[minkieater]

gratitude & blame go hand-in-hand for jung wooyoung

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au series, part 13/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 6.6k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is an angel sent from heaven above

WOOYOUNG SLEPT. And slept, and slept, and fucking slept. It felt like the blink of an eye, leaving the Penny, collapsing in his bed still covered in clothes, waking up the next morning too exhausted to go to the gym. Even after hours of uninterrupted sleep he felt unrested, like he could sleep for twelve more. 

He stayed awake for an hour, scrolling on his phone, opening and closing different social media platforms until his eyes started drifting closed again. He dreamt— he dreamt of something funny, something so funny he couldn’t breathe, clutching his stomach and choking on his spit. He dreamt of you, you laughed with him, tears streaming down your cheeks because neither of you could stop. 

Sleep was no longer comforting, no longer safe. He jolted awake, pushing himself off the mattress, he started hanging his clothes back up half-asleep, body moving on auto pilot. Something to do with his hands. 

He hears it, hands going still, spine rigid. Your laugh, all the way downstairs on the main floor, in the kitchen or the living room. It swims up through the vents, it sneaks under his door, it surrounds him and he’s drowning in it and he doesn’t understand why his life keeps boiling down to you you you. 

He stands there, staring into nothing, listening. Trying to see if he can map out any words, if he can hear the conversation downstairs, who and what has you sounding so bright. Fuck that. He showers, just for noise. Then he puts his headphones on, drowns himself in assignments instead just to keep his brain busy. Then when he feels like it’s been long enough–hopefully now the house is empty–he finally goes downstairs. 

Voices get louder with every step down the stairs, two. Four. He looks in the living room first, Hongjoong and Seonghwa sitting on the couch, laptops open, arguing about an assignment. Something they’re doing together. In the kitchen is Yunjin and San, giggling while mixing something in a bright orange bowl together, but they both stop laughing as soon as they see him. 

Yunjin starts, “Damn–”

San finishes, “Did someone die? Why do you look like shit?”

Wooyoung doesn’t change his expression, just a flat, blank stare. He gruffs out, “I didn’t sleep well.” 

“Clearly,” San huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he keeps mixing whatever’s in the bowl. 

“Is there a reason why?” Yunjin leaves the bowl to San, leaning her elbows onto the counter, slyly lifting her features. 

“No,” Wooyoung answers instinctively, defensively. He can feel her look, it’s hinting at something he doesn’t want to fucking hear. “I have a heavy workload right now.”

“Right,” Yunjin gives him a slow nod. “Assignments.”

San’s eyes peek upward from beneath his brows, glancing back and forth between Wooyoung and Yunjin. “What am I missing?”

Wooyoung moves for the cabinets, searching for the blender so he can make a protein shake; he needs something to do other than stand there and be fucking victim to Yunjin’s knowing eyes. The two of them didn’t even see him at the Penny last night. 

“Nothing,” she assures San, sticking her finger in the bowl, licking her finger. If he wasn’t so fucking hungry he’d leave the kitchen, instead he throws the blender on the counter and begins his hunt for ingredients. 

“Don’t eat the batter, Jen,” San hisses, tugging the bowl away from her. “Oh my god, you’re actually gonna eat it all.” 

“No I’m not!” she argues, leaning toward where he pulled it away. “One more. One more. Please?” 

San sighs, sliding the bowl toward her. Giddy as hell, she sticks her finger in again, licking it off. Wooyoung watches it all out of the corner of his eye, hoping they stay distracted. 

Of course not. Yunjin, that same sly grin painted on her cheeks again, turns toward Wooyoung. “So… What do you think about Yunho and my sweet baby angel being non-exclusive?” 

San picks his head up, immediately cutting it toward Wooyoung, brows tied together. 

He wants to sigh. He shrugs instead. “Good for them?” 

Yunjin’s eyes flare with amusement, grin growing wider. “You think so? I mean, she’s never been in that kind of relationship before, this is all pretty new for her.” 

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches as he shoves shit into the blender. “Again, good for her. I’m sure she’ll have a great time.” 

Yunjin’s grin turns borderline devilish. “She seemed to have a great time with Jihyo.”

Wooyoung slams the lid onto the blender harder than intended and slams his finger on the button. That was a little more intentional. He doesn’t dare look at Yunjin, but he can hear her giggling. 

“What am I missing?” San asks again, louder so Wooyoung can hear over the whirling of the blender. “I feel left out. Include me. Address me.” 

Wooyoung crosses his arms, leaning into the opposite side of the counter, and lets it run. San slides over, pressing the stop button, then puts his hands on his hips as he turns to Wooyoung. He doesn’t say anything, but his brows sit high. 

“Ask Jen,” Wooyoung points all five fingers toward Yunjin. “She’s the one who won’t just say what she wants to fucking say.” 

Yunjin sighs, defeated like he’s ruining her fucking joke or something. “Fine,” she stands a little straighter, bracing both hands on the counter behind her. “I wanted to know if that’s why you look so sad. Jihyo… Yunho.” 

“Why would that make him sad?” San asks, at the same time as Wooyoung asks, “Why would that make me sad?”

Yunjin blinks at San, then furrows her brows when she looks at Wooyoung. “Do you tell him anything?” 

Wooyoung pushes off the counter, “What did she tell you?”

“So there are things I don’t know,” San interjects, offended. “Why am I out of the fucking loop? One of you has about four seconds to fill me in on everything I don’t know.” Yunjin’s mouth doesn’t move, Wooyoung couldn’t speak if he tried. He wouldn’t know where to start. San’s eyes narrow as they bounce back and forth between him and Yunjin. “I’m trying really hard not to be hurt right now, someone tell me something for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not sad,” Wooyoung finally answers, crossing his arms over his chest again. “She can fuck the whole campus for all I care, I’ve done it already.”

“But she didn’t fuck you,” Yunjin says plainly, then her lips scrunch like she regrets the way it came out. Wooyoung stiffens as the words sink in, cutting through his defense like a fucking blade. Quickly, she adds, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Wooyoung can see San’s jaw slowly drop from the corner of his eye, and he feels like time has frozen for just a second as clarity cuts him wide open, his emotions showing in his wounded expression. It stings and he doesn’t fucking know why, her words sit heavy on his chest, they tie a knot at the base of his spine. His fists clench at his sides.

“Wooyoung,” Yunjin says carefully, her voice soft, another apology in the form of his name. 

He doesn’t know what to say. How to defend himself. All he can do is shake his head, “It’s fine.” 

He turns to the blender, pushes the button lighter this time. The loud noise it makes when it comes to life sounds a lot like the whirring in his mind. His bones feel heavy, his chest twists, his mouth runs dry. What the fuck is going on in his body?

Yunjin doesn’t press him any more, thankfully. San’s eyes are on alert, like the moment Wooyoung steps out of the kitchen he’s going to ask her for every detail imaginable. Fine. Wooyoung doesn’t care if he knows, but he wonders… he wonders what she’ll say. What you told her. 

He leaves the kitchen after pouring his shake into a cup, dragging his heavy bones back up to his bedroom. He barely drinks it, he showers again to wash the feeling off his skin, but he can’t scrub it off. His noise-cancelling headphones can’t even drown out his loud fucking brain. He can’t escape when he’s sleeping, he can’t escape when he’s fucking awake, he cannot live like this. 

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been in his room until he looks at the time at the top of his phone screen. He doesn’t even remember choosing to lay down on his bed again. He isn’t one to doomscroll for hours on the regular, but one video turned into another, and he supposes he needs the stupid videos today, because for the first time in hours, his brain feels quiet again. He stretches when he gets out of bed, grabbing his gym bag before dragging his body down the stairs. 

He grabs a banana from the kitchen island before walking out to the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees Yunho and Mingi cuddled up on the couch, watching TV. Yunho’s laying halfway across Mingi, so comfortable, so normal it makes his stomach heavy. The two together isn’t surprising at all, but he can’t wrap his mind around how you went from someone who only allowed herself committed relationships to someone who’s okay with… this. Are you even fucking okay with it? Why didn’t you tell him? Isn’t he the person you come to for shit like this?

Mingi notices him first, eyeing him over the back of the couch, his dark hair unstyled and shaggy. “You headed to the gym?” 

Yunho’s head perks up as Wooyoung forces his voice into calmness, “Yeah. They close soon, want to run a little.”

“Run outside,” Mingi mutters, bringing his attention back to the TV. 

“Wait, that’s perfect, we’re all going over to Yunjin’s in a little.” Wooyoung can hear the stretch in Yunho’s voice, how his body is turned almost all the way around, blonde hair raggedy like Mingi was pulling on it. He wonders if you’d notice if you saw it. “Can you drive my sunshine girl home? You can come if you want.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Wooyoung doesn’t miss a beat replying. Then he quirks a brow, “Her car isn’t fixed yet? Have you been driving her everywhere like her personal chauffeur?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Yunho gruffs out. “Yes or no?”

His chest feels tight all fucking over again. “You don’t want to?” 

“It just makes more sense,” Yunho looks confused, like the answer is obvious. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches. “No,” he shakes his head, his body feels so fucking weird. “Yeah, I can take her. It’s fine.” 

“Thanks,” Yunho grins. “We’ll miss you later.” 

“You’ll be fine without me,” Wooyoung says through a breath before leaving through the front door.

Music plays full-blast through his car speakers. He doesn’t understand what the fuck happened in the time span of like, three fucking days. Three fucking days. You looked like you meant it, that night when you were a few inches away from where he’s sitting now, looking in his eye and telling him you want him. What did you want, then? Did you just want to kiss him? Did you just want to fuck him?

Why the fuck does that bother him so much? Why is he losing his goddamn mind?

His gut is still wrenching as he rips open the door to the gym. His palms feel sweaty against the metal handle, electricity in his fingertips, even his breathing is a little shallow. It’s instinct, taking two steps inside, his gaze darting to the counter. There’s a tall man with dark hair standing at the counter, leaning into it too casually, and just behind it he catches the tail end of you dropping to the floor, your hair moving a millisecond behind your body. 

“You’re kidding,” he whispers, fully under his breath. Did you just fucking duck? Are you hiding from him? Are you actually fucking joking?

You’ve worked at this gym for an entire year. A whole fucking year. And never once has Choi Soobin walked through the jingling doors, dressed in sweats and a tee like he belongs here or something. 

You haven’t seen him since that night in his condo when you walked in on Yeonjun and Beomgyu. But he looks the same, of course he does, mousey face, knowing eyes like secrets exist just for him to fucking find them out. The sight of him makes your blood boil, jaw clenching, eyes slanting like you could blow him up with your fucking mind.

You speak as soon as he’s close enough to hear. “The fuck are you doing here?”

It invokes a sly grin immediately. “I thought I’d come get a membership. It’s not expensive, right?”

You step back when he leans his elbows over the counter, peeking over it to see what’s behind. You hiss, “You’ve never worked out a day in your life, Soobin.”

“Maybe I want to start.” When he looks back up at you, a chill runs down your spine. “Sell me one. Do you make a commission?”

“No,” you answer, voice venomous. “It’s a commercial gym.”

“Damn,” he tugs his lips to one side, maybe pouty. “I wanted to make your paycheck a little fatter.”

“What are you doing here, Soobin?” You cross your arms over your chest, jaw tight. “If you’re here to watch another unveiling of a cheating scandal, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not dating anyone.”

“No?” His head tilts, a snarky smile stretching his lips thin. “Not even zip-tie Yunho?”

“We’re not exclusive,” you snap. “What does it matter to you?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice,” he pushes off the counter to stand up straight, shrugging. You can feel his height, head tilting upward to hold his eye. “Your real voice.” Your brows furrow, head tilting, ready to ask what the fuck he means, but he cuts off your thoughts. “Since when are you into non-committal shit, anyway?”

“Since now,” you answer, then your body does a full, disgusted shiver as his words sink in. “You wanted to hear my voice? Are you hitting on me, you fucking douchebag?”

He smirks, a small laugh tumbling off his tongue. “No, I’m not hitting on you. What made you switch sides? I heard a whisper about you and Park Jihyo.”

Your face warps into even more confusion. “Who did you hear that from?”

“It’s a small campus,” he shrugs. “I know lots of people.”

Now you’re just irritated. “Why the fuck do you even care? You’re like, speaking in fucking tongues, Soobin, spit it the fuck out.”

Soobin opens his mouth just as the front door jingles, and you catch the slightest glimpse of golden skin and black hair before your knees fold. Your heart drops to your ass, then your ass drops to the fucking floor. You’ve been wondering when you were going to see him since he rejected you in his car, but god, you could have had more time. You could have at least figured out what you’re going to say before you saw him.

Soobin’s head peeks over the counter, brows furrowed but eyes amused. “Are you good?”

“Go,” you whisper-yell, shooing him off with one hand. “Get the fuck away!”

Then Wooyoung’s head leans over the counter right beside his. He pops a brow, head tilting like a fucking dog, “Virgin?”

You force a smile, an awkward one at best. “I dropped something,” you blurt, then look beneath you at the spotless floor. You lean forward, praying to god your knees cover you grabbing whatever the fuck you can get your hands on from the bottom shelf. Holding it up, you pray to god it is what you think it is as you try to back yourself up, “A stapler. See?”

“That’s tape,” Soobin corrects you. 

You wince as you look at the tape dispenser. You stand back up too quickly, ignoring how your head goes light as you plaster a smile back on your face, “That’s what I meant. Tape.”

The corner of Wooyoung’s mouth lifts in a grin. “And what are you taping?”

You look around the desk that you’ve already cleaned twice, you can’t bullshit your way out of this. Instead you sigh, defeated, “Your mouth fucking shut.”

Wooyoung’s head turns to hide his laugh while Soobin’s eyes bounce back and forth between you. His lips scrunch like he’s figured something else out, and he taps one hand against the counter in farewell. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Never, please,” you shout in his direction as he turns on his heel, heading for the front doors again.

The jingle announcing his departure feels louder than usual. Your jaw clenches before you run both hands through your hair, pushing a long, heavy breath through your lips. Wooyoung is still present, hand resting on the strap of his gym bag, looking amused as fuck. 

“Oh, what?” you huff, irritated. “Is it annoy-me day? Is everyone gathering here just to bother me?”

His smirk grows. “You ducked.”

You push your shoulders back. “I did not duck.”

“You fucking ducked,” Wooyoung repeats, his laughter following. “You hid from me, you ducked. Why’d you duck, Virgin? Don’t wanna see me?”

“I dropped the tape!” your pitch raises, picking up the tape dispenser again. It’s a bullshit lie and you both know it, but it just makes Wooyoung laugh harder. “Oh, fuck right off. Go fucking run, you asshole.”

He’s still laughing as he turns away, he gives you a little wave over his shoulder, too. When he’s out of earshot you turn around, groaning, running your hands over your face like a child who’s about to throw a goddamn tantrum. Great. Now you have to get a new fucking job, far away enough that nobody will recognize you.

What’s worse is that you still have to do your job, the actual shit that’s left for your shift. Why is he here so fucking late anyway? He usually comes at least an hour before close, not thirty minutes. Your eyes betray you, eyes following him to the treadmills, watching as he puts his headphones on, starts the machine. You internally groan again knowing that you have to go over there, wipe down the machines, re-rack the weights on the Smith machines that are in perfect eye view from the treadmills. You feel sick. 

Don’t wanna see me? The jab lingers, even if it wasn’t really a jab. You do want to see him, you want to tell him about Yunho, you want to tell him about Jihyo. You want to hear what he thinks about it, if he agrees that it’s right for you. Your stomach twists when you realize you care more than you should about his goddamn opinion. 

You also want to know if you still want him. If he’d still reject you, with Yunho no longer an obstacle. 

Your cheeks heat up as you grab your cleaning supplies and head toward the machines. It’s muscle memory at this point, you try to let yourself breathe with the music playing from the speakers, the air conditioning doesn’t help dry the sweat forming at the base of your spine, nor does it cool you off. You swear you can feel him, his eyes on you, his presence is enough to distract you, to make you clean the same machine twice. 

“Was this one extra sweaty or something?” 

You yelp, jumping back a step. With all the mirrors in this fucking building, you should have seen him coming. His gray tank is drenched in sweat, a sheen laying over his bronzy, golden skin. His dark hair is pulled back, the strands hanging in the front heavy and full of moisture, his face glimmering. 

“Yes,” you answer quickly, turning away from him to the next machine. He pulls his bag farther over his shoulder, following you. You glance behind, coming to a stop, and he stops when you stop. “Do you need something?” 

His head tilts, like he’s thinking on it. But instead his bottom lip folds over as he shakes his head, shrugging. “I’ll be in the car, but don’t take too long. Gas is expensive.”

“Huh?” You verbalize your confusion. He’ll be in the car? Don't take too long? Yunho is supposed to be taking you home. To your home. His idea. His plan. 

Wooyoung doesn’t answer, instead he leaves the gym, and lets you put the pieces together yourself. You groan out in frustration after you hear the jingle over the front doors, nerves prickling at your scalp. How can you comfortably be around the person who’s slept with every single person on campus, but rejected you? 

Circumstances aside, that night was fucking humiliating. You haven’t been able to sit in the feeling since another can of worms was opened the moment you walked through the door to your apartment. Wooyoung rejected you. You told him you wanted him, and he said no. 

You take longer re-racking weights, cleaning mirrors, making sure the desk was organized for the opener tomorrow. Knowing he’s waiting just outside the doors makes your body move even slower, like if you made him wait long enough, he might leave. Then you don’t need to face the aftermath at all. Even if there’s things you want to say, things you want to ask, just to hear what he might respond. Like your body is split in two, you tug on the door handle after locking up the gym a third time, wishing your key would break in the door or something just to delay the inevitable further. 

He's there, in his blacked out sports car, engine running, LED lights brighter than the stage of a fucking rave. It feels like you’re walking to your demise, heartbeat picking up in your chest, moisture forming on your palms. 

At least the passenger side door is unlocked this time, opening as soon as you tug on the handle. He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, snapping as soon as you unfold in the passenger seat, “Were you in there trying to move machines by yourself or something? What the fuck took you so long?” 

“I’m sorry!” you immediately blurt, barely looking at him as you clip your seatbelt on. “I had to clean. Plus, I thought Yunho was picking me up.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he mutters, pulling the gear into reverse. “I hate it when you apologize, it’s like you’re speaking another language or something.”

You can smell the sweat on him, not a bad scent; it’s salty, human. Him. “Whatever,” you look out the window, not seeing anything as you pull out onto the main road. “Why are you taking me instead of Yunho?” 

“He asked me,” Wooyoung responds casually. Your jaw clenches, lips scrunching, nails picking at pilled fabric on your jeans. Yunho asked him. 

A minute goes by, and the silence feels awkward. You don’t think there’s ever been awkwardness between you and Wooyoung from the day you met. It makes you feel fucking weird, your stomach flipping, your body fidgeting with each second that goes by. 

“So,” he breaks it, and it takes you by surprise. When you look at him, his head is leaning towards you. “Since when do you like girls?”

Your cheeks heat up, heart beating even faster in your chest now. “How do you know?” you ask, the first words that come to mind. 

“You were making out with a girl at the Penny,” he says like it’s obvious. “Everyone that was at the Penny knows.” 

“You were there?” you ask again, facing him now, brows furrowed. “I didn’t even see you.” 

“I didn’t stay long,” he brushes you off. “Answer.” 

“Always,” you shrug, trying to feign casualty.

He pushes a breath through his lips like he’s choosing his next words carefully, or deciding whether or not he wants to say them. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Yunho aren’t exclusive anymore?”

Fuck. Your cheeks heat again, gut swirling with too many emotions to pinpoint which one makes your skin erupt with pins and needles. “I–” you start, then cut yourself off. Why does he fucking know so much? “I was going to.” 

“When?” he presses further, looking at you from his periphery. “You didn’t really seem eager to let me know at the Penny.” 

“I didn’t know you were there,” you defend yourself, but why the fuck are you even defending yourself? What is there to defend? “Why do I owe you an explanation?” 

“You don’t,” he answers with an attitude, short and clipped. “I just wanted to know.” 

Your eyes narrow, like you might see through his wall of ebony hair, straight into his mind. “Why did you want me to tell you, then?”

“Because you’ve come to me with all your other bullshit relationship problems,” he lifts his hand off the gearstick to shoot an open faced palm in your direction. “Excuse me for assuming that might be another one.”

You sigh, or try to, it comes out as a short breath of irritation. Your arms cross. “Why did you agree to take me home if you were just gonna be an asshole?” 

“I’m not being an asshole!” his pitch rises, sounding defensive. “Are you really not gonna tell me what happened?” 

“Say you want to know,” you turn towards him, a smile playing on your lips. “Ask me to tell you, and I will.” 

His laugh is full of pointed disbelief, “I’m not saying that shit.” 

“Say it,” you order him again. “Then I’ll tell you every single nasty detail I know you’d love to fucking hear, pervert.” 

His lips tighten, and there’s at least ten seconds of him fighting himself before he says plainly, “Fine. Tell me everything.” Then his voice gets smaller, uncertain as he adds, “I want to hear it.” 

“You didn’t ask, but I’ll let it slide,” you say, before starting the story when Yunho picked you up a few mornings ago to fix your car. You tell him that you learned how to jump a car, that you blabbed about wanting to kiss him, that Yunho was the one to suggest making your relationship non-exclusive. You tell him about the party, attempting to flirt with Jihyo, all the way up to dancing with her. 

“…she brought me into a coat closet,” you’re talking animatedly with your hands, eyes focused, mouth moving a mile a minute. 

“Wait,” he pauses, shaking his head. “She brought you into a closet to have gay sex?” 

You blink at him before it clicks together, and then you’re both laughing. You shake your head after a minute of laughter, jumping back into the story, “Wait– wait. Okay, so she’s really dominant usually, right? Like, always, that’s just Jihyo. But I challenged it, challenged her, and it worked.” 

“See?” His brows raise as he pulls onto your street. “I told you. You don’t get fucked, you fuck.”

“And you were correct, because I did fuck. I had her up against the fucking door, Wooyoung, oh my god– she was grinding against my thigh…” He quirks a brow. “And then I went down on her. Me. And it was liberating, like every single sound she made, every look on her face was like, getting me off. I felt like… I felt like–”

He parks in a spot, sits back in his seat, and looks at you like he might finish your sentence for you. And he might have, your ears are too busy ringing to hear anything, all the fucking color draining from your face. 

Use me. Let me hear you. Complimenting how she looked. You felt like Wooyoung.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, throwing a palm over your mouth as realization hits. You feel cold. The AC isn’t even on. Wooyoung loses his fucking mind. His laughter is loud, raw as he smacks his hands against his steering wheel. You cover your face with both hands, sliding into the seat, groaning out loud. You can’t believe this. This can’t actually be real. 

Wooyoung stops laughing just to choke on his words, “You– you copied me. You copied me!” 

You rip your hands away from your face, “I did not fucking copy you!” 

“God, should I call you my mini-me now? Fuck calling you Virgin, I’ll start calling you fucking twin,” he’s laughing as he says it, running his hands through his hair, sinking into the chair like this is the best thing he’s ever heard in his life. 

“I hate you,” you snap, unclipping your seatbelt. 

“No you don’t,” he’s still grinning wide. “You need me so you can steal all my moves, clearly. Do you want another lesson? Should we get in the backseat for when Yunho takes you to pick up your car from the shop?” 

You don’t answer, your entire body hot, feeling naked. Exposed, humiliated. This is fucking humiliating. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stops, holding a hand up. It takes him three whole seconds before he starts laughing again. “You’re my fucking mini-me, I can’t believe it, Virgin. Who woulda thought?”

Your jaw clenches as you reach for the door handle. “You’re an asshole, and I’m leaving.” 

“Wait!” he shouts. “Wait, I’m sorry. I’m serious, I’m sorry. How did the rest of it go?” He snorts again, then forces his face into seriousness. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, for real, twin.”

“Oh my god,” you bark out. “Oh my fucking god, I hate you. I actually fucking hate you.” 

“Okay, but seriously, how did the rest of it go?” he turns toward you again, brows high. “Did you make her cum?” Reluctantly, you nod. His head tilts, his tone playful as he asks, “Did she make you…?”

You shake your head no. He turns away from you to hide his laugh. You scowl, “I didn’t ask for anything back. She offered, but I said no.” 

“Fair, twin,” he turns back to say, and you launch yourself across the car, slapping him on the arm. 

“I wasn’t copying you!” you shout, slapping him again. “I wasn’t, that’s just how it went.” 

“I think it’s cute,” Wooyoung shrugs, his expression still reading playful. “That night stuck with you.”

“Nothing about you has ever stuck with me nor will it ever stick with me,” you snap, lying through your teeth, “I don’t even remember that night.” His brows raise. “Okay, that was a lie, but I meant all the other stuff.” 

He giggles again, but trails off, shaking his head, releasing a breath that sounds like relief. “I’m glad you had a good time. Did you learn something?” 

You nod before you say, “Yeah, I did. I don’t know, everything feels different now. Like, I feel different now. I understand you a little more, I think.” 

His brows furrow, “Me?” 

“You, asshole,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “With casual sex and stuff. It’s kinda fun.” 

“Be careful,” he holds up a finger between you. “Next thing you know, you’ll have chlamydia.” 

You snort, deflating into the seat with laughter all over again. Then you shrug, turning your head toward him, “I think more people on our campus have had chlamydia than we know of.” 

He looks at you like he wants to say no shit. “You think?”

“Shut up,” you look through the windshield at your apartment, all the lights on. You turn your head to him again, “Are you coming up?” 

His brows scrunch, “Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I see all of those people seven days a week. I need a day off.” 

Your lips scrunch to one side. “Do you want your hoodie back?” He thins his eyes at you, just as a smirk starts to form on your lips. You grab the door handle, “Come and get it then, bitch.” 

Wooyoung reluctantly drags himself out of his car just to hear you giggle your way up the lawn. He sighs as he closes the door, locking it by pressing his thumb onto the handle. He doesn’t have a reason to go upstairs, he doesn’t really care about getting his hoodie back. Is it weird that he hopes you didn’t wash it?

His dick feels twenty times bigger. He can’t believe you used his own moves on someone else. What does that mean? Other than the fact that you obviously enjoyed that night with him… it has to mean something more than that, right? He doesn’t know what he wants it to mean. All he knows is that he likes it, his chest hasn’t felt this light in a few days, and he wants it to feel lighter. He wants all that dark, depressing shit hanging over his head gone.

If that means being around you, he’ll take it. He doesn’t know what he wants that to mean, either.

He can feel the amusement radiating off of you as he follows you up to your apartment. The small laughs disguised as breaths with every step you take, he doesn’t comment on it, but he can hear it. You’re bright as you open up the door, and Wooyoung quickly realizes he’s been to your apartment twice. Once to fuck Yunjin, and another to rip into you, which ended in him rejecting you. He’s rejected you twice now, after he’s had you on his face.

What the fuck is happening to him?

You squeal your greetings, throwing your purse onto a little table next to your front door before skipping into your apartment. Yunjin sits over San’s lap, Mingi and Yunho are cuddled up together, Jongho sits on the other side, looking and probably feeling wildly out of place. Two couples, and Jongho. Wooyoung almost snorts at the sight.

His amusement leaves his face when you bend down to kiss Yunho. He closes the front door behind him, watching as Mingi pouts from beside him, “I thought I had custody tonight.”

You laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want a kiss, too? Would that make you feel better?”

Mingi’s grin is wide, and he nods before you even get the question out. You bend down to press a peck on his lips, and Wooyoung’s stomach does a flip. Who the fuck are you right now?

Yunjin whines from across the couch, “If you’re gonna kiss him, then you have to kiss me.”

You laugh even harder before skipping over to Yunjin, bending down to press a peck to her lips, too. And like fucking clockwork, San pouts, “Well, now I just feel left out.”

You kiss him, too. Yunjin watches with a smile like she couldn’t force herself to care if she tried.

Jongho leans over the back of the couch, glancing at Wooyoung, “Should we go before this turns into an orgy?”

Wooyoung quickly realizes he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still standing there, completely still, face warped into shocked confusion. How much can a person truly change in just a few days? Who the fuck are you? And why did he miss all of the fucking changing?

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, skipping around the back of the couch, holding your hair as you search the floor. You make your way toward him, still searching when Wooyoung sees it, his hoodie, crumpled in a ball two fucking feet away from the front door. “Yes! I knew I didn’t move it.”

You pick it up, and hand it to him with the widest grin he’s ever seen. His face still hasn’t changed as he grabs the ball from your hands automatically, blinking at you like he doesn’t know who the hell the person in front of him is. You pout, “Sorry it was on the floor. It was evidence.”

“Evidence?” he asks, but he doesn’t recognize his own voice. Or you. Or any of this.

You just laugh again before turning around, “I’m gonna go change, then we can watch a movie. Wait– did you guys start something without me?”

Everyone’s rattling off excuses for the TV being on, something playing, while you skip back into your bedroom with a frustrated groan. Without you in the room, he looks at everyone, and everyone looks at him. 

“What the fuck did I miss?” Wooyoung asks, suddenly feeling like his consciousness slammed into his own body again. He shakes his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting right beside Jongho. He pulls his keys and his phone from his pocket, throwing them on the coffee table full of liquor, other drinks and snacks. He didn’t plan on staying, but he needs to know if there’s more he’s missed. He needs to be able to see the full puzzle again.

“Did we decide if we’re throwing on Tuesday?” San asks from beneath Yunjin. She’s sprawled out sideways, knees over his lap, her feet almost touching Mingi. Mingi seems to be aware of it, with how he’s turned into Yunho who has one arm stretched across the back of the couch, almost holding Mingi close to him. 

Jongho leans forward, elbows kissing his knees, “Isn’t Jungwon’s frat throwing Tuesday?”

Mingi’s brows tie together. “Who cares?”

“Ooh,” Yunjin sings, brows wiggling. “Frat rivalry?”

Wooyoung snorts. “There’s no competition. If they’re throwing Tuesday, they’ll have bodies in that house.”

Yunho suggests, “Why don’t we throw Monday, then?”

You come out of your bedroom still tugging a tee over your head, and you don’t shut the door behind you. Wooyoung can see the mess from where he sits, he can even see the white hair from one of your Gojo figures. You don’t seem to mind. 

“What’s Monday?” you ask, crawling over the back of the couch, sitting between him and Yunho.

“We might throw,” Wooyoung answers. “Jungwon’s frat is throwing Tuesday.”

“Jungwon?” You quirk a brow. “The hot one that tried to fuck me in one of the fuck rooms?”

Everyone except Wooyoung’s head turns toward you and asks, “What?”

You grin. “He brought me to the basement, that’s where people have sex, right?”

Then all eyes land on Wooyoung. He nods in confirmation. 

Yunjin asks, “When the hell was this?”

“The night you brought me out to get over Junie– I mean Yeonjun, woah,” you correct yourself, throwing your hands in front of you like you needed to recenter yourself. “Freudian slip.”

Jongho’s brows tie together, “I don’t think that’s what a Freudian slip is.”

You smack your teeth. “I’m not a psychologist, Jongho.”

Wooyoung looks away to hide his laugh. It’s a small snort, but fuck, you’re funny. 

You laugh, leaning over to smack his arm, “Don’t laugh at me. I’m a journalist, I don’t know that psychology shit.”

“Why are you hitting me so much tonight?” He grabs for his bicep that doesn’t hurt at all. “Are you abusing me for calling you twin?”

You gasp, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even bring that up right now.”

Yunho’s brows furrow, but his smile is amused, “Twin?”

You groan. Wooyoung can’t help the budding laughter, “It’s funny, actually–”

“It’s not funny at all!” you immediately argue. “Shut up, motherfucker.”

Yeah, he’s glad he stayed. “My bad, twin.”

You launch yourself at him again, and he’s laughing hard enough that the raincloud that’s been following him for days is finally nowhere in sight. His brain is blank, his chest is empty, his body feels weightless. 

He doesn’t know whether he should thank you, or blame you for causing it in the first place.

masterlist 🍬

[prettywoogi]

he looks so so good in this damn suit… like i need him so bad it’s sickening but it also made me think of afterdark san… and ugh i need to reread that fic again soon.

[minkieater]

the best birthday party you've ever been to, even if you still don't know the birthday girl

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au series, part 12/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 8.6k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is an angel sent from heaven above, Park Jihyo | smut minors dni, closet lesbo sex, dirty talk, oral sex f!receiving, i dont think i have to tag anything else. i literally have been writing since 11 am and i want everyone to pick up on a Certain Thing so bad

“I’M NERVOUS. WHY ARE YOU not nervous? What if they start talking about Unscripted? How do I act normal? How do you act normal?”

You sigh, closing the car door behind you, thanking the driver one last time. Yunjin’s asked about thirty different versions of the same questions all the way to the Penny, and you don’t have any more answers for her. 

“If you can’t answer, then don’t say anything.”

“But Sannie knows I’ve been listening,” she whines, head dipping backward as she follows behind you with a steady stride. “He’s gonna want to know my thoughts and feelings.”

“Then keep it vague,” you shrug. “Say what you think without saying too much. Just enough to keep him entertained.”

She smacks her teeth, heels scruffing against the pavement. “You’re a good liar, not me. Clearly.” You whip your head around to narrow your eyes at her. Shades covering her eyes, she grins, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” you huff. “But you’re either mad at me or you’re not. Don’t drag it out.”

She whines again, the vodka on her tongue already speaking for her, “I’m not mad at you, I’m sorry. It’s just fucking crazy and I’m scared I’m gonna slip up.”

You come to a full stop at the entrance, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re not gonna slip up because you’re my best friend and you love me and you’d hate yourself if you ruined my life.”

She nods. “Yes. Yes to all of that. You’re right.”

“Okay,” you nod, assured, then rip the front door to the Penny open.

Immediately you’re hit with the scents of grease and liquor, bright music pounding through the dimly lit bar. The small tables were put away again, replaced with taller ones, they premeditated the standing room needed tonight. And thank fucking god, because once again, the Lucky Penny is packed.

There’s streamers, balloons, a banner for whoever the fuck’s birthday it is. You think Jihyo invited all of you to get bodies into the bar, even if the Penny is usually packed on weekends anyway, they rarely have any issues getting people inside. 

You and Yunjin decided to match again, different versions of the same outfit, long pants on your legs, heels on your feet. You have on a white, high-necked top while hers is low-cut and black, your jewelry even complimented one another. Your shades are on your head instead of over your eyes, she insists that you get at least one picture with them on. 

You spent the second half of yesterday together, once again discussing the technicalities of Unscripted, how you’ve managed to keep a double life for so long. You answered all her questions, broke down stories, told her every little secret she wanted to know. By the end of it she came to the conclusion that even though you kept so much from her, it’s kinda cool that it’s you. She lives with a micro-celebrity. Her words. 

It’s strange, liberating, in a way, that someone knows. Terrifying, but freeing that there’s a person who knows all of you, the secrets, the voice, the humor, all of it. Thank god it’s Yunjin. 

“I see them,” Yunjin says from behind you, pointing towards the back of the bar. You follow her line of sight, spotting San, Yunho, Mingi, Jongho. “Should we get a drink first?”

“Should we get a drink and find the girls first?” you counter. “We’re here for someone’s birthday. Whose is it again?”

“Mina,” Yunjin reminds you. “Jihyo’s friend, I think they’ve been friends for a long time, I don't know. Let’s go to the bar.”

You follow behind her after she skirts in front of you, leaving her wrist for you to grab as she pulls you into the mob of people. You should be used to it by now, swimming through the horde of people gathered in layers around the bar, but getting pushed and shoved while you’re also pushing and shoving just to get a fucking drink is too aggravating to be considered regular. 

Yunjin spots Sana and Momo before you do, tugging you forward until you’re in their line of sight, screams and squeals from the two making the crowd part to let you through. Your greetings were the same, shouted in squeals and pitched noises, side hugs and cheek-kisses like you haven’t seen each other in a month.

“You made it!” Sana beams, chocolate brown hair similar to Jen’s down, waved like she went to a salon for a fresh blowout. “Ji will be so happy, she put her whole soul into planning this.”

Your chest warms at another mention of her name, remembering your conversation with Yunho.

“Beer is free tonight,” Momo explains, her grin wide and excited. “We bought two kegs from the Penny. Miller, unforch.” You can’t help your smile, fully amused. She brings her gaze to you, “We should have gotten barrels of vodka and vermouth for you, Martini Girl.”

You shake your head, waving a hand, “I can pretend to be a frat boy for the night, don’t worry about me.”

“Just tell the bartender you’re here for Mina’s party and they’ll hook you up,” Sana adds. “Start chugging, though, two kegs will go quickly. There’s more people here than we thought would show.”

You and Yunjin take the advice quickly, switching spots with Sana and Momo to flag down the bartender, double-fisting to ensure you both end up catching a buzz. You didn’t drive since your car is in the shop, but you still want the twenty-dollar Uber to be worth it. Knowing Yunho, he’ll pay for the Uber ride home. 

Wait— can you even assume you’re going home with Yunho anymore? Since you’re no longer exclusive, that means he… He could go home with someone else. You could go home with someone else. You don’t know what feeling is blooming in your chest, but it doesn’t feel right. 

You find yourself beelining toward him, feet moving without a second thought, you don’t even tell Yunjin or the other two that you’re leaving. Your beer sways in the two glasses, toppling over the sides as you skip over shoes and slide between pockets of bodies, pushing yourself toward the tall table the four massive men stand at. 

Your glasses hitting the table introduce your presence before anyone has noticed you snuck up. Yunho’s head snaps, mid-sentence, brows tied together before his face expands in a beaming smile. “There you are, sunshine.” 

Relief washes over you at the sight. He bends down to press his lips to yours, a short peck, soft and sweet, he tastes like beer, like chapstick. Like Yunho. 

“Double fisting?” he asks, teasing, eyeing up your two beers. “Planning to get fucked up?” 

You snort, “Just ensuring I milk the kegs before they’re tapped.” You greet the rest of the table as Yunjin finally catches up, sliding between San and Jongho, setting her two draft glasses on the table, too. 

“Damn,” Jongho says, gaze bouncing between your four glasses taking up half the table, including their own glasses. “Might as well have brought a pitcher over.” 

“Can we do that?” Yunjin pops a chocolate brow over her shades. “Is that allowed?” 

Mingi asks, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You’re quick to jump in, “Because the beers are free and a pitcher feels…” Your lips scrunch, brows furrowing, “I don’t know. Feels mooch-y.”

San laughs, “And four beers isn’t?” 

“Sana told us to get it before it’s gone!” Yunjin is laughing as she brings her beer up to her lips, taking a deep gulp. 

Jongho is about to argue again but Yunho cuts him off, “You go get a pitcher.” 

“Yeah,” Yunjin nods, glass hitting the table again. “You go get a pitcher, since you want one so bad.”

Your eyes are bouncing back and forth to each face, smile growing with each interaction, every comeback. Jongho scowls as he moves from the table, no doubt thinking about what a climb it will be to get back up to the bar. At least he brings his beer with him. 

“So,” Yunho starts, leaning down to get close to your ear. His breath is hot against your skin, it makes you shiver. “See anyone yet?”

Your cheeks heat up, eyes widening at the question. You take a swig of your beer, hoping the chilled carbonation will cool you off a bit. “No,” you mutter softly, turning your head to face him. His hair is down, curly over his forehead, almost touching his lashes. “I came straight to you.” 

His face flattens out, but there’s humor in his pretty eyes. “Boring.” 

You smack your teeth with your lips and smack his arm with the back of your hand, a laugh falling out of your open mouth. “Not boring, Jeong Yunho.” 

He giggles, goading you, “Come on, it’s your first night of freedom. Start shopping.” 

Shopping. You push the memory out as your eyes travel over the crowd, loosing a heavy breath as absolutely fucking no one catches your attention. Not that no one here is attractive– but there’s no one who you’d want one night of really hot, intense fucking with. 

You’re pouting as you glance back at Yunho. “I don’t think I’m gonna be good at this.”

“You don’t think so?” His brows sit high, a playful grin on his lips like he knows something you don’t. His chin dips in the direction you were just looking at, “Look again, baby.” 

You turn, faces blending together, bodies moving as one until you see her. As if she’s beneath a fucking spotlight, her golden, tanned skin sparkles in the pockets of her cut-out, black mini dress. Her dark hair flows down her back, curled, shiny, so pretty. She looks so fucking sexy your heartbeat picks up in your chest. 

You look back at Yunho, cheeks hot, the tips of your ears on fire, “Fuck.” 

He laughs with his head tipped backward before he brings his beer up to his lips. “Told you,” he says with a little shrug. “You’ll be just fine. Go talk to her.” 

“No!” you whisper, well, more like a whisper-yell. “I can’t go hit on her.” 

“Why not?” he’s still smiling as he asks, amused by you. “Fine. Go tell her she did a great job with the party or something.” 

“That’s so fucking corny,” you groan, shaking your head as you bring your beer back up to your lips again. 

San cuts in from across the table, “What are you two whispering about over there?” 

You’ve barely swallowed your gulp of beer before you’re blurting, “Nothing!” Your gaze lands on Yunjin, and her eyes narrow. “Fine,” your lips flatten. “Yunho wants me to go hit on Jihyo.” 

The table falls into a confused silence. Mingi breaks it by asking, “You’re gay?” 

“Aren’t you two together?” San adds on. 

“Like, our Jihyo?” Yunjin adds on, and your head bobbles between the three of them, each question adding another layer of frustration. 

All you can do is groan. A pitiful, droning groan, instinctively you bring your beer back up to your lips. 

“We’re not exclusive anymore,” Yunho answers for you. “And she has her eye on your Jihyo, yes. Gay question isn’t mine to answer.”

“Mind you, you had all day yesterday to tell me about this,” Yunjin’s eyes are still narrowed at you. 

Your cheeks are flaming, hiding beneath your glass of beer. “Baby steps?” you offer with a tiny shrug. 

Yunjin sighs, “I’ll take it, I guess.”

The conversation moves on, but your head keeps turning involuntarily, taking small glances at her. She's in heels, her muscled calves flexing each time she moves her body, shifting her stance. Fuck, she looks hot. She always looks hot. She looks especially hot tonight. 

When you look back at Yunho, he’s already looking at you. Then his brows raise as if he’s saying you gonna do it, or what? Your lips purse, heartbeat picking up again. You don’t think you’ve ever approached someone with the sole intention of flirting with them in your life. 

This past month has been filled with so many firsts for you. What’s one more?

You pick up your beer and chug the rest of it down, it’s screaming all the way down your throat, the taste not wonderful but not unbearable either. It’s the bubbles, the carbonation, but you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, look at Yunho with a determined expression, and nod. 

He grins, “That’s my girl.” 

“Are you going?” San asks, thick, dark brows wiggling. “Should we give you a pep talk? Act like we’re sending you off to war?” 

You try to scowl at him, but your lips curve at the corners. “Go fuck Jen in the bathroom or something.” 

“Go fuck Jihyo in the bathroom or something,” he fires back automatically. 

“Maybe I will, bitch,” it comes out of your mouth before you can think about it and your palm flies over your mouth, shocked that you just fucking said that. Maybe the Miller gave you a little more than just courage. 

San howls with laughter. “Fuck yes, do it.”

Your cheeks are warm, and that definitely wasn’t a pep talk, but for some reason it feels like what you needed. You turn on your heel, breath pushing out of your circled lips shakily as you wipe your sweaty palm on your pant leg. Your other hand holds your other, full beer. 

She’s mid-conversation as you approach her, and before speaking, interrupting, you lay your hand softly on her shoulder blade. “Just wanted to say hi.” 

She just about fucking screams when she sees you. Forgetting her conversation completely, she throws her arms around you, yelling, “You came! You came! I’m so happy!” 

You laugh into her arms, pretending you don’t care about her body pressed against yours, that you didn’t come over here with an ulterior motive. “Of course I did, you invited me.” 

She keeps her hands on your shoulders as she pulls away, barely keeping space between you, she’s beaming, her cheeks flushed. You keep catching the gloss on her lips as she barrages you with questions, “How are you? Who are you here with? Is Jen here?” 

You point behind you, and her eyes follow. “She’s here, we invited some of the guys we’re friends with.” 

“Oh,” her brows furrow as she waves her manicured hand. “They’re already all looking over here.” 

Your face drops, you turn your head and scowl in their direction, just to catch them all staring at you. When they catch your expression they all turn away, caught. Guilty. Fuckers. 

“Isn’t the blonde one yours?” she asks, brows wiggling. “He’s hot. Tall.”

“He’s not mine,” you blurt, shaking your head. Fuck, this is harder than you thought it’d be. “We’re not exclusive, I’m– I’m fully single.” 

“Oh,” she says like this is the most scandalous information she’s ever heard. “My girl who’s committed to being committed is in a non-exclusive relationship? Who are you?” 

“I’m me,” you smile, eyes finding the floor for a millisecond. You shrug, “Just… different now. I guess.” 

“I’m proud of you,” she nods, one arm that was holding onto your shoulder sliding down to pet your bicep. You physically have to stop yourself from shivering at the contact. She’s taller than you in her heels, looking down at you as she says it, her soft palm brushing your bare skin…

“Thank you,” you murmur, cheeks heating up again. “This place looks great– I– you look great.” 

“Yeah?” She beams, taking a step back to look down at her own outfit. “I know it’s Mina’s birthday, but since I planned it I figured I have to look good, too.” 

“You do,” you affirm her, looking at her outfit with her, nodding your head. You run a hand through your hair. Why is this so hard? How do you start flirting with a girl who’s your friend? How do you un-friend your friend? How do you even flirt?

Someone grabs at her wrist, a small girl, long, black hair, she’s beaming at her. You can only assume that’s Mina. “Ji! There’s someone I want you to meet!” 

Jihyo nods toward her, and then the girl is tugging at her arm, and Jihyo shoots you an apologetic look. “I’ll find you later!” 

“Don’t worry about it!” you wave your hand, feeling a pang of disappointment in your gut. Fuck. You absolutely fumbled that. Fuck. 

You turn back to your friends with regret heavy in your eyes. You take another gulp of beer before deflating into the table, debating guzzling the pitcher Jongho brought back. 

“How’d it go?” Yunho asks as soon as you’re back in ear shot. You scowl. His lips flatten. “Can you give me more than just a look?”

You pout. “I barely got to say anything before the birthday girl pulled her away. Damn, I didn’t even say happy birthday.” 

“You have all night,” San assures you from across the table. 

Mingi cooes, “Oh my god, baby’s first gay-crush.” 

You don’t even have the time to roll your eyes before Jongho starts cracking up, “What the fuck did I miss?” 

“A lot,” you gruff out, picking up your beer again. 

Yunho lowers it before you can bring it up to your lips, “Pace yourself, sunshine. We literally have all night.” 

“Damn, no Jihyo and now no beer?” you complain, but your words are playful. “So bossy.” 

“You know bossy, and that wasn’t bossy,” he reminds you, voice sliding into that velvety cadence. 

Your gut warms. “Don’t start with that or else I’ll really give up on Jihyo.” 

His grin is bright, satisfied. “You’re funny tonight.” 

“I’m always funny,” you quip, slightly offended. 

“I don’t even know how to flirt with her,” you’re talking to the table now. “How do you flirt with a girl who’s your friend?” 

Yunjin answers, “You do know she’s super gay, right? Like she fucks with dudes but not nearly as much as women? I don’t think you even have to try that hard, she probably saw you all cute and flustered while you were talking to her.” 

If your cheeks get any hotter, you might overheat like a cell phone on a fucking beach. Your elbow lands on the table, palm hitting your forehead. “I’m not cut out for this life.” 

The table responds by laughing. The conversation moves on, San talks about the gym, Yunho talks about the really good weed he bought from a guy in his public speaking class, Mingi talks about the girl he slept with last weekend, and Jongho tells him he slept with her the weekend before.

