Hello! I'm Lumi! I'm 23 and have been writing off and on for various fandoms and original works since I was a kid. I've only been into kpop for about two years, but have been in fandom spaces surrounding music for years.
I'm OT8 first and foremost... But also... Yunho is just a little too fine so he's my main wrecker.
Outside of Kpop I mostly listen to metal, with my favorite groups being Motionless in White and We Came as Romans.
This is my space for Ateez for the most part, but I might also post other groups occasionally. I'm not into that many groups, Mostly Stray Kids, A.C.E, and Ateez (obviously).
I'm open to taking requests, so if you like my writing, feel free to send me a request!
⤷ ゛when they masturbate while thinking about you - scenariosˎˊ˗
٠࣪⭑ ot8!ateez x afab!reader
٠࣪⭑ synopsis ╰┈➤ where each ateez member can't get you out of their filthy head, so they resort to pleasuring themselves
٠࣪⭑ word count╰┈➤ 4.6k (total); 500-600 per member
٠࣪⭑ cw ╰┈➤ masturbation (mdni!), members are lowkey perverts, explicit perverse thoughts [including mentions of face sitting, squirting, implied dom and sub dynamics, p-in-v, overstimulation, fingering, creampie, cum swallowing, cheirophilia, degrading, spanking, oral sex (m & f receiving), praise, body worship, begging], whimpering, mentions of pornographic material
٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ vaguely proofread so lmk if i missed a tag
ᯓ seonghwa
Normally Seonghwa wasn’t the type of person to frequently jerk off, especially to a friend such as you, but all he could think about today was your thighs. His gaze raked up and down your skin when he saw you today in those tight little shorts, your thighs spilling out of the denim fabric when you sat close to him on that bench. What started out as a wholesome trip to go eat ice cream, ended with Seonghwa laying on his bed with his throbbing cock in hand.
God, he wanted to lick cum off your legs so bad. That was all that could run through his dirty mind as he touched himself while his sticky, nude body clung to his silk bed sheets. He only had his boxers down at first as his hands gently stroked himself, but the nastier his thoughts became, the more clothes he stripped from his body. By now, his voice went from pathetic moans to him throwing his head back on his sheets and groaning your name. His hands were already so filthy from his fluids coating his balls and his trembling thighs. He was already on the second round, and he didn’t plan on stopping soon.
He didn’t need to turn on porn or look at images of you to cum when the clear image of your legs were burned into him; your legs would’ve been dangling off his shoulders while his cock fucked every nerve in your tight little pussy. He could already see the picture of your folds clenching around him while he was spreading your hole open. You wouldn’t have been nude; Seonghwa would’ve wanted to keep your top on so he could focus on ripping your pants off with his eager hands. Before he would’ve bit your panties off, his tongue would’ve already been down at your clothed core making your legs squirm.
You’re so fucking beautiful, he would’ve muttered into the soft flesh of your thighs after you squirted on him, placing wet, hot kisses on them. Damn you for ordering vanilla ice cream today, and damn you even more for not not stopping it from melting and dripping onto your bare thigh. He wanted to lick it off you just like how he was now imagining him swallowing cum he would’ve licked off of your weak, trembling legs.
He wouldn’t have given you any time to recover before he would devour your pussy like an hungry animal. The grip his hands would’ve had on your plush thighs would’ve made you scream his name. How beautiful your screams would’ve sounded while your sensitive folds felt his lips quivering every time he moaned. It would’ve been sinister; the sound of his salivating tongue and your slick, accompanied with both of your moans, would’ve created such a profound volume.
Such an imaginative brain he had, for the sound alone made Seonghwa’s cock throb harder. Once he ejaculated, his hands fell to the bed sheets. He was ashamed. He knew he was so pathetic for jerking off to his friend that he thought he had a minor crush on, but he supposed that it was just going to be his dirty secret to hide.
ᯓ hongjoong
Hongjoong was so excited to work with you, an upcoming artist, on a developing project. He’d seen how beautiful you were on your social media, ashamedly stalking the page a few times, but he never expected his jeans to feel tight suddenly after listening to a song demo you sent him. This was bad; you were supposed to come to his studio the following day to discuss the demo he was now listening to. Except, he kept replaying the same 20 seconds of your voice in his headphones. The same singing voice that, to Hongjoong, felt like you were seducing him.
His hands were already slowly unzipping his jeans in his chair, his head reclined back and eyes softly closed. He hadn’t even touched himself yet, but he was already being noisy with his whimpers as he imagined you being the one unzipping his pants. He was too lazy to push his pants all the way off, so he kept it above his knees. The stain he saw on his boxers was already getting larger; damn, how could he already be this easy?
He needed you in front of his chair, donning only the low-cut shirt he saw on one of your posts and a slutty skirt. While your voice looped in his headphones, he imagined you climbing onto his lap, your legs straddling him. You would’ve kept your back arched, your bare, damp pussy grinding against his bare thigh, kissing him delicately on his neck while you purred explicit fantasies in his ear. Imagining this already had Hongjoong’s cock twitching in his boxers.
He took his time as he unveiled his cock from the damp cloth. It sprung up; this would've been a great seat for you, Hongjoong thought. The sweat was already dripping down his body. Fuck, he was getting too hot. The shirt he wore became fully unbuttoned by his free hand while his other hand stroked himself. He felt guilty for being so devious, yet he never once slowed down the tempo of his hand.
The once quiet studio that only housed the sound of keyboard clicking and scarce groans was now filled with the yearning producer’s pleading whimpers and begging. He just couldn’t stop thinking about your voice that tasted like velvet in his ears. His tip couldn’t stop oozing precum, especially while he was envisioning you riding him in that skirt that vaguely covered your ass. If only you were here, he’d have his free hands roaming all over that, giving it tender squeezes. He knew your skin would’ve felt so plush. Shit, he was bound to cum soon.
Please let me fill you up. Please, I need to stuff you, he would’ve cooed in your ear with gentle croaks. No, you would’ve wanted him to be louder than that. No one was in the studio with him so late at night, so he could be as loud as he wanted to be. He begged loudly, his hands now pleasuring himself at increased tempos. He couldn’t handle it anymore; his cock pulsated the more his sticky fingers jerked himself off.
When he finally came, he opened his eyes and sat in disappointing silence. He hesitated, but he paused the looped recording of your voice. He felt shame for committing such a vile act and imagining you in such positions. If your voice was enough to make him cum, he was afraid of what your presence was going to do to him tomorrow.
ᯓ yunho
Of course Yunho accepted your invitation to go roller skating. It was the perfect opportunity to get even closer to you even if he knew it wasn’t a date. What he didn’t expect to happen, however, was you spontaneously grabbing his hand in yours while he struggled to skate on the rink. Granted, you were only just trying to help him so he didn’t fall on his ass, but Yunho couldn’t shake the image of you grinning up at him so cheerfully as you commented on how big his hands were in yours.
Nor could he shake the image of you lathering his fingers with your tongue. Yunho stared at the lewd sap that varnished his fingers. He had spent his night with you, and you only, in his mind while pleasuring himself to you. Now, sitting at the foot of his bed, the thought of stopping his sinful act crossed his mind, but the longer he stared at his varnished hand, the more he was enticed to continue.
His hand returned to his length that was dripping in his lust for you. He already came once, but he couldn’t cease his lewd imaginations. The sounds of you whimpering every time he would have stuck his finger deeper down your tongue fueled his lust and desire. Your face, the face you would’ve made, with puffy eyes and tear soaked, maroon cheeks, was something he wanted to fuck senseless. He wanted those tears streaming down your face and soaking the bed sheets while his fingers stuffed themselves in every hole on your body.
He felt so disgusting. Such an unconventional way he wanted to fuck you, he thought. Of course, none of this stopped Yunho from continuing his fantasy from playing out. He imagined the skirt you wore today; it wasn’t short by any means, but it was still easy access for him. The length of the skirt didn’t matter if your skirt would’ve been pooled down at your hips as his fingers pumped inside of you.
You're taking my fingers so well, don’t you think so? Good sluts like you deserve a reward, he would’ve hovered over you examining your pleading face as his thumb drew circular patterns on your outside folds. He would’ve heard your pretty voice beg for him to slide another finger in so he could continue to fuck your tight little pussy. Damn, he was already about to cum again and he wasn’t finished thinking about you just yet. His sap was gushing out of his tip and flowing down his length at the thought of you below him while he sat in between your trembling legs as you cried out to him softly. He would’ve been so proud of himself for being the sole reason you weren’t able to speak a coherent word.
It was more than Yunho could take; his explicit imaginations were too much for him. He hadn’t ever imagined such a graphic and detailed plot, especially not concerning you. He was pleasuring himself so hastily that it was becoming difficult for him to catch his own breath, and when Yunho came all over himself, he stilled himself on his bed and ran his clean hand through his hair, processing what he had just done.
He couldn’t bring himself to go for a round of this; though, he was slowly losing the shame he developed. Instead, he physically ached from how aggressive he jerked himself off. He couldn’t believe it; he had been so shy around you before, but all it took was him jerking off to you twice for him to stare at his phone on his desk, wondering about all the ways he could ask you on a date.
ᯓ yeosang
It was humiliating how hard Yeosang was right now. Or rather it was more humiliating why he was hard. Considering he had just gotten back from seeing you briefly at his apartment, it was jarring how he was now at his desk with his sweatpants pooled at his knees. He stared at it, the growing and twitching bulge in his boxers, and then he glanced up at his lotion on the desk.
And it was all because you encountered his dog at his front door. All you wanted to do was drop off something he left at a friend's house, but his dog jumped on you as soon as he opened the door. He felt shame for conjuring up such perverted thoughts over you calling his dog a “good boy.” Maybe he shouldn’t open up your social media and touch himself to you while you imagined you called him a “good boy”, but who else was going to take care of this issue?
Initially Yeosang hesitantly peeled off his boxers. After some scrolling on your account and witnessing all of the posts up of you in tight, body framing clothes, his hands were already lathered in his lotion. Unlike how he was behaving before, Yeosang was loud, desperate, and perverse. “Good boy”, he whimpered to himself repeatedly with his half lidded eyes staring down at a picture of you on his phone.
His whimpers never stopped; the whimpers and pathetic whines he expressed appeared as if he had never touched himself before. Yeosang may have never jerked off to you before, but it was not foreign for him to vaguely ponder about you having absolute control over him. He would’ve gone on his knees for you and done anything you wanted him to do, anything for you to call him a “good boy”. The image that really had his cock throbbing in his hand the most was his tongue all in your tight pussy, sloppily cleaning out the fluids that dripped out of you. He could feel your hand entangled in his shaggy hair, thrusting yourself into his mouth all while you would moan his name.
The desk chair was rocking and creaking now. It was almost as loud as Yeosang’s strained whines that echoed throughout his entire room, hell, possibly his entire apartment. He struggled to be quiet, but how could be when he was nearly drooling over himself like a dog because he couldn’t tongue fuck your pussy?
Am I being a good puppy yet? Please tell me, I wanna be good for you, he rehearsed that line in his head several times as he imagined his trembling fingers groping your plush thighs as he ate you out ravenously, pushing his salivating tongue further inside your sensitivity. He wanted to taste your lewd cream glossing over his mouth as you came onto his wet lips. He wanted to feel your plump thighs mesh in his hands as you struggled to stand and keep your composure; he’d never been so sure of anything until now.
Yeosang underestimated how much he was going to cum. When he did, it sprouted all over the surface of his desk, staining some of his phone screen. The irony was not missed; he had tried so hard to remain pure and tame around you, yet now his own semen was on his phone screen while your pictures were displayed. Damn, if calling his dog a good boy was already enough to make him behave like this, then he should be wary when he sees you again.
ᯓ san
You were yammering about something mundane. Something that was initially interesting to San. As soon as you began eating your popsicle, however, he zoned out on everything except the icy rod moving in and out of your mouth after every sentence.
“It’s crazy, because you know I’d never do that to her.” In. Out.
“But it’s all good, who needs a friend like her anyway.” In. Out.
“You know what I mean?” In. Out.
You had stared up at him with those innocent, oblivious eyes, your popsicle hanging loosely in your grip. His gaze kept switching back and forth between your lips and the popsicle, unsure on where he should focus his gaze at. It was just the way the melted ice glossed on your lips and on your fingers. The longer he stared, the deeper his imagination ran, and the quicker he had to get home.
And when he did, San immediately locked himself in his room, despite already living by himself, and fidgeted with the bottle of lube in his grasp. He was so horny, so riled up, that he could barely open up the bottle with his trembling fingers, which frustrated his already pent up lust for you.
His other hand trembled around the button of his jeans, the fabric tense around his groin. The article of clothing fell down to the ground and the lube from the now opened bottle coated his throbbing length.
He wasted no time; he already had the image of you sucking his dick clean off the moment he saw you with that popsicle. All of his fantasies about you were disgusting. He imagined his fingers entangled in your hair, controlling every movement and the tempo at which you gave him head. He would’ve made you go deep. So deep that his tip would’ve slammed against the back of your throat.
It was foreign for San to immediately start jerking himself off so viciously, as he’s already hurt himself before because of that in the past, but the slow tempos he was so used to weren’t stimulating enough. Fuck, he was pleasuring himself so fast. The beads of sweat drew down from his temples and his neck almost as fast as his precum from his tip. But he wasn’t done yet. He hadn’t gotten to think about all of the degrading names he would’ve called you as you went down on him.
You’re taking this dick just like a whore. You’re fucking filthy, he continued to grunt in between his teeth to himself, imaging you on your knees in front of him with your hair in his tight grip. His actual hand, in contrast to what he was saying, quivered on his bed post, the sweat exuding onto the worn wood. He was dangerously close to cumming all over his legs, that also were now shaking and draped over the edge of his bed.
The fluid squirted and flushed over his legs. He cringed at himself for allowing himself to lose composure so fast. Despite the tough talk he talked, he whimpered all too submissively at the sight of him cumming. San allowed himself to sit at his bed for a second to catch his breath. His shirt was not only soiled with his lustful fluid but with sweat that stuck to his dewy skin.
On top of that, he, unexpectedly, developed a cramp in his wrist. He shouldn’t have done this. It was wrong and it hurt himself, but San couldn’t help but not care about such things at the moment. Especially not when he knew he was going to text you to come over to his place after he cleaned himself up.
ᯓ mingi
Mingi watching your titties bounce while you straddled his lap wasn’t something he had the pleasure of doing, but he thankfully had a vivid imagination.
Where did he get the idea to sit at his desk while his hand was gripped tightly around his cock as he attentively watched porn on his desktop? Well, you made the decision to stretch while wearing the shortest crop top he has ever seen you wore; and because he was already being a pervert and eyeing your body up and down, he caught sight of your lacy bra cupping each one of your breasts for a brief moment. Despite the lewd thoughts he constantly thought about you, Mingi was not the type to ogle so intensely util now.
His fingers trembled among his computer mouse as he searched for the right woman that favoured your face and body. Normally he wasn’t this picky about what content he watched, but it didn’t hurt to get an accurate representation.
Bingo. Mingi’s search proved to be worth it. The thumbnail of the video displayed a woman who could’ve passed as your doppelganger from afar. Of course no time was wasted after that discovery. Not while his hand was already discarding his tight sweatpants off of his legs.
His room was so dirty. Precum oozing down his length accompanied the sound of wet slapping and sweet, pleasurable moans from his monitor. Mingi’s dick was already solid hard at the mere thought of you, but being able to touch himself while he dreamed of fucking your tight hole as you sat on his dick almost made him cum completely out of his mind. Fuck, he was jerking himself off so disgustingly. So lustful and desperate to the point where he rolled his hips to stimulate the feeling of you actually hopping on his dick.
