after the last tour stop, Jake laughing about nearly getting caught balls-deep in a flight attendant’s sopping pussy in the first-class lavatory, and the ice-prince himself, the Park Sunghoon casually detailing the way some Japanese chick rode him like a goddamn derby champion; Heeseung just sits there, cheeks burning, ears red, staring at the floor or anything close like it’s the most interesting thing on earth.
They’ve tried dragging him into it a million times, of course they have. Jake once offered to set him up with girls who were practically begging to find out how that lethal stage genius - the Lee Heeseung translates when he’s actually fucking someone senseless. Heeseung always says no tho.
So naturally they tease the shit out of him: Jay, Sunoo, and Jungwon call him “old-school virgin,” Ni-ki jokes he’s “saving it for his true love,” all that harmless crap. Heeseung knows it’s just banter; they love him too much to actually cross a line.
And he’s grateful for it, because it’s let him keep his secret buried for five whole years.
Because Heeseung wasn’t born like the rest of them. Because Heeseung was different from them.
Between his legs isn’t a cock like every other guy in the dorm, or majority of male species in the world.
It’s a pussy. Heeseung, Lee Heeseung, has a freaking pussy.
Pretty, pink, tiny, with soft, plump lips that stay perpetually a little swollen and flushed. Looks like a flower that’s just begging to be ruined. Gorgeous. Delicate. Stupidly sensitive.
Only Heeseung, his family members (parents and brother), and their private doctor know. He’s spent twenty-four years hiding it like the apocalypse would start the second anyone found out about him having a pussy instead of a cock.
He always showers dead last, double-locks the bathroom door (because Jake has never heard of boundaries), and keeps two separate underwear drawers: normal boxers for the public, and a secret stash of lacy panties, cotton panties, anything softer and prettier than men’s shit. He hand-washes them himself, dries them in the little machine hidden in his room. He’s paranoid for a reason.
Until one night he fucks up.
It’s a miracle Saturday: no schedule, no plans, and somehow none of them have hookups lined up. They order food, crash in the living room, and decide on a movie night like actual humans.
Heeseung stumbles in late, still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes puffy. Jake waves him over.
“Hyung, get your ass over here, food’s here. I got your favorite tteokbokki.”
Heeseung smiles drowsily, flops down between Jake and Ni-ki, reaches for the bowl Jay hands him. His oversized hoodie sleeve knocks over Ni-ki’s blueberry soda, soaking the maknae’s gray sweats.
“Shit, sorry, Riki—”
“It’s fine, hyung, you look half-dead,” Ni-ki laughs, ruffling Heeseung’s hair before heading to the laundry room for fresh pants. It’s closer than actually going to his room.
He digs through the basket of clean clothes the staff dropped off earlier. His black sweats are at the bottom… but something pink and lacy is sitting right on top and it catches his eyes right away.
Women’s panties. Baby-pink, sheer lace so thin you could read through it, tiny satin bow and a little rhinestone right on top of it. The kind of panties that screams innocent and filthy at the same time.
Ni-ki smirks. Definitely not any of theirs, cause they’re all male. He picks them up, turns them over in his fingers. His exact type; the kind you just need to push to the side and slide right into without even taking them off.
He changes to the clean pants, grabs the panties, and strolls back into the living room spinning them on one finger like a trophy, still having the smug smirk on his face.
“Someone’s been sneaking pussy in the dorm. Look what I found in the laundry.”
Every head snaps up. Seven pairs of eyes lock on the pink lace.
Heeseung’s heart stops.
Those are his. Fuck.
WHY THE HELL DID NI-KI HAS THEM?
Sunghoon whistles. “Pink lace with a little bow? Someone’s got a cute one. Sharing is caring, bro. Give the contact out, will ya?”
“Not mine,” Jay laughs. “None of my girls wear this sweet shit, but I’d like to meet the owner. Bet she’s cute and shits.”
Sunoo squints. “Looks expensive huh. Last staff noona I fucked had a red pair just like these… shame I ripped them clean off her.”
Jungwon waves a hand while sipping on his beer. “Put it away before Yuki-hyung sees and murders us.”
