The aftermath of the suite had left Yn in a state of permanent, shimmering fragility. She walked through the university corridors like a woman satisfied with herself, her body still humming with the phantom sensations of seven men claiming her. She was terrified of them, yes, but the fear had mutated into a desperate, aching need. Every time she caught the scent of Taehyung’s cologne or saw Jungkook’s sharp jawline in the distance, her pussy would pulse, leaking a shameful amount of slickness into her underwear.

She was no longer just a friend; she was a secret. A shared piece of possessiveness between the group.