He wasn’t even looking at the screen at this point. Mingi’s eyes were kept shut, occasionally fluttering open to take another curious peek at the monitor. It was embarrassingly evident that he was about to finish on himself so early, but his increasingly loud whimpers and mindless begging were the foreseeable signs of him cumming. Besides the uncontrollable twitching in dick.
And when Mingi finally came, the lust vaguely draining from him all the way down to his meaty thighs, he thought to himself about how this wasn't enough for him. Since the porn continued to ring in his room loudly, it didn’t take long for him to get hard again. This time, knowing an injury was incoming, his wrist completed the vertical movements of his strokes at a considerably slower speed.
Fuck, baby. You’re taking me so well, just like a good girl, his eyes once fluttered shut, drawing the picture of you riding him so effortlessly. He imagined his hands cupping your bare breasts, the hem of your top being bitten in between the rows of your gritted teeth to hold back every pathetic sound you made, especially when your nipples would be fondled every time his finger ran over them.
It was normal for Mingi to feel shame and guilt after jerking off to you, especially twice in one sitting, but this time he couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe that was the hormones talking, but he began to feel a sense of excitement to see you again. Not necessarily just to eye fuck you again, but maybe he would finally gain confidence to tell you how he feels about you. Then hopefully that leads to you two actually fucking.
ᯓ wooyoung
“I like your nose.”
“I still don’t know why sh- huh?”
“I said, I like your nose.”
He was in the middle of rambling to you about your idiotic coworker until you randomly interrupted him. Sure, he noticed you staring more attentively at his face than usual, but he had no idea you were going to just talk about his nose, let alone mention how much you like it.
It was just an innocent compliment from a work colleague; he knew there wasn't any ulterior motive from you. That didn’t matter though. Not when he was in bed that night feverishly grinding against his pillow fully clothed. Admittedly, this wasn’t his first time he dry humped his pillow thinking about you, but that only happened because you wore tight clothes to the office some days. Today was different though; something ravenous flowed through him when you innocently complimented his nose.
Wooyoung was going insane. He’s never felt such intense horniness over a simple comment until today. Normally it was easy to relieve himself with his pillow only, but he craved more. His pillow was thrown to a random corner of his room before he yanked off his shorts and boxers altogether. There it was throbbing and yearning for stimulation.
It wasn’t long until he was laying on his bed sheets as his palm pumped his cock. The desire he had to feel you quivering legs straddling his face while his tongue lapped your sappy folds was deep. Fuck, he was salivating just at the thought of your pussy being spread by his tongue. You would’ve rode his face so well, and every time his nose would’ve bumped closer to your clit you would’ve let out such a sinister sound.
Fuck, he wished he at least had your underwear so he could smell the sweet aroma you exuded while he jerked off to his fantasies. All he wanted was to hear you beg him to bounce on his big nose. God, he would’ve given you exactly what you wanted without hesitation. The only thing that would’ve been heard was Wooyoung sucking on your wet, swollen folds as his lips rippled sensational moans into your throbbing heat and the rocking bed from you fucking yourself on Wooyoung’s nose.
This is my fucking pussy, okay? Wooyoung imagined all of the dirty things he’d mutter into you to accelerate the tremble in your straddling thighs. And when your warm fluid would finally run down his face, his tongue would’ve lapped your sensitive hole to taste you. Wooyoung couldn’t handle the extent of his fantasies. With his sore wrist pumping his cock, it twitched under his grasp one final time before he spurted on stomach.
The orgasm that escaped from him was lewd; lewd like you were the one that jerked him off instead. Wooyoung had never made such a sound by himself before, let alone without watching porn or playing an audio. Even in the previous times he had fondled himself to the thought of you, he’d sit at his desk and imagined the two of you in whatever video he had running.
He knew he was so screwed. Thankfully, he had the weekend to wait for his obnoxiously rampant horniness to dial down. No, he didn’t want to think about what would happen when he sees you at work on Monday and if he was even going to be “normal” by then.
ᯓ jongho
“Whose pussy is this?”
Jongho’s fingers stickily glided along his throbbing length as he sensually spoke to himself. His eyes remained closed, fully immersed in the story he had curated in his mind. In the background, a pornographic audio played: an audio that Jongho frequented often when he wanted a quick fix. This time, he pretended that all of the sounds that emitted from the computer speakers were real. Real like he was actually there to witness you moan and beg while bent over because of him.
Jongho had class; he always thought of himself as the type to save special, intimate moments like sex for a special person he shared mutual admiration for. So why was he touching himself slowly while picturing you in his head?
He knew it was a little disrespectful to think such things about a friend, but you shouldn’t have worn those tights jeans today. And you definitely shouldn’t have bent over in his vicinity. Damn, the memory entered his head again as he thought more about you. It almost annoyed him how oblivious you were, and it angered him to know that he couldn’t do anything to you at that moment. To him, you acted like such a disobedient slut. A whore who should’ve known better than to wear that, do that. And whores like you, in Jongho’s mind, needed correction.
What started off as a mildly tame jerk off session became aggressive, almost threatening. Jongho stared down at his own dick, painting a picture of your ass posted up right at his tip. He would’ve taken his belt and spanked you to teach you a lesson, just so your cries and whines could fuel his growing desires. And when he felt satisfied with your obedience, Jongho imagined fucking your dumb brains out, one hand on your hips, controlling every thrust he pounded into you, and his other hand forcefully keeping your face planted on whatever surface was in the area.
If you wanna dress like a cheap slut around me, you’ll get fucked like one, by now, Jongho’s fantasies have gotten out of control. With the wet noises he heard in the audio, this experience felt different than how he normally masturbated. His mind was clouded with visions of your ass rippling every time his groin slammed against it. And don’t even mention how his mouth salivated at the thought of it moving like ocean waves every time he would’ve whipped it. These thoughts drove him and his cock insane. No one had to know all of the dirty language he used to describe you. Especially not you.
Jongho couldn’t bear it anymore, and it was evident in the rhythm of his hand becoming irregular. He wasn’t accustomed to such intensity. Perhaps it was because Jongho thought about you this time or maybe because he didn’t hold back that he came with so much of his body quivering. He prolonged his stay at his desk in shame. Not a singular muscle moved, not even to silence the porn or wipe the beads of sweat off his temples, for a few minutes. How was he going to behave around you now that he finally committed this act?
Despite these thoughts and questions, he never once felt regret. He figured that the catharsis he experienced outweighed the uncomfortable questions regarding his morality and your friendship.
٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ yo im actually the worst SIKSNHSJ i said ts was gonna come out like 5 different times... sorry guysh....im not super proud of this one which is annoying b/c this took me so long since writing nsfw for 8 different ppl is hard when you're trying to keep it unique </3 i hope yall still enjoyed though. I didn't proofread b/c i was trying to get this out NOW!!! but if there were any mistakes please lmk ₍^. .^₎⟆ also r yall excited for the ateez cb bc i am!!!
OH!!!! or san/wooyoung after they go on one of those shows where they play with and take care of kids …. later that night they’ve got your with your knees to your chest, damn near sobbing and begging to put a baby in you
well. I went a little bit feral.
"S-Sannie," you gasp out. "San. Slow down."
San punches out a whine like the thought alone upsets him. His grip on the pillows next to your head tightens and loosens, and he gives you one strong thrust as if to physically disagree. You moan, long and loud, San somehow folding you over even more to press his face to your neck.
"Can't," he whimpers, one of his hands leaving the sheets beside you to run along your entire body, fingers twitching over your skin. "Can't, sweetheart... please, need to fill you up. Wanna give you a baby. Please."
You gulp and San resumes his regular, brutal pace, your nails clawing at his back while his cock slides against your walls deliciously. He'd mentioned today's schedule -- a variety show with kids -- a couple weeks ago, and you'd been excited to hear about it, but you never would have expected this.
"San --"
"Don't you want me to?" He asks, pulling out of your neck to look at you. His eyes are bleary and full of tears, and the unshed shine in his eyes makes you clench around him. "Fuck, don't you want me to fill you up?"
You can't even think anymore. You feel insane, feverish, nodding immediately: "I do, please, Sannie, give me a baby."
He sobs, pushing harder and faster into you even still. Desperate for release, even more desperate to give you what you begged for -- what you both want. He splits you open, a hand finding its way in between you to rub at your clit.
"Gonna give it to you, honey," San pants, but your focus is slipping. You think you're drooling -- then again, he is too. "Gonna give you everything."
I'm not sure if I seen any posts going around discussing the recent VERY DETAILED (and honestly kind of poetic in how vitriolic they are) AI generated spambots on AO3.
I feel like I just need to spread the word, because these guys are NASTY. But they aren't real! You can tell that by the fact that they don't mention a fandom, a character, or anything even remotely about the fic itself.
Just wanted to put it out there in case anyone gets one of these and it crushes them. Never stop writing. Writing and story telling is one of the oldest ways of connecting with other humans. It's a gift to this world. Keep writing!!!
summary: in which your coworker sends you a link to a hot camboy unbeknownst it’s your best friend and roommate
warning: dom yunho, sub reader, masturbation, fingering, oral, squirting, tongue fucking, throat fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: camboy yunho x afab reader
word count: 21.7k
masterlist
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The final bell rang, and the classroom slowly emptied of sticky fingers, squeaky sneakers, and forgotten crayon masterpieces. The overhead lights cast a sleepy golden hue over the rows of tiny desks, and the smell of pencil shavings and hand sanitizer still lingered in the air. You stood at your desk, gently rubbing your temples as you flipped through a few stray spelling quizzes, every fiber of your teacher self begging for caffeine and silence.
You didn’t even hear the door open, just the soft click of it shutting behind someone, followed by the unmistakable sound of smug footsteps and an even smugger voice. “Well if it isn’t Seoul’s hottest educator, still grading papers like a saint,” Wooyoung drawled. You didn’t even look up. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”
“But what if I told you,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, “I brought you a gift?” That got your attention. You glanced up, instantly suspicious as Wooyoung leaned against the side of your desk, dressed far too nicely for a gym teacher, black coat unbuttoned just enough to look casual and expensive.
“A gift?” you asked, narrowing your eyes and he wiggled his brows. “Something to help you out. You know, since you finally dumped that lying trash bag you called a boyfriend.” You rolled your eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, please don’t say it like that.”
“I’m proud of you!” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his heart. “It only took, what, six months and undeniable proof of him messaging his ex from your bed? Growth, babe.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already reaching into his coat pocket for his phone, thumb tapping away with theatrical flair. A few seconds later, yours buzzed.”Wooyoung…”
“I’m just saying,” he said, all innocent like as he straightened up and began backing toward the door, “sometimes a girl needs a little visual aid to move on.” You looked at your screen and saw a link.
wooyoung: For when you’re lonely 😌 You’re welcome
He winked, hand already on the doorknob. “Trust me. Watch it alone. Preferably with a glass of wine. And maybe a towel.”
“You are so…”
“Helpful?” he interrupted, grinning like the devil. “Exactly. Byeee!” The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled in again. You stared at the link for a long moment, smirking to yourself as you shoved your phone in your bag. Whatever weird video Wooyoung had sent could wait. Right now, you still had papers to grade… and a very peaceful, boring night ahead.
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By the time you got home, the sky had turned the color of smudged charcoal, the chill of the late evening settling into your bones. You barely managed to kick your shoes off before the familiar smell of spice and soy sauce hit you like a comforting wave. Your apartment was warm. Lived in. The scent of your favorite dish from Yunho’s parents’ restaurant drifted from the coffee table, where three opened takeout boxes were already being attacked with chopsticks. Steam curled up lazily in the lamplight.
“Hey,” came his voice from the couch, low and distracted. “I didn’t know if you were staying late again, so I brought you dinner just in case.” You rounded the corner to the living room and found your best friend exactly where you expected, half lying, half slouched across the couch in the way only Yunho could manage, PS5 controller in hand, socked feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table like a menace.
He didn’t even look away from the TV. “There’s galbi, kimchi fried rice, and that soup you like. I left the radish out this time, cause I’m nice like that.” You dropped your bag with a grateful sigh and toed off your other shoe. “You’re disgustingly good to me sometimes.”
“I know,” he said smugly, tongue peeking out slightly between his lips as he focused on a combo in his game. “I’m the best fake husband in Seoul. Honestly, someone should marry me just for my food sense.” You snorted. “Someone should marry you just to keep you from dying of snack related malnutrition. When I moved in, you were living on ramen and banana milk.”
“That was a delicate nutritional balance,” he countered, eyes still locked on the screen as you wandered toward the food, nudging his leg with your knee. “Pause and eat, or I swear I’m changing the WiFi password.”
“Power move,” he muttered, pausing the game with a sigh and finally looking up at you. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, falling into his eyes, and his hoodie was slightly too big. He stretched, arms high over his head, hoodie rising just enough to reveal a flash of toned abs before settling again.
You blinked and immediately looked away. No big deal. He was always like this. You dropped onto the other end of the couch and grabbed the container closest to you, stealing a bite of the rice before he could reclaim it. Yunho just leaned back, watching you with that lazy grin of his. “Rough day?”
You hummed. “Kids were wild. Wooyoung was worse.” His grin widened. “What did he do now?” You hesitated. “He… sent me something. Called it a gift.”
“Oh god.”
“Exactly.”
“Please tell me it’s not another playlist of breakup anthems titled, men ain’t shit vol. 5.’”
“Nope.” You reached for your bag, pulling your phone out. “It was a link this time. Said I needed something visual to help me get over my ex.”
Yunho looked vaguely horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t open it in front of students.”
“Of course not,” you scoffed. “I haven’t even looked at it yet.”You laughed around your spoon, already unlocking your phone without thinking. “You know what? I’m gonna go to my room and suffer in private.” He waved you off. “Enjoy whatever weird shit that man’s into.” You stood, phone in hand, and started walking toward your room.
You ate in bed, legs tucked under you, laptop open with some old comfort show playing in the background. Chopsticks in one hand, your phone in the other, screen still lit up with that message from Wooyoung, unopened. It stared at you like a dare. But you weren’t biting. Not yet. Not when galbi and rice were calling. Not when your muscles still ached from standing all day trying to get a room full of fourth graders to not weaponize glitter glue.
You set your empty food containers aside with a satisfied sigh and padded barefoot to the bathroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet a lullaby you’d gotten used to since moving in. The shower steamed up fast, warm, clean, and quiet. Your shoulders dropped, tension melting as the water poured over you. You didn’t even bother closing the door all the way. No need. Yunho had seen you in your bathrobe more times than you could count. He never cared. Never looked twice. Not like that.
Still, you didn’t hum or play music like usual tonight. Maybe it was the weird mood lingering from Wooyoung’s cryptic message. Maybe it was something else. Just as you rinsed the last of the conditioner from your hair, you heard the unmistakable creak of the bathroom door opening and wiped the water from your face, unfazed. “Yunho?”
“Yeah, it’s just me,” he called casually over the sound of the water. “Sorry. I really gotta pee.” You snorted. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“I did knock,” he said, the sound of him flipping the toilet lid up following immediately. “You didn’t hear me over your shampoo commercial.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother covering up. “Not like this is new. Pretty sure we stopped pretending about bathroom boundaries when we both got food poisoning that one weekend.” Yunho laughed, voice a little groggy like he’d just been dozing. “Dark times. I still can’t look at chicken katsu the same.”
He flushed, and you stepped away from the running water of the shower a moment as it got hot, and you heard the water run briefly. Then the soft sound of his socked feet shuffling across the tile. “You want me to warm you some tea?” he asked, hand on the doorknob now. “I’m good,” you called back.