You don’t have anything to add except a joke here and there or laughing along with the table. You can feel the absence of one, you catch yourself scanning the room, looking for a familiar head of black hair and bronzy skin. You don’t see him. You let the thought pass. 

Mingi pulls you back to the conversation by asking, “Did you guys listen to the new episode of Unscripted?” 

Yunjin’s eyes lift to yours. Your expression doesn’t so much as flicker. 

“I listened!” San beams. “I think every single person in this room listened. Who’s side are you guys on?” 

Yunho, without missing a beat, answers, “Mister Tall and Dominant.” 

Your expression cracks, a smile forcing its way through the mask. He didn’t tell his friends it’s you— well, that it’s him. 

Yunjin nods, “Same.” She’s definitely speaking just to add something to the conversation, because you know she’s team Wooyoung. 

“What?” San gawks at the table, “Are you shitting me? She’s obviously in love with Mister Piss-Me-Off.” 

“No she’s not,” you find yourself arguing. Defensively, too. 

San looks at you like you’re ridiculous. “Did you listen to the way she talked about him? It was word vomit, she’s obsessed.” 

There’s warning in the hinge of Yunjin’s jaw. You shrug, “I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s that serious. Unscripted fucks a new person every week, let’s be honest with ourselves here.” 

“That’s true,” Mingi adds. “Just another fling. Content for the pod.” 

“I didn’t even listen,” Jongho reveals, “but everyone keeps fucking talking about it. Who cares who she fucks?” 

“We do, apparently,” Yunho adds with a little laugh, picking up his beer again. You should buy him something. Or fuck him really, really good tomorrow. 

Yunjin’s body is so tight you think she might explode. “Can we go to the bathroom?” she asks, keeping her voice light, but you can hear the panic lining her tone because you know her. 

You nod, sliding from the table, meeting her on the other side before walking with her toward the bathroom. She waits until you’re out of earshot before exploding, “How did you do that? How do you do that? I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack!” 

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You did fine, Jen. You’re fine.”

“Does Yunho know?” 

“He thinks I submitted the story,” you explain, approaching the neon pink Girls Room sign. The line isn’t too long, you lower your voice as you walk towards the end of it. “He knows it’s about him, but he doesn’t think I’m… Her.”

“How the hell did he figure that out?” 

You shrug, “Don’t know, but he came to the conclusion on his own. I just agreed.”

Yunjin sighs. “He’s so fucking smart, but he’s kinda stupid at the same time.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’s stupid at all, he’s like, one thought process away from putting all the pieces together.” 

She presses her back up against the wall, brows furrowed over her shades. “That doesn’t scare you?” 

“It does,” you nod. “I don’t know… he’s kind. I trust him. He didn’t tell everyone else the story was about him, I think if he ended up figuring it out, he’d keep it to himself, too.” 

Her head tilts. “You don’t think he’d be upset that you kept it from him?” 

“I mean, do you think he has a right to?” 

Her lips purse, shoulders shrugging. “Maybe.” 

You think on it, taking the spot beside her, sighing as you back up against the wall. You turn your head to her, “Do you really think Jihyo saw my flustered-ness as cute?” 

She wears a lazy grin as she turns her head to you. “I think you’re cute when you’re flustered, so there’s no way she didn’t.”

Your smile brightens, cheeks warming all over again. It’s too fucking early into the night to break the seal, but you do anyway because the sound of the sinks running makes your bladder feel heavier than it’s ever been. 

On the way back to the table, you spot her again. She’s talking to someone else you don’t know, a guy, tall, buff. He’s kinda hot. Her body language is friendly but your stomach jumps in warning, your mind and your legs are in agreement as you part ways with Yunjin to purposely interrupt her conversation this time. 

“I found you first,” you say, cutting off whatever this fuckass guy is saying. 

Jihyo beams, “And thank god you did.” 

The guy pouts, “Why’s it suddenly fuck me?” 

Jihyo laughs, smooth and pretty, “Sorry, Johnny.” She introduces the two of you, and then turns her attention fully on you. “Those pants make your legs look so fucking long. Is your top backless?” 

You do a little spin, and she whistles. Whistles. Your cheeks are fucking burning when you turn back to her, and you desperately wish you had your beer. 

She reads your mind. “Where’s your drink?” 

You look at her empty hands. “Where’s yours?” 

Her lips tighten in a grin. “Touché, let’s go to the bar.”

She grabs your hand and electricity shoots up your spine, excitement, adrenaline. Is this working? Are you doing it? You can’t tell. Your eyes drop while following behind her, taking in her curves, the way her hips way with every hurried step. She cuts through the layers of people before the bar like she’s the human version of a sword, shoulders back as she tugs you all the way up to the front. 

She doesn’t let go of your hand when she gets up to the bar. She swings her upper half over the deep oak, giving you a perfect view of the way her shiny hair glistens under the lighting, how her back arches, ass poking out. She calls over the bartender like he’s working for her. 

She orders two shots and two beers. Your brow pops as you lean in almost over her shoulder, “Shots aren’t free, Ji. Just get beers.” 

Her head tilts, a tiny smirk on her lips. “I can’t buy you a shot?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Oh. Yes, you can. Thank you.” 

Her smile widens, a tiny laugh falling off her tongue. “You’re so cute.” 

Coming from her, you think maybe you don’t want to be cute. Coming from Yunjin, sure, cute is fine, but coming from Jihyo? You want to be as sexy as you think she is. You chew on your bottom lip, your cheeks flame anyway. 

The bartender brings your shots and she thanks him, yelling an ‘add it to my tab’ before she hands one to you. It’s clear, vodka, your throat is already burning before a drop has touched your tongue. 

“Cheers to new beginnings,” she holds up her plastic shot glass to you. “New beginnings, a new mindset, and freedom that you didn’t have before.” 

You tease, “We’re still celebrating my breakup?” 

“No, baby,” she shakes her head, smirk still playing on her lips. “I told you that you’re not a passive girl. You’re out of the funk.” 

Baby sounds different on her lips now. Heat curls as you clink your plastic shot glass with hers, and shoot the vodka back. You whistle as you slam it back on the bar, sipping the beer that was waiting for you, letting it wash the aftertaste off the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, I drink vodka, and taking shots still fucking burns,” you’re wiping off your lips again as you turn back to her, she looks unbothered as ever. “How are you not cringing?” 

She shrugs, “I’m older than you. More experience.” 

“You’re older than me by one year, Ji,” you almost roll your eyes, smile bending your lips. “How much more experience can you have?” 

“A lot,” she says coolly before sipping her beer. “Trust me.” 

Are you still talking about vodka? You can’t tell. Heat blooms, and whether it's from her words, the liquor, both, you don’t care. 

“Tell me about the guy,” she starts again, still leaning up against the bar. She's holding her glass with two hands, hair off her shoulders, chest on display. She's radiating the same comforting dominance she always has, the one that makes you want to obey without even realizing you’re doing it. 

“Yunho?” you question. “The tall, blonde one?” 

“The one you’re casually fucking,” she corrects, or points out, you don’t know. 

Your legs cross as you lean up against the bar, too. “He’s sweet. He takes care of me.”

She hums, looking you up and down, and doesn’t do a damn thing to hide it. “Do you need to be taken care of?” 

“Sometimes,” you answer, feeling the weight of her gaze. “Sometimes not.”

Her smile grows. “Good,” she leans forward a little more, closing some of the distance between you. “Is he taking care of you tonight?” 

Your heartbeat picks up, mouth going dry. You sip your beer, and then shake your head. “N-no, he’s not.” 

She looks like she’s won, satisfied as hell. “Do you want to dance with me?”

You’re nodding profusely, you don’t even say the word yes before she’s grabbing your hand again and tugging you toward the dance floor. 

Wooyoung’s getting real sick of the Lucky Penny. He feels like he’s spending his entire fucking week in the step-above-shithole bar, but maybe he’s just allowing himself be angry at the Penny because the alternative is too damning. It’s been two days and it’s still eating him alive, the way you looked at him in his car, like you never want to speak to him again. He doesn’t know why that hurts the way it does.

He shouldn’t care, oh, he shouldn’t give a flying fuck. But he does, and he fucking hates it.

The way he came home to Yunho with fucking word vomit, getting the entire sequence of events off his chest because he felt guilty. He didn’t even do anything and he felt fucking guilty. The batting cage, the diner, he never should have done any of it knowing that you and Yunho are exclusive. He shouldn’t have let himself get to know you any better, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have let you know him.

But it’s so fucking hard to stop himself when he’s around you. Usually it’s his dick controlling him, and… and– and it still is. He just wants to fuck you. He’s gotten a taste of you, and he’s hungry for the rest. 

He has to tell himself that with every pretty face that looks at him inside the Penny. Every wink, every longing stare, every fuckable face he sees he has to remind himself that the only reason you’re on his mind is because he’d rather fuck you. 

He didn’t mean to be late tonight. Every outfit in his closet didn’t seem appropriate, and by the time he was on the fifth outfit he almost yelled out in frustration because when the fuck has he ever cared about his outfit? No one in the Penny is looking at his goddamn outfit. Every woman whose eyes land on him is thinking he’s sexy, or they’ve heard he’s great in bed and they’re wondering if it’s true, every woman is debating if they’ll have a chance to find out, tonight. And they won’t. None of them will fucking know because you’re suddenly a drug, a fucking poison he accidentally injected into his veins. 

It’s disgusting. He needs to get drunk. 

He approaches the bar, slams his card on the oak. The bartender tells him something about a keg, he orders whiskey on the fucking rocks. He’s not drinking draft Miller fucking Lite tonight.

“Oh no,” Sana approaches him, a glass of beer in one hand. She looks pretty, hair tied back, showing enough skin that usually would make Wooyoung want to find out what the rest looks like. “It’s gotten worse. What’s wrong with you?”

He takes a swig of whiskey, doesn’t cringe as it burns its way down. “Nothing,” he answers. Short, definitely not sweet.

“Should you be here with an attitude like that?” she asks, brows raised. “Drinking hard liquor, of all things?”

He gives her a blank stare. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Let me ask you something, then,” she stands a little straighter. “If I asked you to fuck me in the bathroom right now, would you do it?”

“I just got here,” he answers, voice flat. “Can you ask me after I’ve made my rounds? Scouted the rest?”

She laughs, but it’s hollow. “Glad to find out the whore is still in there. For a second, I thought you were upset about a girl.”

He gives her a look, eyes hard, brows flat. His jaw clenches as he swallows down some more whiskey. “I’ll never be upset about a girl, Sana. You know that.”

She looks at him sideways like she doesn’t really believe him. “Whatever you have going on, you better fix it real quick. No one wants a miserable man drinking hard fucking liquor at a birthday party.”

She turns on her heel, miniskirt dancing on her hips as she disappears into the crowd. Something tight within his chest unwinds as her words sink in. She’s right. Anger isn’t a fucking party favor. He sighs, more so pushes whatever he can get out from his chest, hoping it’s all the frustration and confusion that’s bottled up inside him. 

He rolls his shoulders before walking through the crowd, ignoring the eyes, saying hi here and there to those who say hi to him, he spots San before anyone else. He doesn’t know how he recognized him, he’s currently mauling Yunjin’s face off, standing beside a tall table filled with a half-filled pitcher of beer and eight tall glasses. Some empty, some full, some half-empty. 

Mingi and Jongho are talking, clearly trying to ignore the way San’s basically having sex in the middle of the bar. He approaches the two, “Not watching the show?”

“That’s something only someone like you would enjoy,” Jongho grins, clasping Wooyoung’s hand.

Mingi does the same before adding, “Are you about to?”

“Not in the mood,” Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders. “Who else is here?”

Jongho points toward Yunho, who’s standing a foot behind Wooyoung. His brows furrow, “The fuck is he doing?”

“Go find out,” Mingi says, full of amusement.

Wooyoung’s brows furrow, but he walks up to Yunho anyway, curious. He’s facing the dance floor, Wooyoung follows his line of sight, squinting as he tries to find what the older man is looking at.

His stomach drops when he sees it. You’re… you’re kissing someone. You’re kissing a girl. You’re kissing the only fucking girl in that goddamn friend group that he hasn’t fucked. Yunho might have to pick his jaw up from the floor. 

“You’re– you’re watching this?” Wooyoung’s voice is shakier than he wants it to be.

Yunho smiles. “I’m about to stop, it feels weird to watch. They just started making out.”

Wooyoung doesn’t understand. His mind is moving a mile a fucking minute. He asks, “You’re okay with that?”

Yunho finally looks at him, and he’s wearing a prideful smile. “Of course I’m okay with it.” Wooyoung blinks at him. Once, twice. Yunho laughs like he can’t help it. “We’re not exclusive anymore.”

Wooyoung’s jaw might be on the floor again. “Are you serious?”

Yunho nods, “Sorry it didn’t happen before she tried to kiss you.”

Wooyoung’s face drops, and so does his stomach. You told him?

He starts, guilt lining his tone, “Yun–”

“Don’t apologize,” Yunho shakes his head. “We’re cool.”

Wooyoung nods, and his eyes betray him as they lead out to the dance floor again. He doesn’t even fucking know her name, but your hands are on her cheeks, her hands on your waist, no– one hand is on your waist, the other is on your ass, squeezing it. You’re kissing her like you can’t get enough of her, like there isn’t a single part of you that’s second-guessing it, like you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

He swallows. He can feel the whiskey at the bottom of his stomach, heavy, leaden. You’re– you’re kissing someone else. You’re kissing a fucking girl. You just ended exclusivity with Yunho and you’re kissing someone fucking else?

He turns, walking past Yunho, past Mingi, Jongho, past San and Yunjin who look like they don’t even need air to breathe anymore. He sets the half-full glass of whiskey on the table, and announces to anyone who can fucking hear him, “I’m leaving.”

Jongho calls from behind him, “You just fucking got here!”

Wooyoung ignores him, then ignores every other person who tries to get his attention before he leaves the Lucky Penny.

Jihyo kisses you differently than Yunho kisses you. Different from Wooyoung. From Yeonjun. She kisses you like she’s trying to prove something, no, like she wants you to prove something. Like there’s still a part of you shielded, a part of you that’s begging to be released, and she wants to be the one to pull it out of you. Where her hands go, you arch into her touch. When her tongue pries your lips open, you let her explore until it evokes a soft moan from the back of your throat. When your hands finally find her cheeks, when one drops to her waist, her soft sigh makes your brain short-circuit. 

You made her make a noise. A sound. Of pleasure. You did that.

Your eyes open in surprise just to see her lips parted, her head tipped back, her spine bent toward you. The sight of someone else swimming in a haze of pleasure has never been so fucking beautiful. It’s sheer instinct to kiss her again, harder this time, your tongue pushing past her lips, your hands on her hips, needing more of her. 

You’ve imagined this a thousand times, usually alone, in your bed, sometime around twilight. You’ve imagined her, her face blown out with pleasure, dark eyes heavy with arousal, and in each and every daydream, you’ve been the reason why. You didn’t think it could feel this good, even just from some fucking kissing, to make someone else feel good. 

Her nails dig into the fabric of your pants, sinking into your skin beneath. You hiss into her mouth and she smiles into the kiss, “What is this, baby?”

“What?” you ask, brain cloudy, consumed with lust. 

“Are we just gonna make out on the dance floor?” she asks, then her teeth grab onto your bottom lip, biting soft enough to tease. “Or do I get more of you?”

Her chest presses against yours, your brows furrow, jaw cracking open. “You– you want more?”

“Are you kidding me?” she asks with a little laugh, and even that makes your gut churn with heat. “Do you want more?”

“I–” you’re panting, breaths layered. “Yes– yeah, I want– yes.”

Her grin turns to a nasty smirk, “Come.”

She tugs on your hand, pulling you through the crowd, and your eyes drift over the heads to your left. He’s exactly where you left him, with Mingi, with Jongho, they’re laughing about something. Like he can feel your gaze, his head turns, meeting your eye. He smiles, and it’s so fucking full of warmth that it eases something inside you that you didn’t realize needed to be eased.

You’re smiling, too, as Jihyo tugs you through the crowd, turning a corner around the entrance to the bathrooms, tugging on the bronze door handle to what looks like a coat closet. Or a supply closet. 

You don’t have time to decipher which, because as soon as she gets you inside the closet, she has you pinned to the door. Her lips are on yours again, sloppier, like her restraint is running thin, you hear the door lock before her hands push your hips into the door. 

Your hands fly to her hair, fingers tangling at the nape of her neck, tugging ever so slightly. Her neck bends backward with a sharp sound, and you follow, attaching your lips again because even a fucking second without it is too long. 

Her hands slide up your waist, cupping over your chest, squeezing your boobs through your bra. Your hips twitch, canting forward, the tips of your tongues still touching. 

“This your first time?” she asks, panting. “With a girl?”

You nod, voice breathy and layered, “Yeah.” She smiles wide, her eyes flaring. You laugh a little, “What?” 

“You should be happy it’s me,” she whispers, huskier now. Her hands slide down to your hips, one hand coming to the center to toy with the button to your pants. 

“Yeah?” There’s cockiness in your tone, from a part of yourself that you haven’t cracked open yet. It’s dark in the closet, the light seeping through the bottom of the door lighting her face from below. “You wanna take care of me?” 

“Do you need to be taken care of?” she asks again, head tilting. One of her fingers slips into the waistband of your pants, tugging them toward her. 

You don’t. You want to show her that you don’t. 

One hand slides around her waist, turning her swiftly until her back is pressed up against the door. She laughs, and it’s arrogant as hell, “You wanna take care of me?” 

“I can take care of you,” you murmur, now the words feel less foreign on your tongue. You think of the sound she made earlier, the soft noise of pleasure you pulled from her. You want to hear it again. 

The way her grin beams with pride only makes you kiss her harder, more confidence in your hands, pressing into the skin you can feel in the cutouts of her dress. She hooks a leg around you and you slot one leg between hers, pressing exactly where you know she needs it. 

She gasps, her manicured nails finding your shoulders, her hips immediately grinding up against your pant leg. You dip your head under her jawline, leaving open-mouthed kisses down her neck as her hips work against your thigh. 

One hand finds her ass as you murmur, “Yes.” She moans and a surge of heat boils through your blood, especially as her head dips back. It thuds against the door, giving you access to her neck. Your lips suck at the spot where her neck meets her chest, just above her collarbone. 

She moans a little louder, mumbling a choked out ‘fuck’ as she works up a rhythm against your thigh. You can feel the heat, the wetness seeping through, you want to clench your thighs together. You want to feel it. You want to taste it. 

Your hands slide up her waist, fingers settling over her chest, squeezing. She squeaks out another moan, one of her hands tugging at your roots, making you moan, too. 

You tug at her straps, sliding them down her arms until she gets herself free. You reach behind her, two hands working the clasp of her bra until you pull it off of her, throwing it on the floor. 

Fuck. “You’re so fucking sexy, Ji, oh my god.” 

“Please,” she whimpers. Whimpers. You think you might have moaned again at the sound. “I wanna see you, too.” 

You untie your top at the back of your neck, letting it fall over the front of your pants until it pools at your hips. You don’t give her a chance to compliment you back, kissing her again, and her hips pick back up the rhythm against your thigh, harder this time. 

“Shit, Ji,” you choke out, grabbing at the hem of her dress, tugging it upward, watching how she drags her panty-clad cunt over your thigh. “Yes, use me, fuck.” 

“Want you,” she mutters, thick with arousal. “Want more. Mouth, fingers, I don’t care.” 

Her panties, thin, black and lacy, you slide your palm underneath the waistband, greeted with a thick wetness, so much fucking wetness that you gasp. 

“Holy shit, you’re wet,” you marvel. 

She giggles, throwing her head back against the door again. “All for you, baby. You wanna taste it?” 

Keeping your eyes on her, you pull your hand from her panties, and bring your fingers to your mouth. Tangy sweet, her brows knit together at the sight of you shoving your fingers past your lips, tasting her, enjoying her. 

“Sweet,” you tease, and her hips jerk at the word. You want more. You want to taste all the wetness that's built up for you. 

Sinking down to your knees, she watches as you reach up for her panties, slowly dragging them down her toned, muscled legs. “Tell me…” you trail off, searching for the words. “Tell me if you like it. Okay?” 

“You know what to do,” she assures you, nodding. “But I’ll tell you, baby.” 

You throw her leg over her shoulder, fingers dancing over her soft skin, feeling the dips of her muscles as your lips press small kisses toward the apex of her thighs. Her breathing grows labored, her hips twitching toward you. 

You finally look at her core, glistening even under the darkness of the closet. You curse under your breath at the sight, so fucking beautiful, you’re throbbing, your own hips twitching, trying to get some kind of friction in your pants. 

Like a dog to a fucking bone, you bring your lips to her core, pressing one soft, steady kiss to her clit. She hisses, one hand flying to your hair and you welcome it as your tongue pokes out from between your lips, tasting her from bottom to top. 

Her moan is soft, coated in relief. It gives you a little more confidence, massaging your tongue against her clit, her fingers tightening in your roots as a sharp, gasped moan tumbles off her tongue. 

“Yes,” she moans out, hips twitching into your tongue. “Just like that.” 

You look upward, taking in her tight brows, her parted, glossy lips. She’s enjoying this. She’s enjoying you. 

One hand stays on her thigh over your shoulder, the other holds the skin just above her knee. You keep your tongue flat as she grinds herself against it, head tilting backward as she chokes out a heavy, “Fu–uck.” 

Your brows tie together, a moan falling past your lips. You wrap your lips around her clit, sucking, and you feel her spine go rigid, you can hear her toes curl against the leather of her sole, the heel poking at your back. Her hips stutter, jaw clenched like she was too aware of the noise she’s making. 

“Let me hear you,” you break away to say quickly, fast enough that you barely register that the words feel familiar. “Fuck whoever else hears.” 

“Uh-huh,” she’s nodding as you dive back into her core again, tongue lapping at her folds, flicking at her clit in a steady rhythm. 

“Holy shit,” she gasps out. “Fuck, fuck, keep doing that.”

You do, you will your head into stillness, a wall that she can fuck herself against. Her hips roll, using your head for purchase as she uses you, uses your face, your tongue. 

You can feel it, the tremor in her legs, how her hips start to lose rhythm. You keep it instead, never faltering, watching as her mouth stretches wider, as her brows tie further together. She’s close. 

Feeling, knowing she’s almost there is enough to keep your body a rock, you want to watch her come undone. Her moans heighten in pitch, breaking up in staccato until her breath gets caught in her chest, and then she starts to shake. 

She cries out your name as she comes, fingers tightening in your hair like she might rip it out of your head, but you don’t fucking care. You eat her through it, letting her shake and convulse on your face, you lick up every last drop. 

“Easy,” she finally says, breathing labored, letting go of your head. She collapses into the door, chest heaving as you sit back into your thighs, running a hand through your hair, too aware of the sweat gliding down your spine. 

After a minute of just breathing, she starts to laugh. You blink at her before a smile curves your lips, and then you start laughing, too. 

“I didn’t even know you liked girls,” she says, fixing her panties into place. “I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

The grin you give her is lazy, your head tilting, falling onto your shoulder. You wipe at your wet chin, “I’ve always liked girls, you’ve just always known me with a boyfriend.” 

She’s shaking her head as she picks her bra up from the floor. “He’s a demon.” She’s clipping it behind her back as she asks, “Can I take care of you now?” 

Your head tilts to the other side, thinking. You don’t really need more, you already got what you wanted, and the satisfaction of making her come on your face is enough. And it’s strange, different in a way you can’t pick apart, that you chose this, and you got it. And Jihyo’s still your friend. 

Your grin is coy, “I don’t really know how to say no, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, or think I don’t want you or something. But I’m kinda good.” 

Her brows raise as she crouches down into her calves, almost eye level with you in her heels. She smiles like she’s amused, “You’re kinda good?” 

You laugh, grabbing for your straps, attempting to tie them around the back of your neck. “Not that I don’t… I don’t know. I’m tired.” 

“I’m sure you are,” she drawls, amused. “You just ate pussy for the first time and did an incredible fucking job.” 

Your cheeks warm. “You enjoyed it?” 

“I came, did I not?” Her brows raise before she stands up again, moving around you to help you tie your top at the back of your neck again. She presses a kiss to the top of your head after finishing off the knot, “You’re like… I don’t know. Different than you were with the demon. I really am proud of you.” 

You tilt your head backward to see her, and she’s just as beautiful upside down. “You think so?” 

“In a good way,” she nods. “You’re more comfortable in your skin. Confident. It looks good on you.” 

You beam, “Thanks, Ji.”

“Come on,” she stands up straight again, reaching for your hand. “I’m hosting, people are gonna start to notice I left to fuck one of my friends in a closet.” 

You erupt into laughter as she pulls you up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t believe you just did that. You can, actually, because you chose to do it. You can’t wait to tell Yunho.

When you leave the closet again, everything feels brighter. It's almost as if the music is turned back on, or someone fucked with the dimness of the lighting, you aren’t sure. She keeps your fingers locked until you spot Yunho again, letting you go with a kiss to your cheek and a whispered ‘love you’ in your ear. 

Your cheeks are warm again as you approach Yunho, “You’re lucky you made it, the Uber’s out front.” 

You gasp, “You would have left me?” 

Yunho beams. “No, silly. I would’ve sent Yunjin and San home, absolutely, but I would have stayed for you.” 

“Good,” you lean into him as you sort through the mass of bodies, following behind Yunjin and San who were somehow still making out. They take a step, kiss, take a step, kiss. You look up at Yunho, “Has it been that way all night?”

“He owes me for it,” Yunho says nonchalantly. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

You laugh, then you notice your purse over his shoulder, poking into your back. It warms you all over, you think this might have actually been the best day of your life. The most affirming day of your life. Almost as if you’re really one with Unscripted. You might be getting closer. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks when you get outside, while San and Yunjin, then Mingi and Jongho pile into the minivan Uber. 

You nod, “I can’t wait to tell you all about it.” 

“I can’t wait to hear,” he says, letting you climb into the car first, then following behind you. 

You think Yunjin might’ve sat on San’s lap the entire ride home. You think they might have done more in the backseat besides makeout, but you didn’t look. Ignorance is bliss. 

You’re still in that state of bliss as you walk through the front door of his frat, climbing all the way up the stairs, and collapsing in Yunho’s bed as soon as it’s in sight. 

Yunho closes the door behind him, “Oh, she tired you out, huh?” 

“I think I tired her out,” you turn your head so you can see him, smirking at him. 

He undresses himself quickly, yawning, back arching in a stretch as his pants pool at his ankles. You kick all your clothes off, too, your pants, your top. 

When you climb into bed together, you lay on opposite sides, but neither of you feel the distance. And then you tell him everything, every detail, until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. 

masterlist 🍬

[minkieater]

at least you know how to jump a car now

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 11/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 5.8k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is actually the only man ever. i lied

“NO.”

She readjusts herself on the couch, knees pressed into the cushions, standing on them with her hands braced on the back. Taking a physical breath, tone relaying what she already knows, she says, “I’m gonna give you one more chance to be honest with me. Is it you?” 

You’re frozen, standing before your now closed door, heart beating out of your fucking chest. You blink, swallowing once, twice. You can trust her. Can you? She seems angry. Is she angry?

In a whisper, you answer, “Yes.” 

She covers her mouth with one hand, chocolate brows tying together above wide eyes. “Oh my god. You’re— do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” You nod, timid, body still tight. She rips her hand from her mouth while putting the pieces together, “How fucking long— I don’t even understand— you don’t sing.” 

“I don’t sing,” you repeat, still whispering because you don’t trust your voice at any other volume. 

Still holding onto the back of the couch, she lowers herself until she’s sitting on her calves, eyes still wide, jaw still slacked. She looks up at you and there’s a ghost of a frown on her lips, her voice shaky as she realizes, “You lied to me.” 

“I didn’t lie,” you’re quick to defend. “I just didn’t tell you.” 

Your name falls from her lips coated in disappointment. “You deliberately kept it from me.”

Disappointment is worse than anger. “I kept it from everyone, Jen.” 

“I’m not everyone!” she nearly whimpers, her voice cracking, strained. “This is a whole side of you I don’t know, this is— this is like a whole half of you that I know nothing about! Do you know how many episodes I listened to before I even recognized your voice?” 

Your bottom lip quivers, jaw hinged tight. Her words are like an arrow through your fucking chest. 

“I only realized because you told a story about me. I recognized my own story on my best friend’s secret fucking podcast,” she doesn’t move as she seethes, like she’s frozen in place, too. Your heart wrenches with guilt. “Don’t you think maybe you should have asked me, maybe run it past me that this exists before posting my story online?” 

You’re nodding, fumbling over your words. “I’m sorry, that’s why it’s anonymous—”

“I don’t care!” she yells, standing up off the couch. “I know it’s me, and now I know it’s you.” 

Panic surges through you with force. “Please— Jen, please don’t tell anyone.” 

She stares at you, arms flat at her sides, face twisted in heartbreak. You almost open your mouth again, ready to beg, but she cuts it off by asking, “You don’t trust me, do you?” 

You shake your head. “Of course I—”

Her voice raises again, “You didn’t trust me with your secret, and now you don’t trust me to keep it. You think I’d expose you after you created an entire double life based on fucking anonymity?” 

A double life. Is that really what Unscripted is? A different half of you? Another person detached from yourself, your own personality? Is anything about her, you? Is anything about you, her?

You try a step forward. “I trust you, Jen. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracks again, shoulders slumping, face going round. This is so much fucking worse than anger. The sadness, the disappointment… She feels betrayed. 

Your lips part, a strained, guilty noise forcing its way through. You can’t form any words, you don’t know what the fuck you could possibly say to make any of this better. 

Words you’ve said too often lately, you find them inside you again, “I don’t know.”

Now, it just sounds pathetic. A sorry fucking excuse for lying to, for hurting your best friend, your roommate, your sister. But you don’t have a reason; you knew she wouldn’t judge you, you knew she wouldn’t tell anyone, and yet you still didn’t tell her. You don’t know why. 

“You don’t know?” she repeats, like she didn’t hear you the first time. “You’ve spent months strategically hiding this from me, and you don’t know why?” 

Your lips quiver, eyes stinging, chest growing tight. She sees it, but she holds her ground, “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

You don’t trust your voice, so you shake your head. You could have gone your entire life without anyone knowing you’re the face behind the name, the voice behind the stories, the advice, the vulgarity. Tears fall. 

She shakes her head like she can’t choose which words she wants to say first. She looks at the floor. “We live together, we share everything. You know everything about me.” She looks up again, nose twitching with what you’re sure is tears trapped in her chest, “You trusted hundreds— maybe thousands of people with personal, sensitive information I don’t know about you. How is that fair?” 

“They don’t know who I am, Jen,” you blurt, your voice coated in a cry. You still haven’t moved from the door, there’s too much space between you, and it feels wider with each exchange. 

“I do!” she finally shouts, pointing at her chest, a single tear falling down her cheek. “I know you and I fucking love you, what are you so scared of? That I’m not going to love you anymore because you make up stories on a podcast?”

“I don’t make them up,” your voice drops in defense. “They’re all true, at least a piece of them is, even if they didn’t happen to me.” 

She laughs, but it’s hollow, you can hear the congestion in her sinuses. “That’s what you took from that? You think I’m calling you a liar?” 

“No—”

“Do you even understand why I’m upset?” she shouts, patience thinning. “We’ve known each other for years! I thought I knew you down to the fucking bone, and you hid something this— this huge from me. This is huge, the episode you posted today, everyone is talking about it!” 

“I know!” you shout back, taking another step forward. “I know they’re talking about it and I’m terrified! I didn’t mean for this to happen—”

“Who are they?” Her voice is suddenly calm again as she brings the heel of her palm up to her nose. “I know the tall one is Yunho, who’s the other one?” 

You pause, heart dropping. You don’t want to tell her. You have no choice but to fucking tell her. You think your heart might fall out of your ass fully as you mumble, “Wooyoung.” 

She blinks at you. “Wooyoung? Like, Jung Wooyoung? Black hair? Whore? The one I’ve slept with? That Jung Wooyoung?” Embarrassed, terrified of what her response will be, all you can do is nod. Her palms hit her forehead as she circles the coffee table, pacing. She stops again when she’s facing you, piecing it together, “So Tall is Yunho, PMO is Wooyoung. You asked Wooyoung for sex advice about Yunho because you had sex with Wooyoung.”

“No,” you answer with certainty. “I haven’t had sex with Wooyoung.”

“What?” Her hands find her forehead again. “You said you trust him, that he knows you or whatever. Fuck, I fucking knew something was weird with you two at the Penny. What the fuck did you do?” 

You look down at his hoodie still on your body, you remember everything you said to him fifteen fucking minutes ago. What did you do? Too much. Too much to come back from. 

Yunjin looks too, apparently. “Whose hoodie is that?” Your head snaps up, mouth going dry. “I recognize that fucking hoodie, he– what did you do?” 

As if it’s instinct, you drop your shit at the small table beside the door and rip the fucking hoodie over your head, throwing it to the floor like it’s on fire. It feels criminal to be wearing it, like he’s in the room with you, sharing your defeat. She watches it fall to the floor then looks back at you, then to the hoodie again like she’s buffering, trying to put pieces that you still haven’t given her together.

“Why him?” she mutters from across the room. “Why does he know you? Why does he get to know things I don’t?” 

“He doesn’t know about Unscripted,” you mutter just as quietly, chest rising and falling with every single nerve beneath your skin. 

“We’ll circle back to Unscripted,” she’s quick to fire back. “Trust me. Right now, I want you to tell me why Jung Wooyoung knows things about you that I don’t.”

You hate the words that you swear you can taste now, “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” she argues, voice edged with frustration. “Tell me. Or is this something else you can’t trust me with?” 

“I don’t fucking know!” your voice raises, strained because you fucking mean it. “I don’t tell him anything, I asked him for advice about Yeonjun and now he knows things about me. I don’t sit down and tell him my fucking secrets, he just— when he says things about me, they’re right.”

“It started with Yeonjun?” Her eyes widen, hands flying to her roots again. “What the fuck? How long has this– I don’t even know what the fuck to call it. When did you hook up?” 

“The night you took me out to get over Yeonjun,” you answer without a second thought. “He found out– whatever, we hooked up in a random bedroom. We didn’t have sex, though.”

Her brows are knitted together. “Then what did you do?”

“I– he– did you listen to the episode about overstimulation?”

Her face drops. “That was him?” 

You nod, bringing your hands up to rub at your face, the words falling from your lips like water now, “That was right before Yunho, and like, literally right before Yunho. And since Yunho, him and I have been weird until I asked him for advice at the Penny, now we’re normal again and he picked me up from work because my car died and then he took me to a batting cage and a diner and then I told him I want to kiss him–”

“What?” she interrupts you, blinking rapidly. “What? Tonight?”

Your voice heightens in pitch, “Like, maybe fifteen minutes ago?” 

“What the fuck,” her palm covers her mouth again. “What the fuck?”

“I didn’t kiss him,” you whisper, cheeks heating all over again. “He said he couldn’t do that to Yunho.”

“Wooyoung said no,” she repeats like she can’t fucking believe it. You nod. “I can’t believe you were the one– since I’ve met you– what the fuck is going on?” 

“Wooyoung!” you finally yell. “Ever since I met him my life has been derailed. He knows me, but the more he knows me the less I know me, like he can see through me, I- I can’t explain it.” 

She gets quiet before she says your name, it sounds pitiful, like she feels bad for you. Your stomach fucking hurts. 

“Come sit down,” she says calmly, pointing to the couch. 

You blink at her, “Jen–”

“Sit down or I swear to god,” she cuts you off, voice stern. You jump into movement, feet carrying you toward the couch as she commands, “You’re telling me everything and you’re going to be honest.”

You’re nervous as you sit on the farthest cushion, knees pinned together, fingers curling into the plush beneath you. “What about Unscripted?” 

“I didn’t forget about it,” she sits on the other side of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. “But my best friend who has always been in a committed relationship is acting really out of character right now and I need to know why.”

You run your fingers through your hair as you sink into the couch, your heart split in two. But you tell her, you tell her every single detail, from the night you met Wooyoung to the night you brought Yunho home to what happened before you walked through the door to your apartment. 

“Do you remember the night you found out about Yeonjun? The basket?” she asks when you finally finish, as if she’s been sitting on the question. You nod. “I asked you if he saw you, if he made you feel special.” 

“He didn’t, he never did, I know that–”

“He seems like he does,” she dips her chin. “Wooyoung.”

“Yunho sees me,” you argue. “Yunho is good to me. I’m fucked up for wanting Wooyoung like that.”

“No you’re not,” she quickly argues. “I mean, I don’t think you’re fucked up. It's instinct. You were together the whole night, it makes sense.”

Your voice goes quiet, “He was right, though.”

“Yes, and you didn’t kiss him,” her upper body moves like she’s telling you the obvious. “You didn’t act on the impulse.” 

“Because he stopped me,” you laugh a little on the words. “If he had kissed me, I would have fucked him, Jen.” Yunjin stays quiet, thinking, chewing on her bottom lip. Your head dips backward, “Fuck, I should tell him, shouldn’t I?” 

“Yunho?” She asks. 

“Yes,” you sigh. “It’s not fair if he’s committed to me and that’s all it takes for me to jump some other guy’s bones.” 

Yunjin snorts, “I don’t think this is just some other guy, babe, but I get what you’re saying.” Her lips scrunch to one side, “Do you even want to be committed to Yunho? Do you want to be committed to anyone right now?” 

Your chest feels hollow. “I don’t know.” She nods like she was expecting that answer. “Isn’t that bad?” You lean forward a little. “I don’t– that’s not me.”

“Why can’t it be you?” She shrugs. “You’ve been in a relationship for almost all of your adult life, you don’t even know what it means to fuck around.”

“I don’t want to fuck around–”

“You sure?” she teases, a playful smile on her lips. “It sounds to me like you’re dying to fuck around, especially with Woo–”

“What’s he like?” you cut her off. Purposely. “In bed. Is it valid that everyone wants him?” 

Her lips scrunch again, “Hate to break it to you, but yeah. Absolutely. Like, two-hundred percent–”

“Okay,” you cut her off again. “I get it.” 

“This is all I wanted, by the way,” her voice is low again, serious.

Your brows tie together. “Huh?”

“With Yeonjun, when you finally let me in I felt like I understood you a little better. I love you, I want to know all of the things that make you, you.” 

You frown, heart cracking in two all fucking over again. “I’m sorry, Jen.” 

“And just to reassure you, I won’t tell anyone that you’re Unscripted,” she sits up a little, pushing herself up by the cushions. “But I will say that the more you say, the easier it is to connect you. How the fuck do you even sound like that? You barely sound like yourself.” 

“I tweak it a little,” you grin. “Just a pinch, and it’s worked for me so far.” After another pause, your face rounds out as you say, “Thank you for keeping my secret. I’ll be more careful.”

“Sannie would lose his fucking mind if he knew,” she shakes her head, laughing a little. “Like, lose his fucking mind. Yunho, too. How do you keep a straight face?”

You shrug. “I do what I have to.” 

“Scary,” her head tilts away from you. “You’re scary.” 

“Prepared,” you correct her, holding up a finger. “If you’re gonna keep your identity a secret, you have to be prepared to defend that secret with your life.” Her eyes thin out, and your returning smile is coy. “My bad. I'm referring to everyone else now.” 

The sun is fucking hot. Morning sun is different from evening sun, the air feels clearer, drier, the UV feels ripe, especially if there’s no breeze. There’s not a lick of wind brushing past you as you skip from your stairs into Yunho’s car, heart beating a mile a fucking minute, the sun stripping you as raw as you feel.

Yunjin knows, and she doesn’t hate you. Yunjin knows, and she still loves you. It should be enough to have you feeling on top of the world, relieved, light. But it’s not enough, and you don’t feel even the slightest bit relieved, because there’s more. You almost don’t believe that you have problems bigger than someone finding out you’re Unscripted, at one point you didn’t think it was possible. 

You give him your cheek when you get into his car, but he doesn’t back from it, he doesn’t mind at all. He presses his lips softly into your skin, “Morning, sunshine.”

You can barely muster a smile. “Morning,” you mutter, giving him a one-over. Blonde hair pushed back, comfortable clothes on his body, that sliver of skin out to play like it always fucking is. Damn. 

“Do you want to get coffee or something before we go?” he asks, already reversing his car out of the parking space right in front of your apartment. 

You shake your head, hands sitting politely in your lap, “No, I’m okay. I had coffee already.”

“O-kay,” he hums, pulling out of your development, onto the main road. He looks at you from his peripherals as he asks, “Are you mad at me for not answering last night?”

“What?” you ask, abruptly. “No, oh my god, of course not.”

“Just checking,” he says casually, his head shaking a little. The silence you fall back into is palpable. You’re acting weird. You’re acting fucking guilty and you know it. You try to relax, stretching out your legs, your arms, you try to let your body deflate into his passenger seat. You think you might look like a drunk baby instead, trying to take up as much space as you can.

The drive seems infinitely longer than it usually is because you can’t get your head on straight. You’re paranoid, guilty, you know Yunho can feel that there’s something off but you can’t bring yourself to fucking speak. 

Hey, just so you know, I wanted to kiss Wooyoung last night.

Before you do this favor for me, I want to tell you that I wanted to fuck your friend last night.

You shouldn’t have ever entered exclusivity with me because I’m a fucking mess.

You sigh. He feels it as he pulls into the parking lot of the gym, parking his car in the spot right next to your car. You think of last night, Wooyoung in this exact parking space, you screaming at him to unlock the door under a blanket of rain. 

You never deserved Yunho to begin with.

“Can I ask you something?” Yunho asks, turning his key in the ignition, engine going dead. You nod, sitting up a little, heart knocking against your breastplate. “Did you submit a story to Unscripted?”

You blink. “What?”

He tugs on the handle of his door, climbing out of the driver’s seat. You do the same, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. He talks as he walks up to your car, popping the hood, “Her newest episode is going viral, and it just… sounds familiar.”

You lean your backside up against the passenger side door, “How does it sound familiar?”

He ducks to give you a flat stare around your car’s hood. “Mister Tall and Dominant? Asked him to be more dominant, and he did it as soon as she brought it up?”

You reach for ignorance, at least for a little while longer. “That could be anyone, Yunho. Why do you think it’s you?”

“Because the other guy is Wooyoung,” he says, bringing his attention back under the hood. You feel like your fucking world has been swept from under your feet. How does he know that? What does he know? How is the conclusion that you submitted something to Unscripted, and not that you’re fucking Unscripted?

“He–” you start, already stumbling over your words. “Are you crazy?”

“He told me you asked him for advice, sunshine,” he sing-songs from under your hood. “He told me about last night, too. The batting cages, the diner. Can you grab the bag from my backseat?”

You’re on autopilot as you grab what looks like a black toolbox– tool bag from his backseat, talking as you lay it over the side of your car, in reach for him to go through it. “What else did he tell you?”

Yunho looks up at you. “What else is there to say?”

“Nothing,” you answer immediately. “There’s nothing else. Do you know what’s wrong with my car?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head, lips scrunching to one side. “I’m gonna try to jump it. Do you know how to jump a car?” You shake your head no, and he smacks his teeth. “We’re fixing that today.”

He digs into the toolbag, grabbing what looks like a power bank, two thick cables. He holds them up to you, “Red and black.” You nod, moving beside him so you can see what he sees. He points into the guts of your car, “That’s your battery.”

You lean forward a little, and he lowers his finger so you can see exactly what he’s pointing at. “Plus sign, red cable,” he explains, then hands the cable-clamp thingy to you. Your brows furrow. “Attach it,” he says like you’ve done this a million fucking times.

“I’m not gonna blow up my car, right?” you ask, holding the cable-clamp thing like it’s an explosive. 

He laughs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t let that happen, baby.”

You squeeze the clamp, attaching it where he showed you. You look up at him for reassurance, “Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” he says, then holds up the black clamp.

You pop a brow, “Negative?”

“Close,” his head tilts as he sticks the clamp somewhere else in the guts of your car. “Ground point, unpainted piece of metal or a part of the engine so you don’t blow your car up.”

Your lips make the shape before you say the word, “Oh.”

“Try to start it for me,” he says, and you nod, grabbing your keys from his car before slotting yourself in your own driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. The dash lights up, but the only sound your car makes is a big fat fucking click. 

“One more time,” you hear him over the hood, so you try again. You’re going to hear the clicking in your fucking dreams tonight. You deflate, groaning as he gathers the cables back into his bag, closing the hood. “This is out of my area of expertise, I fear.”

Your top lip lifts, “But you’re Handy Manny.”

He throws the bag back in his backseat, “Sorry, sunshine. I’ll call a tow truck for you.”

You don’t answer because he’s already in fix-it-mode, his phone in his hand, pacing with the other hand on his hip up on the curb while you watch from your driver’s seat. It’s unbearably hot, but you’re too guilty to care. You just let him teach you how to jump a fucking car while you tried to kiss his friend last night. 

You tilt your head, watching him. He turns, meeting your eye through the pocket between your windshield and your open door, eyes focused. It’s unbearable. You blurt, “I tried to kiss Wooyoung last night.”

He holds up a finger. Your jaw drops. He points to his ear and mouths I’m on the phone.

“Hi, yeah, I need a tow, please,” he looks up at the sky as he speaks, and you actually genuinely wish you could fucking disappear. You sink further into the seat, running your hands over your face, into your hair, knees spreading. You wish your brain wasn’t so fucking complicated. You wish you never tried to fuck Yeonjun in Wooyoung’s bedroom. 

“Sorry, they’ll be here within the hour,” he says, sounding refreshed as he hangs over your open door, arms crossed over the top of it. “So, you tried to kiss Wooyoung?”

You lower your hands, face blank. “Yes, last night.”

“Hm,” his head tilts. “He left that part out.”

“He said no,” you’re immediately defending him, defending yourself through him. “I didn’t kiss him.”

“But you wanted to,” his brows furrow from above the door. 

You look at your lap, guilty. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says simply. 

Your head snaps upward, brows tied together. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “Do you want me to be mad at you?”

“Kinda,” you shrug, bewildered at the answer. “We’re exclusive and I tried to fuck your friend.”

His brows raise, “You said kiss.”

“I did say kiss,” your lips tighten. “I meant kiss.”

He watches you for a second, eyes dancing to the floorboard beneath you, your steering wheel, the pile of shit in your passenger seat. Finally, he asks, “Do you still want to be exclusive?”

You speak before you can think, “I like you, Yun–”

He grins. “Not what I asked.”

Your lips flatten. “I don’t know.”

He nods, “Okay.”

“Oh my god,” you gruff out, the heels of your palms finding your bare eyes. “Can you please say something else?”

He huffs a laugh, “What do you want me to say? We aren’t dating, we’re exclusively sleeping together.”

“I know,” you basically whine. “But what happens if we aren’t? I like you.”

“I like you, too,” he nods. “It’s not like I’m going to hate you forever if we aren’t exclusive, sunshine. Did you think I’d throw a fit? Call you a cheater?”

Even Unscripted is a fucking cheater. The tips of your ears run hot, “Yeah, kinda.”

He walks around the car door, bending down into his calves beside the floorboard. “I didn’t start this thinking we were gonna get married. You’ve had four boyfriends in total in your entire life. I like you, but I’m not the type to stop someone from doing what they want to do.”

“But you–” you argue. “You’re not hurt at all?”

His head tilts, exposing his teeth in a way that says well, maybe. “I wouldn’t say hurt, but I wouldn’t say I’m emotionless, either. Mingi will be excited.”

Your jaw drops, a punched laugh escaping you. “You’re thinking about Mingi right now?”