Ni-ki shrugs, stuffs the panties in his pocket, and drops down right next to Heeseung - who’s been weirdly silent the whole time.
Jake notices instantly, the grin on his face turning evil. “Heeseung hyung’s awfully quiet… Don’t tell me these are yours? Our pure little virgin finally touched some pussy? OH MY~”
The room explodes with laughter. Heeseung forces his usual shy laugh, face on fire.
“What the fuck are you on about? Of course they’re not mine. And, I’m not seeing anyone.”
(They are his. He wears them.)
Ni-ki slings an arm around him, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear: “Our Heeseungie-hyung is waiting for his soulmate huh?~”
Heeseung shoves him playfully, laughing along while his pulse hammers in his throat. They drop it after that. Topic forgotten. Lucky for him.
—
Later on that night, everyone finally asleep, Heeseung locks his door, yanks the curtains shut, and crawls into bed. He kicks off his sweatpants. Underneath: a matching black lace pair of panties, same cut as the ones now in Ni-ki’s pocket.
He bites his lip hard. He needs those pink ones back. He’ll find a way to get them back later. But first…
First he has to deal with the aching, soaking mess between his thighs.
His pussy’s been throbbing and leaking all fucking day. He barely survived movie night without grinding against the couch like a bitch in heat.
Now, finally alone, Heeseung spreads his legs wide, slips trembling fingers under the black lace, and lets out a shaky, desperate breath.
Time to take care of business.
Heeseung’s breath hitched the second his fingertips grazed the soaked lace. The black panties were ruined, completely drenched, clinging to his swollen folds like they’d been glued there. He dragged the fabric to the side with a wet little sound that made him whimper, and the cool air hitting his bare pussy felt like a slap.
He was dripping. A shiny string of slick stretched between his thighs when he spread them wider, obscene and glistening under the dim lamp. His clit was so hard it poked out from its hood, flushed dark pink and twitching every time his pulse thumped. He looked like he’d already been fucked for hours.
He couldn’t wait.
Two fingers slipped inside him without resistance, swallowed instantly by the greedy heat of his cunt. He bit down on his lower lip hard enough to bruise, hips jerking up to chase more. A third finger forced its way in, stretching him open with a filthy squelch that echoed in the quiet room.
“Fuck” he mouthed silently, eyes rolling back.
He fucked himself fast, wrist snapping, palm grinding against his clit with every thrust. The wet sounds were disgusting, loud, sloppy, and perfect. Slick poured out of him, running down his ass and pooling on the sheets. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop. It feels too good to stop even for a single second.
His free hand clawed at his own chest, pinching his hard nipple through his shirt until it hurt, imagining rougher hands, bigger hands, someone pinning him down and splitting him open on a cock he’d never let himself have.
He was close already. So fucking close.
He curled his fingers hard, right against that spot that made his vision white out, and rubbed his clit in tight, frantic circles. His thighs shook. His back arched off the mattress. He shoved the hem of his hoodie into his mouth to muffle the desperate, broken noises spilling out of him.
One more thrust, two, three.
He came with a silent scream, pussy clamping down so hard his fingers ached. Wave after wave crashed through him, slick gushing over his hand, dripping down his wrist. His whole body trembled, toes curling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from how intense it was.
He rode it out until he was too sensitive to move, then slowly pulled his fingers free with a wet pop. They were coated, shiny, obscene. He stared at them for a second, chest heaving, then (before he could think better of it) brought them to his mouth and licked them clean.
Salty. Sweet. His.
He collapsed back against the pillows, panting, legs still spread wide like an invitation. The black panties were twisted around one thigh now, useless. His pussy fluttered in the aftershocks, empty and still greedy.
He needed to clean up. Needed to hide the evidence. Needed to figure out how the hell he was getting those pink ones back from Ni-ki without dying of shame because that brat would never let this slide and Heeseung doesn’t dare to think about what could happen if any of them knows about this.
But for one long, stupid moment he just lay there, flushed and wrecked, listening to his own heartbeat.
Then came the knock.
Three soft, deliberate taps on his door.
Heeseung’s blood turned to ice.
“Heeseung-hyung?” Ni-ki’s voice, low and lazy, right on the other side of the wood. “You still awake?”