“Alright. Night.”
“Night.”
The door clicked shut again. And you were left with the water running, your heart suddenly ticking a little too loud in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d come in while you were showering.
But for some reason… it felt different tonight.
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Steam followed you out of the bathroom like a lazy fog, warm skin prickling as the cooler air of your room kissed it. You shut the door behind you, towel twisted on top of your head, still drying off with a quiet hum in your throat as you moved on autopilot, body lotion, oversized sleep shirt, a pair of old cotton shorts. It was muscle memory at this point, the same nighttime rhythm every night since you’d moved in with Yunho last year. He always teased you for being chronically cozy.
You turned off the main light, crawled into bed, and let the soft yellow glow of your nightstand lamp cast a halo across your sheets. Your phone blinked with a notification, the tiny preview of Wooyoung’s last message still hovering there like a neon temptation. You stared at it for a second, then another. You weren’t actually planning to open it. You should just close your eyes, throw on your sleep playlist, and pass out like a responsible adult with children to educate in the morning.
But then again, Wooyoung had a way of being… shockingly on point with his chaos. With a sigh, you unlocked your phone, tapped the link, and set it on your chest, screen tilted just enough to catch the full view without having to hold it. The page loaded slowly. Too slowly. It started with dim lighting. Soft, almost amber hued. You could hear faint music in the background, lofi, moody, something you might play when grading papers or when pretending you weren’t lonely in bed.
The camera was angled low. Just enough to show the lower half of a man’s torso. Sweatpants clung low to his hips, the waistband dipped just enough to tease something dark and intimate beneath. A hand dragged slowly across bare skin, fingers long and languid, dragging along his own abs in a way that made you squirm. His face wasn’t visible. But his voice was. Low. Smooth. A little husky and playful. “Missed me?” Something in your stomach flipped. That voice was…..
The man’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, slow and deliberate, and your breath caught because that voice was familiar. Too familiar. And then he laughed, just a breathy chuckle under his breath. Quiet. Confident. Not loud enough to be staged, just real.
You propped your phone up a little higher against your chest, shifting beneath the covers like you were settling in for just another typical mindless scroll. Nothing to see here. Just a random hot guy on a random site that your menace of a coworker sent you. Totally normal post shower behavior. Except your pulse had started to pick up, and it wasn’t just from the visual.
He was talking again now, soft, coaxing things. “Bet you’ve been thinking about me… haven’t you?” His voice was rich, smooth, just the slightest rasp at the edges. You exhaled slowly, fingers curled at your stomach, chewing the inside of your cheek. Okay. It wasn’t exactly Yunho’s voice. It was deeper, maybe, lower, like he was trying to keep it quiet. And he was probably using a filter or something. Right? Lots of camboys did that.
Lots of them also had long, veiny hands and fingers that looked suspiciously like they were made for both cooking and ruining lives. You swallowed as the camera panned in tighter. The man, no, the camboy, was palming himself now, slow and teasing through the thin cotton of his gray sweats. His hand flexed once, and your eyes tracked the way his muscles tensed in his stomach. Long lines of definition. A dusting of hair low on his abdomen. You couldn’t look away.
And then, he slid his hand under the waistband. No showy pull down, no dramatic striptease. Just slow fingers wrapping around himself, already hard, thick and big and perfect. Your lips parted slightly, not even aware of the way your thighs shifted under the blankets and your breath caught as he stroked himself with lazy precision, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly how to keep your attention.
And god, it was working.
“Just like that,” he murmured. “You’re watching me, aren’t you?”
Your thighs clenched. But then he shifted back, and the camera caught just a little more of the background. Not much. Just a small portion of a bed. Plain navy comforter. A soft corner of a valorant poster on the wall. Some LED lights above the headboard glowing a faint blue….
Your stomach dropped. Your blood ran cold, and yet heat still licked down your spine. Because now that you were looking, not just watching, but looking, you saw the subtle things. The way his wrist wore that stupid woven bracelet Yunho refused to take off since junior year of college. The exact cut of his jaw in the shadowed corner of the frame as he leaned forward.
The voice hadn’t been a coincidence. The room wasn’t a coincidence. You were watching your best friend. Your roommate. Yunho.
You shot upright like you’d just touched a live wire, the blankets falling from your shoulders as your finger slammed the side of your phone and killed the screen. Your heart thundered in your ears. No fucking way. You sat frozen in your bed, blinking at your reflection in the dark window across from you. Mouth parted. Chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.
It couldn’t be him. You were tired. You were horny. You were spiraling because Wooyoung had sent you some anonymous dick video and your brain had decided to latch onto your hot, too perfect best friend as the scapegoat. That was it. It had to be.
You waited a few seconds. Then another few. Then you turned your phone back on. Just to check. You tapped the screen, heart pounding in your throat as the video paused exactly where you’d left it, his hand still wrapped around himself, the camera angled just low enough to tease, but not enough to prove.
You didn’t hit play again. Instead, your thumb hovered over the profile icon, finally clicking it. The screen blinked as his homepage loaded. “RADIANTYU.” Not exactly subtle considering radiant was Yunho’s rank in valorant and Yu was half of his name.
The profile image was a cropped body shot, shirtless, faceless, in a low slung towel that showed off defined abs and a V line that should’ve come with a warning. A couple of rings on his fingers. A silver chain at his neck with a cross pendant you knew too well….
The bio was short: “Not here for small talk. Just say please.”
You felt your throat tighten. No name. No voice samples on the page. A couple of likes from users named things like missnasty91 and devon4licks. But then you started scrolling. And gods help you, you tapped another video. This one opened differently. He was lying on his side, hand already between his legs, voice thick and lazy. “I know what you came for,” he said lowly. “Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it?” Your toes curled, and you immediately clicked out and opened another one. He was in the same room, same soft lighting, but shirtless this time. The camera caught just enough of his mouth when he sucked on his fingers before reaching between his legs again.
You paused that one too. Then clicked another. And another. Your brain was screaming This isn’t him while your gut whispered it is! And you kept watching. You told yourself it was for confirmation. Not because you wanted to hear him say “good girl” again. Not because your thighs were clenched tight beneath the covers. Not because you were one breath away from slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your own shorts.
You clicked back to the original video. And this time, you didn’t look away when he moaned. You didn’t even realize your hand had moved. Somewhere between the second moan and the way his head dropped back out of frame with a breathy, broken “fuck,” your fingers had slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, absently brushing over the heat pooling between your thighs.
It wasn’t intentional at first, just instinct. Just that helpless kind of ache you couldn’t smother anymore. Not with the way he touched himself like that. Not with that voice. That pace. That slow, deliberate stroke of his hand down his dick like he was thinking about you. Like he could see you watching. And fuck, he knew how to move. Lazy and confident, like he had every viewer begging to fill in the blanks, to imagine what it would feel like to kneel between those thighs, to taste the soft curse slipping from his mouth when he was close.
You didn’t want to believe it was him. You couldn’t let yourself believe it was Yunho, your Yunho, splayed out like that in his bedroom, right down the hall, completely unaware that you were now part of his secret world. But you couldn’t not believe it anymore either. Not with the very clear evidence. Because the longer you watched, the more you tuned in to the rhythm of his breath, the occasional muttered praise, the way he grunted low in his throat and spread his legs wider, the more you knew.
You knew that voice. You knew the shape of his hands. You knew the flex of his abs when he tensed. You knew his room. And now, god help you, you knew the sound he made when he was about to come. Your fingers slipped inside yourself without conscious thought, two of them, curling up the way you knew drove you crazy, your hips already moving in slow, needy rolls against your palm. You buried your face in your pillow, the screen balanced on the mattress beside you, the soft sound of his moans washing over you like they were meant for you alone. His voice dropped lower, raspier. “So fucking good for me… that’s it, baby. Keep watching.”
You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper. The pressure inside you was building fast, coiling tight with every pump of his fist on screen. Your fingers matched the rhythm of his, hips moving faster, chasing that edge with every gasped breath, every low curse that fell from his lips like a goddamn prayer. “Come for me,” he growled, voice rough now. “You’ve been so patient.” Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, hot and dizzying, stealing the air from your lungs. “Yunho…” you gasped into your pillow, the name ripping from your throat in a strangled, broken moan as your body clenched hard around your own fingers. You trembled through it, thighs trembling, breath catching on every stuttered sound he made on the screen as he came moments later.
You lay there in the aftershocks, panting. Sweaty. Wrecked. The room was quiet again. Your phone screen faded slowly to black beside you. And it hit you all at once. You had just gotten yourself off, completely, shamelessly, desperately, to a video of your best friend.
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Your alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. You hadn’t slept. At least not well. Not with images from last night playing on a loop behind your eyes like a cursed projector. Yunho’s voice, that voice, rasping praise through your earbuds. The way he gripped himself. The soft grunt he let out right before he came. You’d watched the whole damn thing again at 3:00 a.m. Just to “make sure.” Which was a lie. And you knew it.
You pulled on your work clothes in a daze, something soft and professional, but your brain wasn’t even registering fabric or color. Just flashes of gray. Gray. Fucking. Sweatpants. You padded out into the kitchen, hair half up, mug in hand, still telling yourself you were just going to grab coffee and ignore the chaos that lived in your frontal lobe. And then he walked in. Barefoot. Shirtless. Still rubbing sleep from his eyes. And wearing the same goddamn sweatpants from the video. You almost dropped your mug.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, deep and a little hoarse. You froze. You could hear it now. That same exact rasp. “M… Morning,” you replied, way too fast. You tried to look anywhere else, at the fridge, the window, the cat calendar on the wall, but your gaze dragged back to him like it had a mind of its own. And it was bad. The waistband of those pants was low. Dangerously low. The kind of low that made you wonder if he had anything on underneath, and the worst part was, you knew the answer to that now.
His hair was tousled. His eyes still half lidded. And he stretched. Full stretch. Arms up, abs flexing, gray sweatpants tugging lower, and you felt your soul leave your body as he yawned and you clenched your thighs together so hard you thought your bones might snap. “You okay?” he asked, finally blinking at you like a normal human being instead of the devil in disguise. You nodded a little too hard. “Fine! Just… running late.” He glanced at the clock. “You’re early.”
“Nope. Late. Super late.” You grabbed your travel mug like it was a life preserver and started backing toward the door making Yunho tilt his head, brows furrowing. “Did I forget something? Are you mad at me?”
“No! God, no…. why would I be mad?” You let out the world’s most awkward laugh. “You brought me food last night. You’re perfect.” Perfect?! Yunho blinked. “…Okay. You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Well, I’m not!”
“You’re blushing.”
You groaned internally and turned toward the door. “See you later, roommate!”
“Love you, too, psycho,” he called after you.
You paused. Because that wasn’t weird. You two said that all the time. Only now, your brain said it differently. Love you, but moaning. Love you, but breathless and wrapped around him. Love you, but saying his name with a broken gasp as you came so hard you saw stars. You shut the door behind you and leaned back against it, eyes wide. “Oh my fucking god,” you whispered to yourself. “I came to Yunho. I came to my best friend.” And he was in the kitchen right now. Drinking oat milk. In those sweatpants.
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The minute your car rolled into the school parking lot, you spotted him. Wooyoung. Leaning against the hood of his little black coupe like it was a throne, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, already dressed like a walking HR violation in joggers that were just tight enough and a windbreaker zipped halfway down his chest. You barely had your keys out of the ignition before you were storming across the lot, lips pressed into a thin line, heart pounding out a staccato of, what the fuck what the fuck what the FUCK.
He saw you coming and immediately grinned. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the queen of delayed gratification. How was your gift, hmm?”
“You!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Did you know?” Wooyoung blinked behind his sunglasses. “Uh… did I know what?”
“That video,” you hissed, voice low but sharp. “The link you sent me. That man. That fucking…” Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Oh, so you did open it.” You grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the side of the car like you were about to shake him down for answers. “That’s not just some random camboy, Woo. That’s Yunho.” He blinked. “Who?” You blinked right back. “My Yunho. My roommate. My best friend Yunho.” There was a moment. A very brief, very stupid moment of silence. And then Wooyoung lost his goddamn mind. He doubled over, cackling so hard he nearly dropped his coffee. “NO… NO FUCKING WAY! You’re lying. No. That’s…” He wheezed. “That’s the guy in the video? Your Yunho? With the arms and the voice and the hands…”
“Yes!” you hissed, smacking his arm. “I recognized his bedroom, Woo!” Wooyoung had to brace himself on the car. “Oh my god…. holy shit… I didn’t even know his name! I got the link from Yeji’s Discord server, I thought the guy just looked hot… you watched your best friend jerk off?”
“Shut up!”
He snorted. “Did you finish?”
“I hate you.”
He was fully wheezing now. “You watched it all the way through, didn’t you? You nasty bitch!” You covered your face with both hands, groaning into your palms. “I said shut up, Wooyoung.”
“I literally sent it as a joke,” he said, wheezing, “and you unlocked a whole new level of horny best friend trauma… this is the best day of my life.” You peeked through your fingers. “I can never look him in the eye again.” Wooyoung grinned and sipped his coffee like this was a rom com. “Or you could look him in the eye while he’s doing it next time.”
“JUNG WOOYOUNG!”
The bell rang and you both stood frozen for a beat, your voice echoing across the lot and Wooyoung smirked. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” You turned around and walked away before you could commit an actual crime.
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The bar wasn’t exactly packed, it was one of those cozy Friday night after work spots, dimly lit with just enough music to fill the space without making you shout. You and Wooyoung had claimed a small booth in the corner, two empty cocktail glasses already on the table and a third round on the way. He was halfway through his usual. something fruity, something neon, something completely ridiculous, and you were nursing a gin and tonic like it might somehow sober your life decisions. “So let me get this straight,” Wooyoung said, swirling the little umbrella in his drink like it held magical gossip powers, “you recognized him by his voice, didn’t believe it, then confirmed it by his bedroom in the background?”
You glared. “It was the sweatpants.”
He laughed so hard he snorted. “Of course it was the sweatpants. Why is it always the sweatpants?” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I cannot go home tonight.”
“Yes, you can,” he said, smug. “You just have to act normal. Easy.”
“Easy? I accidentally moaned his name while coming to a video of him jerking off in the same pants he woke up in this morning. You think I can look him in the eye?”
“Babe,” Wooyoung said sweetly, leaning forward over the table, “you looked him in the dick last night.”
“JUNG WOOYOUNG.”
He cackled, completely unfazed. “Look, all I’m saying is…. if you go home acting all stiff and weird and guilty, he’s gonna figure it out.” You stilled. “You think so?”
“I know so.” He took a sip of his drink, then pointed at you. “Yunho is not dumb. He’s like a golden retriever with a 4.0 GPA and emotional intuition. If you so much as blink too hard in his direction, he’s gonna be like, Are you mad at me? Did I forget your birthday? Did I eat your leftovers? Did I say something? Is it my flannel? Should I wear the blue one instead?”
You blinked. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”
He shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”
You leaned back against the booth, sipping your drink, staring off into the middle distance like a woman on the brink. “He was so… confident, Woo. Like…. talking dirty, praising. It was so… intentional.”
“And you loved it,” Wooyoung said proudly. “I raised you well.”
“I hate you.”
“You came.”
“Still hate you.”
He giggled and lifted his glass. “To best friend thirst. May your future be filled with awkward glances and unresolved tension.”
You clinked your glass with his out of pure spite.