He grins, “I think about Mingi often.”

“Have you ever been exclusive with him?” Yunho makes a show of shaking his head no. You deflate into your seat again, “I don’t understand that. Sleeping with someone without having… attachments. The security that they’re into you.”

His brows furrow, “Isn’t sleeping with someone confirmation enough that they like you?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “I mean, like, they’ll wake up tomorrow and still like you.”

“Have sexual attraction and romantic attraction always gone hand-in-hand with you?” he asks, and it’s honest. You nod. His face flattens out. “Have you ever wanted to fuck someone just to fuck them?”

Your lips scrunch as you look up at the roof of your car, thinking. You’re shaking your head as you respond, “No.”

He pops a brow, “Really?”

“No!” you say through a laugh. “I mean it. You know I’ve only had sex with long-term boyfriends, you’re the only exception.”

“And I’m flattered, but you’ve never seen someone walking down the street and just wanted to bang ‘em? Didn’t even want to learn their name?”

“No,” you say with a little more certainty. “The romantic aspect… It's part of it for me. The attraction.”

“So you have to really like someone in order to fuck them?” he asks, clarifying. You nod. His brows furrow, “But you don’t have to date them in order to fuck them.”

“What?” you ask, brows tied together. “No–”

“So you wanted me to be your boyfriend,” he assumes, brows raising. “That night at the party when we kissed, you were thinking in your head, ‘I’m gonna make Yunho my boyfriend’.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in third person, it’s weird.” His head tilts, face flat. You release an aggravated sigh, “Fine, no, I wasn’t thinking that about you. I wanted to sleep with you.”

He grins, “So everything you just said was a lie, basically.”

“I’m confused!” you argue, poking a flip flop at his knee. “I don’t know what I do. I don’t know!”

He laughs, smacking your foot away from him. “Okay, think of someone you want to fuck. Someone who’s not Wooyoung.” Your hands hit your face so hard they clap. He’s laughing again as he reaches up for your hands, pulling them off your face as he sits on the floorboard of your car. “I’m serious, sunshine. Think of someone that you’ve never imagined yourself dating. Someone you’re really, really attracted to, and want just one solid night of really hot, intense fucking.”

Oh, your face is on fucking fire, but you think. You think hard. You think of every single man you’ve ever met, all the guys on campus, the ones that go to your gym, none of them have ever piqued your interest enough to want a solid night of really hot, intense fucking.

But there is someone you’ve wondered about. Someone who gets the back of your neck prickling with sweat whenever you’re around them.

The answer comes naturally, “Jihyo.”

His brows raise. He chokes on a laugh, “Jihyo? Park Jihyo? Friends with Momo, Sana….?”

You nod, “Yes, that Jihyo.”

He pops a brow, “Huh.”

“What?” you immediately press, sitting up a little. “What’s wrong with Jihyo?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting you to– I wasn’t expecting a woman.”

“Are you homophobic when you literally stick your dick up Mingi’s ass?” 

His face goes flat again. “Did you seriously just ask me that?” You giggle. “Okay, Jihyo. Do you want to date Jihyo?”

Your head tilts, eyes dancing around your car again, “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, don’t start now,” he says like you’re fucking ridiculous. “Have you thought about fucking her?”

You finally meet his eye again, shrugging. “Once or twice.”

“So everything you just said was bullshit, basically,” he says like he’s caught you, a smirk playing on his lips like this is the most amusing thing he’s ever encountered.

You gasp. “No, it was not bullshit. I like Jihyo, she’s my friend.”

Yunho leans in like he’s telling you a secret, “Have you ever even kissed a girl?”

Your top lip lifts, “Yes, I've kissed Jen!”

“I mean, like, seriously,” he explains with his hands. “I really didn’t take you as fruity.”

“Maybe you have a shit gaydar,” you counter, arms crossing over your chest.

“We’re getting off topic,” he shakes his head. “Would you survive if you had sex with Jihyo tomorrow and she didn’t call you after? Didn’t ask you to be her girlfriend?”

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend,” he counters.

“But we talked about exclusivity the next morning,” you fire back. 

“But what if I didn’t bring it up? Would you have fucked me again?”

Your lips scrunch, cheeks heating up. “Yeah.” Yunho gives you a look like you’re trying to bullshit a bullshitter. You moan a noise of aggravation, “It’s different, Yunho. I knew you liked me before I slept with you.”

He shrugs, “Jihyo likes you.”

“Jihyo likes me as a friend,” you raise a finger between you.

He lowers it back down again, wrapping his palm around your finger. “Have you ever asked?” You barely get your no out before he’s sighing. “What are you scared of, sunshine?”

You’re tired of that question. And people asking you what you want. And any other fucking question that you don’t know the answer to.

“Being exclusive with someone doesn’t mean they won’t hurt you, baby.” He’s still holding your fingers as he says it, frowning. “And I know you know that already.”

First Wooyoung, and now Yunho? Your body sags, head drooping forward like the weight of his words sat directly on your back. Is this the aftermath? The mark Yeonjun left on your soul? You thought you were moving on, pushing forward, that Yunho was the very physical proof of your growth. It hurts to know it’s still not enough, that there’s embers left of the fire Yeonjun lit. But Yunho’s right. Wooyoung was fucking right, too, just like he always fucking is.

You look up again, eyes cloudy, face bent up in a frown. “How do I fix that?”

The smile he gives you is soft, comforting. “You don’t need to fix it, baby. I just wish you would live.”

You pout. “Does this mean we’re breaking up?”

His grin widens, a chuckle falling past his lips. “Is break-up the term to use here? Are you asking if we can still be friends? Still sleep together? What are you asking me, sunshine?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. What are my options?”

He runs two hands over his face, laughing into his palms. “Jesus Christ, you’re a piece of fucking work.”

“In a good way?”

He shakes his head before his palms find his lap. “Do you want to keep seeing me?”

“Of course I do,” you answer, that’s a no-brainer.

“Do you want to keep fucking me?”

You blink at him, slowly nodding before you quietly mumble, “Yes.”

“Do you still like me?”

You nod profusely, “Yes, I like you a lot.”

“Then why would we stop seeing each other?” he asks, his voice light. He reaches forward, moving a piece of hair out of your face. “We like each other, the sex is great, there’s no reason to stop.”

“But if you…” you start, then trail off. A little firmer, you ask, “But if you sleep with other people, are you still going to like me?”

His face softens. “Of course I will.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “This is scary.”

“Then I’ll show you that it’s not,” he answers, reassurance lining his words. 

Almost a whisper, coated in fucking anxiety, you ask, “Can you kiss me?”

Without a word, without a second of fucking debate he’s reaching forward, palms swallowing your cheeks like they always do as he presses his lips to yours. It’s soft, just a peck of a kiss before he splits your lips, reassuring you of every word he just said, letting you feel that he’s still here, he still wants you, even if you aren’t fully his. 

He wants you to experience freedom. He wants you to be happy. He wants you to start living your life the way the raw, unshielded fucking part of you wants to live it. Everyone wants you to, apparently.

“Be careful,” he whispers into your mouth, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “If you keep going, the tow-truck guy is gonna catch us fucking in the backseat.”

All you do is laugh, and kiss him harder.

masterlist 🍬

[kisssan]

pairing﹢choi san x fem!reader genre﹢smut. non-idol!au, reader is a pornstar, san has a porn addiction. there will be jungkook x reader moments. strangers to lovers, mutual pining (he fell first and harder), hurt/comfort, usage of toys, masturbation, virgin!san + first time with experienced!reader, slight submissive-leaning soft dom!san, praise kink, body worship, cunnilingus, overstimulation, cowgirl/riding, missionary (heavy focus on eye contact), multiple orgasms, marking, creampie, usage of petnames (angel, princess, doll, baby), aftercare. synopsis﹢do you think pornstars have feelings… or only the ability to fake pleasure? she sells fantasies to millions, he’s addicted to the screen she lives on, and the man beside her on set knows her better than anyone. but when san meets the woman behind the camera, he realizes the one thing she’s never faked is how badly she wants to be loved. word count﹢20k

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at the mere mention of your name, you can cause havoc among young couples.

when girls film those trendy videos where they say the first name of a famous person and their boyfriend has to respond with the last name, most guys answer a little too quickly, and they try to laugh it off right after, already scrambling to downplay it before their girlfriends start asking questions, making them dig their own graves every time.

you’re a celebrity among the younger crowd — a famous pornstar, to be exact. a beautiful twenty-three-year-old woman with a body sculpted to sinful perfection and a face so soft it could pass for angelic if you covered your eyes with a blindfold and ignored what you do for a living. the comments about you come in all flavors: that you’re a whore, another slut on the streets, your parents must be ashamed of the “career” their daughter chose, and that you’re good for nothing except taking men into your mouth or spreading your legs on camera.

you’ve heard and know it all. sometimes the hate piles up more than usual, but at the end of the day, who’s counting the money? certainly not the ones typing paragraphs about morality from behind phone screens, while their husbands hide your videos behind a thousand folders in their computers.

and it’s not just the hate you receive, because you have loyal fans. not including the perverted old men who flood your inbox with desperate fantasies, and not the kids who are far too young to know your name but somehow still do. no, the ones you appreciate are the men your age, maybe a little older… one of those fans was SAN.

a mere nobody, a man who has memorized your body over the pixels in hd quality. he knows the exact way your mouth curves before you laugh, how your fingers drag down skin like you’re begging your co-star to slow down, even though he knows, from interviews and behind-the-scenes clips, that you prefer it rough. he also knows the pitch of your voice when you whisper something filthy into the camera, the slight tremble right before a whine replaces a moan.

he watches you in the dark, phone brightness turned down, volume low enough that the only real sound in the room is his own uneven breathing. his muffled noises are swallowed by his pillow until the screen times out, and the sticky evidence of his excitement is embarrassingly obvious, covering both his hand and phone.

every time, he swears it’s the last video and the last time he loses control so easily. he carries a lot of shame about his obsession. it’s like a stain invisible to everyone else. no one would ever suspect that the sweet, polite, and caring boy, who holds doors open for women and remembers every one of his friends’ birthdays, has a porn addiction… nothing about him gives it away.

a virgin who knows far too much in theory and absolutely nothing in practice.

he’s only four years older than you, not a big gap at all. you entered the industry two years ago and climbed fast, your name spreading across platforms like wildfire. he remembers the first video he saw of you, thinking you looked different from the others. something about you fooling the public that you are fragile, but you like to be in control.

past the fantasy of dating, like every other man who convinces himself with endless delusions that maybe he has a chance with you. how many times has he imagined what it would be like to date someone like you? so charming, and devastatingly beautiful, fully aware of the effect you have on people, he knows he’d be wrapped around your finger without resistance.

the times when he got home from work or the gym, the first thing he did to unwind was play one of your videos. it didn’t matter if it was old content or something uploaded an hour ago; he just wanted to see and hear you. sometimes he’d end up stalking your instagram instead, scrolling through every post and highlight, checking whatever other socials you had linked.

some of his favorite videos were the ones where you worked with your very famous co-star — jeon jeongguk, more known professionally as jungkook. the two of you moved in perfect sync, as if there was no script at all, everything was pure and raw instinct. then there were the moments when kim mingyu joined in for a threesome.

the three of you filmed together so often that people started calling you the golden trio. the chemistry was immaculate, hot in a way that looked effortless. it made san think you had a certain type: men who took care of their bodies and appearance, men who were confident and charming, having no problem with women being slightly dominant. he’d once read somewhere that you didn’t film with just anyone. he didn’t even know if it was possible to have that kind of creative control in your industry, but the thought stuck with him.

hidden in a box under his bed, buried beneath random clutter just in case, was a pocket pussy. he wasn’t taking any risks, definitely didn’t want teasing from his friends, especially not from wooyoung. so that was his dirty little secret, something he reached for when his own hand stopped being enough.

and lately, nothing was enough. he was sexually frustrated, but he didn’t have the heart to download a dating app or flirt with some random girl when mingi invited him to a party, because he didn’t want just anyone, he wanted you. no matter how impossible it was, even if it made him feel pathetic, like a loser blinded by his own addiction.

during the day, he was a bartender making coffees, teas, sugary drinks and whatnot, smiling at customers like he didn’t have a single improper thought in his head. at night, he was just another pervert who had never felt the touch of a woman. it wasn’t that he was disgusting; he wasn’t one of those men. but when he got obsessed with something, it was nearly impossible for him to let go. it reminded him of yunho and his cigarette addiction, and how he’d tried quitting so many times. once, he’d even managed five months, which was a record, then one party ruined it all, and he was back to smoking like he’d never stopped.

san understood that kind of weakness more than he wanted to admit, and now he can’t stop staring at a girl who looks a lot like you.

she’s wearing sunglasses, an oversized hoodie and baggy clothes, dressed like it’s the middle of a hip-hop dance lesson, every piece of clothing clearly designer. it’s something about the structure of her face, her hair as well. it was styled differently, yes, but still unmistakably similar.

“medium chocolate ice cream shake with extra whipped cream, large iced americano and three cookies, please.” that voice is rather familiar, sweet and honeyed, slightly raspy, like someone who’s spent all night screaming… he's sure he has heard it somewhere before.

“for here or to go?” he asks, offering a soft smile as he types the order into the computer behind the bar. he looks at her, waiting for an answer.

“to go,” she lowers her head slightly to rummage through her bag, and her sunglasses slightly slip down her nose for him to see. “i’ll pay with a card.”

no. there’s no fucking way. it has to be a coincidence, right? people look alike all the time, complete strangers with similar features, a doppelganger perhaps. but he knows your eyes and the exact color, down to the shape, and the subtle crease when you smile.

his gaze drops to her hands: this is the same damn nail set that you have, and how does he know? from your instagram story three days ago. the red catseye effect that shimmered under the light, he remembers staring at that photo longer than he should have.

he doesn’t even realize she’s speaking to him, asking if she can tap the card for the payment. he blinks, shakes his head quickly, heat rushing to his face.

“uh, yeah, yeah– i’m sorry. it’s ready,” he gestures to the payment terminal, and a few seconds later, the transaction is approved. “whose name should it be under?”

“yone.”

oh, this can't be just a coincidence anymore. yone, huh? like your favorite character from league of legends, the game he also plays because of you. there are figurines in the background of your streams, one of them a funko pop sitting right in front of your pc, and he remembers because he is observant. his eyes widen for half a second before he forces himself back into composure.

there’s no way this isn’t you… it has to be, there’s no other logical explanation that makes sense.

“okay, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. you can sit down while you wait,” he says, handing over the receipt with the order number. she smiles softly as she takes it, stepping aside so the next customer can order. but from the corner of his eye, he notices she doesn’t sit, just lingers by the pastry case, leaning forward slightly to read the labels.

“excuse me, can i have one– actually, two pieces of that chocolate cake?”

that’s when she lifts her sunglasses, and… damn it, it’s really you.

san would swear on everything he owns. he stares again, shock flickering across his face before he remembers he’s at work, and cannot lose his mind right now or act insane, no matter how badly he wants to.

“yes, of course. to go as well?” he asks, already opening the case and preparing two small boxes. you nod once, slipping your glasses back on like nothing happened. your order is ready, he tells you the total for the cake, but instead of waiting for change, you hand him cash, more than necessary.

“keep the change~ have a nice day.”

and just like that, you’re gone. no time for him to say goodbye, process, or hand back what is, frankly, an absurd amount of money for two slices of cake. the door shuts behind you, and now he has to stand there behind the cashier, pretending he didn’t just serve his dream girl at his workplace. your name is trending on every site he pretends he doesn’t know, and you were just standing in front of him, not framed in perfect lighting or following any scripts.

he doesn’t know what’s worse — that you look even better in person, or that he knows exactly how you sound when you moan.

you slip back into the van with the bag in hand, kicking the door shut behind you. the space is cool and quiet, tinted windows shielding you from curious eyes. you peel off your hoodie, then remove the sunglasses, before a voice hums from the other seat.

“took you long enough, bunny. is it that packed at this time of the day?”

“no, gukkie.” you grin, digging through the bag, you hand him his iced americano and a slice of cake. “the cashier couldn’t stop staring, i think he recognized me… so i lifted my sunglasses a little to tease him.”

you continue, leaning back, a little intrigued maybe, “but he was actually so fucking fine, like that uniform shirt was tight on him, god, the biceps, i swear i want him to–”

jungkook shoves a cookie into your mouth before you can finish. “even on your period, you’re freaky,” he mutters, flashing that wide bunny grin. you roll your eyes, biting into the chocolate chip dough, “what? let a girl simp. and he was sweet, too, didn’t panic or anything, just… stared.”

the engine starts again, the van pulling into traffic, jungkook’s private drive, of course, comfortable enough to nap in between schedules. this week is quiet for you, because you have no shoots or productions, and even if there were, he’d probably cancel them anyway. your co-star always gets a little protective when you’re not feeling your best or during that time of the month. he is not your boyfriend, not exactly; it’s platonic, maybe more of a physical attraction than a romantic one.

“should’ve gotten his number,” you sigh, glancing out the window. “he was really pretty.”

“you’ve got half the industry lined up already,” jungkook replies, taking a sip of his drink and stretching his legs out. “wonwoo, taehyung, baekhyun, yeonjun… you’re not exactly short on options.”

“i know,” you tap your fingers against your thigh, not even glancing at your friend, observing the slowly moving cars instead, “but… i don’t know, something about cashier guy felt different.”

jungkook snorts softly, grabbing a sweet treat from the bag, “different how?”

you smile to yourself, thinking about wide eyes and trembling restraint behind his polite smile. how his longer black hair fell into his chocolate brown eyes, the dimples that appeared when he flashed a smile, and his insane body proportions.

“like he’s the type who pretends he’s innocent,” you murmur, taking yet another bite, thinking about san, the name you read on the badge clipped to his apron, “but really isn’t.”

and somewhere in the café, a bartender is still trying to convince himself he was in fact not dreaming about this. he needed a five-minute break, even though he didn't smoke, he thought he needed a cigarette. his heart was beating like crazy, it was probably going to jump out at any moment and make him go into cardiac arrest… he was hoping to maybe see you again.

a week later, he heard the same voice with the same order, even though he wasn't serving at the cash register. back turned while finishing a drink, the sound of you makes him glance over his shoulder. there you were with a new outfit, hair done again, your nails the same, and the sunglasses were still perched on your nose. this time, you were wearing tights, a short skirt, some designer shoes. you were also wearing some kind of t-shirt, it was a man's and certainly not yours. he felt a little stupid, but there was no reason to be jealous; since you are constantly surrounded by men after all.

you’re waiting by the pastries again. he wipes his hands, tosses a towel over his shoulder, and slips out from behind the display case, giving himself a minute or two from making yet another matcha latte, watching you on your phone, texting someone maybe, until he cleared his throat, "anything else for you?"

“oh, yeah. can i have a piece of the oreo cake and…” you glanced around quickly, making sure no one was paying attention, before lowering your voice to a whisper, “…your number?”

instead of waiting for an answer, you press a small folded note into his hand over the counter, and he unfolds it once you step back.

(name) xxx-xxxx-xxx i know you know who i am, but i think you’re really cute <3 would you like to go on a date with me? and also something dropping at 21:00, make sure to check it out, xoxo

he raised an eyebrow as he read it, then looked back at you, lifting your sunglasses to wink at him.

“you can think about it.”

oh, he would think about it, he absolutely would. the moment you said goodbye and blew him a kiss, he was counting down the seconds until he could clock out and go home.

it was a hell of a shift. maybe because he was waiting for it to end, which only made time drag slower, thinking about you didn’t help either. the way you’d casually handed him your number. surely it wasn’t some kind of scam, no one pretending to be you, right?

back home, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. the girl he practically considered a goddess had walked into the café where he worked. out of all the cafés in the entire seoul, you chose this one. sure, it was part of a well-developed chain, he never expected a pornstar to buy sweet treats somewhere so… normal. then again, you were human, sometimes cheaper was better. and, not to brag, but their lattes and cakes were easily top ten.

watching the clock obsessively until it struck 21:00. true to your word, a twenty-minute video dropped, featuring kim taehyung as your hot professor.

he clicked on it immediately, greeted with your angelic beauty in that skimpy academic outfit. sinful under the disguise of innocence, and when the scene of your professor bending you over his desk, that was when san finally gave in and reached for the pocket pussy in the box under his bed. goodness, you were so fucking hot.

the way your ass and tits bounced with every thrust of taehyung’s cock abusing your tight cunt, and you sounded so breathy, needy, very much angelic. was this what heaven sounded like?

matching his pace to the video, hips snapping forward, you were close, he was close, and when you came on screen, body trembling beneath your professor, san followed right after — groaning, spilling into the toy, listening to your cries echo from his laptop speakers.

“f-fuck…” his breathing came out ragged, and his clean hand draped over his face before sliding back through his hair, pushing it away from his damp forehead. it was hot, feeding his delusions, but it wasn’t enough to feed the actual hunger he had for you, not for someone who wanted the real thing.

after he calmed down, he grabbed a towel to clean himself up and pulled his pants back up, mind racing, switching on and off. should he text you? he wasn’t a coward, but you weren’t messing with him, were you? you had sounded genuinely interested, but it felt like a one-in-a-million chance that someone like you would even glance at someone like him.

grabbing his phone, no time to waste, and to miss such an opportunity? he would be a damn fool, because there might not be a second time.

hi, i’m san. from the café.

you received it instantly, been waiting all day for him, even mid-fuck with jungkook when your phone lit up next to your head as you grabbed it. your eyes widened, excitement replacing pleasure in an instant. “oh my god, gukk!”

he smirked down at you, thinking you were praising him, until you gasped, “cashier guy texted me, oh fuck right there–” that made him slow down a little, unhappy that something like that interrupts him, and stops you from paying attention to him.

“check it later,” he muttered, voice low, as he thrust into you to the point of the skin slapping being louder than your moans, “not when i’m inside you.”

unfortunately, the session with jungkook ends faster than usual. he can feel you’re no longer fully with him, your excitement redirected elsewhere. even though he finishes inside you, with his body still hovering over yours, you barely react. you’re already slipping out from under him, rolling onto your stomach with a little dreamy sigh.

mind you, he’s still caging you in with his strong arms from above, one inked in a full tattoo sleeve, and just like that, you’re ignoring him? he would do anything to make you feel good, and you’re lying there, flushed and glowing, suddenly giddy over some random man.

his cum slowly leaks out of you, dripping onto the towel you’d thrown beneath earlier. he shifts slightly, peeking over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of your screen. you and the cashier guy are already texting.

jealousy doesn’t even begin to cover it — he hates competition, hates being second, but can he really act possessive over someone who isn’t his? friends with benefits, colleagues, no strings attached; however, it’s too late to pretend he doesn’t care.

he leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, then another, trailing down to your spine. you let out a soft whimper, thighs squeezing together at the lingering sensitivity, the sticky warmth between them making you shift.

“wanna shower with me?” he murmurs, hands sliding to your waist, fingers squeezing gently while his thumbs brush over the soft curve of your ass.

“no, you go first… i don’t exactly trust you after the last time i joined you,” you laugh at the memory. the shower sex had been insane, amazing enough to spark ideas for future content, but you’d barely been able to walk afterward, your entire body aching. “don’t use up all the hot water, though.”

and just like that, you’re back on your phone, naked in his bed, texting someone else.

jungkook watches you for a moment longer before pushing himself off the mattress. irritated and disappointed, but this is what he signed up for the second he got involved with you.

you, meanwhile, are deep in conversation with san. the messages are playful and teasing, curious questions here and there, subtle flirting that grows bolder with every reply. at one point, you send him a photo. nothing too explicit, showing some skin, the angle leaves very little to the imagination.

san is absolutely losing his goddamn mind. he can’t even sit still, pacing around his apartment, phone clutched in his hand, a wide smile stretching across his face. he looks insane, giggling under his breath, rereading your messages like a lovestruck teenager. what started as texting at ten turned into eleven, then midnight, then two in the morning. you even took your phone into the bathroom, telling him it was the fastest shower you’d ever taken.

every notification feels like a spark under his skin, an arrow cupid aimed at his heart. he imagines you smiling at your screen the way he is now. the idea that you’re choosing to spend your night talking to him makes him feel special, as he debates for a full five minutes before finally typing it out.

are you free this saturday? it’s my day off. i’d love to take you out.

it’s soon, too soon, maybe, but it feels right, stupidly and terrifyingly right. he’s so pumped he might cry from happiness. adrenaline hums through his veins, his fingers twitching as he waits for the little typing bubble to appear.

meanwhile, jungkook has you tucked into him, your back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“bunny, go to sleep already… we have filming tomorrow,” he murmurs against your neck, lips brushing your skin in a slow, lingering kiss. you giggle, fingers still flying over your screen. “i will, i promise… i’m just checking if i have anything on saturday.”

“mmm, you don’t,” he answers for you, making you pause. “how do you know?”

“because it’s your day off. and sunday, me and gyu are taking you shopping. remember?”

oh, right. the annual sunday shopping trip, which means saturday is completely free for san.

“right, right… okay then, the weekend i’m off work, but i will be going on dates!” you chirp, a little too brightly, as his arm tightens at the plural of the word date.

“you and cashier guy finally meeting properly?”

“yeah, he just asked me. now i have to figure out what outfit to wear…”

“he’s probably seen you naked,” jungkook mutters, gently biting your shoulder. “don’t think it’ll matter.”

there’s something beneath the teasing tone; alas, you are too tired to overanalyze it. he yawns, pressing his face into your hair. “can you please put the phone down? let’s sleep.”

you hum in agreement, because cranky jungkook is not fun to deal with. so you type quickly:

yes. i’d love to.

then another message.

but goodnight now, sweet dreams💜

you set the phone on the nightstand and snuggle deeper into jungkook’s warmth. he kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

“night, bunny.”

“night, gukkie.” and before you know it you are in dreamland, hoping to see a certain someone there.

san, on the other hand, is wide awake. re-reads your messages at least twenty times. he lies on his bed staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest, grin refusing to fade. he secured a date, an actual date, with his celebrity crush and favorite actress… okay, porn actress, but that still counts, it absolutely does.

he doesn’t know to laugh or cry; he really doesn’t. all he wants to tell someone so badly, scream it from his balcony, call a friend and brag, but he can’t. because what if they mock him? what if they tell him he’s delusional? that it’s a prank? a scam? that a woman like you wouldn’t actually want to go out with someone like him?

still… you’ve been texting him for hours. you flirted, sending some pictures that are close to nudes, and most importantly, you said yes.

on his day off, four days from now, he won’t be watching you on a screen; he’ll be sitting across from you, hearing you laugh and smile in real time, getting to know you outside the flashing lights. for once, he won’t be just another viewer; he’ll be the one spending time with you.

he is grateful to everything divine, to the universe, and to his boss for hiring him for this job.

saturday arrived faster than he was ready for.

the days leading up to it had your quick ten-minute visits to the café, lingering by the counter just to see him; the nonstop texting that stretched into late-night calls; the way you’d insisted on meeting somewhere private, and because he respects you far too much to risk your privacy, you both agreed to meet somewhere discreet.

san chose a restaurant that’s far more expensive than anything he’d usually consider. it would probably swallow up a ridiculous portion of his savings. he doesn’t care because you were worth it.

he got there early, paced once outside before forcing himself to stand still, bouquet hidden awkwardly behind his back. he kept checking his reflection in the glass, smoothing his hair, adjusting his jacket.

then you appeared, and he forgot how to function.

you were wearing purple, he had mentioned it was his favorite, and you were popping like a flower in the same color: the dress was short, lilac leaning toward soft lavender, hugging your figure in a way that made his head spin. over it, a light cream ribbed cardigan softened the look, making you seem smaller somehow, sweeter. your shoulder bag matched perfectly, strappy purple heels clicking gently against the pavement as you walked toward him.

you didn’t look like a pornstar — you looked like an ordinary woman in her twenties.

without the sunglasses or the perfect camera angles and dramatic makeup, he noticed how little you were wearing now, enough to highlight your features, lipstick accentuating your smile. makeup or not, camera or not, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

you kept getting closer, that smile growing wider, and he could feel heat rushing up his neck, his ears burning, cheeks flushed as if he had a fever, yeah, maybe because he is lovesick.

“sannie~” the way you said it nearly knocked him out. you slipped your phone into your purse, stopping right in front of him. “i’m sorry if you waited long! traffic was awful.”

get a grip, san. say something normal, don’t freak out. you don’t sound like the woman he’s heard moaning through speakers. you don’t carry yourself like the characters you play. the contrast hits him all at once; it makes him realize how much of what he’s consumed has been performance.

“don’t worry, i just got here,” he lied quickly. he’d been waiting, but you had warned him traffic might slow you down. “oh, uhm…” he cleared his throat, glancing away briefly before bringing the bouquet from behind his back. “this is for you.”

the flowers were carefully arranged, your favorites. the ones you once mentioned absentmindedly in a voice message at three in the morning, thinking he probably wouldn’t remember, but he did. and now he watches your face carefully, nerves creeping back in, hoping, praying, that he got it right.

he held them out with slightly trembling hands, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were. how good you smelled, gosh, your eyes looked even prettier up close.

for a split second, you just stared at him, and your expression softened in a way that made his stomach flip from anxiety. before he could react, you rose onto your tiptoes. the kiss was gentle, your lips brushing his cheek, quick enough to be innocent, long enough to leave him stunned.

when you pulled back, you were smiling again. “thank you,” he stood there, dizzy, heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. “shall we?” you asked, nodding toward the entrance. inside, a quiet corner had been reserved just for the two of you.

it doesn’t even feel like a first date.

you’re laughing, eating, leaning closer over the table as if you’ve known each other for years. you look so pretty, it almost hurts to look at you for too long, and for a moment, all the dirty thoughts disappear.

he doesn’t see you like that right now — not as a body to devour. he never truly saw you as just a piece of meat. yes, he’s a man. the urge to have you, to taste you, to fuck you crosses his mind sometimes. that’s normal, but before any of that, he’s a gentleman, because tonight, he just wants to know you.

“you would not believe the behind-the-scenes drama,” you whispered dramatically, leaning forward as if sharing state secrets. “people think it’s all glamorous, but half the time it’s just us arguing about lighting or someone stealing someone else’s protein bars.”

you’re telling him something funny from work, little things the audience would never know. you talk about your two closest friends, jungkook and mingyu, describing them as kind, dependable, and a little chaotic. you tell him about your life before all of this: how you dropped out of university because it simply wasn’t for you. after all, a piece of paper means nothing if you can’t prove your skills. you mention the struggles you’ve had at home, not diving too deep, but he understands there’s more to you than what the camera shows.

you keep talking, barely pausing for breath, and he listens to every single word. he catches the small details with the way your eyes soften when you mention being a kid, how you have a cat named pawy who lives with your grandparents. you didn’t filter yourself, you just… talked, and he felt honored that you were comfortable enough to do that with him.

then suddenly, you stop mid-sentence, blinking as if you’ve just realized something.

“oh my god, i’m sorry,” you say quickly, a little flustered. “i didn’t mean to talk so much. i–i want to hear about you, too.”

did he win the lottery? a girl like you, sitting across from him, apologizing for being too open. he sets his chopsticks down, covering his mouth politely as he finishes chewing before answering.

“it’s okay, really. i don’t mind,” he says softly. “i actually prefer listening.” pausing and thinking hard. “nothing exciting. i learned taekwondo when i was younger, stuck with it for years, and… i have a cat too, her name’s byeol.”

you leaned forward again, chin resting on your palm, encouraging him with soft nods. and he kept talking about moving to the city from his small town, the cafe and how he liked simple things. you listened the way he had listened to you, and for the first time in a long while, you realize you genuinely like the man sitting across from you. not for the thrill of being bent over, but you like him so much that you’re already imagining your cats meeting.

the conversation stretches until the restaurant begins to quiet down, and it’s time to leave. of course, he pays. it makes his wallet ache a little, but watching you smile, especially when you happily dig into dessert, clearly having a sweet tooth, makes it worth every won.

now, standing outside together, he hesitates about what exactly to do. should he call you a taxi? walk you home? you mentioned you live about thirty minutes away, so a walk might be nice.

walking beneath the moonlight, the sky clear and glowing above you, everything feels strangely perfect. the night air is cool, the streets are quiet, and you’re still talking, hands moving as you describe your next short film. something with mingyu playing a single dad who fucks the babysitter.

“young dilfs sell a lot these days,” you joke lightly. he huffs out a quiet laugh, hands tucked into his coat pockets, listening to everything you have to say. then your steps slow slightly. “am i making you uncomfortable? i mean… you know what i do and–” you press your lips together. “i’m sorry. i’ll stop talking about it.”

that makes him stop walking altogether. you take a few more steps before realizing he isn’t beside you anymore. when you turn around, he’s just standing there, looking at you. uncomfortable? him? the man who watches you through a screen like you were his guilty pleasure.

“you’re not making me uncomfortable,” he says, stepping closer. “i’m actually glad you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about that stuff.”

you search his face, trying to see whether he’s just being polite.

“i don’t want you to think i’m… i don’t know, that i’m too much,” you admit quietly. “or that this is all i am.”

“i don’t think like that,” he says without hesitation. “your job doesn’t define you. i don’t see you as less, and i don’t see you as just… that.” he swallows, a little shy but sincere. “i think you are a wonderful person. you have goals and dreams, and i'm sure you will achieve them.”

your shoulders relax at that, cheeks heating at the comment, resuming your pace beside him, offering a soft thank you. you explain that you don’t usually talk about work on dates, but with him, it feels natural. you feel so at peace to the point you don't even care. it's like he's bringing out the child in you, the part that was suppressed and silenced, now can't stop shining and rambling.

before you realize it, you’ve reached your apartment complex. he’s still holding the bouquet. “these are yours,” he says softly, finally handing them to you. you take them carefully, smiling up at him, and then you rise onto your tiptoes again. your lips brush his in a gentle kiss.

“thank you, san,” you murmur when you pull back. “i had a really great time. i hope we can go out again.”

he’s completely smitten. you kissed him. it was just a small peck, but it sends his entire brain into shutdown. his first kiss, ever. his lips part slightly in shock, eyes wide, and you can’t help but notice. a tiny smile curves your mouth before you lean in once more, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, longer this time, making his knees feel weak.

“text me when you get home, okay?” you whisper. “goodnight, san. and thank you so much again for tonight.”

before he can gather a proper response, you’re stepping back, offering him one last smile before disappearing inside the building. the door closes, and he’s left standing there, staring at it.

how is he supposed to just go home now, when all he wants is to stay a little longer?

after that night, things don’t slow down; if anything, they speed up. seeing san becomes something you look forward to between shoots, meetings, and the chaos of your schedule.

the second date is at the aquarium. you insist on sunglasses and, unfortunately, a very styled and perfectly placed wig, just in case. the last thing you need is a mother recognizing you and causing a scene in front of her kid. you don’t want whispers or comments; you just want to watch the fish in peace.

when you stand in front of the giant glass tank, blue light reflecting across your face, he finds himself staring at you more than the sea creatures. you press closer to his side when a group of teenagers passes by, and without thinking, his hand settles at your lower back, and it doesn't move from there all day… maybe it did to hold your hand when he sensed how stressed you become around that many people.

the third date is a disaster, because it rains. not the romantic kind you see in movies. it’s heavy and restlessness, your carefully planned picnic is canceled, the park is muddy and miserable. you pout for a second before laughing it off.

“we’re cursed,” you joke over the phone, before he speaks. “or… you could come over to my place? i’ll pick you up.”

you agree, and it turns out to be simple. takeout containers on his small table, a show neither of you really pays attention to. you curl up under his blanket like you’ve done it a hundred times before, head pressed on his shoulder, nothing dramatic happens, but it makes you want more.

the fourth date is unexpectedly adorable. a clay class, your fingers get messy, and you end up laughing more than actually sculpting anything useful. san concentrates so hard it’s almost funny, tongue poking slightly against his cheek as he tries to shape something decent. and for that, you have a new vase as a gift, now you finally have a place to put your lego flowers. afterward, he accompanies you to the nail salon. your schedule is packed, and the only free day you have is the one with the appointment. instead of canceling, you drag him along.

“you pick,” you tell him, holding out the sample colors.

“me?” he blinks at shades and hues he has never seen.

“yes, you.”

he chooses a light shade of purple. you never thought you’d like the color this much, but lately it’s everywhere — your dresses, your nails, small details you don’t even consciously plan.

by the fifth date, something stirs inside you, and you don’t know if it’s the butterflies.

texts aren’t enough anymore, calls don’t satisfy you, not even the men you work with: men who know exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan on cue, they can’t distract you from how much you want san.

he’s good-looking, gentle, caring, kind, emotionally intelligent, and observant. he remembers the smallest details, he makes you laugh without trying too hard. he feels like your safe place, your prince charming waiting to find the princess with the missing glassy heel.

jungkook notices the change in you. he’s sprawled across your couch one evening, wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts. you’re curled up at the other end, dressed in his oversized t-shirt, your bare legs tucked beneath you. he finds that strange. you’re into another man now, have real feelings for him, yet you’re still fucking with your co-star whenever it’s convenient. you're weird, but you must be confused. a lollipop tucked into his cheek as he watches you zone out, smiling faintly at your phone.

“cashier guy’s been on your mind a lot lately, huh?” he says, and you don’t even look up at first.

“cashier guy has a name, and it’s san.”

the correction is immediate, and you sound a little offended. he hums, watching you more carefully now. he didn't say anything for the next few minutes, just trying to enjoy the taste of the strawberry and not think about you so much in ways he shouldn't.

but it wasn’t easy, since he was your first —  the one glued to your side in this industry, your partner on set, your comfort after long days, knowing your habits, your moods, somewhere along the way, liking you became… love. he’s never really allowed himself to name it. what could he even do with it? feelings don’t bend just because you want them to. he can’t force yours, or rewrite them, make you look at him the way you clearly look at san.

now he needed something stronger than the taste of a sweet lollipop.

he pushes himself up and heads toward the balcony, grabbing a cigarette from the pack he keeps hidden in his jacket. the night air is cold, as he exhales smoke into the dark. every now and then, he glances back inside through the glass door. you’re still smiling… that soft, glowing smile you didn’t have a few months ago.

he hates losing, but what he hates more is seeing you unhappy, and right now, he can’t ignore that. exhaling slowly, letting the smoke leave his body along with some of the tension. maybe this is what compromise feels like: loving someone sometimes means stepping aside.

finishing the cigarette slowly, stubbing it out in the ashtray before returning inside. for a moment, he just stands there, watching you. then he walks over, sits beside you, and gently pulls the phone from your hands.

“jungkook, what–”

“i think it’s time we talk about a few things.”

you blink at him, confused. he looks serious, your phone still in his grip. when you reach for it, he lifts it just out of reach.

“relax,” he sighs, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he ruffles your hair with his free hand. “i just want to talk about you and san. you know… making sure everything’s okay. don’t want you grumpy on set.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “i’m not grumpy.”

“you wouldn’t know if you were,” he shoots back lightly, but you settle back against the couch, smiling at yourself, cheeks heating up from thinking about san.

“it’s been… really good,” you admit after a second. “like, really good and i just can’t put it into words. we’ve been seeing each other for… almost two months now?”

“almost two months, eh?” he repeats quietly. you nod, fingers twisting the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “he’s just… different, and doesn’t treat me like–” you stop, searching for the right word. “like some fantasy or fixation, he treats me like a human being.”

and you keep talking about him, sometimes you even stop to think, blushing, words escape your vocabulary. you can't even look your colleague in the eye because you're suddenly shy. jungkook sees it by the way you shine more lately. the softness in your voice when you talk about san. you’ve become gentler somehow, more affectionate, more openly feminine in a way that isn’t staged: you’re in love.

“if you want to be with him,” jungkook says quietly, “don’t wait for some perfect moment, there isn’t one. just say it.”

you look at him. “say what?”

“the three magical words.” you are a little shocked by how suddenly he said it, “but,” he adds, leaning back, “be careful, you never really know, he’s still a man.”

there’s no bitterness in his tone, no jealousy or negativity. that’s him being honest and protective, watching out for you and always having your back. and in that moment, jungkook lets you go, at least in his mind. his heart will take longer, that much he knows.

but for now, he leans back into the couch, nudging your knee with his.

“wanna play mario kart?”

you smile, getting up for the nintendo switch. “only if you don't sulk when you lose~”

san’s nervous about having you at his place again.

it’s not like you haven’t been here multiple times already. tonight his kitchen is a complete mess. flour dusts the counter, there’s some on your cheek, he wipes it off. you’re trying to recreate his café’s chocolate cake: the one you ordered the very first time you walked in and unknowingly changed his life. at least, you’re trying. san is already mentally preparing himself to gently take the bowl from your hands before you accidentally ruin it.

this is the sixth date, though you have lost count due to your busy schedule. two and a half months have passed since you started going out, it's like a magician snapped their fingers, making everything happen so quickly... well, not quite everything, you're not together yet.

he’s standing behind you now, hands resting on your waist, as he leans in slightly, peeking over your shoulder as you measure out cocoa powder. it's really sweet, and he doesn't think about the ingredients in the cake. “mhm… you’re doing well,” he murmurs, giving you a light squeeze. in reality, he’s watching closely to make sure you don’t mix up the salt and sugar. “okay,” he adds by gently, clearing his throat. “i think that’s enough, let me handle it.”

and now you’re here, wearing his hoodie and a pair of shorts, legs bare, sitting comfortably on his kitchen counter while he finishes preparing the cake like you haven’t completely wrecked him.

san is a total loser — a virgin, a porn-addicted, chronically online, king-of-losers virgin.

he still wonders how you haven't found sex tapes, movies, magazines, posters of you, or the toy he uses to pretend to be you, and you have no idea, probably assuming he’s your average guy with enough screen time. when you asked him why he had a projector in his bedroom, his answer was feeling nostalgic about disney movies out of nowhere. you don't know, but you suspect he had at least one or two ex-girlfriends, someone must have fallen for him at some point, right? he’s good-looking and polite, but he’s never talked about past relationships, nor have you, because the topic never came up.

you don’t know you were his first kiss, or that when you leaned up on your tiptoes that night outside your apartment, his brain completely shut off, and you definitely don’t know that you might be his first love.

love.

it’s a heavy word, one that has too much weight on the tip of his tongue, but his heart already knows what his mind does not. he can’t even look at other women anymore. actresses, celebrities, idols, faces he once scrolled through mindlessly now blur together, since he doesn’t care about them, he doesn’t want them… he wants you.

“sannie,” you hum, watching him move. “do you go to the gym a lot?”

he nearly drops the whisk. “h-huh?”

“your arms,” you say sweetly, tilting your head. “they don’t just look like that for no reason. is it for health or… aesthetics?”

“uh– i wanted to get in shape, so when i can i go, yeah.”

you are still on the counter, your clean hand sliding up his arm before giving it an experimental squeeze. his muscles tense automatically under your touch. you squeeze again, genuinely impressed. don’t even get started on his broad back, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt every time he moves. you let your fingers trail down his arm, curious and teasing without even trying.

meanwhile, his brain is screaming because he’s so down bad it’s embarrassing.

the cake goes into the oven. he wipes his hands on a towel, trying to act normal, due to you standing too close and smelling like his cologne. out of nowhere, you kiss him. soft at first, he tastes cocoa on your lips. his hands automatically brace on either side of you as he’s between your legs now. your fingers slide into his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp, and his entire spine lights up.

your thighs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. fuck, he has a boner, a very obvious one. he prays you don’t notice, unfortunately, you do. he thinks you've probably felt more boners than he's ever jerked off. you pull back just slightly, lips swollen, that teasing smile curving your mouth, the one he’s seen a million times on a screen, but this time it’s for him.

“sannie?”

“hmm?”

“do you want to… you know?”

he’s fantasized about this more times than he should. in his head, he’s confident and experienced, but in reality? he’s a virgin with a racing heart and no idea if he’s ready to be the man you deserve in that way. so like the absolute loser he is, he leans in and kisses you again instead of answering. deeper this time, slowly to buy time. your lips move together, breath mingling, hands wandering but not crossing that invisible line.

for now, making out feels safer than risking everything.

a few days before the seventh date, during his break at the café, san found himself lingering by the back entrance. he wasn’t even a smoker, but he’d just taken the trash out and decided to sit on the narrow staircase, enjoying a few quiet minutes alone, as he scrolled through his phone, smiling softly at your messages.

you’re at work too, busy filming with yeonjun, warning him that the project would take more time and focus, that replies might be slow. still, you sent him little things whenever you could, such as short voice notes, silly tiktoks, edits of cute kittens captioned “me and u,” or random clips you found funny.

he replies to every single one, so caught up in typing and reacting to each video as if it were the highlight of his day that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching. the soft scrape of heavy soles against asphalt, the faint clink of chains, and the sound stopped right in front of him.

still looking down, so he didn’t immediately see the large black combat boots planted a few inches away. slowly lifting his head to see… jeon jungkook standing there in broad daylight looking like a rockstar, a lollipop tucked between his lips. no sunglasses, with no attempt to hide, pulling the sweet treat from his mouth, tilting his head slightly.

“you got a minute?”

san’s first thought was irrational and immediate, heart jumped straight into his throat: this is it. i’m about to get beaten up, blackmailed, thrown in the dumpster behind my own workplace.

what was the golden boy doing behind a random café in the middle of the day… and why does he look so calm about it? but he couldn’t show fear, especially not in front of someone like him: this is your closest friend, your co-star, the man who had you first.

san nodded slowly, sliding his phone into the pocket of his apron as he started to rise, jungkook waved his tattooed hand lazily. “no need to get up. relax.”

and then he sat down beside him. manspreading casually, forearms resting on his thighs, skin showing through his ripped jeans, the lollipop returned to his mouth, tongue pressing it lightly against his teeth. silence stretches between them. it was awkward, because san had no idea what to say. after a moment, jungkook pulled the candy out again, tucked it neatly into its wrapper, and slid it into his pocket. he pulled out a cigarette pack instead, tapping one free and holding it between his lips.

“want one?” he asked, words slightly muffled as he offered the pack.

“thanks, but i don’t smoke.”

“ah, i see.”

the lighter flicked, smoke curled upward, followed by another pause, then casually, as if they were discussing the weather or why the dinosaurs went extinct, the older spoke. “so, you’re the guy.”

“i– i guess…”

“you serious?”

direct question with no aggression behind it. not hostile, but not exactly friendly either, just assessing and testing the man you talked non-stop about during late-night dinners, shopping sprees and any second of the day. jungkook isn't here to nag or threaten; he was just curious to see what kind of person the cashier guy was.

“i wouldn’t be doing this if i wasn’t.”

“yeah?” the smoker asked, raising his pierced eyebrow, “serious like a fan, or something else?”

san swallowed before continuing, words still trying to form themselves to explain properly, to prove himself.

“i don’t see her like… like she’s not just what’s on screen. she’s–” he stopped himself, exhaling. “(name)’s funny, and kind. she remembers little things and gets excited over silly stuff. she sends me cat videos even when extremely busy because she doesn’t want me to feel ignored.”

his voice softened without him realizing, literal heart in his eyes as he spoke so fondly of you.

“i just… i like being around her, even when we’re not doing anything and she deserves to be treated like any other girl in the world, so i’m trying my very best to make her feel cherished.”

jungkook took a slow drag from his cigarette, smoke filling his lungs before he let it spill out in a hazy stream.

“you are in love with her, hm?” he asked bluntly, and goosebumps appeared on san’s skin, and it wasn't from him only wearing a shirt or the fact that they were in the shade, but the silence was answer enough.

jungkook saw the way his cheeks turned red, fingers curled slightly against his knees, smudging the apron. you are definitely not a fan’s obsession, or some shallow fixation, maybe a dirty little secret, but his energy itself didn't reek of lust.

smirking faintly, smoke slipping from his mouth as he leaned back. “she acts tough, but she’s softer than she lets people think.” 