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You managed to unlock the apartment door without dropping your keys, barely. The lights were dim inside. Cozy. Quiet. No sign of Yunho. You exhaled through your nose, nerves tingling with a weird mix of relief and disappointment. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see him or hide from him forever, or worse, see him and melt into a puddle of, “Sorry I accidentally got myself off to your secret porn career please pass the remote.”
“Act normal,” you muttered to yourself, heading straight for the fridge. “Be cool. He doesn’t know. You’re cool. You’re so cool.” You grabbed a drink, sparkling water, because the alcohol was already fogging your brain, and padded barefoot into the living room. The couch welcomed you like an old friend, and you dropped down onto it with a heavy sigh. TV on. Streaming menu open. You picked some random crime docuseries and let the flickering light wash over the room. You sipped, breathed, and kept repeating Wooyoung’s advice in your head like a mantra, Act normal. Or he’ll know.
You could do this. Just chill. Just watch some Netflix and act like you didn’t spend last night coming with his name in your mouth. Twenty minutes passed. The documentary had just reached a dramatic police interrogation scene when your bladder gave the first warning nudge. You groaned, dragging yourself off the couch. You were halfway down the hall, passing Yunho’s closed bedroom door, when you heard it. A voice. His voice. That voice. Low. Deep. Familiar in a way it absolutely shouldn’t be now. “yeah, just like that… don’t stop. You’ve been so patient for me, haven’t you?”
You froze. You weren’t imagining it. Your ears knew that cadence now. The way he dragged his vowels out like he was savoring every syllable. The way his voice dipped when he got cocky. The way it broke when he got close. The same voice that ruined you the night before. You didn’t think. You just moved. Straight into the bathroom. Door shut. Locked. And then you just stood there. Palms flat on the counter. Eyes wide in the mirror. Breathing like you’d just run a damn marathon.
Your brain was short circuiting. Yunho was filming right now. He was literally down the hall, in his room, probably shirtless, probably already sweating, probably doing all the same things you’d seen him do in those videos. Only this time you weren’t behind a screen. You were in the same apartment. You were within hearing distance of your best friend moaning for strangers online. And you were going to die. Or worse… listen. You shook your head and turned the shower on.
The mirror fogged over quickly. Your clothes hit a pile on the floor soon after, and the tile was cool beneath your feet as you stepped into the shower, dragging the curtain closed behind you like it could seal in your sanity. But it couldn’t. Not when you could still hear him. Barely audible through the pipes and plaster, his voice filtered through like static on the edge of your thoughts. You couldn’t make out words anymore, but the tone was unmistakable. That low, focused rhythm. That quiet breathlessness when he lost himself. That little hitch when he got close. The sound of it wrapped around your spine like heat.
You braced one hand against the tile, letting the water cascade down your back. It didn’t help. Nothing cooled the fire in your skin. Not when your mind was a reel of everything you’d seen him do, everything you’d heard him say. And now you were hearing it live. Real. You bit your lip, water slipping down your jaw as you lowered your forehead to the wall. Your other hand drifted south, slow, trembling, unsure, and you let yourself feel it. That gnawing ache he’d carved into you since that first click on his profile.
You hadn’t even known you could want him like this. Not until last night. Not until he said “Good girl” in that voice and made your whole world tilt. Your breaths came faster. Fingers moving now, slower, deeper, chasing something you couldn’t name. Outside the shower, he was probably on camera right now, eyes half lidded and teasing the screen with words that made strangers fall apart for him. Praise dripping from his lips. Filthy promises and soft curses spilling out in the same voice he used to ask you if you wanted tea at night. It was too much. Too hot. Too intimate. Like a secret you’d swallowed and couldn’t unhear.
You moaned into the crook of your arm, quiet, broken, shaking against the tile as your body arched and pleasure bloomed deep in your gut, sharp and dizzying. You came hard. His name caught on your tongue like a confession you couldn’t take back. “Yunho…” The sound of it cracked out of you in a breathless whisper as you trembled through it, forehead still pressed to the wall, water beating down over your back like thunder. Silence followed. No sound from his room now. Just your own breath, ragged and uneven in the mist.
You stayed there for a long time. Not moving. Not thinking. Because the only thing worse than what you’d just done… was knowing you wanted to do it again. Steam still clung to your skin when you cracked the bathroom door open. The hallway light was low and golden, and you were already reaching to tighten the towel you grabbed at your chest when you nearly collided with a wall of warm skin and broad shoulders.
Not a wall. Yunho. He was standing right there, barefoot, damp hair curling against his temple, one hand frozen mid reach for the doorframe. For half a second, neither of you breathed. “When did you get home?” he asked finally, voice softer than usual. You caught something flicker behind his eyes, something quick, wary, almost like panic, before he blinked it away and put on that easy smile. “I didn’t even hear you come in.” You forced a shrug, trying to sound casual while your pulse sprinted. “About an hour ago. You were… busy.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze sliding away for a beat. “Just finishing up some… editing.” Editing. Right. You nodded too quickly, clutching the towel a little tighter. The air between you was heavy, thick with the scent of soap and something that still felt like electricity. You had stood in front of him wrapped in a towel a hundred times before, it had never meant anything. But now your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the sound of his voice through the wall, the way his mouth might’ve looked saying those words.
“Did you eat?” he asked, gentle as ever, and the normalcy of it almost made you dizzy. “Uh huh,” you managed, backing a half step toward your room. “Leftovers. Thanks.” He smiled, soft, sleepy, harmless, and somehow that only made it worse. You mumbled a goodnight and slipped past him, heart hammering, the brush of his arm against yours leaving a spark that followed you all the way to your door.
Once you were alone, you leaned back against it, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Because you could lie to him, sure. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.
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It had been a few days. Three, to be exact. Seventy two hours of holding your shit together like a gold medalist in Denial Olympics. And honestly? You were kind of crushing it. No stammering. No suspicious blushing. No accidentally whispering his name like it was your favorite word while zoned out during a team meeting. You’d managed to slip right back into your usual rhythm with Yunho, sharing leftovers, mock arguing about laundry, and yelling at the TV together like two completely normal, totally platonic best friends who you did not masturbate to.
You were fine.
Really.
And you told yourself that again as you opened the front door, kicked off your shoes, and dropped your bag on the floor with a heavy thud. “Home!” you called out, voice tired but cheerful. Yunho’s voice drifted from the living room. “Couch.” You followed the sound like it was muscle memory, and sure enough, there he was. Stretched out, socked feet propped on the coffee table, PS5 controller in hand. He had one of his oversized crewnecks on today, sleeves bunched at his elbows, and a look of deep, exaggerated focus on his face. “Boss level?” you asked, plopping down beside him, stealing a throw pillow for your lap.
He smirked. “Don’t talk to me unless you’re here to cheer.” You snorted, curling into the cushions. “Go team murder or whatever.” Yunho laughed through his nose, biting back a grin as he hit a combo. The game lit up the screen in bursts of movement and color, casting a flickering glow across his jawline, one you tried very hard not to track with your eyes. This was good. This was safe. Just two roommates. Two friends. No tension. No awkwardness.
You didn’t even think about what he might’ve been doing last night with his bedroom door shut and headphones in. You didn’t think about the towel incident. Or the voice. Or the sweatpants. You definitely weren’t thinking about how he looked when he came. Nope. Brain cleared. Vibes immaculate.
“By the way,” he said casually, not looking at you. “You used my shampoo this morning.” You blinked. “What?”
“I could smell it,” he said with a shrug. “It’s fine. I don’t care. You smell nice.” Your whole body stiffened slightly, barely. But enough for you to feel it. You played it off with a breathy laugh. “Wow. Bold to call me out on a hair heist in your gamer era.” He side eyed you with a grin. “You just like smelling like me, don’t you?” Your mouth opened but nothing came out. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said, his attention fully locked on the boss fight as his thumbs danced across the controller. But your heart? Was not fine.
You lasted maybe twenty minutes on the couch before the day hit you all at once, work stress, kid chaos, a craving for something salty and shameful. Your usual. “I need noodles,” you groaned, stretching your arms over your head like a sleepy cat. “Keep slaying or whatever. I’ll be back.” Yunho grunted in acknowledgment, but you caught the side glance as you stood. Nothing pointed. Just… tracking. You didn’t think too much about it.
Or maybe you did, because instead of staying in your work clothes, you ducked into your room and changed. Just something comfy. Something you’d worn a hundred times. Tiny pajama shorts and a thin tank top. Nothing fancy. Nothing new. Just… soft cotton and bare legs and skin that hadn’t felt cool air since your shower that morning. When you walked back out, the living room was still glowing from the TV, but Yunho’s controller was resting in his lap now. His game was paused. His eyes, however? Not.
He glanced up from his seat, and this time, really looked as you crossed to the kitchen like you didn’t notice, tugging open the cabinet with practiced ease, leaning slightly on your toes to grab the ramen from the top shelf. The movement made your shirt ride up just a little, shorts clinging when you stretched. You felt his gaze linger as the silence stretched behind you, thick and charged. You opened the ramen package, pouring it into the pot with methodical calm, refusing to look back. Acting normal. Like you hadn’t just derailed the entire atmosphere with a pair of shorts. Like his eyes weren’t burning into your spine.
“You want some?” you asked over your shoulder, voice casual, light. There was a beat of silence before he cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.” You grabbed a second pack and tossed it in the pot. Still not looking. Still very aware of how quiet it had gotten behind you. Of the way the air shifted. Of how heavy his stare felt, hot, questioning, different now. And how, for the first time in days, you kind of wanted to turn around and look back.
The ramen boiled fast, faster than your pulse managed to settle. You ladled it into two mismatched bowls, grabbed a pair of chopsticks for each, and turned just in time to see Yunho shifting on the couch to make room. His game controller was set aside now, the screen switched to Netflix, some mindless comfort movie already queued up. “You always make the best instant ramen,” he said, reaching for his bowl as you handed it to him. “It’s literally boiling water and noodles.”
“Yeah, but yours has, like… love.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, flopping down beside him and tucking your legs under you. The couch dipped under your weight, your bare thigh brushing his sweats. You didn’t move. Neither did he. You both stared at the screen as the movie began, the sound of chopsticks clinking against ceramic the only real noise between you. Comfortable. Familiar. Until it wasn’t. Because at some point, your knees bumped again, and Yunho didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned closer, just a little. Just enough that your shoulders touched. His scent clung to his him like laundry soap, his cedar shampoo, and that faint trace of warm skin you swore was burned into your memory from three nights ago.
You focused hard on the ramen. So hard, you didn’t even register the line in the movie that made him laugh under his breath. But you felt it. The sound of it, soft, genuine, close. You glanced sideways, bowl in hand, just to catch the curve of his grin. And he was already looking at you. Not in a weird way. Not overly intense. Just… watching you eat ramen like it was the most natural thing in the world and your stomach twisted. Not from the noodles. Not even from the memory of his videos. But because for the first time in days… you weren’t panicking. You were melting. Quietly. Slowly. Beside him. In the space where friendship used to be simple.
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It had been a week. Seven full days of you and Yunho slipping back into rhythm like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t heard his voice through the wall. Like you hadn’t felt it echo through your whole body in the shower. And somehow, it had worked. You’d kept it together. At home, everything was smooth. Movie nights, shared takeout, dumb banter about his messy laundry habits. No weird tension. No awkward looks.
Except for the quiet little moments that made your skin prickle, when his knee bumped yours under the table and didn’t move. Or when he let his fingers linger too long as he passed you the remote. Or when he came out of the shower one morning shirtless and his hair still wet, and all you could think about was what else he might’ve done before rinsing off. You were fine. Until now.
Because now you were walking into his world. Yunho’s parents’ restaurant was tucked into a cozy side street downtown, the kind of place with regulars, warm wood panels, and the smell of magic in every dish. You’d been here a dozen times before, but it felt different today. Maybe because Wooyoung was with you. Or maybe because you hadn’t seen Yunho since that morning, he left for the restaurant early, mumbling something about prep shifts and delivery orders, and you hadn’t texted since.
You adjusted your tote bag and glanced at the menu even though you already knew what you wanted. Wooyoung didn’t. He was too busy scanning the place like he was searching for secrets. “Nice place,” he muttered. “Smells like good decisions and generational guilt.” You snorted. “You’re so weirdly poetic when you’re hungry.”
“No, seriously,” he said, leaning closer. “He works here every day? Like… all day?”
“Pretty much. Prep, lunch rush, dinner service. He runs half the kitchen now.”
Wooyoung gave you a sideways glance, sipping from his water. “So you’re telling me your hot secret camboy roommate also makes killer galbi and probably knows how to dice onions at warp speed?”
You closed your eyes. “Wooyoung…”
“I’m just saying, your future husband is busy.”
Before you could tell him to shut up for the fifth time that day, you heard it. “Y/N!” Yunho’s voice, cheerful and unmistakably his. You turned in your seat just as he emerged from the back, black apron tied around his waist, sleeves pushed up, hair tucked under a cap but still messy from the heat of the kitchen. He looked flushed and golden and like he’d just stepped out of a Kdrama that started with a meet cute and ended with a broken bedframe. He beamed when he saw you. “Didn’t know you were coming by.”
“Last minute lunch,” you said, smiling a little too quickly. “Figured we’d surprise you.” His eyes flicked to Wooyoung, then back to you. “Good surprise.” He said it to both of you, but his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should’ve. And you felt it. All over again. That ripple under your skin. That itch in your stomach. Like something was about to change as he took your order.
Yunho flashed you one more grin before disappearing into the kitchen with your order slip, promising “extra crispy egg on top, just how you like it.” His apron strings bounced slightly as he turned, and you didn’t even try to pretend you weren’t watching him walk away. Because how could you not? Tall, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, forearms flexing as he pushed the door open, that damned cap pushed backwards on his head like a personal attack. And Wooyoung saw it. “God,” he said, dragging out the syllable like it physically hurt him. “You are the strongest person I know.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You,” he said, jabbing a finger at you across the table. “You, specifically. The willpower it must take to live with that man, watch his videos, know what he sounds like when he comes, and still walk around fully clothed in his presence…” You tried to shush him, voice low. “Woo…”
“No. No, I’m serious,” he continued, leaning in, voice pitched to the exact level that made it worse. “If it were me? I would’ve climbed him the minute I saw that vein pop in his neck mid stroke.”
Your eyes widened. “JESUS!”
“I mean it!” he hissed, flapping his hands like he was fighting off a holy vision. “He’d be cooking eggs, and I’d be behind him like, Surprise! No pants!” You slapped your palm over your face. “Please shut up.”
“I would’ve been horny homeless,” he said, dead serious now. “My lease would be canceled. My dignity? Gone. I would’ve ridden that man so hard the ghost of his ancestors would’ve felt it.” You were wheezing, forehead hitting the table as you tried to quiet the scream of a bewildered laugh building in your chest as Wooyoung smirked over his drink. “And you… you just eat ramen next to him like he didn’t invent edging. You’re either a saint or a coward. There is no in between.”
You finally sat up, glaring at him. “You’re not allowed to say edging in public.”
“I say edging everywhere.”
And then, of course, the door to the kitchen swung open again, and Yunho walked out with your food. He looked happy. Bright. Unaware. And you couldn’t look at his hands without remembering what they looked like between his own legs. Wooyoung didn’t help. He leaned toward you with a smirk and whispered just as Yunho was setting the plate down, “Saint it is.”
Yunho set your food down with a soft, “Careful, it’s hot,” before sliding in beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was natural. That was the problem. Because nothing about the way your body reacted to his presence felt “friendly” anymore. You grabbed your chopsticks, suddenly hyperaware of how close your thighs were to his under the table.
Yunho glanced at Wooyoung across from you, smiling like a prince hosting court. “Glad you came by. Food okay?”