“yeah, i know,” san chuckled, a little nervously. somehow, they were finding a rhythm, an understanding point beyond awkwardness.

“if you hurt her in any way, i will find you.” this is a real threat now, but then jungkook nudged him lightly with his elbow. “chill, if i wanted to beat you up, i would have done that already.”

he takes one final drag, then drops the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot. walking away, as he glances back briefly. yeah, this guy isn’t just obsessed, he’s in love.

“oh, before i forget,” jungkook turns around, rummaging through his pocket before coming closer to take san’s hand and giving him something in his palm. to which san was more than confused, looking down because what he gave him was a condom, in a purple wrapper. “handle with care~”

the golden boy kept walking as if nothing happened. did san just get approved to date you… or accidentally got cast in a porn shoot?

people say that seven is a lucky number. there are seven wonders of the world, seven colors in the rainbow, and when someone feels blissfully happy, they say they’re in seventh heaven. seven also happens to be san’s birth month. tonight is the seventh date, and it’s the first time he’s officially coming over to your place with the intention of staying.

he becomes hyperaware the second he steps into your bedroom. he’s seen this room before, obviously, but now that he’s actually here, it feels different, rather strange. on a bed where people have fucked you countless times on camera, he’s currently sitting on the edge of it, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs. the mattress is soft, memory foam, and the bed itself is spacious; he assumes you must sleep like a princess.

his eyes wander around the room while he tries to act normal. your pc setup sits neatly against the wall, surrounded by figures of different game characters. there are albums from your favorite artists stacked beside them, a few posters decorating the walls, and his gaze lingers on the small vase sitting on your shelf, the one he made for you. lego flowers bloom out of it in bright plastic colors, cute.

you change right in front of him without thinking twice. your pajamas are simple: an oversized shirt he gave you the last time you stayed at his place, hanging loosely over your body, and nothing but your panties underneath. for someone who has seen you naked more times than he could count, san still shies away, suddenly very interested in his own fingers as he fidgets with them.

all he’s wearing is gray sweatpants and a compressed black shirt. earlier you had waited for him at his place while he showered after hitting the gym, and then he drove the two of you here.

“sannie, don’t be shy now… it’s not like you don’t know what i do,” you tease lightly, moving toward your desk, grabbing the micellar water to clean the makeup from your face. settling into your chair, you prop up the small mirror and soak a cotton pad. your back faces him, but you can still see him through the reflection. he’s still looking around the room, lips pressed together like he’s trying not to say something.

“i’ve meant to ask,” you continue lightly, wiping at the corner of your eye, “do you have a favorite video of mine? surely you have one. i think a fan favorite is the jungkook brat-taming one… i’m not sure, though.”

truthfully, you’re not even sure if it’s okay to talk about your work since… you don’t really know what else to talk about. that’s the most interesting thing about you, isn’t it? the porn, the thing people know you for. sometimes you bring it up just so the conversation doesn’t fall flat. just so he doesn’t lose interest, because a part of you is scared he might.

“oh… yeah, that video did blow up,” san says, nodding slowly. he blinks a few times, carefully keeping his face neutral. even though it’s a fan favorite, it was never really his thing. he always liked the softer vibes, the romantic, almost vanilla moments more than anything else. he’s a romantic guy, after all. “i’m not really that familiar,” he adds quickly. “i mean, i know who you are, but i’m not… really into that kind of stuff.”

lies, bunch of lies, a whole pile of them.

he doesn’t even know why he’s saying it. maybe to avoid looking like the complete loser he feels like, or maybe to make himself seem different from all the other guys who simp for you online. perhaps it’s pride, some stupid masculine instinct that refuses to admit how many nights he spent watching you, even though he’s not like the others, at least… not entirely.

everyone else fell for the actress — he fell in love with the woman behind the scenes.

“san,” your chair spins around slowly until you’re facing him. “why are you lying to me?”

your face is bare now, stripped clean of makeup just like the question you’ve asked. no foundation to soften or cover, and you already know the answer. you knew from the moment you first met him, using yone as your pseudonym. very few of your fans know you switch between names from different games. sometimes you’re yoru, other times you’re tifa, maybe ada when you feel like a resident in the evil, but yone is the one you use the most.

you looked him in the eyes, but he looked away, and you noticed how he was breathing; that tight t-shirt wasn't helping him much, his fingers were curled into nervous fists against his thighs, and one of his legs kept bouncing slightly.

“i am not lying,” he said, and the voice of an inexperienced liar will always crack a little, but then you actually feel bad, somehow used, even if you work in an environment where your body is what you offer, this is about your heart. the person you trusted, who you swore was different. 

"you sure aren’t. is that why i found a picture of me in a bikini among your cookbooks? oh, or a magazine with me on the cover of last month's playboy issue between your playstation games?"

the own goal had been scored long ago; it was just the referee who had a delayed reaction.

“(name), i–” “you what?” and here you stood up from your chair, angry and offended, with slightly teary eyes, because you felt really humiliated, “what else do you have to tell me? i bet all your friends probably know by now, maybe you posted a picture of me on reddit. did you leak my number, or are you still waiting for that?"

“please, (name), listen to me,” san gets up, taking a step toward you. “this isn’t what it looks li–”

“not what it looks like?” you cut him off, your voice rising. “i was stupid enough to think someone like me could be wanted for something other than my body.”

the words leave your mouth, and the second they do, they hurt, because part of you believes them. san looks like you’ve just struck him across the face.

“that’s not…” he starts, but you’re already spiraling. the man stands there helplessly for a moment, his hands lift awkwardly, unsure where they’re supposed to go: your shoulders, your arms, pulling you into a hug, or just holding you still. he doesn’t know; he just knows he hates the look on your face. “(name), please, i’d never… it’s just–”

“what, san?” your voice cracking now, anger and hurt mixing within, making your lower lip tremble, “why did you even–”

“because i love you.”

the room goes completely still. you stop mid-sentence, mouth parting slightly. your eyes widen as you stare at him, your nails digging into your palms. san looks terrified, just as shocked as you are. the confession tore itself out of him without permission; it just happened, maybe it really does happen when you least expect it.

“i love you, and i didn’t want you to think i was just another guy watching your videos and getting off to you,” he admits, voice softening so did his eyes, “i didn’t want you to think that’s all you were to me, because you’re not.”

“you… love me?” you whisper, and san nods slowly. his hands finally reach for yours, hesitant at first, like he expects you to pull away. when you don’t, his fingers slide between yours, holding on carefully as you let him. two idiots standing in the middle of the bedroom, hearts pounding, neither of you quite sure how things got this far.

“i’m sorry i lied and hid things from you, and i promise you, i don’t watch those videos anymore, not like that,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles in soothing circles, “to me you’re…” he exhales, searching for the words, his gaze flickers downward for a moment before snapping back up, “...you’re everything. my dream girl. someone i want to take out on dates, fall asleep next to, and wake up with. someone i want to call my girlfriend, and so much more.”

“san…”

he is clearly realizing what he just admitted, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, his grip tightens a little.

“and yeah, maybe it drives me insane knowing other people get to see you in such light, because they don’t know you,” he says. “they don’t get the version of you that gets angry when you don’t get your daily dose of sugar, or analyzes the entire discography of some singer. they neither see your smile when you win a game, nor see how you drool while sleeping in my arms, when you are truly relaxed.”

san exhales slowly, trying to get control of himself, but it’s obvious he’s failing. his voice drops lower,  “honestly…” he admits, almost under his breath, “being in this room right now is kind of torture.”

his eyes flick down your body again — your bare legs, the thin panties, the oversized shirt that belongs to him, then back to your face. your beautiful face and those lovely sparkling eyes that shouldn't have tears of anger or frustration, but of happiness, and he will make sure to bring the light in them again. so far, he is succeeding.

“i’ve seen you naked a hundred times… but this is the first time you’re actually standing this close to me.”

you’re the one who moves first without even thinking twice. your hands are untangled from his, going to tighten in his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that completely knocks the breath out of him. san freezes for half a second before he melts into it, his hands finally finding your waist as he clumsily kisses you back.

the kiss is messy, weeks of tension snapping all at once. he stumbles back a step when you push him, still kissing him, your bodies colliding until the back of his knees hit the mattress, making the bed dip as he falls onto it, and you follow immediately, landing on top of him. the movement makes him gasp softly against your mouth. for someone who’s watched you on a screen countless times, the reality of you straddling him feels almost like an illusion.

your lips part from his slowly. when he looks up at you, slightly dazed, you’re smirking. your fingers slide onto his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath.

"do you want to fuck a pornstar?"

you straddle him, hips grinding slowly, as if you aren’t fully aware of what you’re doing to him. san’s hands are on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of the shirt you’re wearing, as he just looks up at you: your hair falls around your face as you lean down again, lips brushing his, teasing, barely giving him a real kiss before pulling away.

smiling like you already know the answer, thinking you’ve won, as your hips grind down once more, and you dip your head again to kiss him…

“do you want to fuck a virgin?”

the words land quietly between your mouths, making you freeze on the spot. your body goes rigid on top of him, the movement stopping so suddenly as your lips part slightly, eyes blinking as if you’re not sure you heard him right.

“what?”

but san doesn’t repeat it; he just watches the surprise slowly spread across your face. the shock and the confusion, how your body tenses, and that’s when he moves. his hands tighten around your waist, and suddenly the world flips. the mattress dips beneath your back as he rolls you over, the breath leaving your lungs in a quiet gasp as you land against the sheets.

your hair spills across the pillow, heart hammering from how sudden the action was, and now he’s above you. san braces his arms on either side of your head, caging you in, his body settling between your legs. your eyes flicker between his face and his arms, the muscles in his biceps flexing from the way he’s holding himself above you.

“a virgin?” you finally whisper, san tilts his head slightly, studying your every tiny reaction. there’s a faint smirk tugging at his mouth now, but his eyes look different.

not like the men you’ve been with before. definitely not like the ones on set, or the ones who look at you like you’re something to consume. there’s something that’s not lust… something that makes you feel the butterflies in your stomach, maybe it’s love?

“san…” your voice drops, because wait, does that mean… your eyes widen a little more. “don’t tell me that means i’m–”

he hums softly, his shoulders lift slightly in a casual shrug, but the way he’s looking at you says everything. you stare at him, brain racing and going in outer space to think about everything you know about him, or thought you knew: no girlfriends, more so no stories about exes. the way he used to get shy sometimes when you kissed him out of nowhere as well… the way he was hesitant not to go beyond making out.

because san learned how to kiss from kissing you, he never talked about exes because there weren’t any. leaning down slightly, cutting you off before you can finish the thought.

“what is it, baby?” the word hits you harder than the flip onto the bed. baby. your face warms instantly, as the smirk on his face grows just a little as he watches the rare sight of you being utterly speechless. “what happened? a minute ago, you were so confident.”

your hands clutch the fabric of his shirt as your brain struggles to catch up.

“mm, so,” he hums again, gaze drifting briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes once more. “still want to do it?”

he is the first man to ever get you into a state like this.

not mingyu with his size kink, not taehyung when he used to kiss his way down on you, and definitely not jungkook when he pinned your wrists above your head like it was nothing. none of them, even scripted, could do that. yet san, who claims he’s a virgin, is the one who has you breathless beneath him. you are used to being desired physically, but not emotionally. 

he knows you from the outside. he had time to learn that much, the expressions you make, the way you laugh, the little habits you don’t even realize you have. now he’s looking at you like he’s about to learn the rest of it from the inside. leaning down and pressing a soft peck to your lips. your hands immediately move to the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you start to remove it. san notices, chuckling, 

“my girl is impatient?”

the words make your hands pause halfway up his torso. my girl. oh… oh god. the simple praise hits you harder than anything else tonight. you’re the one freezing, fingers still tangled in the cotton of his shirt, and why are you nervous?

you, the woman people call the sex symbol of the century. you, who has done things on camera that make strangers lose their minds, here you are staring up at him like you forgot how to talk to a man or form a proper thought.

“what? you don’t like it?” his brow lifts slightly, and your silence makes his smile grow a little more mischievous. you like pet names, that’s for sure, and this is his first time using one. he wanted to see what you liked and what you didn't.

“princess.” he says softly, and your stomach flips.

“angel.” your throat feels dry.

“doll.” you swear he could call you the worst things imaginable, like a whore or a good-for-nothing cumdump, and you’d still melt under that voice.

“stop distracting me,” you mumble, because you were supposed to be the one to make him flustered and lose his mind.

“i’m distracting you?” you tug his shirt up and over his head; it falls somewhere beside the bed. you’ve seen his body before, you know he’s toned and takes great care of his appearance, broad through the shoulders, arms stronger than they look when he’s casually making coffee or mixing cake batter in the kitchen. his skin is warm beneath your hands as you slide them over his chest, and heat rushes through it, almost making you dizzy.

you are wet and desperate already, and for the first time in your life, the feeling almost makes you feel like you’re the inexperienced one, as if you’re the virgin. the adorable and shy boy you met is still somewhere inside him. he’s just… stepping outside his comfort zone tonight. your fingers trail across his chest again before sliding up around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

your lips meet his in a rather slow and intense kiss. san exhales softly against your mouth. your hands wander over his back, exploring, your manicured nails digging in, learning the shape of him, the way he’s been learning you. 

he didn’t want to rush it, but neither of you had the patience for that. forcing himself to slow down as he slid lower along your body, his hands dragging your t-shirt up inch by inch as he moved. the fabric gathered at your ribs, then higher, until it was bunched at your chest.

your head tipped back immediately, back arched, palms pressing against his shoulders, nails digging slightly into warm skin. his eyes lifted to yours, soft but daring.

“show me who you are,” there was something almost pleading in his gaze, something hungry but reverent at the same time. you understood instantly what he meant, even before his lips brushed warm air over your exposed stomach, whispering, “pornstar.” 

then he pulled the shirt over your head completely and tossed it aside. now you were laid bare for him, almost naked, if not for the damp lace clinging to your hips. san stared for a moment when his mouth found your skin. he kissed down your body, open-mouthed and warm, leaving a wet trail of heat until he reached your chest. his lips wrapped around one breast while his hand closed around the other, squeezing, as if he’d been waiting forever to have you like this.

you gasped, hips shifting, your fingers tangled into his hair while he sucked and licked like he’d been doing this his entire life.

“s–san…” your voice came out breathless, as he hummed. “do you… know how to leave hickeys?”

he paused, his mouth lifted from you, eyes flicking up.

“don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“i don’t care, i will call sick… i want you in and on my body.”

that was all the permission he needed. then he leaned back down with his mouth latched onto your skin again — your chest, collarbone, neck, careful at first, then harder. your skin flushed under his mouth, blooming into deep shades of red he clearly approved of.

he might be a virgin, but he wasn’t clueless. san had watched enough tutorials, read enough things, paid attention to enough details to know exactly what he was doing. late-night curiosity, and you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. just because he hadn’t slept with anyone didn’t mean he was innocent, because mentally he was a whore.

and you wanted the evidence. you wanted the marks, the proof pressed into your skin. tomorrow those women colleagues of yours at work will see, maybe they’d realize you were more than the filthy comments online and the overly good reviews, more than the way your male co-stars bragged about spoiling you.

you are more than your looks and a body on a screen.

your breathing grew heavier by the second. your hands didn’t know what to do: grabbing his shoulders, sliding down his back, nails digging into the muscle there hard enough that next time he went to the gym, someone might ask if he fought a feral lynx.

but you couldn’t help it, could you now? he was everywhere with his mouth, his hands, the heat of his body pressing into yours…

“ah!” the sound burst from you when his teeth suddenly sank into your shoulder, enough to sting. you’d been bitten before. yeonjun had a habit of it when things got heated; however, the pressure of san’s bite, the slow drag of his teeth against your skin, and the way his tongue soothed the spot right after. it hurt, and somehow felt too good at the same time.

the bite pulls a sound from you that sits somewhere between pain and pleasure, making you jolt before melting into heat. he soothes it immediately with his tongue, and the second he feels you not pulling away, his confidence grows. he lingers there for a moment, watching your face, studying the way your expression and breathing change, and realizes you liked it. only then does he start moving down your body again, giving you time to recover… or so you think. you can already see the faint bruises blooming across your chest and shoulders, a few scattered lower on your stomach, and for a second, you worry about what must be happening to your neck. well… that’s a problem for tomorrow.

he moves, you tense a little, and of course, he notices. the subtle shift in your muscles doesn’t stop him; it only pushes him further. his lips keep trailing downward, kissing slowly along until his face is hovering just above the lace of your panties, and then he looks up at you from down there. the sight alone makes heat rush to your cheeks. you think he’ll use his hands, maybe hook his fingers into the fabric and slide them down as anyone else would, but… he doesn’t.

using his teeth, slowly gripping the waistband between them by giving a teasing tug, the lace stretching as he pulls it down inch by inch, his hands only joining in when his index fingers slip beneath the sides to help guide the fabric lower. the delicate material strains, stretching tight between his fingers before the sound finally breaks the quiet with a soft stretch, then a rip. you freeze when you hear it, he just stares at the ruined lace in his hands… and then looks back up at you. a sheepish, almost sweet smile spreads across his face. 

“my next paycheck will cover that.”

setting the ruined lace aside like it doesn’t matter at all, because right now it clearly doesn’t. when his attention returns to you, he looks like he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. his expression softens with something dangerously close to awe, like every part of you is somehow prettier now that he’s seeing it with his own eyes instead of through a screen. is this really what a wet and pretty pussy looks like in real life?

he can’t stop staring, and the intensity of it makes you suddenly shy again. you, the pornstar, feeling shy. naked in a way you never expected, exposed under the weight of his gaze, almost wanting to close your legs just to hide. he doesn’t let you. strong hands settle on your thighs, holding them open just enough so he can keep looking, letting himself enjoy the view before he completely loses control. and god, he’s jealous. jealous of jungkook, jealous of mingyu, jealous of anyone who has ever gotten to see you like this face to face… or face to cunt, if he’s being honest.

“san, please…” your voice comes out softer than you meant it to, breath catching somewhere in your chest. “just… start slow, use your tongue first to explore.”

you start to guide him, words meant to tell him what to do, but he barely needs them. you could probably stay silent, and he’d still know. he’s a fan, after all. the obsessed and attentive kind, also the pretty one. why lie to ourselves? he might be some kind of creep, but pretty privilege is a real thing.

the truth is, he’s learned more than enough from watching mingyu alone — the way that man eats anything put in front of him like it’s the last meal on earth. absolutely feral, and apparently a very good teacher… of course, for purely scientific purposes. besides, you’re even more beautiful up close than the camera ever showed. no one ever talked about how tender you are here. videos never showed this part, probably because everything there is scripted, exaggerated, and forced into angles that sell the fantasy.

“don’t worry, princess,” he murmurs when he finally lifts himself closer to you again, warm breath hovering there. “you’ll enjoy it as much as i will.”

if you’re not relaxed, you’re not going to come, and right now your body is too aware of every place he’s yet to touch. so you force yourself to let go of the tension, sinking back against the mattress, trusting him. the funny thing is, san thought he’d be nervous when this moment finally happened. thought he’d freeze, hesitate, panic.

instead… his body just knows what to do.

and you know what they say before dinner, thank you for the meal. his hands slide beneath you, lifting your hips so he can support your back better, positioning you exactly where he wants you. then his tongue finally moves. slow at first, smooth and deliberate, pushing forward with careful strokes like he’s testing you, exploring this new territory.

san can’t quite believe he’s actually doing it, can’t believe you taste this sweet, and this real. your breathing turns heavier, surprised at how gentle he is and what he’s about to do next. he speeds up just a little after that, growing bolder, saliva gathering so everything becomes slicker, wetter, and messier in the best way. he isn’t rushing though, not at all. he’s paying attention to every reaction your body gives him. his nails aren’t long, but his fingers dig slightly into your thighs to hold you steady, and that alone pulls a soft moan from you.

“angel, if i do something you like…” pausing to lift his head to glance up at you again before that devilish little smile spreads across his mouth. “tell me.”

then he dives back in, dragging his tongue up your slit before sealing his mouth around you, sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk. the wet sounds are shameless now, muffled only by his low groans as he presses closer. god, he’s only just started. you don’t even know what turns you on more — the feeling of his mouth buried between your legs, lapping and tasting like he’s starving for it, or the fact that your soon-to-be boyfriend, the shy virgin you thought you knew, somehow knows exactly what he’s doing.

your thighs clamp around his head as your body reacts harder with every flick of his tongue. each movement draws another whine from you, louder than the last, your chest rising and falling as your fingers thread through his silky black hair. you tug, not to pull him away, no, the opposite. you push him deeper, forcing him closer.

“t-that’s it, s-sannie…” your voice shakes as you breathe it out.

you’re divine like this: strings of saliva stretch from his lower lip to your folds when he lifts his mouth enough to breathe, his nose brushing against you while his tongue circles back again. he moans into you, the vibration sending another jolt through your body. he’s completely drunk on you now, lost in the taste and the sounds you’re making for him. his hips start grinding against the mattress without him even realizing it, desperate and messy, while his tongue moves faster. maybe it’s because you’re praising him, the way you sound when you say his name, or maybe it’s because this moment he’d imagined too many times is finally real, and his ego is feeding on every gasp you give him.

somewhere along the way, he relaxes completely. the nervous thoughts about whether he’d be good enough disappear the second you start moaning his name. after that, the pace only picks up.

“san, san, san, san–”

you chant it breathlessly, but he barely hears you anymore. he’s too focused, too lost in the rhythm of it, too busy devouring you with his mouth and tongue like he never wants to stop. breathing is becoming difficult for him, too; his chest rises faster as he keeps going.

but he doesn’t care, why would he? this is exactly where he wants to be.

tongue licking a filthy stripe from your clit down to your fluttering hole, he had never tasted anything so intoxicating in his life. greedy slurping sounds fill the room as his face stays buried between your thighs, and honestly don’t mind him or his sudden urge to commit every possible sin as he nudges and prods at your sensitive bundle of nerves. please excuse this gentleman for the mouthfuls of saliva drenching your pussylips and dribbling down onto your bedsheets while he eats you like a man starved for years, licking deep and slow before dragging his tongue back up again just to feel you shudder.

“ah– fuck, san… please, ‘m gonna–” you sob, your hands gripping his scalp, fingers tangling in his hair as your thighs tremble helplessly under his grip. he’s relentless, licking you so obscenely that tears prick the corners of your eyes, your cries getting louder with every sloppy flick of his tongue. you try to guide him through it, voice shaking as you gasp, “s-slower… no– wait, right there… fuck, sannie keep doing that, don’t stop… use your tongue like that– oh god…” and he listens, of course he does, drinking in every instruction like gospel.

“i can’t– fuck i’m gonna– san, please f-fuck…” your voice breaks into a helpless whimper as he keeps devouring you, keeps groaning into your pussy like he’s starving and you’re the only meal he’s ever been allowed to have. you’re shaking now, sobbing his name, legs barely holding you steady while he feasts like a man obsessed, like every sound you make is pushing him further into madness. his hips start grinding against the mattress beneath him without him even realizing it, chasing something through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, desperate and needy while his tongue keeps working you open.

you feel your orgasm rushing closer and closer, your gummy walls clenching tightly around his tongue as he pushes it deeper, and you grind against his mouth while the pleasure crashes through you in hot waves. he groans underneath you when it hits, the sound vibrating straight through your body as your essence spills into his mouth, and he swallows greedily, gulping it down like he’s afraid to waste even a single drop. if this is heaven, then god help him because he never wants to leave — buried between your legs, drunk on your sweetness, licking his lips after just to chase the last lingering taste of you.

and the craziest part is that he doesn’t stop. even after you come, even after your body trembles and tries to pull away, he keeps lapping at you again and again like he can’t get enough, tongue dragging slow circles that make you jolt from the oversensitivity until you finally have to tug his hair hard just to pull him back. somewhere beneath you, he’s still grinding against the mattress, grey sweatpants definitely have dark stains spreading across the fabric, while he pants against your thigh like someone who’s completely lost his mind.

you can’t believe that the same boy who once got shy handing you his hoodie, just ate you out like he hadn’t seen food in years. as time had frozen for him and suddenly started moving again all at once. believe it or not, he’s twenty-seven years old, and yeah, he might have missed a lot along the way… but somehow, waiting this long made the moment even better. maybe things like this really do happen when you least expect them.

then he kisses his way back up your body, slow and unhurried, and when his mouth finally reaches yours, you taste yourself on his lips, like sugar on his tongue, your body is so sweet. he kisses you again, savoring it, doesn’t want the flavor to disappear. the moment lingers long enough for something strange to happen inside your head. flashes of memory, comparisons you didn’t ask for.

jungkook, mingyu, yeonjun… men who had touched you before, on and off set. men who knew how to make you feel good. but san, especially like this, completely pussy drunk and dazed, is nothing like them. there’s something different in the way he looks at you, love and lust at the same time. your hands move, sliding over his chest, down his stomach, until your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants and tug them lower.

you recover slowly from the climax and notice his state. the moment your eyes meet again, you feel something twist in your chest because you have never seen anyone look at you like that before. that alone almost makes you want to cry again. you don’t even know exactly what the feeling is: there are too many emotions tangled together, things you don’t have names for yet because you’ve never experienced them before. but somehow you’re experiencing them now.

san still looks starstruck, a little dazed, his skin flushed and his body hot like a man on fire. somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers jungkook pressing that condom into his hand earlier, but the thought fades almost immediately. fuck that. he waited too long for this moment, waited too long to have a girl with him, to prove to himself that he could love and be loved, that he wouldn’t die a virgin. and then you speak, still breathless but smiling softly at him, telling him that even though you’re amazed by what he just did down there, now it’s your turn.

"let me show you how good i can be… i’m nothing like those videos, please sannie…"

and he knows that. he knows you’re nothing like those videos, because he knows porn sells delusions to perverted gooners like him and countless others. he is so in love with you, he realizes it again right there, clear and undeniable. the way you’re looking at him with those glossy eyes, your lips swollen and slightly wet, your voice soft when you say his name… it’s enough to make his heart pound like crazy. part of him already wants to put a ring on your finger just for looking at him like that.

“doll,” he murmurs, his hands hovering before gently lacing his fingers with yours. your skin brushes his and you realize how hot he feels, almost burning under your touch. well… he really is one fine-looking man, and you will absolutely suck him some other time. he’s not the only one with a big appetite. “i’m all yours.”

no need to be told twice. you hook his pants down properly this time, pushing the fabric past his hips as you lean forward to kiss his chest, then lower to his stomach, taking your time inspecting and exploring his body. the position changes as he lies back while you move lower, until both his boxers and sweatpants are pushed away in one go. your hand wraps around him slowly, stroking him while your lips press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, tongue flicking out just enough to taste. you keep eye contact the entire time. breathy moans echo through the room, his lips parting as he whispers your name under his breath before squeezing his eyes shut from the pleasure. the thought that he’s actually going to be inside you tonight makes his head spin. it will be nothing like the stupid toy he used before.

you climb back up, straddling him, the tip brushing against your already wet and puffy folds. slowly and carefully, you begin lowering yourself down. and when you start taking him inside, your mind makes the comparison again. san reminds you a little of jungkook — but thicker, fuller… honestly perfect. you’ve taken plenty of men before, enough that your body knows how to adjust easily, but this feels different somehow. as you sink down on him, you’re doing this for him just as much as for yourself. and yet something about it feels strange. sex has always just been… work, something physical. but with san you suddenly realize the difference: before, you were fucking. with him, this might actually be lovemaking.

now that he’s beneath you with you fully seated on him, san looks absolutely feral again… and a little submissive too, letting you guide the pace and show him how it’s done. he doesn’t mind that you’re the more experienced one, not when the feeling of your velvety walls hugging him so tightly almost makes his brain shut down. it feels like you were made for him, like your body knows exactly how to hold him.

the wet sloshing sound of your cunt moving around his length fills the room as you start to move, and he swears he can feel the deepest parts of you gripping him. is this what it feels like to touch someone’s soul? the sensation is almost too much, and a helpless whimper slips from his mouth as his hands finally move, settling on your waist to steady you. though honestly… he thinks he’s the one who might need more support. because the heat building in his body is unbearable, burning hot, and he’s not sure how long he’ll actually last like this.

with your hands pressing down on san’s broad chest, his breath uneven, eyes wide in a way that made you want to chuckle at how adorable he is right now.

“relax for me,” your murmur, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “just watch.”

for a moment you stay still like that, straddling him, feeling the heat of his body beneath yours, adjusting to his size. grip tighten slightly on your hips, and he swallows, adam apple bopping,  “you’re… actually going to–”

“mm,” humming softly, leaning forward to peck his lips. “i told you i would show you.”

his gaze flickers downward for a second before snapping back to your face, ears turning red, and then you finally begin to move.

pushing yourself up and down, you thrust his thick cock in and out of you while his fingers dig lightly into your flesh, helping guide the glide of your hips. every time you rise he slips halfway out, and every time you drop again your pussy swallows him whole, greedy and warm, your walls fluttering around his length like they don’t want to let him go. the sensation sends sparks straight up his spine, his cock already too sensitive from everything you did to it before and now you’re taking him raw like this, riding him like he has no chance of surviving.

you bite your lower lip as your own moans begin climbing higher, losing yourself in the rhythm of it, just as san loses himself in you. he tries to match the rocking of your hips with small thrusts of his own, clumsy at first but eager, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder with every movement. anticipation coils tight in his stomach, he slows you down with a firm grip on your hips so that he can look at you properly. his eyes wander helplessly: from your face twisted in pleasure, to the way your breasts bounce with each movement, then lower to where your bodies meet, watching the way you take him inside you.

"you feel so good, baby… so damn good, ahh~ you look so beautiful." his voice breaks halfway through, licking his lips as his body trembles under you, the sight alone nearly too much for him to handle. his fingers press harder into your hips, almost bruising as he steadies you while you grind and roll your hips again, snapping them forward in a way that makes him gasp. he’s completely obsessed with the way your body moves on top of him, the way your cunt grips him every time you sink down. “keep going like that… yeah, just like that, princess… use me as you wish.”

his praise spills out nonstop, voice low and wrecked as he stares at you like he’s hypnotized, whispering things under his breath that barely make sense anymore. you are too cockdrunk to process anything properly. isn’t he one extremely lucky bastard? he’s actually fucking a pornstar, and not just any pornstar in the world… it’s you.

you ride him faster, san’s hips start moving too once your weight settles on him properly, confidence growing quickly now that he understands the rhythm. he thrusts up into you in small, desperate movements, helping meet you halfway. a fast learner, what can he say?

you want to scream about how fucking good he feels inside you, the way he fits and fills you so perfectly… wait, filling? your thoughts stumble for a second because the feeling changes suddenly. heat spreads through him and his hips jerk under you, a broken sound leaving his throat before he even realizes what’s happening — he’s already coming.

eyes flutter shut as his head falls back against the pillow. his hands tighten around your waist as his body tenses, warmth spilling inside you in thick pulses while he groans helplessly beneath you. it’s messy, sudden, and more so completely unplanned. his first time losing control like that, and it hits him harder than he ever imagined.

but instead of stopping, the new sensation makes you gasp too. the way he throbs inside you, the way your body clenches around him, it sends another sharp wave of pleasure straight through you. your hips stutter but don’t stop, grinding down on him again as you chase that rising heat inside your own body.

“f-fuck, san– ” your voice cracks as your movements grow uneven, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. you weren’t expecting it, the way hitting that spot suddenly sends sparks shooting through you, but now that you’ve found it your body refuses to let go, chasing your own high.

san whimpers, still sensitive and shaking as he watches you ride it out on top of him, eyes half-lidded and completely dazed. his hands slide up your waist, afraid you might collapse, holding you while you tremble over him. and when your body finally tips over the edge, a broken sob leaves your lips as the pleasure crashes through you, tears slipping free while your hips slow against his. he can only stare up at you, breathless and overwhelmed, still can’t believe that just happened.

he doesn't want the distance between you anymore.

slowly, his large hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, guiding you down as he bottoms out for a bit with a soft, breathless grunt. he shifts his weight, rolling you onto your back against the tangled sheets. looming over you, his frame silhouetted by the dim light, looking at you as if you are the only thing in the world that holds any light, maybe because you are his angel.

"you're so beautiful," his voice is stripped of its usual gentleness. "i can't... i can't look away from you."

he leans down, his lips trailing hot, lingering kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck. he breathes you in, a shaky sigh escaping him. then, one of his hands finds yours, pinning them to the pillow above your head. the dominance is just him saying i have you, and i’m never letting go.

"look at me, angel." he commands softly, and when your eyes meet his, you see the man who is normally quiet and yielding now taking charge because he worships the ground you walk on. "i want to see your face when i’m inside you. no cameras and no acting. just you you and me, okay?"

as he enters you again, the pace is different now. it’s slow and intentional. he grinds his hips against yours with a firm pressure that makes your toes curl. every thrust is accompanied by a praise that vibrates against your skin.

"that's it, baby... take all of me," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the back of your hand where he has it pinned. "you're so perfect. the way you feel around me... it’s like you were made for this."

he begins to move faster, the softness breaking as his grip on your wrists tightens slightly as he hovers over you, his eyes never leaving yours. watching every flinch and gasp, every arch of your back with a look of adoration.

"i love you," the words falling from his lips like a prayer, a confession meant only for you to hear, a blessing perhaps. he repeats it, over and over, punctuating each deep, rhythmic push. "i love you, i love you so much. you're mine to kiss, hold and love."

the pleasure is different this time — it’s heavy and soul-aching. an intimacy that makes your heart feel too big for your chest. as you reach for that peak again, san doesn't let you drift away. he leans down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

"good girl... just like that. give it all to me," his body tensing as he nears his own limit again. "i’ve got you, yeah?"

when the final wave crashes over both of you, it’s a total eclipse of the senses. he collapses into you, his weight a comforting pressure, his face hidden in your hair as he gasps for air. keeping your hands pinned for a few seconds longer, before softening and pulling you into his chest, holding you so close you can feel the frantic, matching thrum of your hearts.

it’s grounding. the way he holds you and looks at you, eyes swimming with a devotion so pure it hurts to witness. he stays buried inside, and a sob finally breaks from your throat. 

“san– please,” you gasp, eyes opening to gaze at him. “i need you… please.”

you want him to reach the parts of you that have been numb for years. you want him to touch your soul until the performative version of you is burned away entirely. but as he moves, the tears start falling in earnest. they track down your cheeks, soaking everything, and you find yourself unable to form a coherent sentence.

san freezes instantly, his hands shaking as he releases you to cup your face.

“hey, hey... baby, look at me,” he whispers, his voice tender. “did i hurt you? i’m sorry, i’m so sorry– i’ll stop, we can stop right now.”

he starts to pull back, his face pale with worry, but you let out a distressed sound, your legs hooking around his waist to lock him in place. you pull his hand back to your mouth, kissing his palm while the tears blur your vision.

“no, don’t... don’t stop,” you choke out, your voice small and trembling. “don’t leave. it’s just... it’s too much. i’ve never… san, nobody has ever looked at me like this. nobody has ever touched me like this” when you look up at him, your heart exposed and bleeding. “i’m not used to this. i keep thinking i’m going to wake up and you’ll realize i’m just... i’m not worth this. you’re too good for someone like me.”

san’s expression shatters. he doesn't pull away this time; he sinks back into you, even deeper than before, a slow, possessive slide that makes your eyes roll back.

“(name), don’t say that,” he murmurs against your lips, “i don’t care about what anyone else sees. i see you, so please… let me take care of you. let me show you how much i love you.”

he begins to move again, but it’s more intense now, driven by a need to soothe your doubts with his body. every thrust is a silent promise, every low groan of your name is a tether back to reality. he worships every inch of skin he can reach, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and heat.

“you’re mine,” his hands sliding under your back to arch you up, meeting him stroke for stroke. “every part of you… let me all the way in.”

you’re left breathless, stunned by the realization that this isn’t a scene and there’s no director to yell cut. it’s just san, and the way he’s loving you is so profound it leaves you lovesick, your heart racing with a dizzying, permanent kind of hunger for the man who finally made you feel whole.

you both lost all sense of time, couldn't say if it’s been two hours or five. you are lost in the rhythm of him, an endless cycle of heat and surrender that has left your mind blissfully blank. you don’t even know how many times your vision has gone white as san’s name was dragged out of your throat in a desperate plea. every time you thought you were empty, he found a way to fill you again — not just with his body, but with that terrifying kind of gut-wrenching devotion.

he’s come inside you so many times now that you feel heavy with him, stuffed to the brim. usually, your professional self would be calculating the cleanup, the detachment and they payment. but with san, you find yourself praying it stays. you want to keep the warmth of him inside you for as long as humanly possible, a secret mark of how thoroughly he has claimed you. wanting to keep every drop of him trapped and carry the weight of his love like a secret for as long as he’ll allow it. 

another wave starts to build by the way his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your shoulder while his hands pin your wrists back again. it’s a dizzying mix of his natural gentleness and this new hunger you triggered.

“san, please... i can’t– i’m going to cum again,” you sob, your hips stuttering upward to meet his. your fingers are digging into the muscle of his forearms as he drives into you again, his pace bordering on frantic now. 

“baby, look at me and don’t close your eyes.” the honesty in his voice is the reason to pull the trigger. “i love you, i love you so much.”

your body clenching around him so tightly it forces a strangled groan from his lungs. you’re drowning in the sensation of him, of being adored so completely it hurts. as your climax ripples through you, san let’s out a low cry, his own body stiffening as he hits his limit one last time, pouring everything he has left into you.

the silence that is broken only by the sound of two hearts trying to find a shared rhythm. he doesn't pull away. instead he collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, wrapping his strong arms around you. he stays buried deep inside you, refusing to let the contact break. for a while, you just stay like this. his breath is warm against your skin, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, because he is so worried, and so intensely kind, it makes your chest ache.

“are you... are you okay?” he whispers, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "i... i didn't mean to go so long. i just couldn't stop. i've never felt... like that. i didn't hurt you, did i?" 

you try to find your voice, but your throat is tight with a fresh wave of emotion. you just shake your head, playing with his hands, breathing in the scent of him. "no, san. it was... perfect. i've never been loved like that before."

he stays quiet for a moment, one hand tracing the curve of your hip. "i want to do this right," he says softly, "i know... i've read that you’re supposed to go to the bathroom, right? and i can get you water, or a towel, or... tell me what you need. i want to take care of you. just tell me what to do."

you feel a laugh bubble up in your chest, because this man, your man, is so worried about doing everything "by the book”. he’s so earnest and focused on your well-being that he’s willing to break this perfect, post-coital haze just to be sure he’s taking care of you right.

"shhh," you turn around slightly and press a finger to his lips to quiet his rambling heart. "i'll manage, sannie. we'll shower together in a little while. but right now... don't move."

you shift closer, tangling your legs with his, feeling the messy, warm reality of your shared intimacy between your thighs. for the first time in your life, you don't feel the urge to run or to clean the slate. you just want to exist here, naked and vulnerable in the arms of a man who sees the person behind the persona.

"just stay here," you whisper against his heartbeat, san sighs and tucks your head under his chin. "just stay with me."

his arms tighten around you, his kiss landing softly on the top of your head. “i’m not going anywhere.” because you were always the person he was waiting to find and spend his life with.

san watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, the weight of the moment settling over him like a prayer. he’d spent his life in the quiet corners of that café, a spectator to other people’s stories, never imagining he’d be the protagonist of one this intense.

how did i get here? he thinks back to the cafe, to the way he used to keep his head down, content to live his life in the margins. he was just a man who made coffee and stayed out of the way; he wasn't supposed to be the one holding a woman like you. a spectator to other people’s stories, never imagining he’d be the protagonist of one this intense. 

out of everyone who knows her name, everyone who looks at her and sees a dream... she chose me. she chose the man who just wanted to know if she liked the cake they made. 

you are the most beautiful, chaotic, and unexpected thing to ever break the false narrative. he’s aware of his own lack of experience, of how much bigger your world is than his, but you chose him. you looked past the fan he feared he was and saw a man worth loving. you gave him a chance to see the girl behind the camera, and in return, he showed you a side of yourself you’d forgotten existed. 

he leans to press one more lingering kiss into the crown of your head, with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

twenty-seven years waiting for his life to actually begin. he had spent so long wondering if he was missing something, if he was unlovable and not worth loving. but now he knows the answer. every lonely shift at the café, every shy hesitation, and every year spent alone had simply been leading him to you — it was worth the wait.

wooyoung, mingi, and yunho were sprawled across san’s living room, completely absorbed in the new game that had dropped a couple days ago. empty snack wrappers were scattered across the coffee table, mingi hunched forward on the couch while wooyoung kept yelling at the screen every time he missed a move.

“bro, that was your fault!” wooyoung groaned, shoving yunho’s shoulder rather exaggeratedly.

“how was that my fault?” yunho shot back, as he mashed the buttons on his controller. “you ran straight into the enemy!”

before wooyoung could argue back, the front door suddenly clicked open. the sound of the door closing followed, then the soft rustling of clothes and the unmistakable thud of someone slipping their shoes off by the entrance. three heads slowly turned toward san, then toward the hallway, then back to san.

“san…” wooyoung said slowly, eyes narrowing. “you locked the door, right?”

“yeah,” san didn’t even look up from his controller. “but my girlfriend probably finished work early.”

there was a full second of silence before they realized what he just said.

“girlfriend!?”

three voices exploded at the same time, loud enough to probably wake the neighbors. all of them snapped toward san with identical wide eyes and open mouths as someone had just announced the world was going to end tomorrow.

“yeah?” 

“yeah?” wooyoung shot up from the couch like he’d been electrocuted. “what do you mean by yeah?”

“oh, didn’t i tell you?” glancing over at them like he was going to remind them of something they already knew. “our eighth month anniversary is next week.”

“no the fuck you did not!” wooyoung shouted, mouth wide open because his own best friend, the man who he has a matching tattoo, hid such a thing. “the hell do you mean eight months?! choi san, what the actual fuck?”

“eight months?” yunho looked equally horrified.

“eight months!” wooyoung yelled again, pointing aggressively at san like he was presenting evidence in court. “you’ve been dating someone for that long and you just… forgot to mention it?”

mingi let out a dramatic sigh from the couch. “and to think i bet money he’d die single…” he muttered, staring down at the floor while mentally calculating his losses. “damn it. that’s fifty bucks to seonghwa.”

“hey!” san immediately smacked him on the shoulder.

“but it’s true!” mingi complained, rubbing his arm. “you’ve been single since forever!”

yunho, meanwhile, was still processing this life-altering revelation. he leaned back in the armchair, absentmindedly flipping his lighter open and closed while squinting at san.

“but seriously, why didn’t you tell us?”

“i just… wanted to see if it would work out first,” san shrugged, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “she did too since she’s really busy, always traveling and working, so it’s kinda complicated sometimes, and–”

“hi sannie, and hey boys!” your voice cut through the room as you walked in, making all three of them instinctively turn to greet you. “oh, hey–” and then immediately froze.

you popped into the living room from behind the couch with bright energy, leaning over the backrest and wrapping your arms around san’s chest from behind. he leaned back into you while you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“did jungkook drive you here?” your boyfriend asked, turning his head slightly toward you.

“yeah, mingyu was with us too. he even bought me lunch, so don’t worry, i already ate.”

the room went completely silent; three brains malfunctioned at once. jungkook? mingyu? as in the jeon jungkook and kim mingyu? the ridiculously famous, internet-breaking, industry-dominating pornstars?

yunho’s lighter stopped mid-click, mingi’s sunglasses were about to fall from his nose, wooyoung looked like his soul had temporarily left his body, because the person casually hugging san right now…was you.

one of the most recognizable adult actresses on the planet. half their twitter feeds were clips of you, the internet, and they thirsted over you, and you were currently hugging their best friend and being affectionate… is that san’s gap sweater you are wearing?

you noticed the staring immediately. it wasn’t exactly new; people stared at you everywhere, but this one had a different weight to it. this was probably the first time your relationship with san had become… publicly known, and apparently in front of his closest friends.

mingi leaned toward yunho and whispered, “am i hallucinating?”

yunho whispered back, “i don’t think so.”

wooyoung suddenly grabbed mingi’s arm.

“pinch me.” mingi pinched him, very hard. “ow, that hurt.”

you smiled sweetly, clearly amused by the meltdown happening in front of you.

“i can give you autographs later if you want,” you said, stretching your arms above your head. “but right now i’m exhausted, so i’m gonna nap.” you leaned down to kiss san’s cheek again, then glancing at the three statues in the room. “please don’t be noisy, okay?”

and with that, you slipped away down the hallway toward the bedroom. the door closed softly, and silence filled the apartment. three heads slowly turned toward san, their expressions looked like they had just witnessed the eighth wonder of the world, then in perfect unison:

“you are dating (name) (last name)!!?”

san sighed, closing his eyes and lips tight, throwing his head back against the cushion.

“and that’s exactly why i didn’t want to tell you.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AKA CHOI SAN ♡

hi, if you made it all the way to this very end, thank you. but i also need you to know that this is officially my last ateez fanfic, and the end of @kisssan as well. i hope you enjoyed the story. i won't be logging back in to read comments, reply, or see likes. this account is going silent, and i'm not coming back. thank you for everything, take care and don't forget to show support for the authors who give their all to give you something to enjoy.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

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[minkieater]

baseballs & booths & a bitch-ass attitude

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 10/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 10.7k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is the only man ever and a frat boy whore | thank you again for 5k <3 my heart is so full!! this one is dedicated to my sugarplum @svgaplvm ᢉ𐭩 wooyo & baseball is how u summon her in case anyone was wondering

“CONFESSION TIME. But I need everyone to be really normal about it, okay? I asked someone for sex advice four days ago. You heard me right, sex advice, the thing I come on here and talk about weekly. Another thing I need everyone to be really normal about– the guy I asked, I’ve hooked up with before. And I asked him for advice about the guy I’m currently hooking up with. I think I’ve reached a new, different kind of rock bottom… like, deeper than rock bottom. I don’t know where that is, but I’m there, it’s where I live now, in case you guys ever want to come searching for me or something.”

“Do you guys remember Mister Tall from my zip-tie episode? Yeah, me too. Turns out he’s actually Mister Tall and Dominant, but he wasn’t being dominant with me, or at least not as much as he wanted to be. It’s like I could smell it on him, but he wouldn’t do it, like he was holding himself back or something. Now, the obvious answer is to say, ‘Hey, Mister Tall and Dominant, why won’t you just fuck me the way you want to?’ and then it’s a done deal, right? You talk about it, you fix it, sex gets better, you move on. But because my brain works a very specific and certain way, my thought process was: how can I get him to do it, without telling him to? Because apparently just saying the words is a fucking death sentence.”

“It’s all very silly and stupid, and I should have just brought it up to him. He’s a sweetheart, and the moment I told him it was like a switch had flipped. I didn’t know you could have such an extensive conversation about kinks, I didn’t realize how many actually exist, how long a conversation could be about it. I like to think I’m pretty well-versed, but apparently I am not. Let’s just say I’m still learning about kinks, especially about the ones I like the most. The last four days have been very… active for me. My ass hurts. Still. But I’m getting off-topic now.”

“Have you ever had someone straight up ask you what you want, and you can’t answer? You can’t verbalize exactly what you enjoy, you rely on experience, you know what feels good when it’s happening. But when you’re not in the moment, when you’re standing outside of it, what the fuck do you want? What the fuck do you like? It’s weird, it’s like my brain shuts off. I think that’s why I asked the other guy, the one I hooked up with before, because in a very weird and strange and off-putting way, he knows me. I still can’t comprehend how he knows me, if I look back and analyze every interaction we’ve ever had, there’s no logical reason for why he knows me so well. I must be easy to read or something, I don’t know.”