“Amazing,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “Compliments to the chef.”
“Thanks,” Yunho said, already mid bite. “It’s mostly my mom, but I make the rice like a beast.”
“Oh, I bet you do,” Wooyoung muttered and you kicked him under the table. Hard. Wooyoung cleared his throat, dramatic as ever, then leaned his chin on one hand like he was settling in for an interview. “So, Yunho,” he said. “Tell me about yourself. Any hobbies?” Your entire soul seized as Yunho blinked. “Hobbies?”
Wooyoung smiled sweetly. “Yeah. What do you do for fun? Outside of cooking.” You panicked as your foot flew under the table again and kicked Wooyoung harder in the shin making him jolt. “Shit!” Yunho turned to you, concerned. “You okay?” You smiled with the intensity of a hostage. “Cramp.”
Wooyoung was trying not to laugh, biting his straw and glaring at you across the table as Yunho gave your thigh a gentle pat under the table, just a quick touch, a friendly squeeze, and you almost dropped your chopsticks. “Poor thing,” he said, eyes soft. “You need to stretch more.”
Wooyoung coughed into his drink. “She probably does.”
You kicked him again. Harder. Yunho didn’t seem to notice the minefield you were barely tap dancing through. He kept eating, totally chill. “I don’t really have a ton of hobbies,” he admitted. “Work keeps me busy. I do some freelance stuff on the side. Mostly online. And gaming.”
Your stomach did a full somersault as Wooyoung raised an eyebrow but, mercifully, didn’t take the bait. You shot him a death glare that said, thank you and also shut your entire mouth forever. He winked at you as you turned to your food, stabbed your egg, and told yourself you were absolutely not going to spontaneously combust at this table. Not today. Not in front of your coworker, his bulgogi, and your best friend who moans like a sin you still dream about.
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It was late. The apartment was quiet. just the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak from the hallway, and the faint rhythm of your own breathing as you lay flat on your back in bed, arms spread like you were waiting to be struck by lightning. Yunho had gone to bed over an hour ago. You’d said goodnight casually, like you hadn’t been clutching your chopsticks under the table earlier just to keep your hands from shaking. Like hearing him say “I do some freelance stuff online” hadn’t made your entire body buzz with tension.
You’d nodded. Smiled. Taken it in stride. And then spent the rest of dinner trying not to imagine him on camera, in that room, making a living doing things you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for weeks. You didn’t even realize your phone was in your hand until the screen lit up. Muscle memory. You hesitated. Brows furrowed. Don’t do it. You’re over this.
Except you weren’t.
You opened the site.
His profile was still bookmarked. Top of your private tab. Still no face. Still just the same cropped body shot, abs, towel, chain. But this time… something new. A glowing “recent upload” banner pulsed beneath the thumbnail. New. Posted just last night. The title made your stomach clench, “Could’ve been you.” You blinked as you sat up and clicked it.
The screen went dark for half a second. Your breath hitched. And then he appeared. Soft blue lighting. Bed unmade. Camera lower than usual, catching the edge of his desk chair. Yunho sat lazily back in it, completely bare except for that familiar silver chain around his neck, the cross pendant mocking. Hair tousled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Eyes low. Lips slightly parted. You swore your heart stopped.
And then he spoke, voice low and smooth and devastating. “You’ve been good for me before. Let me show you how good I can be for you.” Your breath caught in your throat. Not because of what he was doing, not yet, but because of the way he looked. Yunho was leaning back in his chair like he had nowhere else to be, thighs spread wide, body on full display, head tilted slightly. Your entire body went still. Because it wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them. Soft. Focused. Like he was waiting for a reaction. And suddenly, you weren’t just watching him. You were responding.
Your breath picked up. Your thighs squeezed together. That ache you’d worked so hard to ignore for weeks sparked back to life like it had been waiting right under your skin. He shifted in the chair, legs spreading wider, hand already wrapped around himself. Slow. Lazy. Like he had all the time in the world to drag this out and make whoever was watching feel it. “You always get so shy at first,” he said, voice a little lower now, a little rougher, “but I know what you really want. I can see it.” You swallowed. Hard. Your free hand drifted down, slow, tentative at first, until your fingertips brushed your inner thigh. Your skin was warm. Too warm. You kept watching.
He stroked himself with a rhythm that was cruel in its patience. Like he was imagining someone there. Like he already had a face in mind. “You’d let me take my time, wouldn’t you?” he whispered. “You’d let me ruin you slow.” You gasped, quiet, involuntary, your back pressing into the mattress as your hand slipped beneath your waistband. You didn’t even think. You just felt. Like every part of your body was tethered to him through that screen. Like his voice was inside your head now, curling around every nerve ending, unspooling your restraint one breath at a time. “I’d keep you close. I’d hold your face. I’d make you say my name.” Your fingers moved faster as he groaned, low and wrecked, and your eyes fluttered shut as heat bloomed deep in your core, sharp and sudden. “Say it,” he breathed. “Let me hear you.”
And just like before… “Yunho…” you moaned, broken and quiet, hips arching off the bed as the orgasm hit you hard and fast. You came with your forehead pressed into the crook of your arm, chest heaving, fingers shaking. The screen was still glowing beside you, Yunho still moving through the end of the video, voice soft and satisfied. And all you could think was… that could have been you. And god, you wanted it to be.
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The apartment was dark and still. Just after midnight. Yunho hadn’t meant to wake up. But nature had other plans, and now he was padding barefoot down the hallway, hoodie tugged halfway down his chest, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The place was quiet. Too quiet.
He passed the bathroom and was about to open the door when he paused. Something made him stop. A sound. Soft. Faint. His head tilted. There it was again. A quiet rustle. A breathless noise. Coming from behind your door. He froze, one hand still hovering near the bathroom knob. Then he heard it. His voice. Not yours. His. Through the wall. Muffled. But clear enough to recognize. That low, coaxing tone he only used on camera. That lazy confidence, the kind that curled around syllables like it knew exactly what it was doing. And then a sound from you.
A choked breath. A moan. His name. “Yunho…”
His body went cold and hot at the same time. He stood there, wide awake now, every nerve in his body crackling like static. You were watching him. His videos. And you weren’t just watching. You were… you’d known. You’d known for who knows how long, and you never said a word. His heartbeat spiked. Part disbelief. Part adrenaline. Part something else, something far more dangerous. The idea of you hearing him like that. Touching yourself to him. Saying his name when you came.
He swallowed hard, backing away from your door like it had teeth. Like the sound of your moan had reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He barely remembered getting back to his room. Barely remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, hoodie still half off, staring at nothing. You knew. And now he knew you knew. And there was no pretending after this.
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Saturday morning had always been slow in your apartment. No alarms. No obligations. Just the sun bleeding through the windows, the smell of coffee, and the occasional soft snore drifting from your bedroom well into the late morning. Yunho sat at the kitchen table, staring at his untouched cereal. He’d poured it twenty minutes ago. Milk lukewarm now. Spoon resting on the edge of the bowl. His mind somewhere else entirely.
Your voice.
The way you’d said his name. The way your breath had caught. The soft stutter of your moan, quiet and broken, but not quiet enough. He’d barely slept. Kept hearing you. Kept replaying that one second, that confirmation, you knew. You’d known. And you hadn’t said a word. Which meant something. He just didn’t know what.
The sound of your bedroom door creaked open down the hall, pulling him out of the spiral. Then came the soft shuffle of your feet. The sleepy drag of soles on the floor. He heard you yawn, stretch. Padding into the kitchen like it was any other morning. And then you turned the corner and Yunho nearly choked on air. You were still half asleep, eyes barely open, one hand running through your hair as you wandered toward the fridge. Oversized tshirt swallowing your frame. Just the edge of black panties peeking out when you lifted your arms to stretch again.
That was it. That was all you wore. No pants. No bra. No idea what you were doing to him. And it wasn’t new. You’d done this dozens of times before. But now, after last night? Yunho couldn’t look at you the same. It’s no secret to himself how he’s wanted you for years…. But hearing you moan his name…. His eyes swept over your bare legs, the curve of your thighs, the sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, and he had to grip the edge of the table to stay grounded.
You rubbed your eye with the back of your hand, voice rough and soft. “Mornin’. Why are you up so early?” He cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.” You pulled out a carton of juice and didn’t even bother with a glass, sipping straight from it before leaning against the counter with a groan. “Ugh. Feel like I got hit by a dream truck.” Yunho smiled, tight. “You remember it?” You blinked over at him, still groggy. “What?” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
You wandered closer, eyes still half lidded, and dropped onto the couch next to him. Shirt riding up slightly. Legs folded. Completely unaware of how undone you looked. And Yunho? He was wrecked. Because now, every time you said his name, he wouldn’t be able to unhear that version. The one whispered into the night. The one coated in pleasure. The one that had made him need to know what would it sound like if you said it to him?
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The apartment was dark, quiet, safe. Your bedroom door was shut. He’d checked twice. He heard nothing from inside, just the soft hum of the fan you always slept with. You were out cold. He should’ve waited until tomorrow. Should’ve skipped tonight. But the truth was, he hadn’t filmed in days. Not since he heard you moan his name from the other side of the wall. And tonight? Tonight it wasn’t about content. Or fans. Or tips. Or routine. Tonight, Yunho was filming because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
He sat on the edge of the bed, camera already positioned, warm light set to its softest blue setting. Not too bright. Not too staged. Just enough to glow off his skin, to kiss the edge of shadow along his chest and thighs. His chain hung low around his neck, catching the light every time he moved. The camera rolled silently. The timer blinked red. But his eyes weren’t focused on the lens. They were picturing you. The way you looked that morning, bare legs, oversized shirt, hair tangled from sleep. The sleepy rasp in your voice when you said his name like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It always did.
And now that he knew you’d watched him? That you’d touched yourself to him? It had completely ruined him. He leaned back on his hands, legs parted slightly, breath already uneven. “Could’ve been you,” he murmured again, low and slow, just like in the last video.But this time? He meant it. He imagined your knees on the bed. The press of your thighs straddling his lap. The look in your eyes if he said it out loud, I know what you did. I heard you. Would you panic? Would you lean in and whisper do it again?
He wrapped his hand around himself, slow and steady, biting back the sound that threatened to escape. Not yet. He had to focus. But he couldn’t. Because now, every stroke felt like it was for you. Every shift of his hips, every low breath, every filthy thought was laced with your name. He imagined your mouth. Your fingers. Your moans. Your eyes, wide and watching him from across the room, or maybe from the door. Maybe this time… you’d watch in person. The thought made his breath stutter. He didn’t say much in this one. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he might say your name.
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The classroom was finally quiet. Desks wiped. Chairs stacked. Crayons rounded up from beneath tables like colorful landmines. The after school silence was your favorite part of the day, right after the chaos, right before you had to face whatever chaos was waiting for you at home. Lately, that chaos wore sweatpants and acted like he wasn’t a walking, talking fantasy you accidentally moaned for.
You sighed, tossing a few leftover worksheets into your “grade this later and cry” folder just as a knock tapped against your doorframe. You looked up. “Hey,” the voice came first, warm, slightly sheepish. Mr. New Guy. The fourth grade science teacher. You smiled out of instinct. “Oh…. hey, Jisung.” He stepped inside, looking a little nervous, a little too handsome for a guy who taught plant cycles and could get thirty ten year olds to care about sedimentary rocks. “Didn’t mean to bug you. I just saw your light was still on.”
“Just cleaning up,” you said, straightening a stack of stickers. “Or avoiding my inbox. One of the two.”
He grinned. “Smart.”
There was a pause and you could feel it, awkward and purposeful as he scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh… listen. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
You blinked. “Okay…”
“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get dinner sometime? Nothing fancy. Just… outside of school. Where we don’t have to whisper about the copier being jammed again.”
Oh. Oh! You weren’t expecting that. Jisung looked so sincere. And nervous. And you hadn’t been asked out by a normal, age appropriate, non literal porn star coworker in a long time. You opened your mouth to say something… And your brain helpfully supplied the image of Yunho the night before, dragging a hoodie over his bare chest, voice still thick and rough from whatever he’d just filmed behind his closed door. The memory slammed into you like a punch. His voice. His moans. That chain. Your name in your head when you came. You blinked.
Jisung was still waiting and you smiled, soft but unsure. “That’s… really sweet. I just… can I get back to you?”
“Yeah!” he said quickly, waving his hands. “Totally. No pressure at all.” He backed toward the door, cheeks a little flushed. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
The door shut behind him and you sat there, staring at your hands. Yunho hadn’t asked you anything. But somehow… he was the only one you wanted to say yes to.
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Dinner was simple tonight, steamed rice, spicy pork, a few banchan dishes he’d brought back from the restaurant, all laid out between you on the kitchen table like it was any other weeknight. And it should’ve felt normal. But it didn’t. Because you were sitting across from him in a sweatshirt that hung off your shoulder, hair messy from your afternoon nap, cheeks pink from heat, and Yunho couldn’t stop thinking about how just two nights ago he came so hard to the thought of you, he had to stop filming and pretend it was part of the act. He hadn’t touched himself since. Couldn’t. Not when the real thing sat across from him every night and smiled like you didn’t know what you’d done.
You stirred your rice absently. “So, something funny happened today.” Yunho blinked, grateful for the distraction. “What’s that?” You didn’t even look up. “The new science teacher asked me out.” He froze. Spoon halfway to his mouth. Not even breathing. “What?” You glanced at him now, tone casual. “Jisung. He stopped by after class. Asked if I wanted to grab dinner sometime.”
His chest tightened as you didn’t even say it like it was a big deal. Like it meant anything. Like you hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the center of his chest and kept on chewing your kimchi like you hadn’t heard the explosion. “Oh.” He set his spoon down slowly, forcing a small laugh. “That guy.” You squinted at him. “You’ve never met him.”
“Don’t need to.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. “Anyone asking you out is automatically suspicious.” That made you laugh. “What, you think he’s got evil intentions?”
“No. I think he’s got obvious ones.”
Your brows lifted. “Which are?”
Yunho met your gaze now, steady. Sharp. “Same ones I’d have if you weren’t my best friend.” The air went still between you. You blinked. He didn’t look away. Just waited as you cleared your throat. Didn’t look up. Didn’t smile. Just shifted slightly in your seat, dragged a few grains of rice through the leftover sauce, and said, cool as you pleased, “Maybe I should say yes. I mean… it’s been a while. Since my ex.”
Yunho felt that hit like a punch under his ribs. His grip on his chopsticks tightened, just barely, but enough that he had to set them down again before they snapped. You kept eating. Calm. Relaxed. Like you hadn’t just thrown him into a spiral so fast he could barely see straight. He studied your face. The tilt of your lashes. The slight flush in your cheeks. The way your lips wrapped around your next bite like you weren’t saying anything world shattering. Like you weren’t talking about letting someone else touch you.
He swallowed hard. “So you’re thinking about it?” You shrugged. “I mean… why not?” Why not. Yunho laughed. Quiet. Almost bitter and you finally looked up. “What?” He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind his chair like he needed to do something to bleed out the tension. “It’s just funny.”
“What is?”
“That you think you haven’t been with anyone since your ex.”
You blinked, brows furrowing as he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not physically. Sure. But come on, baby.” You stiffened. Baby? It just slipped out. Too honest. Too fast. But he didn’t take it back. He leaned forward again, eyes on yours. “After everything I’ve heard… everything I know… are you really gonna sit here and pretend I haven’t already wrecked you without even touching you?” Silence. The kitchen clock ticked loud enough to fill it.