“At first, I thought I asked him for advice because he’s a pretty active guy. And by active, I mean he’s had sex with everyone and their mother, I mean, you’ve probably fucked him. I am not using hyperbole here, I am so serious when I say every-fucking-body. If you need sex advice, you ask the sex guy, right? Logical. I have friends I could have asked, fuck, I could’ve asked on this fucking podcast and had you guys send in your goddamn advice, but I asked him. And it’s sitting with me in a heavy way, why I made that choice, why I trust his advice before even asking for anyone else’s. And the logical reason is because he’s the sex guy, right? But the more I think about it, it’s because he knows me, I trust him. Do you guys fucking know what he told me? That I’m not submissive. What the fuck? He basically said I’m someone who needs to fuck, not someone who needs to be fucked. Again, what the fuck?”

“It’s kinda weird, it’s like he knows me without me giving him permission to know me. I think I always thought that being learned is a conscious thing, like, a choice you make. You tell people your secrets, you show them your vulnerable side, you cry, you laugh in front of them, and they pocket all of these different facts about you. What about when it’s not your own choice? When you accidentally show sides of yourself that you don’t mean to, and now some guy has all this random-ass information about you. He knows what you like, who you are, what you look for, and they’re all facts that you didn’t mean to give him, and they’re all true. It’s fucking weird. But now I trust him, and he’s not someone who seems like he… could be trusted, I guess. I’m not really even sure if he knows my name.”

You pause, thinking. Then you laugh a little, because your listeners don’t press play on your podcast to listen to silence, and a tiny laugh breaks up the seriousness of it all. “That was a lie, he definitely knows my name. I think. I know some things about him too, I guess, weird shit, though. I know his phone number, his Instagram username. I know at least five people that he’s slept with. I know why he fucks so often… kinda. I know when he’s lying, or when he’s intentionally trying to piss me off, I know the difference between his insults. Sometimes they’re real–and they fucking hurt–but sometimes he’s just deflecting, or he wants to get out of the conversation. I know he’s a fucking asshole. I know that he doesn’t like being understood, he fucking hates it if you even come close to knowing what’s underneath all the bullshit– I know– I know it bothers him that I never know what I want.”

Your brows furrow, irritation bubbling in your gut. “But why does that even bother him? None of my choices affect him, nothing I do should matter. Why does he even care? I could literally go the rest of my life letting other people make my own choices for me, and it would have no effect on his life whatsoever. Why is he so interested in knowing? You know, I’ve actually never wondered that, why he even gives a fuck. He came to my–”

You cut yourself clean off, eyes widening. “I’m losing track because he actually pisses me off more than anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. This outro today is full of my rambling, I’m so sorry if you’re sitting at home thinking what the fuck is she talking about? My bad, for real. Anyways, the point is that I brought it up to MT&D, and he’s been fucking me right ever since, thanks to Mister Piss-Me-Off. I guess. Mister Tall is a good guy, I think the only guy who’s ever put so much into me, figuratively and literally. He lets me figure my shit out on my own, he lets me bring it to him, and he accepts all of it, even me. He’s patient, he’s kind, he’s a fucking sweetheart and I probably don’t deserve him. But I have him, so no one else can, and I’m not sorry about it.”

“I hope you all have a great night, or a great rest of your day, whatever time it is for you. Sorry that the think piece today was… whatever the fuck that was, but it was unscripted, as always.”

You press stop on your laptop. You spent the whole first forty-five minutes talking about backshots which led to libidos which led to fucking Viagra before the confession segment, and for some reason, you don’t really feel the need to listen to it all again. The pauses, the stuttering, everything could stay today. You pull up Spotify, and before you know it, the episode is uploaded. 

You check your phone and your lock screen is lit up from notifications, forty fucking two from the group chat Yunjin added you to last night. She planned a night out this Friday, or, Jihyo planned it for one of the girls she’s friends with. The invitation was offered to you and Yunjin, so she passed it along to San, Wooyoung, Yunho and the rest of their frat, who were all now in this orgy of a fucking group chat on your phone. You, Yunjin, and eight men. Eight. 

You don’t even read the messages. You pull up your thread with Yunho and see three silver bubbles awaiting your reply.

yunho: is ur car still making that noise?  yunho: i have class at 4 but im free after. oh fuck u work today right yunho: im going to class now but i can look at it after class!! come over after ur done work

You smile at your screen, immediately typing back. 

you: yes it is im scared pls fix it handy man you: did u ever watch handy manny growing up  you: lowkey thats u you: but yes ill come over after work have fun at class <3

Checking the time, you realize you’re supposed to be at work in thirty minutes. Thirty. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, shooting up out of your bed like gravity doesn’t apply to you. Racing around your room that was now dirty again, you search for a bright purple collared shirt and a clean pair of jeans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath, ripping through the pile of clothes on your floor, no longer caring if what you grab is dirty or clean. You need to do fucking laundry.

You didn’t check the cleanliness of either article of clothing before throwing them on your body, rushing to your bathroom to fix your hair, and applying a little makeup before your shift. There’s a lot of people who go to the gym you work at, a lot of beautiful, gorgeous people. Filling your water, throwing a snack into your purse, you rush out to your car that seems angry at you for even trying to drive it. 

“Be nice to me,” you order from the driver’s seat, ignoring the singular, loud click, and the grinding noises that follow when you throw the transmission into drive. You don’t even turn music on for your quick trip, you’re too close to being late, and for you, arriving anytime after fifteen minutes before your shift is considered late.

You’re reminded no one gives a fuck when you walk inside, throwing your purse under the counter, placing your water where you always keep it, beside the monitor that shows you everyone who scans in. You greet the coworker you’re relieving with a smile, clock in, and even though your nervous system just experienced twenty different levels of adrenaline, it all calms when you stand behind the counter, prepared to do absolutely fucking nothing for the next four hours. 

The last hour of your shift is when you actually leave the counter. Re-racking weights, mopping the floors, sanitizing machines, it’s easy shit, it’s why you applied in the first place. They don’t give you an extreme amount of hours, the work is the exact opposite of grueling, and you get to stare at gorgeous, muscled people for hours. It’s an easy, well-paying job that you don’t mind working, especially when you get snippets of campus gossip when people walk inside. 

The first hour, the gossip makes you feel uneasy. Two women scanned in, giggling about Mister Tall and Dominant and Mister Piss-Me-Off. You had to will your face from going pale as you smiled at them, acknowledged them while they scanned their student IDs.

Then the second, two guys you’ve never seen before smacking each other’s chests about how you can’t trust bitches. You had curses on your tongue, ready to fire before you heard the rest– even Unscripted is a fucking cheater. You actually gasped at that, then they looked at you like you had three heads, so you forced your expression back into neutral. A cheater?!

In the third hour now, you can’t stop scrolling social media, typing Unscripted in every search bar you can think of. It’s filled with discourse: MT&D vs. PMO, is emotionally cheating the same as physically cheating, who is Unscripted, there’s a fucking megathread on r/Unscripted. 

“Wow, playing on your phone on the clock? Should I call your manager?”

You smack your phone down face-first against the counter, caught red-handed. Wooyoung stands in front of you, a lazy smirk on his lips, hair pulled back off his tanned, angled face, gym bag over his shoulder. He’s covered in droplets of rain, in your deep internet dive you didn’t even notice that it was pouring outside, slamming against the concrete just beyond the clear, gym doors. Fitting. 

“Fuck off,” you sneer, pushing yourself off the counter, crossing your arms. Friends again, yes, but you fear your dynamic might never change from exactly this.

His brow lifts, making sure you see him curiously glancing down at your phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at? Something you shouldn’t be looking at while you’re working?”

“You’re gross,” you throw back at him, picking up on what he’s insinuating. “You haven’t been here to run at night in weeks.”

“Drama,” he sings. “It’s been, like, a little over a week, I just haven’t felt like it.” He throws his elbows over the counter, head tilting as he teases, “Look at you, paying attention to what I’m doing. Do you time me, too?”

You thin your eyes, “I do, and I think you’re really brave for running in public.”

His lips part, brows scrunching, “What’s that supposed to mean?” You immediately laugh, and he stands up straight again, palms braced on the counter. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Come talk to me when you can run a five-minute mile,” you’re still laughing as you say it. 

“I run a six-minute mile!” he argues, voice raising in pitch, clearly offended.

“Then go run it, asshole.” You point towards the treadmills. “Stop bothering me while I’m on the clock.”

“Fine,” his lips tighten before a smile curves them again. “Wouldn’t want to take you away from your amateur, homemade videos.”

You roll your eyes, forgoing an answer. Wooyoung leaves and you pick your phone back up instead of starting your closing duties, opening the subreddit and scrolling.

MT&D/PMO MEGATHREAD – KEEP ALL DISCUSSION HERE

unpopular opinion: tall & dominant deserves sm better

Theory: I think PMO is the overstimulation guy

is anyone else wondering who PMO is? if he’s fucked everyone, someone has to know him

“I trust him” LMAOOO she bouta get her heart broken again grab ur popcorn yall

You curse under your breath. Maybe you shouldn’t have clicked post so quickly. Maybe you should have at least listened to the episode before letting the fucking internet get to it first. There’s still no way to connect it back to you, so you take a calming breath, run your fingers through your hair, and leave your phone under the counter while you start your closing rounds.

Your calming breath does absolutely fucking nothing to help you. All you can do is think while you work, you didn’t even notice Wooyoung leaving, and surprisingly, he didn’t bother you before he left. He probably assumes he’ll see you back at his house, which he will, if you can get the fuck out of this building. When you come back to your phone, you’re scared that you’ll touch the screen and a million messages of ‘are you Unscripted?’ will pop up one after another. Instead, it’s just the stupid fucking group chat that you still refuse to open. 

Instead, you open Spotify, and your heart sinks immediately when the numbers next to your episode are already outperforming every other episode you’ve ever posted. The spike is alarming enough that you shove your phone into your back pocket, sprint around the gym to shut all the lights off, and grab your keys to fucking leave.

“Fuck,” you mutter when you feel the cold rain hitting your back, twisting the key in the door, pulling on it twice because you have to, just to be sure the gym is locked properly. You run to your car, cursing like a sailor with every step, you only let out a breath when you’re seated in the driver’s side. You shove your key in the ignition, turning it, and your car clicks. Once. That's it. 

“No,” you mutter, turning it again. It clicks, but it doesn’t fucking start, the dash doesn’t even light up. You refuse to believe it. You try again, click. “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

You fish out your phone from your pocket, hands still covered in droplets of rain, you dial Yunho. It rings five agonizing times before you make the loudest sound of frustration you’ve ever summoned, hanging up. 

Before texting him, your eyes catch on the group chat. There aren’t any new messages from the last time you checked, but the thread is still at the top of your screen, begging for attention. The last text sent is from Wooyoung, and all it says is ‘ur fucking stupid san’.

You call him. Three rings, and his confused voice pours into your ear, “Hello?”

“Hi,” all of your frustration is wrapped up into one singular word. “I’m… my car won’t start, and I was supposed to come back to your house anyway, and you just left the gym–”

“I’m on my way. Stay in the car, it’s storming,” he says, and then hangs up. You pause for a second before dropping your phone from your ear back into your lap, a little dumbfounded at how simple that was. 

Sighing, you try turning your key in the ignition again, frowning when it clicks back like it’s fucking taunting you. Why did you call him? Why did you ask him for advice? Why did he say yes before you even asked the question?

You shiver for the entire ten minutes it takes for him to get to you. Rain should be comforting, the soft, rhythmic noises of water hitting the glass on your windshield, even the rough pangs slamming against the steel hood of your car, you can’t find any fucking comfort right now. Especially as he pulls up beside you in a low, blacked-out sports car you have to squint to make sure he’s actually inside of. 

You curse when freezing droplets hit your back again, jiggling his door handle that’s fucking locked. “Unlock it!” you yell at his window, and it’s raining so hard you can’t even hear it unlock, you tug at the black handle until it finally gives. 

“Jesus Christ you’re fucking soaked,” is the first thing he says when you tumble into his passenger seat, immediately greeted by the smell of him. Masculine, not too heavy, mixed with the scent of a thunderstorm.

“No shit.” You hug yourself, cringing at the feeling of your hair sticking to you. At least it’s warm.

“What’s wrong with your car?” he leans forward to look over your body, like he’d be able to see the issue through the rain, from a different vehicle.

“Do I look like a fucking mechanic?” you snap, finally looking at him. Immediate consequences for your actions, for asking him to get you— you don’t have it in you to banter with him, your humor was stolen by the internet. “I tried to start it and it wouldn’t start.”

“Damn,” he stares at it like he might revive it with his fucking eyes. His hair is down again, messy over his face, his tank still on his body, sweatpants on his legs. Fuck him. You feel heat on your backside seeping into your clothes, your skin, and you finally look around, taking in the details of his car. 

“What the—?” you mutter, staring at the black leather seats, the manual shifter, the wide, dimmed screen at the center of the dash. “Are you rich?”

“What?” His brows furrow, sitting back in his seat. “No, I’m not rich, why the fuck would I be rich?” 

“Your car is nice.” You run a hand over the leather of the center console, feeling the lines in the soft material with your palm. “Your seats are heated and you drive stick. That means you’re probably rich.” 

He snorts, “I’m rich because I drive stick? Did you hit your head on the Smith?” 

“It would explain why you’re so arrogant,” you shrug, crossing your arms as you sit back in your seat. “Let me guess: mommy’s boy? She gets you everything you want because you’re her smart, perfect son?”

“Where am I taking you, Virgin?” He sits properly in the driver’s seat, right hand moving to the gearstick, and your eyes slide toward it as you hear him press the clutch. His tattoo peeks over his forearm, small, intricate details, thorns of a rose. 

“Your house.” You force yourself to look away as you pull the seatbelt over your front. Your eyes betray you as he shifts into reverse, then first as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Is this the aftermath of watching your amateur videos, or do cars just really get you going?” he asks coolly, not even looking at you as he pulls out onto the main road. 

You look up, mortified that he caught you. His hair sits behind his shoulders like he ran his fingers through it as he pulled into the parking lot, but it’s the purple bruising his neck that catches your eye. Purple that wasn’t contrasting his golden skin an hour ago. 

Immediately, you grill him. “Where were you?” 

He looks at you from his peripherals, for just a split second. “What?”

“Where were you before you picked me up?” 

“Getting the skin sucked off my dick.” His lips curve a little as he says it, humored by his own answer. 

“What?” You blink at him, dumbfounded. “Why’d you pick me up then?”

Like it’s the only plausible answer, he replies simply, “You called me.” 

“Yeah, but I could have called someone else,” you argue. “You didn’t have to leave a hookup, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” he retorts under his breath in a huff of amusement. “Do you want me to take you back to your car? Or would you rather wait here so I can pick back up where I left off?”

You gruff a sound of irritation instead of answering. You pull out your phone, turning your brightness down before checking your Spotify stats again, then refresh the subreddit. It's all growing— the listens, the posts, the debates, you feel fucking sick. 

“Why’d you call me?” he asks. You don’t even look up. 

“I don’t know. Yunho didn’t answer.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again, your nail sliding against your screen and the rain hitting the car the only noise. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Huh?” You look up at that, locking your phone, letting it fall into your lap. “Nothing.” 

“You’re quiet,” he notices. “Your battery’s probably just dead, Virgin, it’s not a big deal. Yunho can jump it tomorrow.” 

“I don’t—” you start, then cut yourself off. “I know, it’s fine. Sorry.” 

He looks at you, brows furrowed. “Seriously, what the fuck is good with you?” 

“Nothing!” you stress, voice raising. “Fuck, nothing is fucking wrong.” 

You fall into silence again. Your phone feels hot in your lap, begging for you to pick it up, to see what everyone’s saying about you. You bounce your knee, looking out the window, teeth clamping over your bottom lip.

“Virgin—”

“I swear to god, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll actually fucking kill you,” you finally turn to him, voice so calm it’s almost scary. 

His lips tighten, palm leaving the gearstick to raise it in defense, but he doesn’t answer. For what feels like ages you sit there, arms crossed over your chest, mind reeling over every little thing you can’t control. You shouldn’t have posted the episode. If the man sitting beside you listened to it— you can’t even think of that fucking happening or else you might actually throw your guts up.

Staring through the windshield, you realize you don’t know where you are. You should have gotten back to his house five minutes ago. Your body straightens, fight or flight kicking in, head snapping to the side, “Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” he answers casually, too fucking casually for it to be down pouring, driving this far outside of campus. He's kidnapping you. He’s kidnapping you and you’re going to fucking die. 

“I’m serious, Wooyoung,” you press, tone holding the weight of it. “Take me home.” 

He glances at you, your hand gripping the center console, the other tightened in a fist in your lap. “You seem like you need to hit something, Virgin. I’m taking you somewhere you can do it.” 

“The only thing I want to fucking hit is you,” you sneer, anger returning to your tone. “I shouldn’t have fucking called you.” 

“Well, you did.” He looks at you again, brows high and lips tight as if he’s saying you’re shit out of luck. “We’re two minutes away, just try it. If you want to leave, for real, then we’ll leave.” 

Your jaw clenches, unclenches, and you sit back in the seat, defeated. “If you kill me, I’ll haunt you. That's a promise.”

“I don’t need your blood on my hands, Virgin,” he says through a breath, turning the steering wheel with the edge of his palm onto a side street only lit by dim orange every other block. It does nothing to ease your racing heart. 

But two minutes he promised, and two minutes it was until he was pulling into a fairly lit parking lot, backing into a space right at the front. You don’t realize how tense you actually are until he turns the car off, your body physically relaxing, melting into the heated, leather seat. 

He reaches between you into the backseat, giving you a view of the expanse of his chest peeking out from the tank, his chain that slides with the stretch of his body. You slide your eyes to the parking lot in front of you, silent until he throws something on your lap. 

You look at him, brows lifted. He nods at the fabric in your lap, “You look like Barney. Put it on.” 

“I’m in my work uniform.” You look down at your bright purple shirt, your Barney-colored shirt. You frown, but pick up the sweatshirt anyway, black with white detailing on the back. You unclip your seatbelt to tug it over your head. 

“Better,” he looks satisfied before he reaches for his door handle, grabbing his wallet and keys from the cup holder before getting out. Begrudgingly, you follow, finally looking at the sign over the entrance. 

Bat Ball Indoors— with a phone number beneath it. You stop in your tracks, blinking at the sign, putting the pieces together in your mind. Not only did he take you to a fucking batting cage, it’s a janky batting cage? 

When you glance at the side, ready to berate him for taking you to a goddamn batting cage instead of taking you home, he’s already at the front door, gripping the handle. “Are you coming, or do you enjoy getting rained on?”

You tug the hood over your head, jogging toward him. “Are you paying for this shit, Mister Rich?” 

He opens the door for you, “Get inside.” 

Hugging yourself again, you’re greeted by lighting that’s too fucking yellow, somehow still bright enough to make you squint. It’s warmer inside, not heated, but a dry warmth that’s an immediate comfort from the stickiness of outside. Your sneakers scuff against the floor, and when you look down, it’s covered with tracks, other people whose sneakers did the same. 

“Jung!” You pick your head up to see an old man behind the counter. Bald, short, he stands behind a register that looks like he’s had it since the nineties. Actually, you’d put your money on the fact that the entire place hasn’t changed since the nineties. 

There’s baseball shit on the walls, signs reading something about cleats and helmets, the glass covering the lights is stained with yellow. There's a faint cigarette smell, but it’s not overpowering or uncomfortable, it compliments the scent of rubber and rain. 

Wooyoung talks to the man, you can’t be bothered to listen as you finally notice the cages. Separated by old, heavy netting, there’s only three and they’re all empty. Long tunnels of turf, a target made by red tape on ripped, black netting at the back of each cage, a tiny black machine beside the target you can only assume shoots balls at you. You want to go home. 

“Thanks,” you hear Wooyoung say at the same time as the cash register rings. You bring your attention back to him and he’s smiling like this is his favorite place in the fucking world. “Come on, Virgin.”

You look behind you and the bald man doesn’t seem to be bothered by the nickname, or he’s so old he just doesn’t hear it. You follow Wooyoung to the farthest cage, still confused enough that you don’t know what question to ask first. He’s holding a bat, a helmet, everything scuffed, clearly worn. 

You choose to not ask a goddamn thing. “I’m not putting that on my head,” you eye up the helmet hanging off his fingers. It’s still somehow bright red, even if it’s covered in streaks of black and white, a line of black electrical tape stretching over the front. 

“Oh, yes you are,” he says sternly, pushing the helmet straight into your chest. It sends you backward a step, but instinctively your hands wrap around it. The inside looks… used. You cringe. “My bet is that you’ll get hit in the head with a ball at least once. You need it.” 

Your top lip lifts, “What the fuck are we even doing here, Wooyoung?” 

“You’re gonna hit some balls,” he says, slotting the bat between his thighs. He reaches forward, stealing the helmet from your chest just to pull it down over your head. “Balls that aren’t mine, in case that wasn’t clear.” 

You push your hair out of your face, scowling under the helmet. “I wouldn’t give me that bat if I were you.” 

He hands you the bat automatically, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Go take your anger out on something that isn’t me.” 

You take the handle cautiously and it’s heavier than you expected it to be, your eyes go wide as you fix your grip. It’s silver, or it used to be, now covered in scratches, small dents, patches where the metal has worn off, leaving asymmetrical marks of black. The handle is sticky, covered in old athletic tape, you hate how it feels in your hands. Looking back up at Wooyoung, you fantasize about how satisfying it would be to swing it at the side of his head. 

You glance at the cage instead, specifically the small square of turf that’s basically nonexistent. That's probably where you stand. Like he can read your thoughts, Wooyoung points to it, “Stand there. I’m gonna put a token in, then you hit the ball with the bat. Easy enough, right?”

“How many?” you ask, walking towards the spot of nonexistent turf. He answers twenty-five as he grabs the token from his pocket, sliding it into some kind of control panel. The machine turns on and you jump at the sound of the mechanical noise until it clunks, a ball shooting straight out.

You yelp as it flies right past you, jumping backward. You whip around to Wooyoung, “What the fuck?!” 

“You were supposed to hit that, by the way,” he points to the ball now on the ground, the hit saved by netting along the back wall. 

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” you sneer, turning back to the machine that was making noise again. You try to fix your hold on the bat, staring at the hole the ball comes out of across the turf, but it flies past your head before you’ve even registered that it shot out. You stand straight up, turning back to Wooyoung who looks fully amused. “It’s fucking broken.” 

“It’s not broken, dumbass,” he points his hand towards the machine. “You just wasted two balls. Focus.” 

You push a breath through your lips, focusing. You swing the bat over your shoulder, aligning your hands, and as the ball shoots out after the clunk, you swing. And miss. 

Refusing to look behind you, your lips scrunch in frustration, gripping the bat harder. You swing, it shoots past you. You actually fucking growl in frustration, and Wooyoung’s laughter follows.

You refuse to feel embarrassed. Turning around, you sneer, “You think this is fucking funny?”

“Extremely,” he’s grinning, leaning up against the side wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Keep your eye on the ball, Virgin.” 

“It’s too fucking fast!” you shout just as another ball whips past you. You jump again, and his snorted laughter just pisses you off more. “This is fucking bullshit, and you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muses from behind you. “Keep your legs shoulder-width apart and bend your knees.” 

“I’ve played Wii Sports, thanks,” you huff, but as you look down at your feet, you need to spread them. And bend your knees more. Fixing your stance, you stare at the machine again, and for the sixth goddamn time, you miss. 

“Nineteen left, in case you can’t count.” 

“I can fucking count!” you shout back, ignoring how quickly his laughter follows. 

“Relax your arms, Virgin. Keep your body solid, but let your arms be loose.” 

You don’t change a thing as you miss the seventh ball. Jaw locking, you brace your core, relaxing some of the tension in your arms. On your eighth swing, you feel a little resistance, you can hear the ping of the ball just slightly connecting with the metal of the bat. 

You stand straight up, eyes wide. “Oh my god.” Turning to see where it landed, watching it roll along the floor, you ask him, “Did you hear that!? Did you see it!?” 

“Try hitting it next time.” 

“I’ll fucking kill you,” you bite back. “I’ll hit you with the fucking bat, with my shoulders squared and my grip fucking loose you bitch—” Another ball swings past. “Fuck you, look what what you did. You made me miss another one!” 

You can hear his smile as he says, “You missed the one before it, too.” 

“I fucking hit it!” you yell back, fixing your stance again. You don’t even graze the tenth ball, and your shout of anger reverberates through the entire fucking building. 

“You’re swinging too late,” Wooyoung’s tone is direct, guiding. It wouldn’t help even if it was nice. 

“No fucking shit,” you shoot back. 

“Swing earlier, then.”

You stand straight up, brows tied together as you turn around to look at him. “Why are you acting like my fucking coach? Do you want to come do it yourself?” 

He pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms, “I played for fourteen years. Ball.” 

You turn just as the ball shoots past you. “Fuck!” 

He comes up beside you, holding his hand out for the bat. You hand it to him, then the helmet as you ask, “You played in high school?”

“Four to eighteen,” he explains as you switch positions with him, backing up to where he stood leaning up against the wall. You can only assume his stance is perfect. Knees bent, knuckles lined up along the bat, fingers flexing and unflexing along the handle. 

“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, letting your head rest against the wall. From where you stand, it’s like slow motion, the sound of the machine, the muscles in his back flexing as he swings, his biceps, his forearms… he hits the ball perfectly. “You’re a fucking asshole.” 

He laughs, stepping backward, “I quit because I didn’t want to play in college. Everyone thought I would, but I was over it. I’m a finance bro now.” 

When he pulls the helmet off, you push off the wall, taking it from his hands to put it back over your head. “Finance bro doesn’t really suit you.” 

He hands you the bat, “Yeah? What would suit me, then?” 

“A master’s degree in sex education,” you quip. He huffs a laugh and you smile, too, because you know that joke was fucking funny. You quickly realize you didn’t learn a thing from watching him as you line yourself back up, and he knows it too when you miss another goddamn ball. 

“You’re still doing it wrong, Virgin.” 

You know. Yet you bite back anyway, “Wooyoung, I literally just fucking copied you.”

“You were watching me,” there’s amusement in his tone, accompanied by the truth of it. “Not watching me.” 

You feel heat in your ears, you blame it on the helmet. Feigning ignorance, you mutter, “That’s what I was supposed to be doing.” 

You swing again. 

“Swing earlier.” 

You loose a steadying, cool breath, and swing earlier. The following crack through the building confuses you until you feel the vibration in your arms, watching as the ball soars through the cage. 

“I hit it?” You whip around to face him and he’s already smiling. Running straight to him, you scream, “I fucking hit it!” 

You don’t even process that you’ve wrapped yourself around him, that he’s laughing with one arm around you. “I’m a fucking professional. Draft me for the fucking NHL.” 

He lets you go, laughing harder, “That’s hockey, Virgin.” 

“Who fucking cares?” you shout, pointing back toward the cage. “I hit the fucking ball!” 

He nods his chin toward it, “Go do it again.”

So you do. In the last remaining ten balls, you successfully hit six, and even though it’s out of twenty-five, you feel like a goddamn professional, ready for the big leagues. What was only supposed to be one round quickly turned into two, trading places with him just to scoff and berate him for his skill. Your palms sting, your arms ache, the helmet is glued to your fucking forehead, at one point your hoodie was thrown in the corner, sweat sliding down your spine. Your body is tired, but your mind is alive; you aren’t ready to go home yet. 

“Thanks, Mr. Choi,” Wooyoung gives baldie a wave on your way out, and you thank him quietly from behind Wooyoung in the midst of pulling his hoodie back over your head. It had stopped raining at some point while you were inside but the air is still heavy with humidity, the cool air meeting the warm pavement leaving a thick layer of fog on the ground. 

“Spooky,” you mumble absentmindedly, watching the fog rising as you walk toward his car. “Are you hungry?”

His hair is frizzy now, curling at the ends, golden skin flushed with exertion from slamming the last eight balls across the cage. He shrugs, one hand for the handle, “I could eat.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” you shoot him a look from across the roof of his car, one that says I was only asking you to be nice. “Get your wallet out, Mister Rich.”

He’s smiling by the time you sit in the passenger seat. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Nope,” you answer plainly in a single huff of breath. “Where are we going?”

He turns his key in the ignition, and the engine comes to life beautifully in a smooth, effortless sound. You wish your car sounded like that right now. 

“There’s a diner up the road,” he offers, pressing the clutch, throwing the gearstick into first.

“Wow,” you scoff. “Just a diner? Mister Rich is taking me to a measly little diner?”

He shakes his head, upshifting when he pulls onto the main road. You fuck with the screen in the center of his dash, swiping through the different apps, pulling up Spotify. You ignore Unscripted’s logo as you scroll up, looking for his liked songs, shuffling them. 

“Risky,” he mumbles, brows raised when you look over at him. “All my liked songs? Do you know how many liked songs I have?”

Something rock starts pouring through the speakers, it’s soft, easy, the perfect song to fill the cabin of his car. “This one’s nice,” you shrug, settling back into your seat. When he pulls into a parking lot right after, you huff a laugh. “You weren’t joking when you said around the corner, huh? You’re very precise with your distance calculation.”

“I’m very precise with a lot of things,” he responds coolly, and you think it might be the third time today that he’s beat around the bush with intentionally vague language. You know just how precise he is with a very certain thing.

You don’t comment on it, you let the silence speak instead as he pulls into a parking spot, killing the engine. The diner is cute, older than the batting cage place, maybe. Checkered floors, booths, red stools lining the counter, everything about the space is warm and inviting. The hostess barely looks up from her phone as she tells you where to sit, pointing to a table two booths down from the entrance.

Your stomach growls the moment a menu lands in your hands. Feeling heat in your cheeks, you comment on it before Wooyoung has a chance to, “I literally have not eaten a singular thing today.”

“Don’t order the entire menu,” he eyes you over the top of his menu. “I’m not wealthy enough to satisfy the kind of hunger I just fucking heard.”

You can’t help your grin as you open your menu, landing on breakfast foods upon opening it, forever your favorite. It’s nostalgic for you, it reminds you of home, it’s always been a diner staple no matter what time of day it is. Lifting your eyes to look at the man across the cream-colored table, you wonder if he has a diner staple. If there’s anything on the menu that reminds him of home.

It’s kinda weird, you think. Sitting across from him in a diner, of all places, and not feeling the familiar Wooyoung-induced rage in your chest. You’ve never been around him for so long, other than the night you spent together in the bedroom of a frat house, this is different. A nice kind of different, though, like tonight exists only to make you reconsider everything you’ve ever thought about him. The shield, the hookups, the arrogance, you’ve never had a reason to think about Wooyoung beyond sex or wit, but sitting across from him reminds you that there’s a person inside him, too.

He can feel your gaze. Without looking up, he asks, “Do you want to take a picture?”

“Maybe,” you lower your menu, head tilting. “I’ll show it to the rest of your frat, let ‘em know you’re capable of interacting with a woman outside of a bedroom.”

He mimics you, lowering his menu, brows furrowed. It’s clear he remembers when you said the opposite of those words verbatim the night in your apartment. “I’ve always been capable of being friends with women.”

Your laugh is obviously sarcastic. “Sure.”

He almost argues back, but he’s cut off by the waitress who says absolutely nothing about the sheer amount of food you order. Wooyoung, on the other hand, as soon as she walks away he’s on your ass about it. “Do you think I’m made of money?”

“Definitely,” you nod, bringing your glass of water up to your lips. “Bands and a bitch-ass attitude.”

His laughter is obnoxious, dripping in amused disbelief as he retorts, “Bitch-ass attitude? Are you sure you’re not projecting?”

“My attitude has been fixed and cured,” you lower your water back to the table, brows high. 

Without missing a beat, he quips, “Yeah? And who fixed it?”

“Some rich asshole with a bitch-ass attitude,” you muse, and you can’t fight the smile that curves your lips. He smiles, too, and there’s a pause between you before you both snort your laughter. You feel it more, the absence of rage, the fact that there’s absolutely nothing forming beneath your skin, you feel light. When has being around Wooyoung ever felt fucking light?

“Can I ask you a question?” Your chest feels tight as the question forms on your tongue. He nods, brows lifted, tongue swiping along his upper row of teeth beneath his lips. “Why did you come get me?”

“I already told you.”

“You said it’s because I called,” you start, leaning forward, crossing your arms over the table. “But you were fucking someone and you didn’t even tell me you were fucking someone, you just came as soon as I called.”

His brows furrow. “What answer are you looking for here, Virgin?”

“An honest one.” You don’t know what kind of answer beyond that. “Why’d you come get me?”

“Because you called me,” he repeats, voice tight like he doesn’t know how else to say it.

Your lips flatten. “That’s not a fucking answer.”

“That is the fucking answer,” he argues. You say his name like you’re threatening him. He sighs, deflating back into the booth. “What else was I supposed to do? It was storming, your car died, and you called me.”

Your lips scrunch to one side, “You could have said no.”

“Why the fuck would I say no to you?”

“Because we’re barely even friends!” you argue, exasperated. “I barely know anything about you, yet you came to get me as soon as I called.”

“You’re making it out to be more than it is,” he shakes his head, picking up his own water. There’s sarcasm lacing his tone as he continues, “Would you rather me say it would break my fragile heart to leave my friend’s girlfriend in a dead car during a storm? Is that the answer you’re looking for?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you just about growl. “That’s how you look at me? I’m suddenly reduced to being Yunho’s?”

His face morphs into utter, sheer fucking disbelief. “You’re the one who literally just said we’re barely friends!”

You can’t answer. You don’t even have a witty response. “Okay, fine. You’re right.”

“Then what the fuck are you mad about?”

You run your hands over your face, “I’m not mad, Wooyoung.”

“You asked me a question and now you’re getting pissed the fuck off at every single answer I give you. What do you want from me?” When you look up at him, you can’t answer. He huffs out a punched, hollow laugh. “Right, almost forgot, you don’t know what you want. Why does there have to be more? Why can’t you just leave it for what it is?”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” you sneer. “You don’t accept any answer I give you about anything and now you’re asking me to accept your bullshit answer.” 

His lips tighten in a line. Your grin might be actually fucking evil. 

“Answer,” you taunt, even nodding your chin toward him as you lean back in the booth. “You’re obsessed with explaining me to me, Jung Wooyoung. Explain yourself instead.”

“I–” his lips part, then close. Instead, he blurts, “Ask me something then. Something different than why I came to pick you up.”

You sit with it for a second, then you’re forced to sit with it longer as your food arrives. Seeing it in front of you, a display that could probably feed a family, even if you’re starving it feels absurd and you can’t help but fucking snort. Wooyoung has a grin on his cheeks, too, one he’s obviously trying to hide, looking up at you through his brows, acting like he’s focused on his own food. 

“You’re helping me finish all of this,” you announce, rearranging your plates.

“I don’t even think the two of us could finish all of it,” he’s shaking his head as he says it. “Just wasting my money for fun.”

You hum your amusement, reaching for the syrup, pouring the perfect amount over your plate. Picking up the knife, you cut into your stack of pancakes while asking, “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”

You lift your eyes to see him looking at you surprised, confused, his mouth full of food. “Hm?”

“I asked.” You drop the knife back onto the table as if your cheeks aren’t on fire. “Your turn."

He finishes chewing, swallowing before he answers just as plainly, “I did kiss you back.”

Like asking wasn’t humiliating enough. “Okay, then you stopped. You left. Why?” 

He fucks around with his food before answering, his tone even. “You didn’t want to kiss me.”

“Here we fucking go again,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head. “How did I not want to kiss you if I kissed you? What sense does that make?”

“You were trying to prove me wrong, Virgin. You didn’t kiss me because you wanted to kiss me, you kissed me because I backed you into a corner,” he explains while not even looking at you. He keeps playing with his food, finishing his sentence by taking a bite.

Your ears are so fucking hot they hurt. “I thought– I assumed you would jump at the– why did you care what my intentions were? I kissed you.”

“You think I didn’t know you were using it– using me to win the argument?” his mouth is full as he asks. “I wasn’t gonna fuck you just so you could prove a point.”

“You fuck people you don’t even know,” you argue, even if you aren’t sure why you’re arguing.

“I fuck people who want to fuck me,” he says with certainty. “That’s the difference.”

You don’t know why you’re still talking. “Maybe I wanted to fuck you.”

“You didn’t want to fuck me,” his voice lowers. “You wanted to win.”

Your jaw clenches, “Why do you care so fucking much?”

“I have my own rules, believe it or not,” he tightens his lips, raising his brows. “I don’t really take well to being a pawn anymore.”

“A pawn?” your head jerks forward with the question, offended. “I wasn’t using you.”

“You kissed me to make yourself feel better,” he shrugs, taking another bite. “That’s pretty much the textbook definition of pawn-ism, no?”

“I think this is the definition of dramatic,” you quip, brows tied together. “What do you mean by ‘anymore’? Were you once emotionally available enough to actually have a girlfriend?”

He huffs amusement through his nose, “Nah. When my parents split up, I was in the middle. I was sixteen– it’s a long story. It was ugly.”

 You see him stiffen after the revelation, his body going rigid, staring at his plate like he can’t believe the words left his mouth, like he can’t bring himself to look at you. Your stomach drops, you weren’t expecting an honest answer.

“Well,” you start, picking up your fork again. “I still think calling yourself a pawn because I kissed you is dramatic. What if I just wanted round two?”

“Everyone wants round two,” he looks up through his brows, and it’s relieving to see a glimmer of amusement. “You’re not special.”

“Sure,” you muse. “That’s why you stopped getting–and let me repeat it verbatim–the skin sucked off your dick to come pick me up.”

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass, Virgin,” he gripes, pointing at you with his fork. “Shut the fuck up and eat your breakfast.”

You’re giddy as you shove your fork into a pancake, a smile on your cheeks as you house it down. You swear it tastes better now, as do the rest of the four sides you ordered along with it. At one point Wooyoung poked into your food, his plate already cleared, and your bickering picked right back up where it left off because naturally, you knew the two of you could finish all the food, even if he doubted you. 

Mister Rich he is, Wooyoung slid his card over the counter at the front, making you impossibly more giddy that he did it without complaint. Your belly full, your limbs growing achier by the minute, by the time you get back in his car, you’re ready to go home. Not his home, though, you need your own bed, you need your shower, you need to wash the rain and the sweat and the Wooyoung off of you.

For the first time in three hours, you check your phone. You didn’t notice that you left it on the floor of his car, only finding it after it dawned on you that you haven’t seen it in hours. Before pulling up your stats or the orange app that beckons to you, you check your messages. 

There’s six from Yunho, and you can’t believe you haven’t thought about him once.

yunho: handy manny what is that yunho: ok i just googled it thats actually funny as hell yunho: im so sorry i fell asleep after class yunho: i just saw u called, are u ok? isnt ur shift over by now

Enough time had passed for his newer messages to have a time stamp written on the screen between them. 

yunho: ok now im worried yunho: i called u three times pls answer asap before i report u missing 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath, fingers typing at lightning speed.

you: im so sorry my car died wooyoung picked me up you: im alive omg im sorry i didnt text u

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, eyes sliding over your screen. “Oh, Yunho?”

yunho: fuckkk im so sorry i didnt answer yunho: thank god he picked you up yunho: wyd? are u still with him?

“Fuck,” you grind out harshly, again. “He’s so fucking nice.” 

Wooyoung huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’s like, his entire attraction.”

“You forgot the tall part, and the big dick part, and the angel sent from heaven part,” you add.

Wooyoung doesn’t respond, one hand turning the wheel, the other upshifting as he pulls out onto the main road.

you: yes we just got food you: im gonna go home tho if thats okay with u you: im so fucking exhausted

yunho: of course sunshine yunho: ill come get you in the morning and then we can go look at your car

you: thank you <3 yes pls you: see u in the morning 

You sigh, slapping your phone against your denim-covered thigh, sinking back into the passenger seat, looking straight through the windshield. Your head turns to the side, “Can you take me home? Like, to my place?”

“You don’t wanna see your tall, big dicked angel sent from heaven?” Wooyoung teases.

Your eyes thin out. “I’m tired, I’ll see him in the morning. He’s gonna fix my car.”

“Of course he is.” It sounds like a jab, but there’s no irritation in his tone, nothing malicious. It’s the truth, because of course Yunho’s first objective would be to fix your car as soon as he found out you’re safe and sound. 

Picking up your phone, ready to open Spotify, you catch the sight of Unscripted’s logo still on the wide screen on his dash. Your lips scrunch to one side, debating before you ask him, “Why do you listen to Unscripted?”

“I don’t,” he answers quickly, irritation returning tenfold to his tone.

You pop a brow. “You know I can see it on the screen, right?”

He takes his hand off the gearstick just to swipe it off the screen. It shows what’s playing now instead, the same rock song as before. “Look at that, it’s gone now. Magic.” 

He’s so fucking stupid that you laugh. Instinctively, you quote, “Yer a wizard, Harry.”

He looks at you wide-eyed for a second before erupting into laughter, body folding forward, into his steering wheel. “Shut the actual fuck up.”

You laugh with him, mainly because his laugh is funny, your quote was so innate you weren’t even trying to be funny. Looking at him, his wide grin, seeming so unshielded, so free… a door is opened that you’ve deliberately kept closed since that first night with Yunho. 

The laughter dies down, and you let the feeling die with it. “Okay, but seriously,” you press again. “Why do you hate Unscripted?”

He pulls up to a red light, downshifting until the car comes to a full stop. He looks at you expressionless as he says, “I think she’s full of shit.”

Your top lip lifts. Monotonous, you rebut, “Really?”

“She is,” he shrugs like it’s obvious. “She says all that personal shit, but won’t say who she is. Seems like there’s a reason for it.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want the entire campus to know her personal business,” you argue.

Upshifting, pressing on the gas, he fires back, “Maybe she doesn’t want the entire campus to know it’s not real.” Your stomach feels heavy, and it’s not the food. Before you can get the chance to respond, he’s already continuing, “I can respect the need for privacy because she’s a woman, but I don’t think she’s hiding from all the douchebags on campus that would harass her. I don’t know.”

Your brows furrow, “Then who else?”

“The people who know her,” he responds simply. “The people who would know it’s not true.”

Your head shakes, brows tied together, stomach souring with every word he speaks. “But it is true. She’s gone to your parties, she was there with us–”

“Some of the shit she talks about I can believe,” he waves a hand between you. “It’s the way she talks about it. I just don’t believe the persona or whatever the fuck.”

You hate that you ask, “What persona?”

“I have sex, I have a lot of sex–”

“Wow, ground breaking journalism happening–”

“Listen. Who she is aside, I have a lot of sex, but I get a lot of shit for it. I caught chlamydia over a year ago and I’m still berated for it almost every fucking day. She has a lot of sex and she’s praised for it. She avoids consequence because she’s anonymous, and it just feels really fucking fake to me.”

Your lips scrunch. “That’s actually fair. Double-standard.”

“It’s usually the opposite,” he leans back in the driver’s seat, downshifting as he turns onto your street. “It’s never a man who gets shit for fucking, but for some reason, I do.”

“Maybe it’s because that’s all anyone knows about you,” you say quieter, almost like you aren’t sure if you really want to say it. “I once told you that you curated your own reputation.”

He makes a face, one that says yeah, I know. “My reputation is what it is, Virgin. Nothing I can do about it now.”

“That’s not true,” you argue, brows scrunching. “You proved today that you can have a friendship with a woman. That’s a step in the right direction, no?”

Pulling up in front of your house, he throws the gear into park and shoots you a blank stare. “What’s the use of a step in the right direction if I’m never going to take another step?”

“Why can’t you?”

His head tilts, debating. “I can, I just won’t.”

You turn in the seat, facing him. “Because…?”

“I don’t want to be responsible for how someone else feels,” he says simply, only his head turned toward you. Then his lips curve, “I don’t want to end up in a sex-less marriage like the one you were about to get yourself into, Virgin.”

You scoff through a smile, “Asshole.” Unclipping your seatbelt, you bend one knee up into the seat as you say, “I think you might have a fucked up view on relationships, Mister Rich.” 

His brows raise, lips tightening. No shit. “If you’re happy, your partner is happy. If you’re sad, then you’re bringing down your partner, too. Everything you do, you have to be conscious of the other person. If they give something up for you, if they move for you, if the relationship fails and it’s not your fault, it’s your fault anyway because you’re the only person to blame.”

Your brows raise at the rant. “Can I ask?”

He’s quick to answer, “No.”

“Can I at least point something out?” your head tilts, smile playing on your lips. He sighs, and to you, that’s a yes. “You just spent, like, four hours out of your Wednesday night to make someone you’re barely even friends with feel better.”

“That’s different,” he argues.

“Yeah?” you ask, smile growing. “How about all the times I asked you for advice, and you gave it? Or when you came to my apartment because clearly something was so wrong that I left the Penny?”

His face stays flat. “What are you getting at, Virgin?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, voice light, high-pitched like the word is a song. “Just noticing and realizing things.”

“Oh,” he laughs the word, finally turning to face you. “You figured me out, huh?”

His car is too small for him to be this close to you. You can still smell him, the storm, you can taste every single word, every emotion that’s passed between you tonight. Grasping onto nonchalance as hard as you fucking can, you shrug, “It’s not as hard as it seems.”

His eyes drop, but they’re back on yours before you can register it. “You think so?”

Your heartbeat picks up, you can feel it knocking on your breastplate, begging you to pay attention to it. You can’t look away from him, you’re stuck as your chest fills, as your breath turns shallow. Your eyes drop to his pretty, full lips, lips you’ve kissed before, lips you want to kiss again. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been more honest with Jung Wooyoung than when you tell him, “I want to kiss you.”

He says your name like it’s a warning, like you’re nearing dangerous territory. You let him see it, the want in your face, your eyes. He watches, letting you see the debate in his. 

His voice is almost airy as he says, “You wanted to kiss me last time, too.”

“Last time, I wanted to be right,” you whisper. “I want you, Wooyoung.”

He clenches and unclenches his jaw like he’s fighting his own instincts. He turns, sinking back into his seat, muttering a rough “Fuck” under his breath. He runs his palms over his face, sorting his fingers through his hair, and he doesn’t look back at you as he says, “Yunho’s my friend, and he likes you.”

Your body blooms with warmth, but it’s embarrassment instead of the heat you wish was washing through you. You feel still as you uncurl your body, reaching for your purse, your keys, your water bottle. “Right,” you mutter, almost automatically, as if your brain has shut off entirely.

He speaks as you reach for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

You look back, confused. “Leaving?”

“Why are you leaving?” he sits up a little, face twisted with enough emotion you can’t pinpoint it.

“Hello?” You look around as if you’re missing something. Embarrassment twists into frustration, “I just finally fucking told you what I wanted and you rejected me.”

“Because you’re dating my friend–”

“I’m not dating him!” you nearly explode.

“You’re exclusively together,” Wooyoung says matter-of-factly. “Don’t get out of the car thinking that I don’t want you, because I fucking want you. I can’t do that to Yunho.”

“Goodnight, Wooyoung, thank you for tonight,” you say in one big shoved together breath, and climb out of his stupidly fucking low car. He’s in the middle of calling your name when you slam it behind you, forcing yourself to turn on your heel and walk up to your apartment.

Your brain feels like static with every step. You can’t piece together words, thoughts, you can’t function all the way up to your door, opening it just for all the lights to be on. Food is spread across the coffee table, the TV is on, Yunjin’s laptop is open on the couch, her phone right beside it. 