Yunho didn’t look away. Neither did you. He could see it, right there in your face. That flicker of heat, of guilt, of something so deep it nearly made him forget where he was. He didn’t know if you were going to laugh, yell, or kiss him. But god, he hoped it wasn’t the first one.
You blinked like you hadn’t heard him right. Like you hadn’t moaned his name in the dark, hadn’t come to the sound of his voice, hadn’t watched him over and over again behind a locked door with your fingers between your thighs. “Yunho…” you said slowly, setting your bowl down, nervous laugh escaping as you shook your head. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He raised a brow as you bit your lip. Eyes wide. Too wide. “I mean… wrecked me?” you laughed again, high and off key. “That’s… dramatic, don’t you think?” Yunho leaned forward across the table, elbows on the wood, hands clasped like he was studying you. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” you said too quickly.
“You don’t flinch when you’re lying,” he said, voice lower now. “You get quiet. Look down. Bite your cheek. I’ve known you for almost a decade. Don’t play dumb.”
You opened your mouth, and nothing came out as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard you. You didn’t mean to be loud,” he added, quieter. “But it was late. And the walls are thin. And you said my name.”
Your entire face changed. A flicker of heat. Shame. Panic. Desire. You dropped your eyes to the table. And he knew. It wasn’t just once. You hadn’t accidentally clicked that video. You hadn’t accidentally come to him. You hadn’t accidentally moaned his name like it belonged to you. “I didn’t mean for you to hear,” you whispered.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said. “But I’m not sorry.” Your eyes snapped to his as he leaned closer, voice low and steady. “You watched me, baby. Over and over. You heard me, felt me, and now you want to pretend it didn’t happen?” He shook his head. “No. That’s not happening.”
You looked frozen. Breath shallow as Yunho smiled, soft, but laced with heat. “Unless you want me to stop. Unless you want me to pretend too.” He let it hang there. The invitation. The challenge. The truth.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The classroom was loud. Markers squeaked across whiteboards. Chairs scraped tile. A kid in the back was pretending his pencil was a lightsaber, making whooshing sounds like he was the Jedi of math. You weren’t hearing any of it. Because your brain had checked out somewhere around 8:00 a.m., the second you walked into the building still echoing with the memory of Yunho’s voice from the night before. “You watched me, baby.” Your stomach flipped just remembering it. You’d gone to bed without saying anything. Without even turning off your bedside light. Just laid there in bed, hands clenched in the sheets, heart racing, trying to understand how you were supposed to live with him now, eat breakfast with him, split the water bill, pass him in the hallway…. when he knew.
He’d heard you. He’d called you out. And you’d panicked. Denied. Like a coward. And what did he do? He looked right into your eyes, called you baby again, and said “I’m not sorry.”
“Miss?” a little voice snapped you back to reality. “Miss, your marker’s broken.” You looked down. You’d been holding a dry erase marker against the board, unmoving. A big purple streak stained the sleeve of your cardigan. You didn’t even care. “Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Sorry.” A few of the kids blinked at you, concerned in that way only 10 year olds could be when their teacher malfunctioned. You managed to finish the lesson. Kind of.
After dismissal, you stayed behind like you always did, papers to grade, emails to ignore, but mostly, to sit in your desk chair and breathe. You pulled your phone out of your drawer like it might bite you. No texts. No calls. Nothing from Yunho. But you could still hear him like he was whispering in your ear. You hated how much you wanted him to call you baby again.
You barely looked up when the door creaked open. “Please be a wine delivery,” you muttered. “Close. It’s me,” Wooyoung announced, strutting in like he owned the school. “And I brought gossip.” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because just seeing him made the entire night before slam back into your brain like a freight train. He raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost? Or worse… your ex.” You looked at him. Dead in the eyes. And then you said it. “He knows.” Wooyoung blinked. “Who knows what?”
“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Yunho knows. About the videos. About me knowing. He…. he knows I know.” Wooyoung dropped his bag on the floor like it personally offended him. “What.”
“I was in my room a few nights ago,” you rushed out. “Watching one of his newer ones…”
“Oh my god!”
“and I said his name when I…. when I came, okay?” you hissed, whispering like the whiteboards had ears. “And he heard me, Woo. He was in the hallway. I didn’t even realize he was there…. he called me out last night… called me baby and…. and said he wasn’t sorry.” Wooyoung covered his mouth like he was trying to contain an earthquake. His whole body shook. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was joking,” you groaned, collapsing into your chair. “He called you baby?? Like sexy baby? Not, aw baby, but like, you’re watching me get off, aren’t you, baby?”
“Woo!”
“I need a cigarette.”
“You don’t even smoke!”
“I do now!”
You rubbed your temples while he paced like a game show contestant on the final question. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that Yunho…. your sweet best friend roommate Yunho…. knows you’ve been getting off to his secret camboy alter ego. And instead of being mad, he called you baby and said he wasn’t sorry.”
You nodded once and Wooyoung stared. Then grinned like the devil. “Well,” he said, “guess you won’t be needing that new teacher date after all.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The apartment was still. Too still. Yunho’s door was wide open, which meant he wasn’t home. Which also meant it was safe. Now you were sitting cross legged on your bed, hoodie half zipped, blanket barely hanging onto your shoulders like it could protect you from your own worst impulses. You hovered over the new video. Your heart beat too fast. This was a bad idea. This was a terrible idea.
You clicked it anyway. The video opened with black. A beat of silence. And then his voice. Low. Smooth. Familiar. Way too familiar. “Hi,” he said, shirtless, those same damn gray sweats, face on display for once, hair pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times, staring directly into the camera. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Your stomach dropped. Your mouth went dry as Yunho leaned closer on the screen, elbows on his knees now, gaze way too intimate. “Wondering if you’ve been watching,” he murmured. “If you’re still touching yourself to me like you did that night.” You froze. There’s no way. There’s no way this video was public. This… this was too specific. Too targeted. Like he was talking to you. “You were so loud,” he said. “You didn’t even realize, did you?”
He leaned back, hand dragging up his chest to rest at his throat. “Say my name again,” he whispered, eyes half lidded. “Like you did then.” Your hand was trembling where it sat on your thigh. He hadn’t even touched himself yet. And already, you were losing it. You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears, thighs pressed tight together. Was this for you? Was this really for you? Because it felt like it. It felt like every glance into the camera was a dare. Every word was meant for your ears only.
He licked his lips. Shifted in his seat. And then finally, “You’ve been so patient,” Yunho murmured. “So good. So quiet. But I heard you.” You clapped a hand over your mouth, your entire body going rigid. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a confession. You slammed your laptop shut like it had personally offended you. Like it hadn’t just made you come apart at the seams without even touching you. Like Yunho’s voice, his voice, hadn’t just whispered the most intimate filth you’d ever heard directly into your soul.
Your pulse was still pounding in your ears. Your legs were shaky. You needed a drink. You all but stumbled into the kitchen, bare feet slapping softly against the hardwood, your fingers curling around the fridge handle like it might steady you. You didn’t even hesitate. You grabbed the bottle of soju from the back, the one Yunho had forgotten about, green glass chilled, frosted slightly at the neck. No shot glass. Just the bottle.
You twisted the cap off with trembling fingers and tilted it back, taking a long, burning pull that did absolutely nothing to cool your insides. The heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with alcohol. And your thighs still clenched together like they had a mind of their own. You took another swig as the front door opened and you nearly choked.
“Hey,” Yunho called casually as he stepped in, keys jingling as he tossed them into the bowl near the door. “Smells like ramen in here….” He stopped mid sentence when he rounded the corner and saw you. You. Standing in the kitchen. In sleep shorts and a hoodie that barely covered your ass. Hair a mess. Soju bottle lifted halfway to your mouth. Face flushed, pupils still blown, practically radiating guilt.
Yunho blinked.
You blinked back.
“Rough day?” he asked slowly, voice cautious but teasing. “Or are we just going full frat boy tonight?” You scrambled, setting the bottle down too hard on the counter. “I…. I couldn’t sleep.”
“It’s only nine,” he said with a raised brow.
“Then I couldn’t… not sleep. Whatever.”
Yunho smirked faintly, stepping toward the fridge and opening it like this wasn’t the weirdest moment of your entire life. “You want a chaser or are we pretending that’s water?” You shrugged, trying to act normal. Casual. Chill. “I’m good,” you muttered as he pulled out a bottle of water for himself, cracking the cap open. “Want me to make popcorn? You look like you’re in a very specific kind of mood.”
You didn’t trust your voice. So you just nodded, backing up slowly and gripping the counter for dear life as he turned toward the stove. He was wearing those damn grey sweatpants again. You had to look away. You were acting weird again.
Not weird like last week, where you were jumpy and flushed every time he came around. This was different. Too calm. Too still. Like you were actively trying not to be weird and it was making you way weirder. Yunho stirred the pot on the stove, but he wasn’t focused on the popcorn. His eyes kept drifting over his shoulder, drawn to the way you stood there like you were rooted to the tile, gripping the edge of the counter like it was keeping you upright. Cheeks pink. Lips parted. Still holding that half empty bottle of soju like a lifeline.
Something had you rattled. And he was willing to bet a whole month’s worth of OnlyFlans tips that he knew exactly what. He glanced at you again. Your eyes snapped away like you hadn’t just been staring and a slow smirk tugged at his mouth. Yeah. He knew. He turned the stove off. “You see it?” he asked suddenly, cutting through the silence.
You blinked. “See what?”
Yunho took a slow step toward you, tilting his head slightly, like he could read every flicker of guilt in your expression. His voice dropped, low, teasing, but pointed. “My new video.” Your throat bobbed. “W… What video?” Another step. Now only the narrow kitchen counter was between you as he leaned in just slightly, enough that his words felt heavier, like they were pressing against your skin. “The one I posted last night.”
He saw it, the way your fingers tightened on the bottle, the way your legs shifted like you suddenly forgot how to stand. You didn’t answer and that smirk of his curved higher. A little cruel. A little cocky. “Are you gonna lie to me?” he asked, voice soft, heat buried under every syllable. “Or are you gonna tell me how many times you watched it?” You opened your mouth and closed it as Yunho moved around the counter, now fully in front of you, towering. Barely inches between you. “Well?” he murmured. “You gonna answer me?”
You hesitated. And that was all the answer he needed. Still, you gave it a shot, eyes darting to the side, lips twitching into something that wanted to pass for casual. “Video? Oh, that…. uh, no. I was just scrolling. Didn’t even have the sound on.” Yunho blinked. Then laughed. Just once. Low and disbelieving. “No sound?” he repeated, taking another step toward you. “That’s funny…” Your breath hitched as he tilted his head, watching you. Watching the cracks start to splinter through your fake calm. You weren’t good at lying. Not to him.
“You know…” Yunho said slowly, pretending to think, like this wasn’t already seared into his brain. “You said my name. Loud. Real soft at first,” he stepped close enough that the bottle in your hand bumped his chest. “But then you moaned it, baby. Whispered it like a prayer.“
Your lashes fluttered. “Yunho…”
“Mm. Just like that,” he said, voice a quiet taunt, warm and thick and curling around you like smoke. “You sounded so needy. So pretty.” You swallowed hard. “I wasn’t…” He reached out, curling his fingers lightly around your wrist, lifting the bottle from your grip with infuriating ease. “You wanna try that again?” he asked, tone playful but loaded. “Or are we finally done pretending?”
Your mouth parted. He could see it, your brain short circuiting, heart beating like it wanted to climb right out of your chest. But your legs? Still not moving. “You watched it,” Yunho said, cocking a brow. “Did you like it?” You were silent as he took another step, cornering you now, back against the cabinets. “Did you come to it?” That one landed like a punch.
You gasped, scandalized, probably, but your thighs pressed together, and that told him everything. His smile dropped lower, darker, as he leaned in. His voice barely a breath against your ear. “You touch yourself to me again, sweetheart… I want you to leave the volume up this time.” You blinked up at him, wide eyed and breathless, still pressed against the kitchen counter like you weren’t sure if you wanted to run or pull him closer. “You’re my best friend,” you said finally, a whisper like it actually hurt to say it out loud. “You’re my…. my best friend, Yunho…”
He tilted his head, that dark, knowing smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah. I know.” Your hands came up to push against his chest, weak and half hearted. “I can’t…. I can’t want you like that.”
“But you do.”
“Yunho…”
“I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”
Your breath hitched. He said it so simply. Like it wasn’t some world shifting confession. Like it wasn’t about to detonate everything you thought you were. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you weren’t ready. You had that boyfriend. You were hurting. You needed me to be safe.” His eyes dropped to your lips, his voice dropping with them. “But now? You moan my name when you think I’m not listening. You watch me like you’re starving, like you’ve been starving.”
He leaned in, nose brushing yours, breaths colliding in the charged air between you. “You want me,” he said, hushed but firm. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want you too.” Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He hovered there, waiting. Letting the silence throb between you, heavy and warm and full of tension so thick it could break you both. “Say the word, baby,” Yunho whispered. “And I’ll ruin the way you say best friend forever.”
Your lips were parted, eyes wide, chest heaving against the oversized hoodie like you’d just been dropped into someone else’s life. And maybe you had. Because the man in front of you wasn’t just Yunho, your messy, snack hoarding, laundry ignoring, ramen obsessed best friend. This was RadiantYu. Voice like sin. Fingers like ruin. Tongue like temptation. And he was looking at you like he already had you under him.
“Say it,” he whispered again, breath warm against your cheek. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me.” Your hands were still on his chest. But they weren’t pushing anymore. They were fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt. Holding on. “I don’t…” His brows ticked up slightly. You’d barely gotten one syllable out before your body betrayed you. “want to stop,” you whispered. The teasing melted out of Yunho’s face, and what replaced it made your stomach drop straight into heat. His pupils dilated. That lazy smirk was gone. He looked like a man who had just been handed permission. “Say that again,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to stop.” You barely finished the last word before he was on you. Yunho surged forward and grabbed your face with both hands, lips crashing into yours like he couldn’t hold back a second longer. His mouth was hot and open, tongue sliding against yours, swallowing your startled gasp as he stepped into you, pressing you back into the counter like he wanted you embedded in it. And then he lifted you. One smooth motion, his hands gripped under your thighs, body flush against yours and you were off the ground with a soft yelp against his lips. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders as he turned and walked you toward the hall.
You didn’t even have time to process it. He was carrying you straight into his bedroom. The same room you’d seen in shadows and soft lighting, in cropped frames and half glimpses on a screen for weeks now because you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there after watching that first video Wooyoung had sent you. The same room where his voice had undone you in the dark.
The door swung open behind you with a quiet thud, your back pressed to it as he kicked it shut. Yunho’s lips never left yours. The walk was a blur. A blur of breathless kisses, wandering hands, his fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie. He didn’t throw you onto the bed. He sat you on it. Slow. Deliberate. And when you leaned back on your hands, legs parted just slightly on the edge of the mattress, Yunho stood over you like he was starving.
He leaned down, mouth brushing your throat, and you felt it, the shift. This wasn’t the friend you watched movies with. This wasn’t even the camboy you watched through your screen. This was Yunho, in the flesh, in his room, about to make you his. His mouth dragged along your neck, open mouthed kisses, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. One of his hands was at your waist, the other sliding under the back of your hoodie as he kissed you like he’d waited years for this moment. His hand gripped your thigh now, sliding up, palm warm and heavy as he kissed you once more, slow this time, then pulled back. Not far. Just enough that you could see his eyes. Dark. Focused. Hungry in a way that made your stomach tighten.
Your heart skipped. For half a second you wondered if you’d crossed a line, but then he straightened, gaze never leaving yours, and reached behind him. For his gaming chair. The same one. The black chair with the worn armrests, the slight squeak when it rolled. The one you’d seen him sink into a hundred times on screen, legs spread, body relaxed like he owned the world. He dragged it closer to the bed and turned it so it faced you directly. Then he sat. Slow. Casual. Spreading his legs just slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. He looked exactly like he did in the videos, but worse. Real. Close enough that you could see the way his chest rose with each breath. “Show me.”
You blinked. “Show you… what?”
He tilted his head, lips curling into that knowing half smile, the one that had ruined you more than once through a screen. “How you do it,” he said softly. “When you watch me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears as he leaned back into the chair, fingers gripping the armrests like he was restraining himself on purpose. “I wanna see how you touch yourself,” he continued, voice calm, steady. “How you get off to me.”
Heat rushed straight to your face. “Yunho….”
“No,” he interrupted gently. Not sharp. Not angry. Just firm. “You’ve watched me. You’ve heard me. You’ve come to me.” His eyes dragged slowly over you, taking in the way you sat on the bed, knees parted just enough to give him a glimpse of skin. “Now it’s my turn.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs, voice dropping. “Show me what you do when it’s just you and a screen.” Your breath came shallow. Your fingers curled into the blanket beneath you. This was different. This wasn’t him taking control the way you’d expected. This was him watching. Studying. Letting you expose yourself exactly the way you had in private.
“I want to see your hands,” he said quietly. “I want to see your face when you start thinking about me.” His gaze lifted to yours, unwavering. “Don’t rush,” Yunho murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” The silence stretched. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sat in that damn chair like a living temptation, legs spread, eyes dark, waiting. The same chair where you’d watched him touch himself night after night. The same angle. The same distance. Only now, you were the one being watched.
Your breath trembled as your fingers drifted to the waistband of your pajama shorts and his gaze dropped instantly when you hooked your thumbs beneath the soft fabric, and Yunho’s jaw tensed, just a little, as you began to ease them down. Inch by inch. Past your hips, your thighs, dragging the cotton slow over your skin. You let them fall to the floor with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet room. But Yunho didn’t speak. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t tease. His eyes were locked between your legs.
Your panties clung to you, soaked through. The thin cotton was dark with wetness, the evidence of just how wrecked you were from the moment he pulled you into this room, maybe even earlier. Yunho’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Already wet for me,” he murmured, voice low and reverent as you swallowed, still sitting on the edge of his bed, legs parted slightly, panties sticking to your core like a second skin. Your breath came faster, chest rising and falling, heart thudding like it might crack your ribs. And Yunho just sat back deeper into his chair. “Take them off,” he said, voice soft, steady. “Nice and slow.”
You nodded once, barely, and your fingers trembled as you reached for the waistband of your panties. Yunho’s eyes tracked every motion. The way your thighs shifted. The way your breath hitched when your fingertips brushed the slick fabric. You lifted your hips, peeled them down, slow, just like he asked, and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. When you tossed them to the side, Yunho’s eyes flicked down. You were bare. And dripping. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, palms spread open on his thighs like he was bracing himself. “Now…” he said quietly, gaze climbing back to yours, “show me.”
Your fingers hovered between your thighs. You could feel how wet you were, heat slick and pulsing, but when you finally moved to touch yourself, your hand slowed. Stilled. Your breath caught, and you glanced up at him, lashes fluttering like you’d been caught doing something forbidden.
“I…” you swallowed. “It’s not… silent when I….” The words came out small. Honest. Yunho froze. Not because you stopped, but because he understood. His eyes softened first. The hunger stayed, but something else layered over it now, recognition. Intention. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, voice dropping instinctively. “You need my voice,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. You nodded once, embarrassed, fingers curling into the sheets instead of touching yourself. “I can’t… I don’t finish if it’s quiet. Not when it’s you.”
Something dark and satisfied flickered behind his eyes as Yunho exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was settling into something familiar. Comfortable. The chair creaked softly beneath him as he leaned back, legs spreading just a bit wider, hands resting loosely on his thighs. “Okay,” he murmured. His voice changed, not louder, just fuller. Rich. The same cadence you knew too well. The one that slid under your skin and curled there. “Go on,” Yunho said softly. “Touch yourself.”
Your fingers trembled as they finally moved, brushing over your clit, and he watched your face like it was the only thing in the room. “That’s it,” he continued, voice smooth and coaxing. “Just like you do when you’re alone.” Your breath hitched as his words wrapped around you, warmth flooding low in your belly as your fingers pressed just a little firmer. “Good,” he murmured. “You look so pretty like this. All open for me.”
Your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the sound of him, the presence of him. “And you don’t have to be quiet,” Yunho added, voice dipping. “I already know what you sound like when you come, remember.” He watched the way your fingers circled yourself, slow and tentative at first, your hips rocking just a little as his voice filled the room. The chair creaked softly when he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the way your hand moved. “Just like that,” he murmured. “Don’t be shy now. You’re already soaked.”
Your breath hitched when his voice dipped lower, thicker, the voice. The one that always got you in the videos. Your fingers pressed a little firmer, drawing a soft sound from your throat before you could stop it and Yunho’s jaw tightened. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “Let me hear you.” You whimpered, head tipping back as your fingers slid through slick heat, your body responding instantly to the sound of him watching you. Every nerve felt lit up, tuned only to his voice.
“Good,” Yunho murmured, approval warm and steady. “You sound so good when you stop holding back.” Your thighs trembled as the moans came easier now, your hips moving in slow, needy rolls against your hand. You could feel how close you were already, how fast he was winding you up just by talking. And then his tone changed. Firm. Certain. “Put them in.” Your eyes snapped to his. “Yunho…”
“Fingers,” he clarified calmly, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “I know you do it. I’ve watched you tense every time you get close.” His gaze dropped to your hand, unblinking. “So don’t tease yourself now.” Your breath shook as you obeyed. One finger slid inside you easily, your moan breaking louder this time, back arching off the mattress. Yunho’s chest rose with a slow inhale, his voice rougher when he spoke again. “Yeah… that’s it,” he said. “You feel how wet you are? That’s all for me.”
Your hips bucked, fingers curling instinctively, and he nodded once, pleased. “Add another,” Yunho said quietly. “Go on. Fuck yourself.” The words sent a sharp pulse straight through you. Your second finger slid in, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, a broken sound tearing out of your chest as your body clenched around them. “Good girl,” Yunho murmured, voice warm with approval. “Now move them. Slow. I want to see you fall apart.”
You were gone. Completely lost in it, fingers moving without thought now, sliding in and out of you in a rhythm your body had memorized from nights alone with his voice in your ears. Wet sounds filled the room, obscene and real, your hips lifting to meet your hand every time you thrust your fingers deeper. Your moans were loud now. Unchecked. And Yunho didn’t tell you to quiet down. He stood.
The chair rolled back softly as he stepped toward you, slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. You barely registered it, too far gone, too focused on the way your body was tightening, coiling, every nerve buzzing like it was about to snap. “That’s it,” he murmured, closer now. “Just like that. Fuck yourself for me.” Your fingers curled inside you and you gasped, head falling back, chest arching as the pressure built fast and sharp. Your thighs trembled, slick heat spilling over your hand as you chased it harder, faster.
“Yunho!” his name broke out of you, breathless and wrecked. He was right there now. Standing at the edge of the bed. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him. Close enough that he could see everything as your hips bucked hard as your orgasm hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. You cried out his name again, loud and broken, fingers still buried inside you as your body clenched tight around them. A soft splash of your slick hit the sheets beneath you, spotting his bed as you came undone, back bowing, mouth open in a breathless moan that didn’t stop until the tremors finally started to fade.
Yunho watched every second of it. Your name on his lips this time, silent, but there. You sagged back against the mattress, chest heaving, fingers slipping from you as the last shudder rolled through your body. The room was thick with your breathing, the scent of sex, the undeniable proof of what you’d just done for him. Before you could even catch your breath, Yunho reached for you.
His hand closed around your wrist, firm, warm, and he lifted it slowly, eyes never leaving yours. Your fingers were still slick, trembling faintly from the aftershocks, and you sucked in a breath when he brought them to his mouth. “Look at me,” he said quietly. You did as Yunho’s lips closed around your fingers. Slow. Unhurried. He sucked them clean, tongue warm as he dragged it along your skin, eyes dark and focused on your face while he tasted you like it was something he’d been starving for. The sound was obscene, wet and intimate, and your hips twitched helplessly in response.
When he pulled your fingers from his mouth, they were clean. Shining. And then he dropped. Right there between your legs, Yunho sank to his knees at the edge of the bed. One hand pressed into the mattress beside your thigh as the other pushed gently at your hip, guiding you farther back onto the bed. “Up,” he murmured. You went willingly, breath shaky as you scooted back, palms braced behind you. Yunho followed you, crawling, slow, controlled, body close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him. He moved like he had all the time in the world, like this wasn’t about rushing to anything but about making you feel every second of it.
His mouth traced the inside of your thigh as he advanced, kisses open and warm, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. His hands spread your legs wider, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was claiming space. “You did so good for me,” he murmured against you, breath hot. “Made such a mess in my bed.” You whimpered softly as his lips hovered there, not touching yet, making you ache for it. “And now,” Yunho said quietly, lifting his head just enough for you to see his eyes, “I’m gonna take my time with you.”
His lips dragged up your inner thigh, soft and wet, just barely grazing where you needed him most before veering off again. You gasped, frustrated, aching, and Yunho just chuckled against your skin. “Thought about this too many times to count,” he murmured, trailing another open mouthed kiss higher. “How you’d taste… how you’d sound.” His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging gently into your skin like he needed to feel you open for him. His mouth hovered above your dripping core, but he didn’t go there yet.
Instead, he looked up at you. His voice was low, almost conversational, but laced with heat. “You know how it started?” You blinked down at him, dazed. “W… what?”
“The whole camboy thing,” he said, mouth brushing your thigh again, one slow kiss after another, almost reverent now. “Wasn’t some grand plan. Wasn’t even about money at first.” Your heart was pounding again. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, tongue flicking out to taste the crease of your thigh, making you twitch. “And I was jerking off so much… to the idea of you…” His mouth pressed hot against your skin. “It got to the point where I figured… if I’m gonna keep doing it, I might as well get paid for it.”
Your breath caught. “Yunho…”
His voice dropped lower, rough with truth. “I used to film the videos and think about you watching. Pretend it was your name I was saying. Your mouth I wanted.” He kissed higher, closer now, so close it made your thighs tremble. “You were always the reason.” And then he stopped talking. He looked up at you once more, and dove in. His tongue licked through your folds in one slow, devastating drag that pulled a full body shudder from you. He moaned into you like he was finally getting a fix he’d been denied too long, one hand sliding under your thigh to hook it over his shoulder as his mouth sealed over you. Warm. Wet. Unrelenting.
You cried out, head tipping back as his tongue moved in tight, practiced circles, confident, filthy, familiar. Just like his videos, but now it was real. Now it was you. And god, he ate like a man with something to prove. He groaned into you, low, guttural, like he felt your taste hit his tongue. And then he changed pace. No more slow licks. No more teasing flicks of his tongue. He thrust into you.
His mouth sealed tight as his tongue pushed inside you again and again, fucking you with wet, obscene precision. Each stroke was firm, focused, filthy. It was so much. Too much. You screamed his name as your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling, tugging instinctively, hard, and he groaned again at the feeling, the sound vibrating straight through you. He didn’t stop. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as his tongue worked deeper, faster, dragging you to the edge with ruthless rhythm. Every moan that tore out of your throat only spurred him on. Every pull of his hair made him dig in harder, like he wanted to crawl inside you.
And god, the sounds, wet, loud, echoing off the walls of his bedroom. The same room you used to watch him from a screen. The same mouth that used to whisper filth to his camera was now buried in you, giving you everything you’d only imagined as your back arched. Hips rolled. He matched your rhythm, tongue plunging into you again and again until your body was shaking, sweat damp and gasping, chasing that high with a desperation that felt like fire in your veins. “Please,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Don’t stop…. please, Yunho…”
He growled low and pulled you even closer, burying himself deeper. You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Your body was shaking, slick and soaked, fingers still tangled in Yunho’s hair as he dragged one last slow lick through your folds before lifting his head. His lips were swollen, chin wet, eyes dark and wild. Then, his hand replaced his mouth. Two fingers slipped into you, slow and smooth, and you cried out at the stretch, so familiar from your own touch, but deeper, thicker, him. Yunho watched your face closely as he eased them all the way in, curling just slightly, testing as you gasped. Your whole body twitched.
“There she is,” he murmured. His free hand gripped the hem of your hoodie. “Take this off.” You sat up just enough, dazed and pliant, arms lifting shakily as he pulled it over your head, slow, careful, like he was unwrapping something sacred. When it hit the floor, you were finally, completely bare for him. Yunho froze for a beat. Just looking. Like he’d imagined this moment a thousand times and reality still hit harder. Then he moved, climbed over you slowly, fingers still deep inside you, and brought his mouth to your chest.
His lips wrapped around your nipple without a word, tongue flicking once before sucking hard, and at the same moment, his fingers thrust into you, deep and slow. You moaned, arching into him, overwhelmed by the way he filled your body and claimed your skin all at once. His pace picked up. Still not fast. Just firm. Steady. Confident. Each pump of his fingers was matched with a kiss to your breast, tongue circling, teeth grazing, his breath warm against your skin as you moaned his name again and again, legs falling wider, hands clutching at his shoulders now, needing something to hold on to.
“You feel so good,” Yunho muttered between kisses, voice rough against your chest. “You don’t even know.” You were too far gone to answer. You just spread your legs farther and took it. You couldn’t think. Not with Yunho’s fingers pumping into you like that, deep and deliberate, curling just right with every thrust, hitting the spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl. Your body was stretched beneath him, flushed and bare, thighs trembling as he hovered over you, lips trailing wet kisses across your chest while his hand worked between your legs with merciless rhythm.
Every time his fingers curled, you whimpered. Every time his mouth sucked at your breast, you shook. “Yunho… fuck, I…..” He looked up at you through his lashes, lips slick, eyes dark with heat. “You close, baby?” he murmured, voice low and knowing. “You gonna come all over my fingers?” You nodded, desperate, breathless, your hands fisting the sheets now as your hips rocked up into his touch without control and his pace quickened. Not fast, just harder. More pressure. His palm dragged against your clit now with every thrust, slick sounds filling the room, echoing with every needy moan you couldn’t hold back.
“Let it happen,” he whispered, mouth against your nipple again, sucking hard as he thrust deep once, twice….. And you broke. Your back arched off the bed with a strangled cry as your orgasm hit violently, your whole body clenching around his fingers. You screamed his name, loud, wrecked, and then shuddered, legs spasming uncontrollably. A sudden splash of wetness burst out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, the sheets beneath as you squirted, shaking, twitching, thighs locking around his arm as he kept fucking you through it.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide, watching you lose it completely. You couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t stop panting. Your hips jerked one more time, slick still dripping down the inside of your thigh, and Yunho slowly, finally, eased his fingers out of you—soaked, and stared at the mess you made on his hand. And then at you. Utterly ruined. Chest heaving. Mouth parted. Still shaking. “Goddamn,” he whispered. “You came so hard for me.”
Yunho didn’t even give you time to catch your breath. The second your orgasm began to fade, he was right back on you, dropping between your thighs like a man starved, his mouth locking onto your soaked cunt with a groan that vibrated against your sensitive skin. You gasped, legs twitching, back arching, as he sucked your clit into his mouth again, tongue dragging through your slick like he couldn’t get enough. “Yunho… fuck, please….” you whimpered, thighs trembling as the overstimulation lit your nerves on fire.