Her face is grave. You glance at the TV, the Unscripted logo, your own fucking voice pouring out from the speakers. Your body feels like ice. This is it. 

She doesn’t even let you close the door behind you before she’s asking, “Is it you?”

masterlist 🍬

[minkieater]

what's the difference between wanting something so badly that you'll take it, and only wanting something if it's given to you?

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 9/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 8.1k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is an angel sent from god above | smut minors dni fingering, pinv, dirty talk, big girl/good girl, yh is so close to tapping into his dom side. like so close

WOOYOUNG WOKE UP AN HOUR AGO. Sleep has been lost on him for days and last night wasn’t any fucking different. He watched the sun move over the horizon through his window, waking up from the slumber that was stolen from him, feeling it slowly warm his bedsheets with every passing minute of sunrise. Three hours, maybe, that’s all his active mind would allow him the past week.

He can’t figure out why he’s so unsettled. He has pieces of the puzzle, but it feels impossible to put them together to see the entire picture. He doesn’t know why he went to your apartment that night, what he was expecting to get out of it, what any outcome would have done to benefit him. He wasn’t expecting you to kiss him– he sure as hell wasn’t expecting to deny you, but you weren’t kissing him for the right reasons. You were trying to prove his words, the very real and obvious facts he knows about you, wrong. How the fuck does he even know so much about you in the first place? Why does he give a fuck about your intentions?

He’s never considered himself to be one of those people who can read others. He’s never cared that much about others’ feelings, their emotions, their personalities. But it bothers him, how easily he can see you when you can’t see yourself. You’re transparent to him, the fake confidence, the control you work so hard to keep locked in your jaw when he knows you don’t possess a lick of it. You have the ability to, but you don’t trust yourself enough to lean into it, to step into those shoes. He wonders about you. But the more he wonders, the more he seems to understand less.

He lays flat on his back, sighing. What did he even say all of that shit for if you were just going to turn around and repeat history? What was it all for? He doesn’t care if your relationship or whatever the fuck with Yunho doesn’t have a label on it, he hears the way Yunho talks about you, he saw just last night how you two look at each other. That’s not casual, that’s so fucking far away from casual it makes him feel stupid for even attempting to help you out of the box you put yourself in. Your rules, your morals, your standards, they’re all a shield so no one sees the real you.

But Wooyoung has seen it, the you who doesn’t back down, the you who refused to let him leave, who grabbed his wrist, pulled him down by his chain. A part of him misses it, seeing that version of you, just a little. The volume of your voice, even if it’s spitting words in his direction, even if it’s reminding him he had fucking chlamydia. The nasty smirk painted on your lips, eyes sparkling with amusement, shoulders pushed back, proud when your words hit their mark. Even if both of you would die before admitting it, there was something forming, and Wooyoung can feel the loss of it. 

He kicks the sheets off his body, pushing himself up until he’s sitting, rubbing at his face with his rough, callused palms. He’s been lifting more lately, spending more time in the gym, just after dawn. He hates hypocrisy, when people say they’re one thing and act differently, he hates when people lose themselves in another person, but not enough to lose sleep over it. Not enough to think this fucking hard. But all the alone time, he and his headphones blaring music so loud he can feel his eardrums crying, he can’t stop thinking about it.

He wills his brain to shut up while he’s in his bathroom, but it refuses as he throws a tank over his head and grabs his gym bag from the floor. Headphones hugging his neck, he pulls his bedroom door open, bothered by the fact that you’re three fucking rooms over. He shakes his head, huffing a short, tight breath as he jogs down the steps, searching for the familiar itch in his chest from moving his body.

“Oh.” He hears from his left, a very you sound coming from the kitchen. A smaller, watered down version of you. “Hi. Morning.”

He glances, but only because he can’t help himself. Your– Yunho’s shirt swallows you down to mid-thigh, like that night in your apartment. Instinct wonders if you’re wearing anything beneath it, he knew that night a week ago, you weren’t. His jaw locks as he takes a few steps toward the counter, ripping a banana off the bunch sitting beside the refrigerator, then turns to leave again. 

“So now you won’t even speak to me?” The edge in your voice is back, still softer than what he’s used to. “I don’t get it. You said shit to me, I said shit to you, I thought that was our thing. Now you hate me for it?”

A huff of amusement tumbles out of his nose, but he keeps his back to you. “Our thing doesn’t exist. There is no we, remember?”

“We came to the conclusion of friendship. That, I remember.” He hears your glass of water hit the counter. “Did I hit a soft spot? See you too clearly? Now you have to shut me out, just like you do everyone else?”

Yet another thing he can’t get off his mind. How easy it is for him to see you, how transparent you are to him, he hates that it seems to be the same for you. You’ve curated your own reputation, and it’s for a reason. His lips tighten, frustration making his spine straighten out.

He turns around. “Now you’re direct? How is it that you only have a fucking backbone when it comes to me?”

Your face twists in confusion. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re still fucking doing it, Virgin,” he argues, and inside himself, he can’t find a single reason why. “Hiding behind choices made for you.”

“I’m not,” you argue too quickly to have thought about his words. Blinking, cheeks flushed, you sputter like you weren’t expecting him to bring it up again, “Yunho– he and I– I’m single… we’re–”

“I don’t care what you’re doing,” Wooyoung snaps, and he can taste the lie on his tongue. “I don’t care what you do. This conversation is pointless, and a waste of my time.”

You laugh, a punched sound that has no warmth, no amusement in it. You take a step closer to him, and he can feel the heat of anger swimming toward him. “A waste of your fucking time? It was a waste of my time when you came to my apartment to chew me out for shit that has nothing to fucking do with you.”

“Exactly,” he turns back around, heading for the front door. “None of it has anything to do with me, so why are you still talking to me?”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you grit out harshly from behind him, following him to the door. “I can’t believe I ever put any trust in you or valued your opinion. All you care about is yourself.”

“That’s how it should be,” he sighs, grabbing the handle. Looking over his shoulder, your arms are crossed, your skin flush with anger. “If you were a little more selfish, your ex never would have hurt you. You wouldn’t be down here arguing with a fucking wall.”

He gives it a second, warming the brass knob with the heat in his palm, but you have no argument. You stare at him, no rebuttal, no curses thrown, just angled brows and pointed eyes and arms that are either crossed in defense or hugging yourself for comfort. He peels the banana on the walk to his car, chewing hard enough to crack his fucking teeth on his drive to the gym. 

Your chest aches.

You’ve been staring at the door for what feels like ten minutes, even if you can still hear the roar of his engine down the road. It’s fucking frustrating that you can’t figure it out, you can’t figure him out– you don’t even know what went wrong. Where this all came from, why it’s blowing up in your face, why you’re hurt over someone you never cared about, and never cared about you. He’s right.

None of it ever had anything to do with him, you made all of your problems his, but he helped you. He helped solve them, even if he didn’t owe you anything, even if you never would have interacted with each other if it wasn’t for chance. You don’t like him, you aren’t friends, there are no factors in your association that hold any weight to either of you.

He’s always been a fucking asshole, but his words, his body language has never felt so angry. So mean. You wish you argued, you wish you said something to keep him here longer just to force an explanation out of him. You didn’t know what else to say, and that might have been a first for you when talking to Wooyoung.

“Morning, sunshine,” the softest voice in the world sings brightly from behind you, embedding light back into your chest, your skin. You turn on your heel and he’s shirtless, in nothing but boxers, grinning with tired eyes like he’s still half-asleep. Aware he always is, naturally, he asks, “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you shake your head, meeting him halfway, swinging your arms around his middle, laying your cheek against his soft, warm skin. Comfort personified, he pets your hair, scratching your scalp lightly. You look up when he doesn’t answer, his brows furrowed like he doesn’t believe you, which he shouldn’t. You insist, “I’m fine, Yun.”

“Okay,” he says softly, lips curving. He doesn’t press it. “I didn’t know where you went. It’s early.”

“I came down to get water,” you press your chin to his chest, keeping your gaze upward. You should go home and try to map out your next episode of Unscripted, but instead you ask, “Do you have anything to do today? I’m free if you’re free.”

“My turn to grocery shop,” he says before craning his neck, pressing his lips to your forehead. “That’s it, though. Wanna come with?”

“Grocery shop on a Saturday?” Your nose crinkles. “I’d rather die.”

He uses both hands to push your hair away from your face, “I want to do something just you and I today.”

You pop a bow, teasing him, “And your idea is to grocery shop?” 

“It’s simple,” he shrugs as you peel yourself off of him. “Domestic.”

“It’s going to be a fucking zoo in there.” You move toward the kitchen again, wanting the water you barely got to drink before you were interrupted. 

“But we’ll be together.” Yunho comes up behind you as you take a long sip. You stare at the bunch of bananas on the counter, the ripped stem revealing one missing, lips scrunching to one side. His hands find your shoulders, squeezing, “I want to be together.”

You smile absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the bananas as you lean back into Yunho’s chest, “Me too.”

Turning, you reach up for his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. He makes a noise of surprise as his palms land on your hips, dipping you backward. “What is it about a kitchen that makes you so horny?”

You laugh into the kiss, reaching up into his hair, “Cutlery, appliances.”

He snorts, hands sliding down your back, squeezing your bare ass beneath your tee. “My theory is that you have an exhibitionist kink you accidentally forgot to tell me about.”

You try to trap your laughter, but fail as miserably as you always do. Your head tips backward as his lips trail down your neck, “Maybe I do and I just don’t know it.”

He hums a note, muffled against your skin, vibrating your throat. “Maybe I should help you figure it out.”

“Maybe you should,” you whisper as he kisses you again, tongue slipping past your lips, holding your hips like he’s trying to make a belt with his fingers. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to see me?”

“They’re all asleep.” He looks up like he could see through the ceiling into everyone’s rooms. When he looks back down at you, his eyes have darkened, slipping into that heavy stare that makes your spine scream, your toes curl. “It’s still early enough that they won’t get up for a while.”

“You want to?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, head tilting. 

“Why are you even asking?” His brows furrow as he bends down again. He whispers against your lips, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

When he kisses you again, it’s his pace you’re following. His body swallows yours, shifting you backward with his hands on your hips until you hit the counter, hands sliding up to your waist under your tee, hiking it up your torso. You arch into him, one leg lifting to hook over his hip, gasping as he starts kissing down your neck again. 

You grip the counter between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut, jaw locking. Rolling your hips into his, you moan softly, “Yunho.”

“You want more?” he asks, voice heavier now, layered with arousal. “You want me to fuck you right here? Where anyone could come down and see you?”

Your stomach flips with excitement, adrenaline, arousal all bundled into one swirl in your gut. You nod, panting now, rolling your hips again. An almost-groan, quiet and short escapes him as his hand slides between your spread legs, his two middle fingers adding pressure against your clit. Even if it’s too light, even if it’s teasing and nothing more, you hiss sharply, looking up at him with brows high, a pleading look. “More.”

“Ask nicely.”

You pick your head up. “Please?”

His cheeks are pink, a short, rough noise falling past his lips. He presses harder, cracking your jaw open, brows knitting together in pleasure. “Say it again.”

“Please, Yunho,” you whine, hips rolling into his hand, grinding yourself against his fingers that he holds flat out. “Please give me more.”

He slips his hand beneath the waistband of your panties, lips parting when he feels you pooling onto his fingers. “Fuck,” he groans out, quiet but clear. “This wet for me already?”

You spot yellow in your periphery again and the reminder is starting to get on your last fucking nerve. “Inside,” you squeeze your eyes shut, reaching for his shoulder with one hand, grinding yourself into his fingers, aching to get them further, deeper. 

He slips his two middle fingers inside with ease and your body nearly bends in half. A sharp moan falls from your lips and immediately he’s shushing you, using his own body to keep you upright, your forehead on his shoulder with your spine curved in a perfect arc. 

“Gotta be quiet for me,” he whispers, keeping his fingers still while you twitch around them. 

“Yes, yes,” you whisper, clawing at his shoulder and the counter, body begging for more. “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good, please.” 

Your voice cracks on please and he starts moving his fingers, curling them into your walls, making another sharp moan fall past your lips. He uses his other hand to move your head by your jaw, pulling you upward to meet his lips, swallowing your sounds by shoving his tongue past your lips, both of your arms wrapping around his shoulders to meet the thrusts of his fingers. 

Every time he does this it renders your brain quiet. How long his fingers are, how he curls them so perfectly, like his fingers were made to hit every single spot inside you that makes you see stars. It's inconceivable every time, how much pleasure he can give you with only two fingers, he’s spent most of the last week showing you just how easy it is for him. 

You moan again when the edge of his palm makes contact with your clit, making you whisper apologies into his mouth, and his grip tightens on your jaw. Your eyes fly open as his thumb presses on your bottom lip, testing the waters like he might slide it inside. 

You watch him debate, his eyes flickering to your eyes to your mouth, the pad of his thumb pushing on your bottom row of teeth, opening your mouth wider. Your eyes tell him to do it, saliva pooling in the space behind your teeth, you want to feel it. You want him to lose that last shred of control, to give you a reason to call him sir. You want to know what it’s like, what he’s like. You want to learn.

His hand leaves your jaw to land on your waist, pushing a sharp breath past his lips, holding onto that last shred of control like his life depends on it, just like he has all week. Like there’s something still stopping him, like he’s scared of showing you who he is, what he wants. You swallow your spit, head tipping backward, bending toward him, disappointed at how empty your mouth feels, but the feeling is fleeting with the pleasure building in your gut. Your clit grinds against his palm with every roll of your hips, his fingers fucking into you now, reaching deeper than anyone’s ever been with one hand. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he whispers, then looks over his shoulder at the living room, then to the ceiling again like he could see if anyone has woken up. Slipping his fingers out, quickly he grabs at your hips, “Turn around.”

He does it for you, flipping you smoothly until you’re facing the backsplash on the wall, getting an eyeful of their toaster, two half-full bottles of whiskey. You glance behind, only catching a glimpse of him rolling his briefs down, spitting into his palm before spreading it over the length of his cock. Your heartbeat picks up, saliva pooling in your mouth again, gut rumbling with anticipation, aching to feel full.

 “Remember what I said,” he reminds you as he grabs the hem of your panties, rolling them over your ass until they fall down to your ankles. Lifting your leg up onto the counter, spreading you, he says, “If you make a sound, I stop. Okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, nodding, feeling the cool air of the kitchen on your folds, your clit pulsing. A part of you is nervous, you haven’t fucked him yet without finishing at least once, he’s stretched you out every single time before even glancing at his own cock.

One hand holding your thigh up, he prods at your entrance, and you quickly realize you couldn’t make a sound if you tried with how wide he’s stretching you by just pushing inside. “Good,” he praises, his voice quiet but full of warmth. “Takin’ me so well, baby. Knew you could do it.”

Your face scrunches, jaw slack, the smallest squeak sneaking out because his length feels never ending. His cock is so fucking long, so thick, you felt full an inch ago, maybe two. His hand rubs at your thigh, still soothing you, praising you, “A little more, doing so good for me. So proud of you.”

The praise sets you ablaze, hips bucking backward to meet the rest, clamping a hand over your mouth to moan into your palm when he’s seated fully. “Yes,” he moans quietly. “Holy fuuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

You curse under your breath, nails scratching at the counter with your other hand, forcing the sounds clawing at the base of your throat to stay there. He doesn’t move, letting you adjust to the stretch, grip tightening on your thigh with every pulse of your walls. “I can’t–” you croak, the sound ragged, embarrassing. You grip the edge of the counter with both hands, “Move.”

He obliges, of course he does, his pace agonizingly slow. The only sound in the room is your breathing, the creamy noises of him slowly dragging his cock through your walls, setting your cheeks, your ears on fire. You can hear his smile, words coated in awe as he says, “Listen to how wet you are, holy shit.”

He thrusts back inside, sharper this time, angled perfectly, and the moan that sneaks past your lips is anything but voluntary. It’s loud, too loud, you clamp a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. He pauses, sheathed, slowly leaning over your back until his lips graze the shell of your ear, “Did I miss something, baby? Do you want me to stop?”

He sounds teasing, no, taunting, your toes press into the hardwood beneath you, gut boiling with arousal. You shake your head, stuttering, “N-no.”

“Then don’t let me hear another fucking sound,” his voice is too even, his tone too calm. You’re reeling with curiosity, you know there’s so much more under the surface than what he’s shown you, you need him to rip the Band-Aid off and show you who he really fucking is. From that first be careful after the Penny to the first night you slept together, he’s given you snippets, small tastes of what he’s capable of, what he likes. You need him to give you everything.

He speeds up, gripping your thigh tighter, hips snapping into the plush of your ass. Your breaths are staggered, chest tight with how hard you’re holding back your noises, nails clawing at the fucking counter because his cock is carving into you like there was never space for him to fit in the first place.

“Yun– ho,” you whimper, reaching behind you, the knee that’s holding you up bending, folding. There’s nowhere for you to run, the only thing you can do is take it and the pleasure is fucking excruciating. 

He catches your wrist with a tight grip, pinning it to the base of your spine. “Take it.”

“I can’t,” you cry, head dropping, the tip of your nose grazing the counter with each thrust. “I can’t, ‘s too good, Yunho. I can’t!”

You must have not realized your volume growing, your pitch, because his body bends over yours, his other hand clamping around your mouth before pulling you up to his chest in a quick, sweeping movement. Your eyes go wide, babbling apologies into his palm as he grits harshly into your ear, “You wanted to be fucked in the kitchen. You asked for this, take it like a big fucking girl.”

You curse into his palm, spine bent in half, eyes squeezing shut as he keeps fucking into you, cock dragging against your walls like he knows exactly what to touch, where to hit, what’ll make you scream. Maybe after the past week he does know. Your free hand claws at his forearm, your other arm still pinned behind your back pushing against his grip, the pleasure growing unbearable.

“I’m gonna let go of your arm,” he says coolly, but his voice is shaky, the only hint that he feels just as good as you. “Keep it there, don’t move.”

You nod into his palm, first curling and uncurling, nails digging into the edge of your palm as he swings his now free hand over your front, between your legs, drawing harsh circles over your clit. You thrash against him, babbling against his palm, the heat of pleasure turning to heavy, building pressure.

“Need you to cum for me,” he whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You shiver, hips twitching, your head still pinned backward by his palm over your mouth. “C’mon, baby, let me feel it. Cum for me.”

With a few more strokes of his tip over your walls, a few more circles over your clit, your legs shake as blinding, white pleasure steals all of your senses. Your ears ring, breath caught in your throat, your arm behind your back clawing at Yunho’s torso as your orgasm tears through your body.

“Good girl, so fuckin’ good for me, fuck, oh my god,” you finally hear when your ears stop ringing, his voice rough, heavy like he was about to finish, too. You can’t stop clenching, so oversensitive, his cock still massaging your walls with purpose, all you can do is whimper into his palm, your brain emptied of anything coherent.

He lets go of your mouth only when he pulls out, you slump over the counter with a soft moan, listening to the slick sounds of him pumping his length, his biting breaths, until you feel him paint your ass, your lower back, over your shirt, white. You don’t know how you’re keeping yourself upright, panting, hands braced on the counter beneath your torso, both your legs back on the hardwood.

Your head is still spinning, body still coming down when you hear him turn the sink on, running something under the faucet. You jump when a warm paper towel wipes at your back, your ass, between your thighs, then you hear him huff a small noise of amusement through his nose. “Good thing this is my shirt and not yours.”

“Is it ruined?” you ask, barely recognizing your own voice. Rough, battered, like he just put you through hell. You push yourself up off the counter, grabbing at the hem, twisting it around to see the streaked stains.  

“Nothing a load of laundry can’t fix,” he shrugs, throwing the paper towel away. Quickly walking back to you, he grabs you by your cheeks, holding your face up to look at him. “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

You shake your head, or try to, your cheeks squished by his pressing palms. He smacks his teeth, “Words, sunshine.”

“No, you weren’t,” you whisper, slowly blinking. You could take a nap right now. “‘m tired.”

His cheeks are still flushed, chest still covered in splotches of red, crescents and lines of red from your nails covering his torso. He smiles like it was a job well-done, proud of himself, proud of you. He presses his lips to the top of your forehead, “Should we nap and then go grocery shopping?”

You groan, grabbing his hands from your cheeks. “Do we really have to go?”

“We can wait until later,” he grabs your hand instead, pulling you toward the staircase. 

You grab your glass of water from the counter before letting him pull you along. “I promised Jen I’d go out with her later.”

“Then we’re napping and going,” he says certainly. “You’re stuck with me.”

At the top of the staircase is Hongjoong, arms crossed, hair shooting in every direction on the top of his head. You both stop in your tracks, your heart picking up speed at the sight. He asks, “Am I free to use my own kitchen now?”

Heat blooms, skin erupting in flames. Yunho laughs, continuing up the stairs again, “My bad, you’re good.”

“Sorry,” you mumble in a small whisper as you walk past him, mortified. When you shut Yunho’s bedroom door behind you, you tear his shirt off your body, hissing, “You were the loud one, so you can’t even blame that on me.”

All he does is giggle from the bed, holding the sheets up to welcome you in.

Part of Wooyoung feels guilty. In the way that eats at him, bothers him incessantly, like a dog that won’t stop following him around, begging for a treat he doesn’t have. He isn’t completely sure why, maybe it’s because of the look on your face earlier, how obvious it was that you were reaching out for him and he didn’t let you in, not even a little. You shouldn’t be reaching for him, though. If you’re reaching for anyone, it should be Yunho. You shouldn’t need him, want him for anything, even friendship. He doesn’t need you. 

San stares at him, face completely flat and void of emotion from behind the register. “Do you know how much you’ve talked about her in the past week?” 

Fuck him. “I’ve brought her up, like, twice,” Wooyoung defends himself, immediately aggravated. He is at San’s job right now just so he could talk about it again. “It’s annoying, she won’t leave me alone, like a mosquito buzzing in my fucking ear.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe she considers you her friend?” San asks. “Also, from what I understand, she’s spoken to you literally one time since she started hooking up with Yunho. How is that annoying?” 

“I’m not her friend,” Wooyoung’s eyes thin, bringing his drink up to his lips. Taking a sip, the cold coffee does nothing to cool his boiling blood. “I don’t want her to talk to me at all. Are you on her side now because you’re fucking Yunjin?” 

“Jen told me a lot about her,” San shrugs simply, grabbing the stained towel from over his shoulder, wiping at the counter below his palms just to look like he’s doing something. “Nothing crazy, just stuff with her ex, personality shit. She seems like she deserves someone like Yunho.” 

A huff of something sarcastic sneaks out from between Wooyoung’s lips, even if he knows that somewhere inside him, he agrees. “Yunho is basically the same as her bum-ass ex, San. Minus the cheating with a dude thing, although, technically, that isn’t impossible—”

San cuts him off, “Yunho would never do that, don’t even say that shit.” 

“Still,” Wooyoung urges. “You don’t know her like I know her.” San’s brows raise, pausing his wiping. “Not like that, dickhead. She’s quiet around him.” 

San stares at him for a second, blinking twice. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes, I hear myself—”

“Maybe she’s quiet because she’s happy. Jen said Yunho makes her feel safe, wouldn’t you want that after you caught your boyfriend cheating on you?”

“I guess, but—”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered by it,” San finally says, like he’s pressing the real issue. “Do you even know why you’re bothered by it? Are you just irritated that your little bickering partner is too busy for you? Did you want to fuck her before Yunho got his hands on her?” 

“No,” Wooyoung answers too quickly to be convincing, and then backtracks when he realizes disagreeing is worse than agreeing. “I mean, yes, of course I did, but that’s not why I’m bothered.”

He should have known it would be impossible to get his point across without mentioning you riding his face, kissing him in your apartment. Now he just sounds jealous or something, and it might be the most humiliating hole he’s ever dug himself in. 

“It sounds like that’s why.” San’s brows raise, lips flattening like he knows something Wooyoung doesn’t. “Maybe you should think about that instead of wondering why she wants to be your friend. You could use a girl friend who’s just a friend.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightens. “I don’t need her to be my friend, I already have seven.” 

San laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “I love Yunho, and I really like Jen so I don’t want to say this, but I’ve never seen you so involved with a girl, especially without fucking her.”

“I don’t know what she wants, San, but it’s not fucking Yunho,” Wooyoung argues, heart pumping in his chest, heat kissing his cheeks. “Yunho presented himself to her, of course she’s gonna hop on it. She didn't choose him herself, she just accepted it.” 

San looks up, eyes squinting ever so slightly like he’s trying to piece it together but he can’t. “Then what does she want, Wooyoung?” San’s fists find his hips. “Does she want you? Is that what you’re getting at?” 

“No!” Wooyoung nearly shouts, exasperated. He looks around to the heads that have turned, swallowing down his embarrassment. He lowers his voice again, “You don’t get it, you don’t know the whole story.” 

“I don’t think I need to,” San laughs a little, smirking like he knows enough. His smirk drops almost immediately like realization hit him, replaced with an expression much more grave. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but Woo, just because your parents—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Wooyoung raises his finger, cutting San off completely. “Don’t bring them up.” 

“There’s a reason you’re talking to me,” San crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m the only one that knows that shit and you’re here, talking to me. Why did you come here then?”

“I made a mistake coming here,” Wooyoung grits out, anger clear in the hinge of his jaw. “I told you that in confidence, not for you to bring it up whenever you fucking want. Forget it.” 

“Wooyoung—”

He’s already turning around, making for the front of the shop, angry at the fucking jingle over his head when he pushes the glass door open. He left his fucking drink inside. He’s sure as hell not going back in to get it. 

Fuck that. Absolutely fucking fuck that. It was pointless going there, if he can’t figure his own shit out himself, then how could he expect someone else to do it for him? San is so fucking far off the mark it’s laughable. He swings open his car door, throwing himself into the driver's seat, and barely waits for the engine to roll over before he’s tugging the gearstick into first. 

Picking up his phone, there’s a text from Sana on his lock screen. An invitation, short and sweet, most likely the outcome of liking some of her old Instagram pictures while he wasn’t sleeping last night. And even though he’s not one to fuck the same person twice, it feels like a gift from god, divine intervention, exactly what he fucking needs to put his head back on straight. He texts her back an equally short response, eyes half on the screen, half on the road, and turns down a side street that’ll take him to her house.

There’s a part of Wooyoung that feels like maybe stepping into a house where six women live, especially when he’s slept with five of them, is kinda like walking into a lion’s den. Maybe he doesn’t have the sense to care, or maybe he’s so frustrated that he’ll fuck whoever looks at him first upon walking through the front door. It’s likely that all five would fuck him again, and if he’s really honest, he’ll be happy if all five do fuck him as soon as they see him.

Parking out front, walking inside like he owns the place, he quickly learns that Sana is the only one home. Not that he’s disappointed about it, because fucking her does exactly what it’s supposed to: it takes the edge off, makes him forget his anger, his frustrations, she even tires him out after two rounds. Two. Laying on her bed, still there after she showered for some reason, too tired to get up and join her, she jolts him out of his almost-slumber by announcing, “Get up. I’m going out and you’re coming with me.”

Wooyoung huffs his amusement. “You could have just told me to leave, I’m about to head out anyway. Did you know your bed is hella comfortable?" 

Butt-ass naked, she rests her hands on her hips. “The girls are out, we’re meeting them. You’re being weird and I think you need to get drunk.”

His brows furrow. “Weird?”

“I feel energy radiating off of you,” she shivers, rolling her shoulders as she walks toward her closet. “Don’t argue with me. Put your clothes back on.”

Wooyoung might be more tired than he thinks he is, because he gets up and changes back into his jeans, his hoodie that it’s too warm outside to wear. It’s comfortable. He doesn’t know what ‘energy’ he’s giving off, but he’s too tired to think about it, laying flat on his back on her bed again while she does her hair, her makeup. He thinks he might have fallen asleep when she yells, “Jesus Christ Wooyoung, what is wrong with you? Get up.”

He snaps in half, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m awake, damn.”

She’s in a tiny little skirt, a tiny little top. His dick doesn’t even jump. He should really go home and go to bed.

Hands on her hips again, she tells him, “You’re driving, I don’t feel like waiting for a ride.”

“You said I needed to get drunk,” he argues.

“Then leave your car there,” she shrugs. “I don’t care. Let’s go.”

He’s still blinking sleep out of his eyes when his engine turns over, he doesn’t even know when it got dark outside. He’s confused, exhausted, but he’s comfortable, and he keeps fucking driving all the way to the Penny. 

It’s busy when he trails inside behind Sana, busy enough that he pulls his hood over his head, not wanting to be bothered by anyone’s eyes or offers. He’s not in the mood, and it might actually be a fucking first for him. 

He follows Sana toward the bar and buys her a drink just because he fell asleep in her bed. The first sip of his beer goes down like shit, so he takes another gulp just to make it easier, trailing behind her to a tall table that’s full of women he’s fucked. Probably. He doesn’t even really look. 

“Ladies,” he announces, his only form of greeting accompanied by a short nod.

No one pays him any mind except Yunjin, “You look like dog shit.”

He curses under his breath, blinking his eyes open, actually paying attention to who’s at the table now. Sana, Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, Nayeon, Momo, the dark-haired girl he shared a car with that one time, there’s a space between her and Yunjin, a half-drank martini on the table. Great. Cool. 

“Thanks,” his lips tighten, feeling regretful already. “Is Sannie here?”

“Girls night,” she answers, tipping her beer toward him. He tips his back and takes a swig, sighing when the bottle meets the table in front of him.

“Is anyone gonna mention why he’s here and hanging out with us? Or are we just gonna ignore it?” The dark-haired girl asks the table, refusing to even look at him. He doesn’t care enough to make a snarky response.

“We had sex,” Sana points to him with her thumb. “He seems miserable and I feel bad for him.”

“Jung Wooyoung can feel emotion?” Chaeyoung taunts with an evil grin. 

He shoots her a fake, irritated smile, “Ha ha.”

“Why are you miserable?” Yunjin cuts in again. “Sannie mentioned you were down, but wouldn’t tell me why.”

San’s real as fuck. That just made Wooyoung at least thirty-five percent less pissed at him. He shrugs it off, “I’m fine.”

“What the hell?” he hears, still far enough away that his head perks up. You approach the table with your brows furrowed, your jaw locked, top lip lifted in disgust. “They let dogs in this place?”

The table laughs. Wooyoung’s eyes thin out, but part of him feels just a little satisfied that you’re still insulting him. Sana says your name like a warning, “Be nice.”

Your brows tie together as you sip your martini, arming yourself for a response, but Wooyoung beats you to it. “I’ll go.” He grabs his beer from the table, bidding everyone a nod in farewell. “There’s gotta be women in this bar that I haven’t fucked yet, right?”

“Good luck,” Yunjin calls after him. “Don’t catch chlamydia again!”

He curses under his breath, already walking toward the bar. He should just leave, go home, go to bed. He should go. He chugs the rest of his beer before leaning over the bar in a rare, open space, flagging down the bartender for another. He should go home.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He groans out loud this time, rubbing at his face with his palms before turning his head. You’re standing there, arms crossed, brows furrowed. He looks you up and down before saying, “Nothing. Go back to your friends.”

“You didn’t fight back,” you press, wiggling into the space between him and another guy waiting for a drink. “You always fight back, why are you being weird?”

“Fuck, I’m not being weird, why does everyone keep saying that?” he spits out, grabbing the beer he doesn’t even really want from the bar, taking a long gulp. 

“Because you fucking are,” you argue, leaning your side over the bar, trying to put yourself in his peripherals. “Why are you here? Where are the other guys?”

“I came with Sana,” he points behind him, mumbling. “They’re not here.” He turns to look at you after a second of silence, no response. Your brows are still tied together, staring at his sleeve like there’s something on it. “Go back to your friends.”

“No,” you say with certainty, finality. “Not until you tell me why we’re weird. Did I do something?”

“No, Virgin,” he groans out, bored with the conversation. 

You press him anyway. “Something had to have happened, Wooyoung. I don’t get… ever since that night, you’ve been off.” He doesn’t need to ask which night. He twirls his beer bottle, staring into its mouth while you keep talking. “This is what we’ve done since we met. I say shit, you say shit, we banter, we bicker, that’s our routine. Is it because I kissed you? I was out of my mind–”

“Shut up, Virgin,” he cuts you off, looking at you. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to stop acting like you fucking hate me,” you urge, voice raising.

He meets your volume, “I don’t hate you!”

“Well, you’re acting like it,” your shoulders shrug. 

He sighs, long and heavy. “I don’t hate you, I’m just– you piss me off.”

“And you piss me off, I thought that was normal,” you laugh a little, but it’s a clear reach for normalcy, ground to stand on when there is none. “Can you be a little more specific with the current anger?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you. Instead, he shrugs it off. “I don’t fucking know, Virgin.”

You cross your arms over the bar, still standing beside him. He wishes you would just fucking leave.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” you offer, voice strangely soft. “If what I said upset you.”

“It didn’t upset me,” he counters, and at least that’s honest.

“It’s unfair that I acted like you were wrong, and got mad at you for it,” you mutter so quietly that he can tell it’s killing you to say it. He swallows. “But I meant what I said, about valuing your opinion, trusting you. Even if it might make me stupid for doing so.”

“Stupid for trusting the sex guy with sex advice?” he asks, a slice of humor in his tone. “That might be the only smart thing you’ve ever done.”

You laugh. He turns his head, confused, just to see you smiling, head tilted while you play with the silver ring on your finger, fully amused. You look up at him, still half-smiling, “I need your advice again.”

“Don’t tell me it’s about Yunho.” You nod, lips tightening in a grin. He groans, “Come on, are you serious? You’re not even dating the guy.”

“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you smack your teeth, nudging his elbow with yours. “It’s sex-related.”

“This is what we’re back to? Sex advice?” his brows raise.

Your lips scrunch to one side. “Apparently trusting the sex guy with sex advice is the only smart thing I’ve ever done.”

He takes another long swig of his beer, and finally, it’s refreshing. “Hit me.”

“He’s dominant,” you say, like it explains everything. Wooyoung nods, waiting for the rest.

When you don’t continue, he pops a brow. “Okay?”

“Did you know that?”

“I’ve always known that.”

“Fuck,” you cover your first with your lips. “Okay. He obviously… is into that, but I feel like he’s holding back with me. Like he won’t be who he is, or do what he wants.”

“What do you want?” Wooyoung asks, and the question is like instinct for him at this point.

“I just told you,” you say simply, blinking at him.

“No, you told me he won’t do what he wants,” Wooyoung explains, shifting so he’s leaning his side into the bar, facing you. “What do you want?”

You groan, head tipping backward before you mimic his stance, defeated as you lean into the bar. “You know what I fucking mean, don’t start with this shit again.”

Wooyoung laughs under his breath. “Your mind is fascinating, Virgin.”

“Can you just help me?” you throw your elbow onto the bar, leaning your head into it, and it just makes Wooyoung laugh more. When you scowl, he apologizes, straightening himself out.

“Okay, what do you mean by holding back?”

Your cheeks flush, eyes dancing around where you stand, checking for listening ears. Your voice lowers, leaning closer, “For example, earlier, he wanted me to be quiet. He was about to put his fingers in my mouth to… shut me up–”

“To gag you.”

“Fuck you. He didn’t do it, he stopped like he was scared or something.”

His head tilts, thinking on it. “So you want him to put his fingers down your throat?”

You smack your lips together, deadpanning. “I want him to not have to think about doing what he wants. I want him to just do it if he wants to do it.”

“You just fucking did it again,” Wooyoung fires back, standing a little straighter, he feels like he’s about to lose his fucking mind. “I just asked you what you want and you told me what he wants.”

You blink at him. “Is that not the same fucking thing?”

He tugs his hood down, running his hands through his hair. He takes a breather, forcing his heart rate into submission by taking a long sip of his beer. Thankfully, you’re silent, if you spoke he thinks he might have actually ripped all of his hair out. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, leaning against the bar again. You nod. “Did you think this fucking hard before we hooked up?”

Your eyes go wide, shushing him, looking around like you’re praying no one heard him. “Shut the fuck up, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also… no, but that was different.”

“How am I different?” 

“Because you just are. We didn’t fuck.”

His brows furrow, because that makes no fucking sense. “That doesn’t mean– Virgin, you didn’t give a fuck about what I wanted when we hooked up.”

Your lips part, offended. “Yes I did!”

“No you didn’t,” he laughs a little, like it should be obvious to you. “You pulled my hair hard enough that I thought you were gonna rip it out. You were riding my fucking face like you didn’t care if I could breathe–”

“Wooyoung!”

“Which I couldn’t, by the way, but I like it like that. My point is that you took what you wanted from me, you didn’t wait for me to give it to you. You won’t even talk to him about what you want. Are you sure you even want what you think you want?”

Your brows furrow, thinking about it. You look longingly at the table you left, your friends, “I should have brought my drink over here.” He hands you his beer, which you take happily, throwing a long gulp of it back. After wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you ask him, “Does it not sound like I want it?”

“It sounds like you don’t know what you want. From what I’ve experienced, you aren’t the type who can be tamed, you’re the kind of person who needs someone who can handle you. Someone with really healthy, strong hair who can hold their breath for a long time.”

You snort, “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

He grins, “I wish I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that to me. I would have, like, at least five bucks by now.”

“You could buy three beers with that kind of money.” You cross your arms, turning until your back is leaning into the bar. “I don’t know what I want, Wooyoung.”

“I know, Virgin,” he crosses his arms over the bar, trapping his beer between them, sighing. It sits with him that you finally said something he can’t argue with. “You’ll figure it out one day, though. Maybe.” 

You reach for his beer, stealing it from between his arms, taking another long gulp. “I know I just drank all your beer, but you should really buy me another martini for insinuating that we weren’t friends this morning.”

Wooyoung’s head drops, chin meeting his chest as laughter sneaks through his lips. “You’re right. We’re friends, Virgin.”

“Yes we are,” you nod, satisfied. “You’re definitely buying me that drink, though.”

masterlist 🍬

[yungistiny]

biker boy

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which your best friend and his new bike are driving you crazy and you’re not the only one who’s been secretly in need to change the trajectory of your friendship

warning: possessive hard dom yunho, bratty sub reader, public sex, fingering, squirting, oral, mouth fucking, face riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, spanking, choking, unprotected sex, creampie

genre: smut, romance, slow burn friends to lovers

pairing: yunho x afab reader

word count: 30k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The first week of October always hit Los Angeles with this strange in between warmth summer clinging to the sidewalks, autumn brushing cool fingertips along your arms. The high school campus buzzed with late afternoon noise as students spilled out toward buses, cars, and trouble they wouldn’t admit to. You stepped out of the staff building with your tote bag slung over your shoulder, rubbing a hand over your face. Subbing four days a week didn’t sound exhausting on paper, but your last period had been sophomores, which was practically a contact sport.

Yunho was picking you up today since your car will be in the garage for the next couple of weeks. A breath caught in your throat. His bike. Of course he’d take the bike. Of course he’d make this harder. You tried to walk casually toward the front gates, but the rumble hit before you turned the corner, low and smooth, the kind that curled itself right under your ribs. Then he appeared, pulling up along the curb like every fantasy made real.

Black and white sport bike. Glossy. Aggressive. And Yunho astride it like the universe selected him personally. He wore a fitted white shirt, one that made his shoulders look unfair, and a dark helmet with the visor lifted just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his mouth. Several students waiting for rides noticed immediately.

“Miss Y/L/N!” one of the juniors whispered loudly to her friend, elbowing her. “THAT is your ride?” Another gasped, dramatic and delighted. “No way….. is that your boyfriend?” You choked on nothing. “Absolutely not,” you said, aiming for stern but landing somewhere between flustered and dying inside. Yunho heard them. Of course he did. He lifted his chin, amused, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person on the street. The students weren’t subtle.

“Oh my god, he’s hot,” one said. “Hot? That man is a walking problem,” another muttered.

Your pulse tripped over itself as Yunho swung a leg off the bike and leaned on it casually, one hand on the handlebar, the other tugging off his helmet. His hair fell perfectly, naturally messy from the ride. He waved. He actually waved at your students. The audacity. A couple girls squealed. Someone took a picture. You tried very, very hard not to combust as you approached, Yunho’s gaze dragged down you. “Rough day?” he asked softly, voice warm, teasing under the surface.

You exhaled. “You didn’t have to bring the bike. Your truck is perfectly fine.” His smile deepened. “Sure I did.” He held the extra helmet out to you like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the very scenario you’d been avoiding since he bought the damn bike. You slipped it on, hoping your hands didn’t shake as much as they felt like they were shaking. He watched you secure the strap, his eyes warm behind the fall of his hair. “You good?” he asked, voice dipping into something low.

You nodded. “Yeah.” Lie. You were absolutely not good as he swung back onto the bike, the seat shifting under his weight, the engine humming alive beneath him. He glanced over his shoulder, patting the small space behind him. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go slow.” You knew he was teasing. You also knew he wouldn’t. Yunho drove like he lived, smooth, confident, a little dangerous but laid back.

You approached the bike like it might bite you, swung your leg over, and settled in behind him. There was no space. None. Your knees bracketed his hips, your chest hovered dangerously close to his back. “Hold on,” he said. You hesitated for half a second. Just long enough for him to reach back, find your hands, and pull them gently around his waist. A simple motion. Casual, even. But the moment your palms landed on his stomach, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt, you felt everything inside you tilt. “You good back there?” he asked, voice a little tight now.

You swallowed. “Mm hm.” He chuckled. Soft. Too fond. “Alright. Let’s go.” He pulled away from the curb with the easy precision of someone who was annoyingly good at everything he tried. The bike vibrated beneath you, the engine’s low rumble matching the thrum in your chest. Wind slid around your helmet, cool against your arms. Your fingers curled instinctively into his shirt as he turned onto the main road. He felt it, of course he felt it, and his posture changed in the smallest, most devastating way. A subtle shift of his shoulders. A breath pulled deeper than needed. A tension that slid right beneath your hands. He liked you holding him.

Los Angeles blurred past in streaks of gold and fading sun as he picked up speed, leaning into a turn that pressed you closer against him. Your thighs tightened around him, your chest brushed his back. He made a sound, quiet, almost swallowed by the engine, but you felt it, the pulse of it through his spine. “Still good?” he called back, voice steady but not entirely even. “Yunho,” you muttered, your face heating inside your helmet, “I’m holding on so I don’t fall off.”

“Yeah,” he said, the word almost a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t sound like he minded. Not even a little as he pulled into your street, slowing to turn into the apartment lot, your hands remained locked around him. He didn’t ask you to let go. Didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, like he didn’t want the ride to end. He parked beside his truck. Killed the engine. The sudden quiet left your heartbeat loud in your ears. He didn’t move. Neither did you. Until finally, he said, voice low, “You can let go… unless you don’t want to.”

You shoved him, rolling your eyes though your heart pounded even more at his teasing. “Shut up.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time evening settled over the apartment, the whole place carried that soft, lived in warmth you’d grown too comfortable with. You’d showered, graded a few papers, changed into something cozy, and made exactly zero progress on shaking off the memory of riding home pressed against your best friend’s back. It didn’t help that he was off from the bar tonight. Which meant he was home. Which meant temptation was walking around barefoot in the living room.

You stepped out of your room on the way to grab a late snack, only to stop dead in the doorway because the whiplash hit you hard. There he was. Stretched across the couch in spiderman pajama pants. A loose white tee clinging to him like the universe wanted you to suffer. Hair messy from where he kept shoving his hands through it. Headset around his neck. Eyes focused on the screen like he was born to hold a controller. Gamer Yunho. Motorcycle Yunho. Domestic roommate Yunho. Walking wet dream best friend Yunho. It was a catastrophic combination.

The game’s glow washed over his face as he leaned forward, elbows to knees, muttering something under his breath at whatever enemy he was fighting in the horror game. His voice was low, rough with concentration, and it sent a quiet shiver down your spine. He didn’t notice you right away. He never did when he gamed, this was his world. But you noticed everything. The way the muscles along his arms flexed when he gripped the controller. The way his shirt rode up when he shifted, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his pajama pants. The way he’d occasionally lick his bottom lip when he focused, completely unaware that it counted as a felony in some states.

You stood there too long. Long enough that he felt you. He always felt you. His head tilted back over the couch, eyes finding you with unsettling ease, a lazy grin curving his mouth. “Hey,” he said, voice warm, familiar. “I figured you would be asleep.” You swallowed, trying to seem unaffected even as your brain was screaming. “Tried to.” He chuckled, deep and slow. “You’re more than welcome to watch kill zombies, besides… I know you have a thing for Leon Kennedy.”

“I do not.” You totally did. You walked toward the kitchen, but your eyes betrayed you and flicked to the motorcycle keys sitting on the coffee table next to him. It wasn’t fair. How he could be this….. relaxed, dorky, sprawled in superhero pajama pants, playing Resident Evil, and still look like the kind of man who’d ruin you against a wall if you asked. Another round of gunfire sounded from the TV, but you weren’t listening. You were watching him, and realizing every part of you was stretched thin.

He’d been driving you crazy for months. Realizing you definitely were seeing your best friend for the last decade as more than just a friend. The bike pushed it over the edge. But this? This soft, domestic version of him? This was the version that made you want to climb into his lap and confess every stupid feeling you’d kept locked away.

Yunho paused the game suddenly, turning his head just enough to look at you from the couch. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “You’ve been staring.” And he wasn’t teasing this time. He was reading you. Concerned. Curious. Too aware. Your breath hitched. You shrugged, trying to sound casual even though your pulse hadn’t steadied since you walked into the room. “Just tired. Long week,” you said, offering him the softest smile you could manage.

Yunho nodded like he understood, but something in his expression flickered, worried, curious, maybe even a little protective, before he clicked his headset back on and unpaused his game. Or… tried to. You grabed a bag of chips and bottle of water from the kitchen before you crossed the living room toward the coat closet, muttering under your breath about your combat boots because you were sure you’d shoved them in here earlier in the week. The closet light flicked on, paper bags rustled, and you crouched down to dig through the bottom shelf.

Behind you, Yunho’s game resumed its chaotic gunfire and explosions. He should’ve been absorbed again, lost to the world like he always was when he played. Except he wasn’t. His eyes kept darting sideways. Over his shoulder. Then fully turning his head because he couldn’t help himself. His concentration evaporated the second you bent forward. The pajama shorts you wore weren’t even scandalous, just soft, loose cotton, the kind meant for quiet nights in and comfort over anything else. But when you crouched down and leaned into the closet, they tugged snug around your hips, the bottom of your ass peaking out. Yunho’s lips parted. Just slightly. Like something short circuited.

He tore his gaze back to the TV, jaw flexing, fingers tight around his controller. Two seconds later, he glanced again. You were still bent over, still rummaging, still mumbling to yourself in this soft, sleepy tone that hit him harder than it had any right to. His gaze dragged down your legs, then snapped back up because he was trying to be decent. Trying very, very hard. He turned to the TV again. A zombie attacked him. “Damn it,” he muttered, barely paying attention as your voice floated out from the closet. “What?”

“Uh…. nothing. Game.” He cleared his throat, adjusted his posture, tried to pretend his pulse wasn’t hammering as you shifted positions, leaning farther in. The hem of your shorts lifting higher. Yunho’s hand froze on the controller. Every neuron in his body fired at once. He swallowed, hard, suddenly desperate for oxygen. He’d seen you in shorts a thousand times. Seen you in worse. You lived together. You shared summers, heat waves, lazy Sundays on the couch, movie nights where you stole his blanket.….

Maybe it was the bike ride earlier. Maybe it was the way you held onto him. Maybe it was the smell of your shampoo still lingering against the back of his shirt hours later. Maybe it was that he’d been in love with you since he was seventeen and living with you for the past few years had slowly dismantled every wall he ever built. Whatever it was, he could not look away. When you finally found the boots, triumphant little noise and all, you backed out of the closet and straightened, catching him in the act. His eyes shot to the TV like he’d been doing nothing wrong. But the tips of his ears? Betrayed him instantly. You lifted an eyebrow. “You okay over there?”