But he loved it. Loved how sensitive you were. How you twitched under his mouth. How your body tried to pull away even as your hands tangled in his hair, dragging him closer. He ate you like he was trying to memorize the taste. When you were gasping his name again, legs falling open wider, breath catching on every ragged moan, he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, pupils blown wide. And then he started kissing his way up.
Slow, open mouthed kisses at your hips. Your belly. Your ribs. One long drag of his tongue up your sternum. His hands framing your waist like he couldn’t let go even if he tried. By the time he reached your lips, your fingers were already tugging at his shirt, gripping the hem, dragging it up, needing him out of it. “Take it off,” you breathed against his mouth. “I want you naked too.” Yunho smiled, low, lazy, dangerous. “Yeah?” he whispered, sitting back on his knees between your thighs. “You want the whole show now?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your hands were already fisting the fabric, pulling his shirt higher until he yanked it over his head and tossed it somewhere behind him, revealing all that golden skin, flexed muscle, and fuck, that perfect line down his torso that led to everything you wanted next. He was gorgeous. And he was all yours.Yunho didn’t even get the chance to smirk again before you were on him, hands tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants with zero patience left in your system. “Off,” you demanded, voice thick with heat, pupils blown wide as you shoved at the soft fabric like it personally offended you.
He laughed, low and rough, but lifted his hips, helping you drag the pants down over his thighs. The second they were off, they hit the floor with a soft thud, his boxers quickly following. And then you saw him. Not through a screen. Not with a grainy filter or a chat window popping up. No camera angles, no distance, no delay. Just him. Thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach, already leaking at the tip. Gorgeous in a way that made your mouth water and your thighs press together instinctively. You swallowed hard. “Fuck…”
Your hand wrapped around him before either of you could blink, fingers curling, wrist twisting a little as you gave the first slow stroke. His breath caught, abs flexing as his hands fisted the sheets beside you as you pumped him again, slower this time. Eyes locked on his face just to watch it change. “Is this how you do it?” you teased, voice a little breathless, a little smug. “When you think about me with no camera?” Yunho’s jaw clenched, a sharp inhale through his nose. “No,” he growled, eyes dark. “This is better.”
He was perfect like this. Wild and barely holding back, his hips twitching into your fist, his entire body tense under the weight of your touch. And you were smiling now, hungry. Powerful. In control for just a second. But you knew it wouldn’t last. Not with the way he was looking at you now. Like you’d lit a fuse. You didn’t say another word. You just moved, laying yourself down on your stomach right at the edge of the bed, arms folded beneath you as you rested your cheek for a second. Eye level with him. With all of him.
Yunho stood there like a goddamn fever dream, sweatpants kicked off and forgotten, one hand wrapped tight around his dick, jaw slack like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His voice cracked when he whispered, “Holy fuck…” You tilted your chin up, locking eyes with him. Your mouth opened, slow, teasing, and your tongue slipped out, wet and ready, a silent invitation. And Yunho… he twitched in his grip. Like his entire body was trying to process the fact that this wasn’t a dream. That you, the girl he used to jerk off to almost every night, the reason he even started that whole camboy thing in the first place, were really here, mouth open and waiting for him like some unholy prayer.
“Don’t play with me,” he growled, voice low, dangerous. “I’m not,” you whispered, lips brushing the tip as you spoke and he groaned. Then with a tight inhale, Yunho let go of everything holding him back. His hand gripped the base of his dick, guiding it forward until the head tapped against your tongue once… twice… slow and heavy, precum slick and warm as he watched you like you were a miracle he still didn’t believe. “You have no fucking idea,” he rasped, hips flexing just enough to rub himself over your tongue again, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
You moaned softly, the sound vibrating against him as you wrapped your lips around the tip and Yunho’s head fell back, a broken laugh escaping him, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “After all these years,” he muttered, voice shaking as he looked back down at you. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last.” You took your time, because you wanted to watch him fall apart. You dragged your tongue along the underside of him, slow and purposeful, just to hear the broken sound Yunho made in response. He gripped the sheets with one hand now, knuckles white, the other still fisted tight around his base until you nudged it away and replaced it with your mouth.
You were warm and wet and so fucking eager. “Fuck…” he hissed, his thighs twitching as you sank down slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat and your eyes watered. You pulled off with a wet pop and a smile, licking him again before diving back in, this time bobbing your head in a slow rhythm that had his hips jerking despite himself. Yunho’s fingers tangled in your hair, jaw clenched as he looked down at you. “Don’t tease,” he warned, but it was already too late, you were moaning around him now, swallowing him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting spit drip down your chin and onto the sheets below. Your hand gripped the base, twisting and stroking in sync with your mouth, and Yunho’s chest rose and fell like he was fighting for air.
And then he snapped. “Shit…fuck, baby,” he growled, pulling your head down and thrusting up into your mouth, slow at first… then harder. Your eyes fluttered closed, throat stretching around him as you let him fuck your mouth the way he’d always imagined. His voice was ruined, ragged, desperate, each groan making you wetter than you already were, your thighs clenched together as he used your mouth and throat like it was his personal fantasy come true. But just when his hips started to stutter, when his hand tightened and you heard him pant, “Gonna come… fuck I’m gonna…..”
He pulled out. Chest heaving, dick flushed and slick, twitching from how close he’d gotten. “Not like that,” he growled, voice dark and breathless. “Not in your mouth. Not the first time.” He looked like he was seconds from losing it as he reached down, grabbing you under your arms and pulling you up against him, mouth crashing into yours like he couldn’t stand another second without the taste. His kiss was hungry, almost dizzying, but you didn’t let him keep it for long.
You shoved him back. His eyes widened, breath catching as you pushed him down onto the mattress, your thighs straddling his waist like you owned him. “Wait…” he started, voice rough but you silenced him with a look, wrapping your hand slowly around his throat, that cross chain necklace he always wore getting stuck under your grip. Yunho’s head tipped back, jaw flexing, lips parting. His hands gripped your hips but didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Let me,” you whispered. “I want to feel all of it.”
You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already slick and ready for him. And god, he was big, you’d felt it in your mouth, seen it on screen a hundred times, but nothing compared to the stretch as you finally sank down onto him. Inch by slow, gasping inch. “Fuuuck…” you moaned, head tipping back, nails digging into his chest as your thighs trembled. Yunho’s eyes were blown wide, staring up at you like he couldn’t believe this was real. His hands moved to grip your waist, grounding himself, but he didn’t take back control. Not yet. Because you were still in charge, and you were finally getting what you wanted.
You started slow. Rocking your hips in a rhythm that was almost cruel with how good it felt. The stretch of him inside you was dizzying, so full it bordered on too much, and yet you couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open as you found your pace, your other hand bracing against his chest while the one still around his throat tightened. Yunho’s reaction was instant. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered. A groan rolled out from deep in his chest, fuck, that sound. You watched it ripple through him like you’d lit a fuse.
“You like that?” you asked, breathless but smug, hips beginning to move a little faster, a little rougher. “You like being choked?” His lips parted, but no words came out. Just a gasp, shaky, wrecked as you pressed down, just enough pressure to make him feel it. “Didn’t expect that, huh?” you teased, your grin feral now as you bounced harder, his dick hitting deeper, dragging moans out of both of you. Yunho’s hands flew to your hips, gripping so tight you knew there’d be bruises. Not to stop you. Just to survive you.
His eyes locked on yours, throat working beneath your hand, and when you tightened your grip again, just for a moment, his whole body shuddered beneath you. “Shit..” he gasped, voice breaking, “you’re gonna make me come like this.” You grinned. “Not yet.” He growled at your words and the second he started thrusting up into you, everything shattered.
Your hand was still at his throat when his hips slammed into yours, hard and fast, and suddenly you couldn’t tell who was in control anymore. The rhythm broke apart, all fluid heat and sharp pleasure, both of you crying out as it hit, that overwhelming rush, his name torn from your throat as you came around him, your whole body clenching, trembling. Yunho followed with a guttural moan, the kind of sound that lived rent free in your spine. He buried himself as deep as he could, holding you down on him while he spilled inside, your bodies shaking from the high. But he didn’t let you go. Didn’t even give you a second.
You barely caught your breath before he was grabbing your waist, flipping you over, pressing you flat against the mattress. Your cheek hit the sheets, lungs still struggling to catch up, and then you felt his mouth, God, his mouth was on your back. Warm, slow kisses up your spine. Tongue flicking over sweat damp skin. You whimpered, hips twitching, already sensitive, already raw. “Still with me?” he rasped against your skin, voice wrecked and low. You nodded weakly. “Good.” He held you down with one hand, spreading you open with the other. You gasped when you felt him slide between your thighs again, thick and still hard, nudging against your entrance, already soaked, already pulsing for him. And then he pushed in. Slow. So goddamn slow it hurt. A different kind of ache. One that made your eyes roll back.
You whimpered, fisting the sheets. “Yunho…”
“I know,” he groaned, breath hot against your shoulder. “I know, baby. I’m right here.” Each thrust was deep and deliberate, dragging along every nerve ending like he was trying to memorize the way you felt from the inside out. Overstimulated, every sound from you was wrecked now, broken gasps, whispered curses, his name like a chant. Your whole body trembled beneath him. And Yunho held you there, grounding you with his weight, his voice, his touch, fucking you slow and deep like he had all night, like the first time wasn’t enough. Because it wasn’t.
Your body trembled beneath him, your moans broke apart into soft sobs of overstimulation. He held you there, one hand gripping your waist, the other tracing up your spine as he stayed buried inside you, deep and slow, savoring every inch, every sound you made. He kissed at your shoulders, your neck, your temple, whispering soft, ragged things between thrusts. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said again, voice strained now, thick with emotion and want. “For so long.” You gasped, turning your face into the sheets, but he wasn’t done. “I was the one who slashed your ex’s tires,” he murmured against your skin, laughing breathlessly. “When he cheated on you. That night…. you were crying in my room, and all I could think about was how you deserved so much more. I couldn’t touch you. But I wanted to. I wanted to so fucking bad.”
His hips rolled deeper, slower, as he kissed your shoulder again. “You have no idea how hard it was. Watching you date losers, watching you walk around this apartment in those tiny shorts, thinking you were just my best friend…” You whined, and his fingers gripped your hips tighter. “but I wanted you like this. Just like this.” He moved harder now, still keeping that deep, rhythm, each thrust driving into you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out as you clawed at the sheets, body trembling, mouth open but no sound coming out.
Yunho leaned over you again, chest flush against your back, lips dragging along your cheek as he whispered, “I think I’ve been ruined for anyone else.” Then he kissed you, soft, desperate, a little messy, and you reached back blindly, grabbing at his thigh as he picked up pace. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, and your breath caught when he angled just right, dragging another sob of pleasure from your throat. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice breaking now. “You hear me? Mine.”
And you nodded, barely coherent, “Yours… Yunho….. please… don’t stop!”
“Not stopping,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not letting you go.” He stilled mid thrust. The sound you made, raw and aching, cut straight through the haze in his mind. And then you said it. “Stop.” Yunho froze like you’d struck him, his chest heaving against your back, every muscle in his body going tight. He immediately pulled up, eyes searching your face with panic flickering behind them because you had just told him to not stop and now…. “Did I… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You twisted to look over your shoulder, breathless, lips parted. “I just… I need to see you.” For a second, he didn’t move. Then realization hit like a punch to the chest, and the worry in his expression cracked open into something softer, something vulnerable. He nodded once, like he understood in his bones, and slowly pulled out of you with a hiss, guiding your hips gently as you shifted beneath him. You rolled over onto your back, your chest rising and falling, and Yunho was already leaning over you, brushing damp hair from your face, eyes flicking over you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. You reached for him, hands curling around his shoulders, your thighs parting instinctively as he settled between them.
And when you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, he groaned low in his throat, like just being this close, face to face, was almost too much. “Please,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I want to see you when you come.” He kissed you, slow and deep, like a vow, and then he sank back into you, both of you gasping at the contact. His forehead dropped to yours. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I love you.” Your legs tightened around him, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, and his hips started to move again, slow, deep strokes that made your eyes flutter shut.
“Keep them open,” he murmured, breath shaky against your mouth. “Look at me. I want to see you too.” You did. And the moment your eyes met his again, something shifted, something cracked. There was nothing frantic now, nothing rushed. Just Yunho, bare, undone, looking at you like you were everything he’d ever wanted. Every thrust was deeper, more reverent, his hands cupping your face, brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs as you fell apart all over again beneath him. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Like you were something he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to ruin.
Still buried deep inside you, his rhythm slowed to a languid, teasing grind, the kind of pace that drove you wild because it gave you too much time to feel. Every inch, every brush of skin, every shaky breath against your mouth. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms pulling him closer like you wanted to disappear into him. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp strands of hair brushing your cheek, and his voice was low as he whispered, “You’re all I want.” His hips rolled forward again, deep and slow, the stretch still delicious, still overwhelming. You gasped, back arching, and he caught your moan with a kiss, swallowing it down like it belonged to him.
“Look at me,” he breathed, when your eyes started to flutter shut. You did. God, you did. And it was that look, his gaze locked on yours, pupils blown, jaw clenched, love written all over his face, that undid you. Your hands fisted in his hair, your thighs trembling as you broke with a sharp, cracked gasp, “I love you.” The words fell out before you could stop them. Raw and real and so damn true it hurt. Yunho’s entire body jolted like the words had struck him, and then he was kissing you again, desperate, trembling, his pace finally faltering as your release pulled him under. His groan vibrated into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep one last time, chasing the high you gave him.
He came with a low, broken sound that only you would ever hear, forehead pressed to yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like if he let go, he’d fall apart completely. And maybe he already had. Because once the haze started to clear, and he was still inside you, still holding you like a lifeline, he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you. Then whispered, “Say it again.”
You were breathless, hands playing with his hair now. “I love you.” And he buried his face into the crook of your neck before saying. “You think any of those moms of your students are fans?”
You rolled your eyes, shoving him with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous!”
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Wooyoung was tipsy. Not drunk drunk, but tipsy enough that his phone felt heavier in his hand and his judgment had clocked out for the night. He was sprawled on his couch, one sock missing, a half finished drink sweating on the coffee table beside him.
He didn’t mean to open Yunho’s page. Okay, lie. He absolutely meant to open it. He’d seen the videos before. Hell, he was the reason you had seen them in the first place. He knew the username. Knew the vibe. Knew the way Yunho used lighting like a weapon and his voice like a loaded gun. It was old news.
Except… There it was.
Newest upload. Posted less than an hour ago. Wooyoung squinted. “Oh?” He tapped it. The video loaded, and the first thing that hit him was the framing.
Different. Yunho wasn’t hiding his face. No shadow. No strategic angle. No cropped jawline or lips only tease. Yunho was fully visible, hair messy, expression lazy and wrecked.
Wooyoung’s grin froze. “Wait.” He leaned closer, blinking hard. Yunho’s face was relaxed. Smiling. Not at the camera. At someone just out of frame. The camera angle shifted slightly, and that’s when Wooyoung noticed it. A girl. Her face was out of frame, just below Yunho’s chest. Hair familiar. Hands familiar with that little thumb ring you always wore.
The girl never looked at the camera. Never broke the illusion. But Yunho did. He looked down at her with that soft, stupid smile Wooyoung had only ever seen him wear around one person. And then Yunho spoke. Low. Fond. Unmistakably real. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice warm and wrecked. “You’re doing so good.”
Wooyoung bolted upright. “OH MY GOD…… DID THEY JUST SOFT LAUNCH ON ONLYFANS?!”