“Fine,” he said too fast. “Totally fine. Great.” He died in the game again.

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The next evening, Mikey’s Point was already in its usual Friday rhythm, the bar’s low amber lights, clinking glasses, music pulsing just enough to feel like a heartbeat under the floorboards. Yunho wiped down the bar with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing this job long enough to be unbothered by the chaos around him. Or he would’ve been, if his head wasn’t still stuck in last night’s apartment scene. If he wasn’t replaying the way your shorts hugged you when you leaned into the closet. The glimpse of your ass. Remembering your arms around him on the bike, your chest pressed to his back, your breath catching when he told you to hold on.

He dropped the bar towel. Swore under his breath. Picked it back up before anyone noticed. “You good?” a voice asked next to him. Scott, broad shoulders, blonde, annoyingly charming smile. The kind of guy customers flirted with because he looked like he belonged in a surfing commercial. Yunho liked him fine on most days. Today was not most days. “Yeah,” Yunho muttered. “Just tired.”

Scott nodded, then leaned an elbow on the bar, expression casual. “Hey, by the way… your friend single?” Yunho froze. “What?” Scott grinned. “Your friend. Your roommate. Hot, little smile that looks like it’ll ruin lives?” Yunho blinked. Hard. He’d introduced you once, mostly because Scott had walked up at the wrong moment. Yunho had regretted it immediately. “She’s single?” Scott asked again and Yunho’s jaw flexed. His first instinct was, no, absolutely not, not for you, not for anyone with functioning vision. The word was right there on his tongue.

But he couldn’t say it. Because you were single. And you weren’t his. Not like that. Not in any way that mattered outside his chest. So he swallowed the irritation, the jealousy, the flash of heat in his stomach. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’s single.” Scott’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. “Good to know. Think if I ask her out next time she stops by, she’d say yes?” Yunho’s heart stopped. It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter. He had no claim on you, he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want one, convincing himself being your friend was better than losing you altogether. But hearing another man talk about you like that, about asking you out, lit something ugly and sharp in him.

He masked it with a shrug that felt like it took all his strength. “I… don’t know,” he said, eyes dropping to the drink he was pouring. “You’d have to ask her.” Scott chuckled. “Oh, I will.“ Yunho’s grip on the glass tightened. Just for a second. And for the first time in a long time, Yunho imagined it, not just you being asked out, but you smiling at someone else, touching someone else, laughing the way you did with him but for another man.

His stomach dropped as Scott slapped his shoulder, oblivious. “Wish me luck, man.” Yunho forced a laugh. “Yeah. Sure.” But inside? Inside, something jealously territorial and long restrained finally stirred. Ask her out? Over his dead body.

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Yunho rode home later than usual, the air cool enough that it slipped under his jacket and bit at the edges of his nerves. The bike roared down sunset lit streets, but even the thrill of it couldn’t drown out Scott’s voice looping through his head. He revved the throttle harder than he meant to. The thought of anyone else touching you scratched under his skin like a fuse burning short. By the time he pulled into the apartment lot, his jaw was tight, his shoulders knotted. He parked the bike, stripped off his helmet, and exhaled into the crisp night.

The windows of the apartment glowed warm. Inside, everything was quiet. He slipped in softly, toeing off his boots by the door. The living room lamp cast a golden pool across the couch where you lay curled under a blanket, TV humming low with some late night documentary you’d long stopped watching. You were completely passed out. Face soft. Hair messy. One hand tucked under your cheek. And even like this, you hit him with that punch in the chest feeling he’d never managed to shake. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You didn’t wait up for me, did you?”

No answer. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing. His frustration from earlier… softened. Melted. Turned into something warm and devastatingly tender as he crouched beside you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead with a touch so light he hoped you wouldn’t feel it. It was selfish, but he let himself look, really look at you while you slept. The vulnerability, the peace, the trust of being this undone in front of him. His chest tightened. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed, barely a sound.

After a minute, he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back. You stirred just a little when he lifted you, but your head naturally fell into the crook of his shoulder like your body had decided this was normal. Like it belonged there. He carried you through the hallway slowly, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your body pressed to his. Your hand slipped up his chest instinctively, fingers curling lightly into his shirt. Yunho froze for half a second, breath catching. Then he held you closer.

When he reached your room, he nudged the door open with his foot, lowered you gently onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over you. You let out the softest sigh, turning your face into the pillow. He stood there longer than he meant to. Just watching you. Just wanting. Just hurting a little. Right before he turned off the lamp, you murmured something in your sleep, too soft to make out, but his name was in it. He swallowed hard. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered as he closed your door quietly behind him.

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You shuffled into the kitchen with sleep still clinging to your voice, hair a little wild, sweater hanging off one shoulder. Yunho was already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, pretending not to stare at you like you were his first thought of the morning and his last thought last night. “Morning,” he said, voice deep and warm. You blinked at him, then frowned. “Did you… carry me to my room last night?” He froze mid sip. A tiny, traitorous flush crept up his throat. “Uh… yeah. You fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want your neck to snap in half.” You narrowed your eyes. “You could’ve just woken me.”

“You looked comfortable,” he said quietly. Something warm fluttered in your chest. You ignored it. Or tried to as he grabbed his keys, dangling them teasingly. “Come on. I’ll take you to work.” You hesitated. “The bike again?”

“Unless you want to walk because my truck still needs a new battery.” He smirked. Completely illegal. You grabbed quickly got dressed, grabbed your bag and followed him out. The morning air was cooler than yesterday, a crisp bite against your skin as he handed you the helmet. The second you settled behind him, your body remembered everything it shouldn’t. Your arms slipped around his waist. Your thighs hugged his hips. Your chest pressed to his back.

And then the engine growled. Low. Deep. A vibration that moved straight through the seat, through him… and straight through the thin jeans you had on. You stiffened. Oh no. Absolutely not. Absolutely yes. He didn’t notice, too focused, checking mirrors, easing out of the lot. But the moment he accelerated, the vibration hit you again, right where you shouldn’t be feeling anything. Your breath hitched. Your grip tightened. Your thighs pressed closer around him before you could stop yourself.

You bit your lip to keep a moan from escaping. The vibrations were edging you, you could feel yourself starting to get wet against the cotton panties clinging to you. Yunho’s head tipped slightly, like he sensed something, but he kept driving, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind him, between his best friend’s legs. Every shift of his body pushed back against you. Every vibration pulsed exactly where you were trying not to react, eyes fluttering, your heart pounding. Every turn made your hips press into him a little more.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt it. That first sign an orgasm was building. Yunho felt your fingers curl into his shirt. Felt your breath stutter against his neck. Felt the way you clung just a little too tightly. His grip on the handlebars flexed. “Everything okay back there?” he called over the engine. He seemed to be asking you that a lot lately. “Fine!” you squeaked. You weren’t fine. You were seconds from spontaneous combustion.

He sped up slightly, nothing wild, just enough for the bike to purr beneath you again. The vibration rolled through your lower body, and you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt as you felt the fastest orgasm of your life rip from you. You clinged to him harder, legs shaking a little as you clenched your jaw to keep from making a sound. By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, your heartbeat was a frantic, traitorous mess. You forced your legs to work as you climbed off, praying he couldn’t see the flush burning up your neck or the small wet spot between your legs.

You handed him the helmet with what you hoped was a normal expression. “You okay?” he asked, eyebrows lifting just a hair. He was studying you. Too closely. “Perfect,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Absolutely perfect.” He tilted his head. Then his eyes dropped to your cheeks… still pink. A slow smile tugged at his lips. “You sure?”

You nodded aggressively. “Yes. Thank you for the ride. See you later.” You turned so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. Behind you, you heard him chuckle, low, warm, maddening.

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The teachers’ lounge smelled like reheated pasta, burnt coffee, and exhaustion, basically every weekday at noon. You sat at the round table with your lunch half eaten, scrolling on your phone, when Lisa plopped down across from you with all the chaotic energy of someone who still had hope in her eyes. Lisa was your age, maybe a year younger. Cute, bubbly, always wearing brightly patterned sweaters that shouldn’t work but somehow did. She bit into her salad, chewed twice, then leaned forward like she was about to reveal state secrets.

“So…” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “Who’s the hot biker that drops you off every morning?” You blinked. “What?” She nodded eagerly. “Hot. Biker. Tall. Every kid in third period is talking about him.” You nearly choked on your water as Lisa continued, eyebrows raised. “Like, I had three sophomores tell me you’re living in a romance novel. One kid said, and I quote, Miss Y/L/N man is, like, Bucky Barnes or something.’”

You sputtered. “He is not Bucky Barnes!”

“Right, sorry,” Lisa said, waving her fork. “But he’s definitely… something. Who is he?” You forced yourself to breathe. “He’s my roommate….. my best friend.” Lisa froze mid chew. “Your best friend looks like that?” You shrugged helplessly, stabbing at your food. “I’ve known him since I was fifteen. He’s just… Yunho.”

“Oh my god, it has a name,” she whispered, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, no. Tell me everything. Do you two date? Hook up? Are you like…. friends with tension? Please say yes because I swear even the lunch ladies were talking about him!”

You dropped your fork. “Lisa.”

She held up her hands defensively. “I’m just saying! He pulled up this morning and I happened to be walking in, and he stared at you like…. like he wanted to ruin everyone else’s chances of existing.” Heat flushed up your neck. “We’re just friends.” Lisa’s eyes narrowed like she was grading a suspicious essay. “Do you want it to be more?”

You hesitated. One beat too long and Lisa gasped. “You do!” You covered your face. “Please stop.” She grinned wickedly. “I knew it. I knew it. Look at you turning red.” Then she leaned in again, conspiratorial. “He single?” Your heart lodged in your throat. “As far as I know.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Then… are you going to make a move? Because if you’re not, I might.” You snapped your head up so fast your neck popped. “Lisa.” She burst out laughing, waving you off. “Relax! I wouldn’t. He already looks at you like you hung the moon. It’d be a waste of my time.” You tried to glare, but you were flustered and she was relentless. Lisa took a sip of her iced coffee, studying you over the rim. “Seriously though… you should think about it. Guys don’t stare the way he stares unless they’re in deep.”

Your pulse skipped. Your stomach flipped. Your face felt hot all over again. “Lunch is over,” you said, standing up even though you still had five minutes left and Lisa smirked. “Yeah, but denial is exhausting. Go hydrate.” You tossed your napkin at her, but your smile gave you away as inside your chest, something small and dangerous fluttered awake.

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The last bell echoed through campus like a mercy announcement. Students spilled out in clusters, laughing, shoving, gossiping, sprinting for freedom. You stepped out with your bag over your shoulder, mind still spinning with Lisa’s lunchtime commentary. You’d laughed it off at the table. Pretended it meant nothing. But the words clung to you now, sticky and impossible to shake, weaving themselves into thoughts you weren’t supposed to have.

When you rounded the corner, the sight of him hit you like always, with that stupid mix of warmth and adrenaline. Yunho was already there. Bike parked along the curb. Helmet in one hand. The other braced casually on the handlebar as he waited. He looked unfair in the afternoon sun, hair tousled, jaw shadowed, shoulders relaxed like he wasn’t currently unraveling on the inside. A group of teens nearby stared openly, whispering. Pointing. Some even lifted their phones. Yunho ignored all of it.

His eyes found you instantly. And something in him loosened, even as something else tightened. Scott. Scott with his too big grin and too many questions. Scott, who was planning to ask you out next time he saw you. He watched you cross the courtyard now, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at something a student said. His chest tightened in that familiar painful way. He didn’t want you to get on the bike today. He wanted to keep you off it.

Because the way you held him. The way he felt you tremble, barely, but enough. The way your thighs squeezed around him like instinct. He was starting to lose it. But when you walked up to him with that small tired smile, he forgot every reason to distance himself. “Hey,” you said softly. “Thanks for picking me up again.”

“Always,” he said, voice a little rougher than intended as students started murmuring nearby. And behind his steady expression, one thought burned, Scott isn’t getting within ten feet of you. “Ready?” he asked, handing you the helmet. You nodded, but your fingers brushed his when you took it, and he inhaled like the touch meant something.

Your pulse jumped as Yunho glanced at you, quietly, searchingly, as if trying to decode something you weren’t admitting yet. He forced his expression neutral, chin tipping toward the bike. “Hop on,” he murmured and your stomach dipped. Your pulse tripped. Because the vibrations. Because your thighs. Because the spontaneous orgasm you got that morning. But you climbed on anyway, arms slipping around him. And Yunho, despite every reason not to, let himself savor the feeling of you holding him like you were his. Even if he didn’t have the right to call you that. Yet.

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Saturday crept in warm and slow, sunlight leaking through the blinds like it had no respect for your plans to sleep in. You eventually dragged yourself out of bed and into the kitchen where Yunho was already up, hair mussed from sleep, standing at the counter eating cereal straight out of the box. He looked…. annoyingly good for someone who wasn’t even trying. White fitted shirt. Dark jeans slung low on his hips. The chain around his neck catching the light just right. He had that quiet, freshly woken softness that made your stomach flip even when you pretended it didn’t. “Morning,” he said around a mouthful of cereal.

“Morning.” You poured coffee, leaning a hip against the counter. “You working tonight?”

“Kind of. Mikey’s anniversary party. Fifteen years with owning the bar.” He tossed another handful into his mouth, shrugged. “He’s making it a whole thing.“ You nodded. “I’ll probably swing by later.” He froze. Like actually froze. “Later?” he repeated slowly. “Why… later?” You blinked at him. “What do you mean why?” He scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I just figured you had better things to do.”

You snorted. “You’re my only friend and it’s a Saturday… I have nothing else to do.” His jaw flexed once, twice. A bead of tension rolled through his shoulders. “I just….. Scott keeps aggravating me about asking you out…”

You blinked. “Your coworker?” The look on his face was priceless. He didn’t look jealous. He looked offended you didn’t immediately understand. “Yeah,” he said. “My coworker.” You lifted a brow, leaning back against the counter with a little shrug, oblivious to his spiraling. “He’s kind of hot.” Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at you like the universe personally tapped him on the shoulder and said, Hey man, here’s your villain origin story. “Hot?” he echoed, voice scraping low. “Scott?”

You nodded casually. “Yeah. He’s cute.” Yunho set the cereal box down so slowly it was almost funny. “Cute,” he repeated under his breath like the word personally insulted his ancestors. His chest rose with a deep inhale as he pushed a hand through his hair. And the way he steadied himself on the counter? Like the ground tilted under him? You bit back a smile as he muttered something so soft you almost didn’t catch it. “Unbelievable.”

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By the time the sun dragged itself low enough to bleed orange through the bar windows, Yunho was already two hours into his shift. His jacket hung on the hook behind the bar, leaving him in that fitted white shirt that made half the regulars stare a little too long before ordering their drinks. The anniversary party wasn’t supposed to start until eight, but Mikey had apparently decided “anniversary” meant “start drinking at four,” so the place was already buzzing. The jukebox played something bass heavy, glasses clinked, and a handful of people were setting up decorations while Mikey alternated between giving emotional speeches and yelling at the balloons.

Yunho was wiping down the counter when Scott slid in beside him with that surfer boy grin like he didn’t sense the impending doom hovering three inches above his head. “Big night,” Scott said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “You good, man?”

“I’m fine,” Yunho muttered, even though his jaw had been tight since breakfast. The words, He’s kind of hot, wouldn’t stop echoing in his skull like a cursed ringtone. Scott nodded, started filling a round of beers for a table, and leaned closer over the noise. “So… you think she’s coming tonight?” The glass in Yunho’s hand almost, but not quite, cracked. He didn’t look up. “Who?”

Scott blinked at him like this was obvious. “Y/N.“ Yunho’s jaw ticked. “She might,” he said, aiming for casual but landing closer to a slow burn homicide fantasy. Scott brightened. “Good. Good. I, uh… still wanna ask her out.” He shot Yunho a grin. “Thanks again for the green light, by the way.” Yunho stopped moving completely. Like someone unplugged him. The only part of him alive was the muscle in his cheek that twitched hard enough to send a tiny shockwave across the bar.

“Green light,” Yunho repeated, voice low and flat. Scott didn’t notice the death omen in his tone. “Yeah! You said she’s single, and you didn’t say you were into her or anything, so I figured why not? And the way she looks at you sometimes? She must be comfortable with guys like us.” Yunho’s head snapped toward him so fast Scott actually flinched. “Guys like us?” Yunho echoed.

“Yeah,” Scott said, oblivious. “Hot, tall, good with our hands…”

“Scott,” Yunho said quietly. Too quietly. The calm before the storm kind of quiet. “Stop talking.” Scott raised his brows. “What? I’m just saying…”

“You should stop talking.”

Scott blinked. “You okay, dude?”

Yunho forced a breath. Then another. Then gripped the counter like that was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “I’m fine,” he said through half clenched teeth. “Just work.” Scott just shrugged and moved to the other end of the bar to drop off drinks, humming like he hadn’t just stepped directly onto a landmine with a smile on his face.

Across the room, Mikey slung an arm around a balloon column and declared he loved all his employees more than whiskey. Someone cheered. Someone else tripped over a stool. Yunho barely heard any of it. All he could think about was you maybe walking in tonight. You in something cute. You smiling. You laughing. You talking to Scott. Scott asking you out.

His fingers curled around the counter, knuckles pale. Not happening. Not tonight. Not ever. Shit…. He was being possessive. He swallowed hard, grabbed a shaker, and started making drinks he didn’t even remember the orders for.

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Two hours later, the bar was absolutely unhinged in the most predictable Mikey’s Point fashion. Someone attempted karaoke. Someone else dropped a tray of wings and declared it performance art. Mikey was on his third “I love all of you so much” speech while hugging a cardboard cutout of Jim Beam.

Yunho barely heard any of it. He was running on autopilot behind the bar, body moving, brain stuck somewhere between simmering jealousy and absolute denial that Scott existed. The air was warm, smelling of citrus, beer, and cheap aftershave. His shirt clung to him slightly from the heat and movement, and each time he wiped the counter down, someone’s eyes followed the flex of his arms.

He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Because every time the front door opened, he looked up. And every time it wasn’t you, something in his chest tightened. Scott noticed. Of course Scott noticed. “You waiting on someone?” he asked over the noise, sliding a drink down the counter. “No,” Yunho lied. Badly. Scott just smirked. “Hope Y/N shows. I wanna catch her before she gets too many drinks in her.”

Yunho’s grip on the glass he was holding went white knuckle as the door opened one more time. And this time, everything in Yunho simply stopped. Like someone hit pause on him. You stepped inside the bar, confident, glowing from the warm evening air, hair falling beautifully, and wearing that outfit. Green and black marble print, clinging to your curves like it was painted on. A thin piece of fabric holding up a neckline that absolutely should not have been legal in a public establishment. Your stomach showing. Your waist cinched. Skirt barely long enough to qualify as a skirt. And the combat boots…. the combat boots he’d watched you bend over the other night searching for…. tied the whole thing together in a way that made a low punch of heat slam into him.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Every neuron in his skull fired at once. Holy. Hell. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, a little shy but determined, and then you spotted him behind the bar. The smile you gave him? Soft. Excited. Familiar. Like seeing him made the whole room better. Yunho felt his lungs forget how to function. Scott, standing beside him, let out a low appreciative whistle. “Damn,” he said. “She looks…”

Yunho cut him a look that could’ve set a forest on fire. Scott wisely shut up. But he wasn’t the only one staring. Half the bar stopped moving. Men elbowed each other. Women whispered. Someone near the pool table muttered a quiet “Jesus Christ.” And Yunho felt pride and panic tangle violently in his chest. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, pulse thundering.

You came closer, weaving through the crowd, hips swaying in that dress that was going to haunt him for the rest of his mortal life. He realized, with bone deep certainty…. He was one second, one breath, from snapping. Because you were beautiful. You were his best friend. And you had absolutely no idea what you were doing to him.

When you finally reached the bar, you leaned your elbows on the counter and smiled up at him like he wasn’t currently considering burning the whole building down. “Hey,” you said brightly. “Sorry I’m late. You guys look busy.” Yunho’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Nothing. His brain had ceased operations. Scott recovered first, stepping forward with unnecessary confidence. “Wow, Y/N. You look….”

Yunho slammed a glass down so hard Scott jumped back. “Busy,” Yunho said loudly, startling Scott and nearly the whole left side of the bar. “We’re busy. Scott…. go get table nine’s order.” Scott blinked. “Table nine doesn’t…”

“Go,” Yunho growled and you raised a brow at him, amused, oblivious to the riot under his skin. “You okay?” He dragged in a breath, tried to act normal, failed miserably. “You… look…” His voice cracked. He cleared it. “You look nice.” Nice. Nice. He wanted to punch himself as you grinned. “Thanks. You look good too.” He absolutely did not react externally. Internally? Full body combustion.

Yunho needed something to do before he did something catastrophic. So when you leaned forward on your elbows and asked, “Can you make me something?” he latched onto the task like a lifeline. “What do you want?” he asked, voice low, almost steady. You shrugged, smiling like you knew you were killing him. “Something sweet.”

He nodded once, sharp, like taking an order was somehow the most serious responsibility he’d ever been given. He grabbed a shaker, ice clattering inside, his movements clipped and overly controlled as he reached for bottles. You watched him work in silence at first. But then his sleeves pulled tight around his arms. And the muscles in his forearms flexed when he shook the mixer. And the chain around his neck brushed against the fabric of that fitted white shirt when he leaned forward.

You swallowed. God, he looked good. The concentrated look on his face, the gentle tilt of his head as he tasted the mixture with a bar spoon, the way he adjusted ingredients until it was perfect… it all felt a little too intimate. Like seeing him in his element let you peek behind some curtain you weren’t supposed to lift. He slid the finished cocktail toward you. “Try it,” he murmured. You took a sip… and blinked. “Yunho. This is amazing.”

His face softened for half a second, pride, relief, something warm flickering behind his eyes, before he caught himself. Straightened. Cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “I’ll, uh… be right back. Gotta grab drinks for the far tables.” He walked away before you could say anything else. You leaned on the counter, straw between your lips, watching him weave through the crowd. Watching how he moved, tall, confident, easy on his feet, while customers immediately reached for him with smiles or hands or too long stares.

He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. But you sure did. He grabbed a tray from a server, loading it with beers and mixed drinks. When he lifted it with one arm like it weighed nothing, you caught yourself biting your lip. And then a burst of laughter from the other end of the bar pulled your attention. Two girls leaned against the counter, leaning way too close as Yunho stepped back behind the bar. Both of them were dressed up, hair perfect, makeup flawless. They watched him like he was the entertainment, giggling, whispering behind their hands, flipping their hair as he approached. One of them traced her finger along the counter right toward him. The other licked her straw while staring directly at his mouth.

He didn’t flirt back. But he smiled politely, that soft, charming smile he used with customers, and your stomach dipped. Because you weren’t used to feeling this. You weren’t used to watching other women openly eye him like they had every right. Not since college. Not since way before you started seeing him as more than just your best friend. One girl leaned forward, tapping the bar. “Hey, handsome. Can we get two of whatever you recommend?”

Yunho nodded, grabbing bottles, sliding into work mode. Shaker. Ice. Pour. Shake. Pour again. The girls giggled. One of them twirled her hair and sighed, “God, he’s hot.” Your grip tightened just slightly around your glass. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. He was a bartender. People flirted with bartenders all the time. And yet… every time he reached for a bottle, the girls’ eyes dragged down his torso. Every time he leaned forward, they leaned in, too close, too eager. Every time he smiled that polite smile… your chest tugged in a way you did not want to examine.

You looked back at your drink, trying to play it off. But then something shifted in the air. A feeling. A pull. You looked up…. and caught him watching you. Not the girls. Not the drinks. You. His eyes were locked on you from across the bar, expression unreadable, jaw set in a way that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And that he definitely saw the way you were reacting. He didn’t break eye contact. Not even when one of the girls touched his arm. He just stared at you like the whole room was noise and you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath hitched. And deep beneath the counter, out of sight, his fist curled tight.

He was in the middle of pouring a drink when he saw it, Scott drifting back behind the bar like a golden retriever with a mission, wiping his hands on a towel and heading straight toward you. Yunho’s entire body went tight. For a second, he tried to focus on the shaker, on the two girls practically crawling over each other for his attention. “Hey bartender, you free after you get off,” one giggled. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even pretend to.

Because across the bar, Scott leaned in close to you. Too close. And you laughed. A soft, easy little laugh he hadn’t heard all night. His stomach dropped straight through the floor. Scott said something else, something that made you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you smiled at him. Smiled. At fucking Scott. Yunho felt heat crawl up his spine, sharp and ugly, an emotion he’d suppressed for years suddenly waking like it’d been waiting for this exact moment to roar to life. The girl nearest him brushed her fingers against his forearm. “Hey, do you….”

He pulled away without thinking, eyes fixed on you and Scott. Scott was leaning a hip against the bar, talking animatedly, throwing you that bright surfer boy grin like he invented charm. And you, wearing that barely legal dress, looking like a sin he’d dreamt about too many times, were actually engaging. Listening. Smiling. Laughing again.

Yunho’s pulse hammered. No. Absolutely not. You weren’t supposed to look at Scott like that. You weren’t supposed to give him that smile. You weren’t supposed to tilt your head in that soft way that Yunho had always considered his. Scott reached out and tucked a piece of your hair behind your shoulder. Yunho stopped breathing. Something snapped cleanly inside him, no noise, no warning, just a violent tightening in his chest that felt dangerously close to losing his mind.

He set the drink down too hard. The glass clacked against the counter, loud enough for the girls to blink at him. All he saw was Scott leaning closer. And your lips curving into shy, surprised little smiles. The same lips he’d stared at and imagined kissing. The same lips he wanted on his skin so badly it felt like a problem. Then Scott said something that made you laugh again, head back this time, and Yunho’s vision actually went fuzzy.

He wasn’t jealous. Jealous didn’t even touch this. He was unraveling. His chest burned, fingers curling tight around the counter edge until his forearm flexed under the strain. He clenched his jaw so hard the muscle jumped. His breath came slow and shallow, like he was trying not to do something reckless. Because you were sitting there, looking like that, smiling at someone else. And Scott, who didn’t know you, didn’t love you, didn’t get to want you, was soaking up every second of your attention. Yunho felt his composure thinning by the second.

Scott leaned in again, lowering his voice so you had to lean toward him to hear. You did and Yunho nearly walked over the bar. The girls beside him exchanged confused looks. “Are you okay?” one asked gently. Yunho dragged his eyes away from you long enough to give them a clipped nod. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t remotely fine.

Because you were touching Scott’s arm now, just lightly, conversational, innocent. But Yunho saw it. Felt it. Somewhere deep in his chest, something territorial and dark uncurled itself, stretching like it had claws. That’s mine. The thought wasn’t rational. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t allowed. But it was loud. And it was real.

Your head tilted as Scott said something else, and you laughed again, soft, warm, pretty, and Yunho made a sound low in his throat he didn’t mean to make. That was it. He couldn’t watch this another second. He tossed the towel aside, stepped away from the girls, and stalked down the bar toward you. Eyes sharp. Jaw tight. Every line of his body carved with purpose. And Scott, blissfully unaware he was seconds from being removed from the gene pool, kept talking.

Until Yunho stopped right behind him. Right behind both of you. Close enough that you felt the heat of him before you even turned. Scott was mid sentence, something about “places that stay open late” when Yunho stepped up behind him, presence hitting like a shadow falling over both of you.

You turned slightly, and Yunho was already there, bar towel gone, posture loose in a way that was clearly fake, the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth that absolutely did not reach his eyes. He leaned an elbow on the bar, casual, friendly, neutral if you didn’t know him. “You two having fun?” he asked lightly. “Am I interrupting something?” The tone was easy. The eyes were lethal.

Scott brightened, oblivious. “Nah, man! Just talking. I was actually asking Y/N if she wanted to…”

You cut in before he could finish, partly to be polite… partly because Yunho’s stare felt like it had weight. You bit your lip. A tiny, impulsive motion. Dangerous. “Scott was asking if I wanted to join him later,” you said softly, “after he gets off.” You could feel Yunho go still. Not visibly. Not obviously. But internally? The man flatlined. His chest barely moved with the breath he took. His jaw flexed once. Twice. Scott didn’t notice a damn thing. “Yeah!” he said enthusiastically. “There’s this spot on Melrose…”

Yunho spoke over him. “Since when do you go out after work, Scott?” Scott blinked. “Uh… since forever?” Yunho hummed like he didn’t believe him. Or maybe like he was imagining shoving him into the ice machine. You tilted your head, watching Yunho watching you. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not really. He looked… controlled. Contained. Tension coiled tight under that fitted white shirt, breath slow like he was actively trying not to react.

And then he did something subtle, so subtle Scott missed it completely. He angled his body closer to you. Not touching. Just… closer as Scott kept rambling. “So yeah, I told Y/N if she wants to chill, maybe grab a drink after we close, or hit that rooftop spot…” Yunho’s eyes flicked to your lips. Just for a second. But you saw it. Felt it. Then he spoke again, voice deceptively light. “You said yes?”

You opened your mouth but Scott jumped in. “She didn’t say no yet.” Yunho’s gaze snapped to him. A calm little smile curved his mouth. “Oh,” he said softly. “She didn’t say yes, either.” Scott laughed awkwardly. “Not yet.” Yunho’s expression stayed polite. Friendly. Even kind. But his eyes? His eyes said, Try it. I dare you.

Before Scott could angle closer, before he could try another charming grin or whatever else he thought might work, Mikey’s voice blasted across the bar like a cannon. “SCOTT! Get your ass over here and bring me those drinks I asked for twenty minutes ago!” Scott jumped so hard he nearly dropped the bar towel. “Oh… uh…. coming!” He flashed you a quick wink, a bold one, like he genuinely thought the two of you had chemistry. Then he jogged off toward Mikey, weaving through the crowd with a little extra swagger.

Yunho watched him go. Not casually. Not neutrally. Like a man tracking a threat. When he finally turned back to you, the shift in the air was instant. He was close, closer than before. Not touching, but the heat of him felt like a hand on your waist. His voice dropped low, rough at the edges, nothing like the friendly bartender tone he’d used earlier. “So…” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “You really going out with him?”

You froze. Not because of the words, you could’ve brushed those off. But because of the way he said them. Deep. Controlled. Tension coiled tight beneath every syllable. And something else beneath that. Something raw. Something he didn’t want you to hear but couldn’t hide. You managed a soft, confused, “What?”

Yunho’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips and back. Once. Slowly. His jaw tightened. “You were smiling at him.” Your breath caught as he kept going, voice quiet but intense, the kind of intensity that wasn’t anger. It was want. Jealous want. “You were laughing,” he added, like the words physically bothered him. “At his jokes.”

You blinked. “Yunho…”

“And you didn’t tell him no.”

You felt heat bloom in your chest. The room was loud, really loud, but somehow everything blurred around the edges until it was just him in front of you, shirt tight across his chest, hair slightly tousled from running his hands through it, eyes dark with something he wasn’t saying yet. “You didn’t tell him no,” he repeated, softer this time. Barely audible. “Why didn’t you?”

Your pulse jumped. Because the question wasn’t innocent. It wasn’t friend to friend. It was a man asking why you’d even consider someone else when he was standing right here. Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I… I didn’t know I needed to.” Something dangerous flickered across his face. You’d thrown a spark into a room full of gasoline.

Yunho inhaled once, shallow, sharp, like he was fighting something in his chest. Then he leaned a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t owe me anything.” But there was a pause. A long, telling pause. “But I need to know… if you actually want to go with him.” Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Because this? This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t protective best friend mode. This was Yunho cracking open. This was the truth slipping out despite him trying to hold it back.

Your lips parted, you weren’t even sure what was about to come out…. And Yunho watched your mouth like it might break him. For a moment, you just stared at him, Yunho standing there, muscles tight, breath uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look anywhere else even if someone set the bar on fire. Lisa’s voice drifted through your head like a spark, Guys don’t stare at you the way he stares unless they’re in deep.

And maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was the heat of the room. Maybe it was the way he’d walked over like he couldn’t stand another second of Scott near you. But for the first time, you didn’t swallow your feelings. You didn’t back down. You pushed. Softly at first, then with a wicked little shove. You lifted your chin and said, “Maybe.”

Yunho blinked once. Slow. Like the word punched through his ribcage. You kept going. Because that look on his face, sharp, tense, wrecked, made you bolder. “I mean… I haven’t really gone out with anyone in a while,” you said, voice low enough that only he could hear it over the music. His throat moved. Once. Hard. “And…” You glanced away briefly, like admitting something embarrassing. Then you looked right back at him, inhaling a slow breath. “Maybe I want to get laid.”

Time stopped. He didn’t speak. Just stared at you like he genuinely couldn’t tell if you were joking or if the universe was testing him on a spiritual level. “What?” he finally managed, voice rough. You shrugged lightly. “Yeah. It’s been a while. And Scott seems nice. So maybe hooking up with someone wouldn’t hurt.”

Yunho’s expression didn’t change much, not outwardly, but something violent shifted behind his eyes. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His hand on the bar curled into a fist. His breath came in a deeper drag, like he was fighting back words he absolutely should not say in public. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t snap. But the restraint looked physically painful. “You’re just gonna…” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “You’re just gonna go home with him? Tonight?”

You bit your lip, deliberately this time. He noticed. Oh, he noticed. “I might,” you murmured. Yunho stared at you like you’d reached in and twisted something vital. The party noise kept going, laughter, music, clinking glasses, but between you two? It was silent. Charged. Electric enough to burn. His voice dropped, barely a sound. “You’re not serious.”

You tilted your head. “Why wouldn’t I be?” That was the spark. The one that hit the gasoline. Yunho leaned in, not touching, but closer than he’d ever allowed himself to be in a public space, his voice a low, desperate growl right next to your ear. “Because he doesn’t get to touch you like that.” Your breath hitched so hard you actually swayed. You turned your head enough to meet his eyes, heart slamming against your ribs. “And who,” you whispered, pulse racing, “says he doesn’t?”

Yunho didn’t hesitate. “Me.” The word hung between you like smoke. Me. Not a joke. Not a slip. Not a misunderstanding. He meant it. Every rough, protective, possessive letter of it. Your lips parted, you didn’t even know what you were going to say. Something sharp. Something soft. Something dangerous. But the reply was already building in your throat.

“Yunho! I need you at the other end!” a server yelled over the music. “Now! We’re slammed!” Yunho stiffened. For half a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t look away from you. Didn’t blink. Like he was physically unable to step back. Then reality sucker punched both of you at the same time. His jaw flexed. His breath dragged slow and deep through his nose. And he forced himself to straighten. He didn’t touch you. But God, he looked like he wanted to.

His eyes dragged over your face, your lips, your throat, the flush on your cheeks, like he was burning the moment into himself before walking away. “I have to…” He swallowed hard. “I need to… get back.” Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Yunho…” He shook his head once, tiny, pained. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere.” His voice cracked just enough that you felt it in your knees.

Then he turned. Walked away. Shoulders tight, back rigid, hands flexing once like he needed something to hold onto that wasn’t you. And suddenly the bar felt too loud. Too bright. Too hot. You exhaled shakily and sat back, gripping the edge of your drink like it could anchor you. Your brain was no help at all. He said me. Not casual, not flirty, claiming. Territorial. He said it like it hurt him to hold back any longer.

Your thoughts spiraled fast. He doesn’t want me going out with Scott. He doesn’t want me hooking up with anyone. Was that jealousy? Was that… something else? Has he always been like this? You pressed your thighs together under the bar, pulse thundering. And then, because the universe wanted you to suffer…. You remembered the way he leaned in. The sound of his voice in your ear. The look on his face when you said maybe you wanted to get laid. Heat flooded your chest, your stomach, all the way down.

You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t look anywhere except where he’d disappeared behind the crowd. Your heart flipped so hard it hurt. Your hands shook as you brought your drink to your lips, throat tight.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The party had only grown louder as the night stretched on. People danced between tables, a couple regulars were doing shots off the counter, and Mikey had fully surrendered to being fifteen years of bar ownership drunk. And across the room, at your corner of the bar, Scott was in full golden retriever courtship mode. He leaned closer every time he spoke. He laughed too loudly at his own jokes. And he’d begun inching his hand toward yours on the counter like a man venturing into shark infested waters without realizing it.

Yunho noticed every. Single. Millimeter. From the opposite end of the bar, where he was supposed to be working, Yunho watched with a tight jaw and a drink shaker clenched in his hands like it had personally offended him. He tried to tune it all out. But he couldn’t. Because Scott kept smiling at you like he’d won something. Because you kept smiling back, a little flustered, a little unsure, a little dangerously cute. Because he could still hear your voice in his head like a gunshot, Maybe I want to get laid.

He still felt the echo of his own reply burning under his skin. Me. Christ. What the hell had possessed him to say that? He told himself it was the crowd. The heat. The alcohol in the air. The jealousy ripping at his ribs. But none of it changed the truth he’d been choking on for years. He wanted you. Body, mind, everything. And now Scott, Scott with the too big smile and the easy confidence and not a clue in the world was shooting his shot. Right in front of him.

Yunho’s eyes narrowed as Scott placed a hand lightly on your lower back. Your breath caught and didn’t move away. Yunho’s grip tightened on the shaker. Metal squeaked. Someone waiting for their drink slowly backed away. “Uh… Yunho?” a server whispered. “You okay?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even hear her. His entire focus was locked on you. The dress. The boots. The way you leaned in when you laughed. And Scott moving closer with each passing minute.

Yunho’s heartbeat hammered a steady, dangerous thrum beneath his ribs. He told himself to calm down. He told himself he had no claim on you. He told himself he’d already pushed too far earlier. None of it worked. Because now Scott was whispering something into your ear and Yunho saw red. Before he could storm over and commit a felony, someone clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Yunho,” Mikey announced, swaying slightly as he attempted to steady himself. “Stop looking like that.”

Yunho blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to piss on her leg and mark her in my bar,” Mikey slurred as the shaker slipped in Yunho’s hand. “What… I’m not…. that’s not…”

“Oh, spare me,” Mikey said, waving him off with the grace of a drunk flamingo. “I know a man about to go feral when I see one.”

“I’m not…”

“You’re jealous.”

Yunho froze as Mikey rolled his eyes dramatically. “Everyone can see it. The bartenders. The customers. The couple making out by the jukebox probably felt it spiritually.” Yunho opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, lie his way into normalcy, pretend nothing was happening, push it all back into the box he’d kept sealed for years. But Mikey squinted at him, pointed toward Scott like he was calling out a fire hazard. “Look at him. Poor guy has no idea you’ve been trying to glare him into an early grave with your eyeballs.”

Yunho pressed his lips together. Said nothing. Because the alternative was telling the truth. And he wasn’t ready for that. Mikey groaned. “Go.” Yunho blinked. “Go where?” Mikey shoved him, actually shoved him, toward your end of the bar. “To her,” he said. “Before you kill Scott. Or yourself. Or my business. In that order.” Yunho hesitated. “Now,” Mikey added sharply, then hiccuped. “Before he asks her to leave with him and we all have to watch you spontaneously combust.”

Yunho didn’t need another push. He was already moving. Slow. Measured. But with a look in his eyes that had nothing to do with work anymore. And everything to do with you. He moved through the crowded bar with purpose in every step, the kind that had people subconsciously shifting out of his way. Music pulsed. Glasses clinked. Laughter rose and fell around him like static. But none of it reached him.

All he could see was you at the counter, Scott leaning in too close, your smile dimming with uncertainty as he talked. Every instinct in Yunho screamed at him, Go to her. Take her away from him. Say something. Do something. He got halfway across the bar… and then he stopped. Stopped so suddenly a server nearly ran into his back. Because the truth, the one he’d been dodging all night, hit him like a fist, If he crossed that distance… If he stepped into your space now, with his chest tight and his pulse wild and that jealousy clawing through him… he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

He wouldn’t be able to walk it back. Wouldn’t be able to hide behind jokes and almost confessions and careful boundaries. He would want you. Openly. Fully. Dangerously. And if he misread a single thing, If you didn’t want him back….. he’d lose the one person he couldn’t live without. Fear. Actual fear. Settled cold and deep in his stomach. His breath caught. His hand curled into a fist at his side. For the first time all night, he backed away. One step. Two. Three.

Your laugh drifted across the bar again, this one softer, polite, like you were trying to navigate Scott’s attention without being rude, and it shattered something inside him. He turned sharply. Walked behind the bar with stiff, clipped movements. Snatched his jacket off the hook like it had personally offended him, the leather dragging roughly across the counter as he yanked it close. A couple of patrons looked over, confused.

Yunho needed air. Space. Distance from you before his heart ripped itself out of his chest and threw itself on the floor in front of everyone. He shoved through the back door into the cool night. The sudden quiet hit him like a shock. He exhaled hard, one breath, two, but it didn’t calm the frantic pounding in his chest. His bike stood at the curb under the streetlight, black and white and familiar. A grounding point.

He walked straight to it, braced both palms on the seat, head hanging low between his shoulders. His knuckles whitened against the leather. He closed his eyes. What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do with this? With her? With me? You were his best friend. His person. The girl he’d known half his life, the girl he’d fallen for long before he even understood what falling meant. And now? Now you were wearing a dress that made his brain short circuit. You were laughing at another man’s jokes. You were talking about wanting to get laid. You were slipping through every piece of control he had left.

He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing deep, trying to steady the storm inside him. He didn’t want to ruin things. Didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to scare you off or confess something you weren’t ready to hear. But he also couldn’t stand in that bar another second watching Scott try to take something, someone, he’d been quietly loving for years.

The night air bit at his skin, cooling nothing as he leaned one hip against the bike, head tipped back, eyes closed as he whispered to the empty street, “Get a grip, Yunho… before you fuck everything up.” But when he opened his eyes…. He still wanted to walk back inside. He still wanted to take you away from Scott. He still wanted you. And the wanting was getting harder to deny.

Yunho didn’t know how long he stood there beside his bike, jacket half on, chest rising and falling too fast, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat flooding his veins. He was trying. Trying to pull himself back into the version of him he always showed you. Calm. Easygoing. Steady. But the storm inside him hadn’t listened. The door behind him creaked, a soft, subtle sound. He didn’t turn. He already knew it was you.

Your footsteps approached slowly, hesitantly, gravel crunching beneath your boots until you were just a few feet behind him. “Yunho?” His eyes fluttered shut again. Of course you followed him. Of course you noticed. Because you always did. You stepped closer, voice soft, threaded with concern. “Are you okay? You just… stormed out. I thought maybe…”

He let out a short, low laugh. Except it wasn’t really a laugh. More like a sound dragged out of him because the pressure had finally cracked. “You have no idea,” he murmured and you froze. The tone wasn’t joking. Wasn’t casual. Wasn’t friendly. It was rough. Unsteady. Frustrated in a way that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with you.

Yunho raked a hand through his hair again, the leather of his jacket creaking as he gripped the edge of the bike seat for balance. He turned his head slightly, not fully facing you yet, like he wasn’t sure he could look at you without everything spilling out. “You shouldn’t have followed me out here,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Why not?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because I’m trying really damn hard to get myself under control.” Your breath stalled as he straightened slowly, finally turning enough to face you, not all the way, but enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his throat, the storm still burning behind his eyes. “You saw the way I left,” he said, voice low and frayed. “That was me trying to be smart. Trying not to say something I can’t take back.”

You stepped closer before you realized you were moving. The space between you hummed. “What… what would you say?” you asked softly. Yunho’s laugh came out again, sharper now, brittle, like he was on the edge of something he couldn’t back away from. “You really don’t know?” he asked. That did something to your chest. You shook your head, whispering, “I’m not sure.”

Yunho’s eyes closed for just a moment, his breath shuddering out as if your uncertainty hurt more than anything Scott had done all night. Then he opened them. Fully. Looking straight at you now. “No,” he said softly. “You should be the last person out here with me. Because I’m two seconds away from saying too much. From ruining everything.”

Your heart raced. “Try me,” you whispered. And for the first time all night, maybe the first time ever, Yunho didn’t look scared of the words. He looked scared of how badly he needed to say them. He stared at you like you were the moon crashing into the earth. For one breath, he looked ready to close the distance completely, to step into you, take your face in his hands, and finally let everything he’d been burying spill out.

But then fear flickered. Real fear again. And he tore his gaze away. He shook his head, jaw tense, throat working like swallowing the truth physically hurt. “No,” he muttered, voice low. “I can’t… I can’t do this with you. I won’t ruin what we have.” Then he turned from you. Actually turned his back, hands braced on the handlebars of his bike, shoulders tight enough to crack. The cool night air filled the empty space between you, humming with everything unsaid. He wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t leaving. He was just facing the one direction where he didn’t have to look at you, didn’t have to see the one person capable of shattering every wall he’d built.

And maybe a week ago, you would’ve let him hide there. But not now. Not after the way he said, me. Not after the way he stalked across the bar like he owned the floor beneath your feet. Not after the way looking at Scott talking to you had turned him into something feral. You stepped forward, boots crunching on the asphalt, until you were just inches behind him.

“You’re jealous.” The words sliced through the quiet like heat through frost. Yunho went rigid. Just frozen in place as if the truth hit him like a hand to the chest. Slowly, painfully slowly, he lifted his head. He didn’t turn around yet. Didn’t speak. But his fingers curled tight around the leather seat of the bike, knuckles pale, breath shallow and uneven as you took another step toward him, voice steady even though your heart hammered. “You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer now, more certain. “That’s why you stormed out.”

His shoulders rose with a deep inhale, shaky, barely controlled. Still no answer. You could feel him unraveling by degrees, the quiet tremor in his breath, the way his jaw clenched beneath the angle of his head turning, the war inside him reaching its breaking point. “You don’t want me to go out with Scott,” you whispered. “You don’t want me laughing with him. You don’t want him touching me.” The night held its breath.

Yunho slowly turned his head just enough to see you over his shoulder, eyes dark, raw, stripped down to something he couldn’t hide anymore. He looked wrecked. He looked like you had pried open something he’d been holding closed for years with nothing but a few soft, terrifyingly honest words. And when he finally spoke, his voice was nothing but truth. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice breaking at the edges. “Don’t say it unless you’re ready for what comes after.” But he didn’t deny it. Not once. Not at all.

The night felt impossibly still. Yunho stood there with his back half turned, breathing like every inhale hurt, jaw tight like he was bracing for impact. Didn’t say anything else. Because he knew if he did… you’d both cross a line neither of you could ever uncross. And then, your voice cracked the silence. Soft. Shaking. Bare, like you’d peeled your heart open and set it in your palms.

“I…”

Yunho froze.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you forced the rest out. “For months now… I’ve…” Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop. “all I can think about is you.” Yunho’s fingers slipped from the bike seat. He didn’t turn around as you kept going because if you didn’t say it now, you never would. “I turned down that math teacher a couple weeks ago,” you whispered. “We flirted for a while, but the second he actually asked me out…” You sucked in a shaky breath. “all I could think was that I wanted you to ask me.”

Yunho’s shoulders jerked like you’d struck him. You stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed the back of his arm. He still didn’t turn. You kept going, voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “And then I told myself that was stupid. That you’re my best friend. And that if you wanted me like that… then you would have…. You would’ve said something years ago. You would’ve…”

“Stop,” Yunho rasped. But you’d already opened the wound. “And tonight, seeing you with those girls, seeing you being… hot and funny and yourself… I realized just how much I’ve been pretending.” He turned. Finally turned. Slow, like he wasn’t sure he could physically handle the rest of what you were about to say without his knees giving out. His eyes were glassy under the streetlight. Dark. Too emotional. Too raw. You met that look head on, chest rising and falling. “I wanted you,” you whispered. “I still want you. And I didn’t say anything because I thought if you felt the same, you would have made a move. You would have… done something.”

Silence. The kind that shakes. Yunho stepped forward once instinctively, then stopped himself like he hit an invisible wall. His voice dropped to something low and rough, thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to relief. “You really think I didn’t make a move,” he said quietly, “because I didn’t want you?” You blinked, confused and breathless. “I mean… am I wrong?”

He let out a shaky laugh, one that sounded like he’d been holding it inside his ribs for years. “Baby… the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You stood there beneath the dim streetlight, heart pounding loud enough you swore he could hear it. Yunho stared at you like he was seeing every version of you at once, the fifteen year old girl who’d moved to his town, the best friend who’d grown into his safe place, the woman standing in front of him now in a dress that made him dizzy. His chest rose with one slow, unsteady breath. Then another. Then he stepped closer. Not fast. Not dramatic. But with the kind of purpose that meant there was no going back.

His voice came out low. Unfiltered. Wrecked. “I’ve wanted to be with you since we were seventeen.” Your lips parted. He didn’t look away. Not even for a heartbeat. “That night you got drunk for the first time,” he went on, voice cracking at the memory. “When I carried you home because you couldn’t walk straight.” Your breath hitched, the memory flickering through your mind like a flash of light. The warmth of his arms. Your head resting against his shoulder. The safe, steady smell of him. The way you’d pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips when he laid you on the couch.

Yujin swallowed hard, shaking his head at himself. “You kissed me,” he breathed. “You probably don’t even remember it.” You did. Oh, you did. But you’d chalked it up to embarrassment, a stupid teenage mistake, something he would’ve forgotten by morning. “I stood in your living room after you passed out,” Yunho said softly, “trying not to lose my mind because that tiny little kiss…” His voice trailed off, breath unsteady. “It was the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

Your knees nearly gave out as he stepped even closer now, close enough that the heat of his chest brushed yours when you breathed in too deeply. “And ever since then,” he whispered, “I’ve wanted you. Every year. Every version of you. I wanted you when we graduated. When you moved out. When you moved back in. When you brought home that idiot, Steve, you dated for two years.”

Your eyes widened. “You didn’t like him?”

He laughed softly, bitter edge slipping into the sound. “I wanted to fight him every time he put his arm around you.” He dipped his head a little, eyes locked on yours, breathing you in like he’d been starved of oxygen for years. “And tonight?” he murmured. “Watching Scott touch you like he had the right?” His jaw flexed. “I thought I was going to snap and put him through Mikey’s wall.” You shivered. You’d never heard him talk like this. Never seen him stripped this bare. Never imagined he’d been carrying this much longing, this much restraint, this much want inside him for so long.

He lifted a hand, slow, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet. His fingers brushed your cheek and you nearly melted. “I’ve been in love with you since that night,” he whispered. “And I didn’t make a move because I didn’t want to lose you. Because I thought if I got it wrong, if I scared you off… I’d never forgive myself.”

Your breath came out shaky. “Yunho…”

His forehead rested softly against yours now, his eyes closing like the contact itself was a relief. “So don’t tell me I’m jealous,” he whispered. “I’m way past jealousy.” Your heart stuttered. “What are you, then?” you whispered. He opened his eyes, and the way he looked at you could’ve set the world on fire. “I’m yours,” he said softly. “I’ve always been yours.”

His confession hung in the air, warm and trembling, as if the night itself didn’t dare move until you did. He looked at you like he’d just handed over every secret he’d ever buried. Like the next breath you took had the power to save him or ruin him. And you didn’t look away. Not once. Instead, you stepped even closer, chest brushing his, your voice a whisper that cracked something open inside both of you. “Then make me yours too.”

For half a second, Yunho didn’t breathe. His pupils blew wide. His jaw clenched. Something wild flickered across his face, hunger, relief, disbelief, years of yearning collapsing into one unstoppable pull. “God,” he murmured, barely a sound. “Come here.” And then he kissed you. Not gently. Not cautiously. Not like a man testing a boundary. He kissed you like he’d been waiting since seventeen and his patience had finally snapped.

His hands cupped your face first, desperate, reverent, before sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your back hit the cool metal of his bike, the vibration shivering through you as he pressed you there, pinning you with his mouth. You gasped into the kiss, fingers fisting into his shirt, and that was it, that tiny sound, that finished him. He groaned, deep and rough against your lips, kissing you harder, fuller, his body molding to yours like it had been built for this.

Your lips parted and his tongue swept in, tasting you, learning you, claiming you without hesitation, without apology. Years of swallowed feelings poured into each heated, hungry kiss. Your hands slid up his chest, over the lines and warmth of him, and he shuddered, nudging his thigh between yours as if he couldn’t stand not touching you everywhere at once. The kiss turned messy fast, panting breaths, soft whimpers from you, low curses from him, the two of you chasing each other’s mouths like you’d been starved of this for far too long.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. He moved you against the line of his thigh, swallowing your breath with his mouth.

“Yunho…” you whispered against his lips and he kissed the word right off you. “You have… no idea…” he breathed between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this.” Your head tilted back as his mouth trailed down your jaw, your throat, kissing you like he intended to memorize every inch. Your fingers threaded into his hair and he groaned before pressing you even tighter against the bike. The two of you were heat and hunger and inevitability, every second coiling tighter, hotter, deeper.

Yunho looked at you, lips swollen, breath unsteady, forehead leaning against yours like he needed the contact to stay grounded and you dragged him back into a kiss that left him gasping. He exhaled a shaky laugh that sounded like surrender and triumph tangled together. And you felt it, the shift, the spark, the years of tension snapping into place. He didn’t even bother pretending he could keep his hands off you anymore. The second you pulled him closer, he lifted you, effortless, like your body belonged in his arms, and set you on the seat of his bike.

The cold leather under you. His warm body between your thighs. The sharp shock of want that hit him when you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Jesus…” he breathed, voice low enough it vibrated against your skin. He didn’t give you time to respond. His mouth was on your neck again, slow at first, tasting, testing… and then hungrier when you tilted your head back, giving him more.

One of his hands slid up your outer thigh, fingers dragging along your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. He gripped higher, thumb brushing where your skirt had ridden up, and your whole body jolted like it recognized him. He felt that reaction and smiled, dark, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to tremble for him this fast. “Sensitive?” he murmured against your throat, lips grazing the pulse his mouth had just coaxed into pounding.

You swallowed hard. If only he knew. If he knew what happened the other day… what the vibration of this very bike did to you while you were on the back of it… how you had bitten your lip into silence, thighs shaking… He’d lose his damn mind. The memory flashed behind your eyes, sharp, hot, forbidden. The long stretch of road. Your chest pressed to his back. The way the engine rattled through the seat, through your thighs, through your entire body until you couldn’t think straight and the world went white and you had to hide your face against him so he wouldn’t hear you come undone.

He kissed the hollow of your throat, slow and deep, his other hand sliding up your spine to anchor you to him. Your breath hitched, too loud. He froze for a second, feeling it, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from kissing you senseless. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, sounding wrecked and proud all at once. “And I’ve barely touched you.” Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, dragging him back to your neck because you needed his mouth there the way you needed air.

He groaned when you tugged, hips pressing into yours instinctively, a slow grind that made your lashes flutter. If he kept going, you were going to… “Baby…” he whispered into your skin, voice hoarse, “you’re killing me.” No. He had it backwards. He was the one unmaking you, piece by piece. His hand slipped higher on your thigh. His mouth found a spot on your neck that made your whole body tighten. You grabbed his jaw, not rough, but firm enough that his breath caught, eyes snapping to yours with something dark and wanting. Your thumb brushed his lower lip. Your voice dropped to a whisper that felt like you were confessing a crime.

“You know…” Another shaky breath and his pupils widened. “I hate this bike.” He blinked, thrown off. “You… what?” You leaned in, lips skimming his cheek, your breath warm against his ear. “Because it drives me crazy.” Yunho’s fingers flexed on your thigh as you continued, slow, deliberate, watching the realization sharpen in his eyes. “You on it…” Your nails trailed lightly up his neck. “The sound…” Your legs tightened around his waist. “The feel of it…”

He swallowed hard, chest rising against yours, his hands coming up to grip your hips like he needed something to hold onto. Then you dropped the bomb that took the ground out from under him. “The way it made me come the other day when you took me to work.” Yunho froze. Completely. You let the words sink in, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered the rest. “And I had to walk around for hours with a wet stain between my legs.”

A sound left him, low, strangled, not even a word, just raw need hitting him so fast he actually stumbled a half step closer like gravity yanked him into you. “Baby…” His voice was unsteady, wrecked, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “tell me you’re not messing with me.” You lifted his chin so he had to look directly at you. “Does it sound like I’m joking?” His breath hitched audibly. His fingers dug into your hips. The tension in him snapped into something hotter, heavier, something he’d been holding back for years. “You came on my bike,” he repeated, voice low enough to vibrate through your bones.

You nodded once, slow. “And you didn’t tell me,” he said, disbelief and hunger tangled together. Your lips brushed his. “I’m telling you now.” That was it. That was all he could take. He crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like the confession had broken every restraint he’d ever had. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you, dragging you forward on the seat so your body pressed completely against his.

The kiss turned fierce instantly, hotter, messier, desperate, the kind that felt like the two of you were making up for every lost year in a single, breathless moment. Yunho kissed you like he’d been waiting years to taste you, his mouth hungry and sure, his breath mixing with yours as his hands roamed your hips like he had every intention of learning your body by touch alone. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, the cool leather of the bike contrasting with the heat blooming between you. He broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against your throat, voice roughened to something barely human.

“Let me feel you.” His hand slid down, fingers trailing the length of your thigh so gently it made your whole body tremble. When he reached the edge of your skirt, he hesitated, barely, his breath catching as if asking for permission without daring to speak it out loud. You didn’t want hesitation. Not from him. Not now. His fingers brushed the thin fabric between your legs, a soft press that made your breath stutter. He froze again, looking up at you from beneath heavy lashes, waiting for you to guide him, to give him that final, irrevocable yes. Instead of answering with words, you reached down. Slowly. You slid your hand over his, your fingers warm against his skin, and guided him, deliberate, steady, until he understood exactly what you wanted.

His breath left him in a quiet, stunned sound when you nudged his hand, urging him to slip the fabric aside. Your panties shifted with the motion, baring the heat he’d only imagined until now and Yunho inhaled sharply. Your hand stayed over his as he eased the fabric aside fully, giving him access to the soft, heated place he’d fantasized about more times than he’d ever admit. His fingers trembled because he wanted to touch you, wanted to feel how warm you were for him, but he waited for your lead.

You guided him lower. Barely a shift. Just enough. His fingers brushed your slit, a feather light stroke, and your entire body jolted. He felt it. “Oh… sweetheart,” he whispered, forehead falling against yours, breath shaking with want. “You’re already… like this for me?” You nodded, unable to speak, your fingers tightening over his wrist, silently begging him to keep going. He did. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was touching something sacred.

Your head tipped back as he touched you again, more sure this time, his breath hitching at the way your body reacted to him, your hips bucking, your thighs trembling around his waist, your hand clutching his shoulder just to stay grounded. Yunho kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot beneath your ear that made your pulse trip. “Tell me,” he murmured, fingers moving in a steady, devastating rhythm now against your clit. “Tell me what you need from me.”

But your breath was already breaking, your body already arching into his touch, and he smiled, dark, heated, helpless, because he’d never seen you like this, never imagined you’d melt for him this easily. And now? He was addicted. His mouth was on yours again, hot and hungry, swallowing the sound you made when his fingers finally slipped past that last delicate barrier. Slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to feel every inch of you accepting him as thrusted two inside you, your walls instantly clenching them.

Your whole body tightened, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, nails curling against the warm fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from slipping off the bike. “Easy,” he murmured against your lips, though his own breath was shaking. “I’ve got you.” And he did. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him while the hand between your thighs moved with devastating purpose. Each slow, deliberate motion made your hips lift into his palm, made your breath stutter, made his restraint unravel a little more each time you whimpered into his mouth.

He kissed you deeper, tongue brushing yours, swallowing every broken sound you tried to hide. “Y/N…” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours as he pulled his fingers almost all the way out only to thrust them back and curve them. Your thighs tightened around his waist, a moan leaving you as your own fingers tangled in the back of his hair as he worked you open with steady, devastating patience. His breath hitched each time he felt your body flutter around him, each time you pulled him closer, needing more.

Then, without warning, he shifted just enough to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You barely had time to register the movement. Metal jingled. A key turned between his fingers. The bike beneath you came alive. The engine rumbled to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrated up through the seat, through your legs, through your entire body. Your breath punched out of you and Yunho felt it. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice roughened beyond recognition. “That’s what I wanted.”

The vibration met the rhythm of his hand, and the combination nearly sent you arching off the seat. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders now, your mouth falling open against his. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning softly at the way you reacted, the way the engine beneath you made your hips jerk helplessly into his hand, his fingers pounding into you now. “Look at me,” he said, lifting your chin with his free hand. Your eyes were hazy, lips swollen, legs trembling around his waist.

He looked wrecked. Completely undone by the sight of you unraveling for him. “You’re going to come apart on my bike,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours, “I want to see it this time.” His fingers pressed deeper. The engine thrummed harder. And you cried out softly into his shoulder.

“Hold onto me,” he murmured against your mouth. Because the vibration of the bike thrummed steady beneath you, deep and relentless, meeting every movement of his hand like the two sensations had been designed to work together. Your thighs tightened around him. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your hips moved on instinct, chasing each stroke of his fingers, every glide deeper than the last. Yunho groaned when he felt you react, a low, warm sound that rolled through his chest and straight into you. “That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Just let me feel you.”

His hand moved faster now. Firm. Sure. Rhythms that made your pulse flutter wildly against his lips. The bike’s steady rumble traveled up your spine, pairing with his touch until your whole body was trembling, breath catching in desperate little bursts you couldn’t hide even if you tried. “Yunho…” you gasped, holding onto him like you’d fall without him. He kissed you hard, swallowing the sound, his free hand sliding up your back, holding you steady while your body arched into his. “You’re close,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “I can feel it… sweetheart, you’re right there.”

You were. The vibration. His fingers. His breath hot against your neck. The way he watched your face like your pleasure was the only thing in the world that mattered. Everything built at once, fast, intense, overwhelming. Your legs trembled violently around his waist. Your breath shattered. Your hips ground helplessly into his hand, chasing the crest rising inside you, his fingers buried knuckle deep. “Come for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

The words pushed you right over the edge. Your release hit you hard, a deep, rolling wave that tore a soft cry from your throat as your body clenched around his fingers. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation rushed through you, stronger than anything you’d felt alone in your bed at night thinking about him. Yunho held you through it, kissing your throat, murmuring soft curses against your skin as your body shook and your breath broke in his ear.

And then he felt it. The warm rush against his hand. The damp heat soaking into the leather beneath you. He froze for a heartbeat. Then he groaned, a low, disbelieving sound, as he pulled his fingers slowly from you, glancing down at the wet sheen glistening across his skin… and the dark stain spreading across the seat of his bike. “Y/N…” he whispered, lifting his gaze back to your flushed, trembling face. “You just ruined my seat.”

You could barely breathe as he kissed you, slow, deep, possessive, and settled between your shaking legs, hands gripping your thighs as if anchoring himself. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted to do that to you?” Your heartbeat was fluttering wild as he held you through the last pulses of your release, his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his hands shaking from everything he just felt you unravel against.

He was still murmuring something soft against your cheek when you reached down. Completely unbothered by how wrecked you both were. You slipped your fingers around his wrist and Yunho froze. You lifted his hand, the one that had just been inside you, the one still damp, still glistening in the low light. His eyes widened, breath catching. “Baby…” he whispered, voice warning and begging at the same time, “what are you….”

You brought his fingers to your lips and his breath stopped. You held his gaze as you slowly drew his fingers into your mouth. Yunho’s knees nearly buckled. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening so fast it was like a storm rolled through him in real time. Watching you, his best friend, the girl he’d loved since forever, slip his fingers past your lips? It punched the air out of his lungs. He swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “You’re going to kill me.”

You hummed softly around his fingers, tongue warm and sinful, and he actually had to brace a hand on the bike beside your head just to stay upright. His eyes fluttered, breath shaking as he watched you taste yourself from his hand. When you finally let his fingers slip free from your mouth, he looked wrecked. Destroyed. Hopelessly in love in a way he didn’t stand a chance against.

You leaned in, lips brushing his, your voice low and sweet and completely unhinged in the best way. “Take me home,” you whispered, “so I can taste you too.” Yunho stared at you like he’d just realized something dangerous and exhilarating at the same time…. His best friend wasn’t just bold. You weren’t just wild. You weren’t just everything he’d ever wanted. No. You were insane. Deliciously, gloriously, wonderfully insane. And he adored it.

A slow grin curled at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile born from pure, stunned desire and a little awe, too. “Oh my god…” he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to process you. “You’re out of your mind.” Your fingers hooked his belt, tugging him closer. “So you’re not taking me home?” you teased. He didn’t answer with words. He kissed you, harder, deeper, hungrier, both hands cradling your face like he finally understood he wasn’t dreaming. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“You’re not leaving our apartment again until I take you to work Monday.” He pulled back only so the two of you could get on his bike. He guided your legs tight around his waist, reached for his helmet and slid it over your head with shaking hands. Then he swung his leg over the bike, his voice rough and reverent as he settled in front of you. “Hold on,” he said, glancing back with a look that wasn’t just lust, it was possession and disbelief and devotion all tangled together.

His adrenaline spiked as he pulled his gloves out his pocket, you could feel it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his breath shuddered, the way his hands gripped the handlebars like he needed to focus on not turning around and taking you right there behind the bar. He lifted his head, eyes closing for one slow breath. Because he knew. The second he got you home…. the second that apartment door shut… he was going to lose it. Completely.

He revved the engine once, a sharp, impatient growl, then pulled out of the alley with you wrapped around him, every inch of him vibrating with the need to get you home as fast as he could without losing control on the road. This wasn’t just desire. It was adrenaline. Years of waiting. The heady knowledge that tonight, everything changed. And the second that apartment door closed behind you both… nothing would ever be the same.

The night air rushed around you, cool against your still warm skin, sharp enough to make you gasp against his back. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, your cheek against his shoulder blade, breathing in that familiar mix of clean soap and leather and the faintest hint of bar smoke from his shift. But the real problem? The real danger? The steady hum of the bike beneath you. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t rough. But after what he’d just done to you… it felt like a live wire pressed between your legs. And he knew. Of course he knew.

Your fingers flexed against him without meaning to, a tiny, involuntary clutch the moment the vibration traveled up your spine. His shoulders tensed instantly beneath your palms, his grip tightening on the handlebars. You felt the breath he sucked in. You felt the low sound he bit back. He tilted his head just slightly, voice raised enough for you to hear over the wind. “You okay back there?” He already knew the answer. You hid your face against his back, mortified and already melting.

“Yunho…”

That was all you managed. Just his name, shaky, needy, warning and pleading at the same time. His hand left the handlebars for the briefest moment, sliding back to squeeze your thigh without looking, without missing a beat, a silent, I know. The bike picked up speed. Not reckless. Not dangerous. Just… deliberate. Enough for the vibration to deepen, to pulse steady, to make your breath catch in your throat. You pressed closer to him, thighs tightening around his hips as the sensation curled low in your stomach, stealing your control all over again.

Yunho felt it. He felt the way your legs gripped him. He felt your breath stutter against his back. He felt your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. And he didn’t say anything for a long moment, like he was savoring it. Like he was memorizing the way you reacted to him now that he knew exactly what the bike did to you. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, rough, and shaking with restraint. “You’re getting worked up again, aren’t you?”

You buried your face against his spine, the vibration rolling through you with every bump of the road. “Yunho…” You sounded breathless, frustrated, and desperate in a way that nearly undid him. “It’s not fair…” He laughed softly, not mocking, but stunned, disbelieving. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something dark and warm, “I’m not doing anything.”

You tightened your hold on him as the next wave of sensation coiled through you. “That’s the problem,” you whispered and he groaned. Actually groaned, a low, rough sound carried away by the wind, one hand gripping the handlebars harder like the only thing keeping him from pulling over was sheer willpower as his head tipped forward for a moment, jaw clenched. “We’re almost home.”

The ride up the ramp into the apartment’s parking garage felt endless and way too short at the same time. Yunho’s breath was still uneven when he finally eased the bike into the spot beside his truck, the engine settling into a low rumble before he cut it off. Silence fell heavy. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just charged. He swung one leg over and stood, pulling off his gloves slowly, like he needed those extra seconds to steady himself before he turned around and faced you.

You were still catching your breath when you reached up and unclicked the helmet strap. Your fingers trembled slightly, just enough that he noticed. You lifted the helmet off and shook out your hair, the soft garage lights hitting your flushed cheeks, your kiss swollen mouth, the dazed shimmer still lingering in your eyes. Yunho stared. Not politely. Not subtly. He stared like a man watching the aftershocks of his own undoing. Then you swung your leg to get off the bike and your knees wobbled. Just barely. Just a soft buckle. But enough that you grabbed the seat for balance.

His jaw flexed. His breath hitched. Something hot and primal flickered behind his eyes. “You okay?” he asked softly. But the question was a lie. He didn’t want you to say yes. He wanted you to admit what he already saw. You handed him the helmet, still touching the bike like you needed the extra second to steady yourself as he unlocked his truck and tossed his helmet inside. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, the ghost of the ride still humming through you. When you straightened, it was slower than normal, your legs clearly not trusting you yet.

Yunho swallowed hard, eyes dragging down your body and up again. The realization hit him like a punch…. he did this. His fingers twitched like he wanted to catch you, lift you, pin you against the nearest surface all at once. You finally met his gaze. The look you gave him, hungry, wrecked, wanting…. nearly took him to his knees. He stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that the heat from his body warmed your already sensitive skin. “Shaky?” he murmured, voice deep.

You nodded once, swallowing hard and his eyes softened in a way that was somehow more dangerous than anything he’d said all night. “Come here,” he whispered. You moved toward him, your legs still not entirely steady. And the moment you were within reach, he lifted a hand, slow, fingertips brushing your hip. The gentleness wrecked you. Because you could feel the restraint… the control…. the craving simmering right under the surface.

Yunho dipped his head, breath ghosting your temple. “Let’s get upstairs,” he murmured, voice rough. “Before I lose it down here.” The walk from the garage into the building felt different now, every step heavier, hotter, the air between you still charged from everything that happened on the bike. Yunho stayed close, his arm brushed yours with every step, close enough that his hand hovered at your lower back like he was trying, really trying, to be respectful for one more minute.

You caught him glancing at you twice. Once at your swollen lips. Once at your slightly shaky legs. Both times he dragged in a breath like he was one second from losing it completely. You reached the elevator. He hit the button. The doors slid open….. and there was your downstairs neighbor, Kevin. Of course. Wearing gym shorts, a tank top, earbuds around his neck, sweat still clinging to his collarbones. And the second he saw you, his whole face lit up.

“Hey!” he said, immediately grinning. “Didn’t know you were out tonight. You look…” Yunho stepped in front of you. Not dramatically. Not aggressively. Just a clean, unmistakable shift of his body that placed you directly behind him. A silent, No. Not tonight. Kevin blinked, thrown. “Uh…. hey, Yunho.” Yunho didn’t answer. He just pressed the elevator button for your floor with controlled, absolute calm… except you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly like he was holding onto the last of his patience.

Kevin looked around Yunho’s shoulder to smile at you again. “You two hanging out tonight?” he asked. “Because if not, I was going to ask if you wanted to come down for…” Yunho turned. Slowly. But the look he gave Kevin? Yeah… Kevin shut his mouth fast. “We’re busy,” Yunho said, voice low, even, not raised at all, but carrying enough weight that Kevin actually took a step back.

Your breath caught. Because Yunho didn’t look angry. He looked possessive. Dark eyed. Unapologetic. Like he had finally stopped pretending you were just his best friend. Kevin cleared his throat. “Right. Got it. Didn’t mean to….” Yunho lifted a hand slightly, not hostile, just enough of a gesture to shut the conversation down. “We’re going up,” he said.

The elevator doors closed. And for a second, it was just the three of you in a tense, humming silence. Kevin stared straight ahead, suddenly very interested in the floor numbers. You stood behind Yunho, heart pounding, watching the broad line of his back rise and fall with each slow breath. He looked calm, but you knew him too well. His hands slipped casually into his pockets. But his fists were clenched.

Kevin glanced at you again, about to attempt a smile but Yunho shifted. Just half an inch. Closer to you. Blocking more of you from view. A silent claim. Kevin’s mouth snapped shut again. When the elevator dinged for Kevin’s floor, he all but stumbled out, giving a quick awkward nod. “See you guys later,” he muttered. The doors closed again and Yunho exhaled, long and low, turning to face you fully now that you were alone.

He stepped closer. Close enough that your back brushed the elevator wall and he braced one hand beside your head, caging you in without touching you. His eyes were dark, still burning from earlier, from the bike, from your shaky knees, from Kevin daring to look at you like that. “He flirts with you all the time,” he said softly, voice controlled but vibrating with restrained heat. “I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to let it go.” Your breath hitched. “But sweetheart…” He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek without kissing it. “After tonight?” His voice dipped lower. Dangerous. Certain. “I’m not sharing you.”

Your pulse kicked as he moved even closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Not with Kevin.” A kiss against your cheek. “Not with Scott.” A kiss brushing the corner of your mouth. “Not with anyone.” Your hands lifted to his chest on instinct, clutching his shirt. “And when we get inside,” he murmured, his lips ghosting yours, “I’m going to show you exactly what that means.” The elevator stopped. The doors opened but he didn’t move. His breath caught against your lips as he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft thunk, the kind of sound that normally meant nothing… but tonight, it felt final. Like crossing a threshold you could never step back over. Yunho stood there for a moment, back against the locked door, hand still braced on it as though he needed that last second to pull himself together. Your boots tapped lightly against the entryway tile as you stepped farther into the apartment, kicking them off, familiar, shared, safe, and yet your heartbeat still ran wild beneath your ribs.

He watched you. Not with the wildness from downstairs. Not with jealousy. Not with restraint teetering at its edge. But with something stunned. Almost reverent. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here with him like this. You turned to face him, leaning your shoulder lightly against the hallway wall, the soft glow of the living room lamps warming your skin and your lips curled as he took his jacket off. “You know,” you said, voice light, teasing, even though your pulse thudded loud enough you felt it in your fingertips, “until tonight… I never knew how possessive you are.”

Yunho’s breath punched out of him. Not loud. But sharp. His eyes flicked down your body, slow, dragging, dark, and when they lifted back to yours, his entire expression had changed. He pushed off the door in one slow step, tossed his jacket on the open kitchen counter. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t crowd you. He just walked toward you with a focus so intense it made your knees go soft again.

When he stopped in front of you, he lifted a hand and tucked a piece of your hair gently behind your ear, thumb lingering at your jaw. “Possessive?” he repeated softly. You nodded, trying for playful, but your voice shook just a little as he leaned in, lips brushing the edge of your cheek, not kissing, just close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. “I’m not possessive,” he murmured and your breath caught. His nose skimmed your temple, the faintest touch, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. “I’ve just spent years pretending I didn’t want to grab you every time someone else looked at you.”

Your pulse stuttered. “And now that I know you want me too…” He whispered this directly into your ear, his voice warm, low, certain. “I’m done pretending.” You exhaled shakily, your hands automatically catching his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. He let out a soft, almost amused breath, the sound of a man who just realized teasing him is your love language, and he likes it far too much. “You really had no idea?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down your neck. “After all the times I cut off guys trying to talk to you? All the times I stepped between you and Kevin? All the times you laughed at some guy’s joke and I went quiet for the rest of the night?”

Your mouth fell open and he smiled. “That wasn’t me being protective, baby.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “That was jealousy.” Your heart flipped. “And now,” he added, stepping closer until your back pressed to the wall, “you’re teasing me about it.” He dipped his head, lips grazing your cheek again, slow, intentional, claiming without touching your mouth. “Keep going,” he whispered. “See what happens.”

Yunho didn’t even have time to react. One second he was caging you against the entryway wall, voice low enough to melt your spine… and the next…. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him back. Not hard. Not to escape. But with a deliberate, teasing shove that knocked the breath straight out of his lungs. He stumbled one step, two, surprised, eyes widening as he caught himself. And then you smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

A spark lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he murmured, breath catching, “so that’s how we’re playing now?” You didn’t answer. You just walked toward him, step by slow step, and he walked backward automatically, entranced, until the two of you drifted into the open living room. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t grab you. Didn’t pull you in. He just watched you advance on him with that teasing tilt to your chin, that sly glimmer in your eyes, and something in him clicked sharply into place.

You were a brat. A gorgeous, soft voiced, impossible to resist brat. And the realization wrecked him. Because if this was how you behaved with someone you wanted? If this was how your teasing looked up close? If this bold, taunting version of you had been around other men before him…. He hated it. He adored it. He needed it aimed at only him. You stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth off your body but not close enough to touch.

His breath shivered as you tilted your head, eyes locked on his like you were studying him, tasting the moment, savoring the tension stringing tight between you. “How many times,” you said softly, stepping even closer, “have you gotten yourself off to me?” Yunho’s whole body went still. That question hit him like a blow to the chest, fast, hard, unguarded, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t breathe. His jaw flexed His hands curled at his sides. A flush hit his throat and spread up to his ears. “Y/N…” he whispered, voice low, warning, desperate. “Careful.”

You weren’t finished. You slid your fingers up his chest, slow and taunting, eyes never leaving his. “Once?” Another step. “Twice?” Your body brushed his, feather light and intentional. “Or…” you leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, “was it more?” He inhaled sharply, a sound low and raw that came from somewhere deep. He grabbed your waist, not rough, but firm, grounding himself before he did something he couldn’t reel back. “You really want the number?” he asked quietly and your lips parted. “Yes.”

He let out a shaky laugh, stunned, wrecked, half delirious from finally seeing this side of you. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that your noses brushed. You smiled up at him. “Try me. That was the moment he realized it…. You weren’t afraid of his want. You weren’t intimidated by how deep his feelings ran. You weren’t fragile or shy or cautious with him. You were bold. Demanding. A little unhinged. And completely his now.

“Alright,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours without kissing you. “I’ve touched myself to the thought of you more times than I can count.” Your breath hitched as his forehead rested against yours, his fingers tightening at your hips. “Did other guys get this version of you?” he murmured. “Anyone else get to see you act like this?” Your smile widened, the kind of smile that dared him to snap. “Maybe.”

He groaned, deep and frustrated and hungry. “Never again.” You slid your hands up his chest again, not to pull him close this time, but to push again. He stumbled backward, breath catching, and the back of his knees hit the couch. Before he could react, before he could even grab you, you shoved him lightly, confidently, and he dropped onto the cushions with a low, startled exhale. He stared up at you. Wide eyed. Chest rising fast. Every muscle in his body tightening like you’d just torn open a dream he’d never dared speak aloud.

You sank to your knees between his legs and Yunho’s breath stopped. Completely. His hands hovered in the air for a second like he didn’t know whether to touch you or dig his fingers into the couch to stay alive. His voice fractured. “Baby…” You looked up at him through your lashes, the soft glow of the living room lights catching the curve of your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the confidence rolling off you now that the tension had snapped in half. Then you set your hands on his knees, slowly sliding them up the strong lines of his thighs.

“Yunho,” you whispered, tilting your head just enough to make him curse under his breath. “You gonna let me taste you now?” He broke. Silently. Utterly. His head tipped back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second like he needed a physical reset to survive what you just said. Because this…. you on your knees for him, your voice like silk and sin, your hands sliding up his legs, your eyes lifted and full of intention… this was something he had imagined so many times he’d lost count.

When he finally looked down at you again, he looked ruined. Absolutely, beautifully ruined.

“Baby…” His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged across velvet. You squeezed his thighs lightly, leaning just a fraction closer. “You gonna let me or not?” His breath shuddered as you ran your hands higher, tracing the muscle through his jeans, and he spread his legs for you without thinking, like his body answered you before his mind could catch up. His fingers curled into the couch cushion. His voice dropped to something that vibrated through both of you. “I’ve pictured this…” His throat bobbed “so many times it should be illegal.”

Your smile was slow, wicked, pleased. “Good.” Your fingertips brushed the edge of his waistband. “Then enjoy the real thing.” Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut like the moment was too much, too overwhelming, too perfect to look at directly. You shifted closer on your knees. Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached for the button of his jeans. Your fingers brushed his stomach as you worked the button open, sliding the zipper down inch by inch. His muscles clenched under your touch, a soft groan slipping from him when the denim loosened around his hips.

You dragged the jeans down and froze. Not because of his reaction. Not because of the heat rolling off him. But because staring back at you…. were bright red Deadpool underwear. For a second, you just blinked. Then your lips parted. Then you nearly burst into laughter. Yunho looked down at you, confused at the sudden halt, his breath still ragged from moments before. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

You bit your lip hard, shoulders shaking and he followed your gaze downward. And immediately covered his face with one hand. “Oh my god,” he muttered through his fingers. “I forgot I wore those today.” You tried to hold it together. But the sight of this man, this ridiculously hot bartender who rode a motorcycle and had you coming apart on his bike…. sitting on the couch in comic book underwear… It was too much. A tiny giggle escaped. Then another.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide and sparkling as he groaned, dragging his hand down his face, cheeks a little flushed, ears red. “You’re killing me,” he said. “I’m trying to be….” A helpless gesture at himself. “this. And you’re laughing at my underwear.” You crawled closer, hands sliding up his thighs again, warmth returning to your gaze. “I’m not laughing,” you said, still fighting a smile. “I’m… charmed.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re absolutely laughing.”

You shook your head, leaning in until your lips brushed his inner thigh, your voice dropping to something low and wicked. “Yunho,” you murmured, “you being a nerd is one of the hottest things about you.” His entire body jolted as he lifted his head, stunned. “It is?” You nodded slowly, letting your teeth graze lightly against his skin. He sucked in a breath so sharp it shook. Then you looked up at him with a smile that could end civilizations. “Now,” you whispered, fingers hooking into the waistband of those ridiculous, wonderful Deadpool underwear… “let me take care of you, nerd.”

Yunho’s head fell back against the couch with a broken, breathless sound that said very clearly, you weren’t the only one who was about to lose it. You curled your fingers into the waistband of his Deadpool underwear, and Yunho’s whole body went still, lungs held, muscles tight, eyes locked on yours like he was bracing for impact as you dragged them down. Slowly. Too slowly for him. He lifted his hips for you without thinking, helping you tug them lower until they cleared his thighs and then you froze again.

Reality hit you like a warm, breath stealing shock. You’d always suspected. Every accidental brush against him when he walked around the apartment half dressed… every time he’d stepped out of the bathroom in just a towel… every morning he padded to the kitchen in loose sleep pants… every summer he’d worn swim trunks…. you always knew he was built for trouble. But seeing him now, fully, undeniably, no room for doubt….. Yeah. Your breath left your lungs in one slow, stunned wave. Your hands stilled on his thighs. Your lips parted. Your eyes widened before you could school your expression and Yunho noticed. He definitely noticed.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flush rising up his neck, and he let out a shaky, incredulous breath. “What?” he asked, voice low and breathless. “Why’d you stop?” You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. Not when all those little hints over the years had just crystallized into something very real and very impressive sitting there in front of you. You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks as you stared, his dick hard already, thick, long…. Yunho blinked again, slower this time, as realization dawned. A slow, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Hey…” he murmured, dropping one hand to cup your chin gently. “You okay?”

Your voice came out softer than you meant. “I just…. you’re big.” Bigger than anyone you ever been with before. His breath stuttered as his hand slipped from your chin, dragging through his hair in pure disbelief, cheeks flushing deep like he hadn’t prepared for that kind of honesty. “Oh,” he said, voice cracking faintly. “Uh… thanks?” You laughed softly, still a little breathless, still staring even though you tried not to. “You have no idea,” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly along his hip, “how many times I wondered…”

Yunho sucked in a breath like you’d touched him somewhere far more sensitive. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a delicious, sinful whisper. “Sweetheart,” he said, “if you look at me like that… I’m not going to last long.” You finally lifted your eyes to his. Bright. Warm. Wrecked. And the truth settled between you like gravity… all those accidental glimpses over the years? All those half noticed outlines in sweatpants, towels, pajama bottoms, trunks? None of them prepared you for this. None of them even came close. And Yunho was watching your reaction like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

You placed your hand on him, warm, soft, sure, and he made a sound so low it barely qualified as breathing. His fingers curled into the couch cushions, knuckles white, jaw tight like he was forcing himself not to grab you and guide your hand as you started to stroke him slowly at first. Exploring. Testing. Running your thumb over his tip. Watching every twitch of muscle in his stomach, every sharp inhale, every time his head fell back just a little too far. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, “please…”

Oh. So he was impatient. Interesting. You tightened your grip just a little, sliding your hand in a rhythm that made his hips jerk despite his attempt to keep still. He bit down on a quiet groan and pressed his head back into the cushion. “Yunho,” you teased softly, “relax.”

“I’m trying,” he said through a tight breath, “but you’re… you’re killing me.” Your smile turned slow and mischievous. Good. You shifted closer on your knees, bringing your face level with him, your fingers still working in that steady, deliberate rhythm that made his breathing uneven. Then you leaned in and let your tongue touch him. Just the tip. Barely a graze. A soft, warm flick that sent a violent shiver through his entire body. His hips bucked, just once, but he caught himself, gripping the couch so hard the fabric pulled under his fingers. “Baby….” His voice cracked on the word.

You did it again. And again. Each time a teasing tap of him against your tongue, like a dare as you looked up at him through your lashes, your voice warm and wicked. “Yunho,” you whispered, tapping him gently against your tongue once more, “are you the dominant type?” His eyes flew open. Dark. Heavy. Roughened with something deep and barely restrained. You tilted your head, still stroking him lazily with your hand as you dragged your tongue lightly along the edge of him, tracing at a vein. “Like to be in charge?”

He made a sound, low and absolutely broken, and his hand shot halfway toward your hair before he yanked it back, gripping the cushion instead. “I do,” he said, breath shaking violently, “but you’re not giving me a chance to act like it.” You smiled up at him, brushing your lips just barely over him in a way that made his entire body jolt. “That’s because,” you whispered, “I want to see how long you can behave.” Yunho groaned, head dropping back, chest rising fast. “If you keep doing that,” he warned softly, voice dripping heat and restraint, “I’m going to stop behaving.”

You dragged your tongue along him once more, slower this time. “Promise?” you murmured before finally taking him into your mouth. Yunho lasted about half a second before he snapped. His hand shot forward, fingers threading into your hair with a grip that wasn’t rough, but wasn’t gentle either. A grip that said he’d been holding himself back for too long and was suddenly done with that.

A shaky breath left him, his thighs tensing under your palms. “Oh… sweetheart…” His voice dropped so deep it vibrated through your whole body. “You have no idea what you just woke up.” You swallowed a little more of him, soft, teasing, testing and he groaned, loud this time, his head falling back against the couch before he dragged his gaze down to watch you. And what he saw? You on your knees, mouth around him, eyes lifted like a dare? It ruined him.

His grip tightened in your hair. Guiding. Controlling. Claiming. “Look at me.” You did. Your lips wrapped around him, your tongue tracing him in a way that made his breath break. His fingers curled more firmly in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Good girl,” he whispered, heat sinking into every syllable, “you take me so good.” Your pulse jumped and he noticed and smiled, dark, hungry, knowing. “You like that, don’t you?” His thumb stroked your cheek as he slowly guided your pace. “You like when I take control.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him swear quietly under his breath and his grip tightened. He didn’t force you but he directed you. Firm. Precise. Dominant in a way he’d clearly been behind closed doors. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice threaded with praise and something far filthier. “Just like that… don’t rush. I want to feel every second of your mouth on me.” You hollowed your cheeks a little, and he almost buckled. His free hand flexed against the couch cushion before sliding to your jaw again, thumb brushing your bottom lip where it stretched around him.

You took him deeper, just a little, and his hips jerked again despite himself. His hand instantly tightened in your hair and on your jaw. “Careful,” he warned, breath shaking as you pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing him in a way that made him curse. “Or what?” Something in him broke. A low, guttural sound left his throat. His hand in your hair wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was decisive. Possessive. He tilted your head up just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb brushing your lower lip again, voice warm and commanding. “Open.” You did, tongue out and his breath hitched.

“You listen so well when you’re on your knees for me,” he murmured. “Keep going, sweetheart. Let me feel that mouth.” And then he guided you down again. Firmer. Slower. Completely in control now. Your hands clutched his thighs, your breath warm against him, your mouth following the rhythm he built with his grip in your hair. Praise spilled from him in low, broken whispers. “Just like that. Perfect. You’re driving me insane. Mouth looks so good wrapped around me.”

You moaned around him, and his entire body jolted, his hand gripping harder at the sound. “Sweetheart…” he whispered, voice nearly unsteady, “I didn’t know you could be such a submissive brat…” His thumb traced your cheek as he guided you again, slower this time, savoring every second as you changed your rhythm. Slow at first… then deeper… then all the way, taking him until your lips brushed your knuckles and Yunho let out a sound that wasn’t even a word. His hand flew to your hair again, not pulling you down, just holding you like he needed the anchor.

You kept going, your mouth warm around him, your hands braced on his thighs as he struggled to keep his hips still. Every time you took him deep, his muscles jumped under your palms, his breath stuttering hard. He tried to keep talking. He tried. “You… god…“ You pulled back with a wet, slow slide that nearly made his eyes roll, catching your breath for a heartbeat before leaning in again, but this time, you stopped just shy of touching him.

Yunho blinked down at you, dazed, panting, already reaching for your jaw before he realized he was doing it. And that’s when you said it. “You gonna fuck my mouth,” you murmured, dragging your tongue in a slow, taunting line along him, “or are you just gonna keep talking while I do all the work?” Yunho froze. Absolutely still. A dangerous, electric stillness. His breath left his chest in a slow exhale, his head tilting, eyes darkening like a storm breaking open. Your lips brushed him again, teasing, testing. “I asked,” you whispered, “if you’re going to…”

He grabbed your chin, guiding your face upward until you were forced to look right into his blown out pupils. His thumb stroked your bottom lip, slow and claiming. “Say it,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer. “If you want me to use your mouth, sweetheart, you’re going to tell me.” He brushed his thumb across your lip again and your pulse kicked so hard you felt faint. “Go on,” he whispered, breath warm. “Ask nicely.”

You didn’t answer him with words. You rose up onto your knees, leaned in, and kissed him. Hard. Hungry. Your hand curled into his shirt, dragging him down toward you as your teeth caught his bottom lip, gently at first, then sharp enough to make his breath stutter. He groaned, low and broken, as you tugged his lip between your teeth before letting it snap free as you whispered it against his mouth, the words brushing his lips like a sin he’d begged for. “Fuck my mouth.”

Yunho didn’t breathe for a full second. Then he broke. His hand slid into your hair, gripping with purpose this time, tilting your head back just a little so he could look at you, really look at the pretty, reckless, bratty person on their knees asking for him to ruin them. A sound ripped from his throat, part laugh, part disbelief, part every dark fantasy he’d ever shoved down finally surging to the surface. In one smooth, decisive motion, he stood, guiding you with him, his hand firm in your hair but still careful, still letting you feel the difference between dominance and harshness.

His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you like you were the single most dangerous and irresistible thing he’d ever seen. “You think I haven’t imagined this?” he growled softly. “You think I haven’t thought about your mouth for years?” Your breath hitched as his grip tightened just slightly in your hair. “You want me to take over,” he murmured, his tone now a low, molten command. “You asked for it.” You swallowed and he smiled as you opened for him again.

His breath left him in a rough exhale, his fingers tightening in your hair as he guided you back toward him, angling your head just the way he wanted. “Good,” he whispered, voice thick, “just like that.” Then he moved. Slow at first, testing your rhythm, guiding your mouth down around him, letting the heat of you make his jaw clench. Then deeper. His grip in your hair was tight. He drew you in again, this time letting his hips meet the motion of your mouth. The sound he made, it wasn’t loud. It was quiet, wrecked, a breath ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“That’s it,” he rasped, adjusting the angle with a slow drag of his fingers in your hair. “Let me… yeah… just like that. Let me have you.” Your palms pressed against his thighs, feeling the way they tensed under your touch each time he guided you down, each time his control slipped just a little more. Your eyes met his and that broke the last piece of restraint he had. His hips rolled forward, shallow at first, then more deliberate, his hand tightening as he used your mouth with a steadily building rhythm.

“You’re unbelievable…” he breathed, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Letting me do this… letting me take you like I’ve wanted to…” He swallowed hard, breath shaking as he thrust again, deeper this time, his voice cracking as he noticed you reach down between your legs and start rubbing at your clit. You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him so sharply he nearly doubled over.

His hand flexed in your hair, guiding your pace just a little faster, each movement more precise, more desperate, his control slipping in the most intoxicating way as you grinding against your own hand, mouth full of him. “Look at you…” he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved again. He groaned as you sucked, moaning around him, a sound that shot straight through you, and his hand tightened as he thrust into your mouth with a pace that made your eyes flutter. “That’s it… take it… you wanted this…” Another thrust. Another groan. His breath hitched.

Yunho was already losing it. Your mouth, your pace, the way your eyes lifted to meet his every time he thrust forward, your own fingers now buried inside yourself…. he was hanging on by a thread thinner than breath. His rhythm stuttered, hips tightening as pleasure built sharp and fast along his spine. His hand loosened in your hair, his hips beginning to retreat, instinct and conscience fighting for control…. but you didn’t let him. Your hands slid up his thighs, firm, steady, bracing him exactly where he was as you leaned in and took him deeper.

His breath left him in a ragged sound that didn’t even resemble his usual voice. “Wait…. Y/N…” You didn’t stop. Your mouth wrapped around him again, slow at first, then stronger, your tongue working him with the kind of deliberate pressure that destroyed whatever resolve he had left. His knees buckled as you hollowed your cheeks and he broke. Absolutely, completely broke. A strained gasp ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening in your hair as his head fell back against the couch, his whole body trembling as the wave hit him, hot, overwhelming, shuddering through him with nowhere to go except into your waiting mouth.

You swallowed. And his world stopped. His breath hitched hard. His hand froze in your hair. His other hand braced on the top of your like he needed to keep himself upright. “Sweetheart…” His voice was wrecked, unsteady, reverent and disbelieving. “You’re…” You swallowed again, slow and deliberate, your eyes on him the entire time. He made another broken sound, something between a groan and a prayer as you finally let him slip from your mouth with a slow drag, your lips swollen, your breathing warm and uneven. His body was still trembling, his jaw slack as he stared down at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then rose onto your knees just a little, close enough that he could feel your breath against his lower stomach. His vision dimmed as you looked up at him with the softest, filthiest smile he’d ever seen. “Worth the wait?” Yunho didn’t give you an answer. The moment you finished speaking, he grabbed your waist and pulled you up from the floor and straight into his lap with a force that was all instinct, all need. You landed straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips, your chest pressed into his, both of you breathless and shaking from what you’d just done to him.

His mouth crashed into yours. Not sweet. Not cautious. A hungry, desperate kiss that tasted like surrender and years of wanting you in silence. His hands slid under your skirt immediately, palms hot on the back of your thighs as he pulled you closer, pressing you flush against him and you felt it. His length, still sensitive from the way he’d lost himself in your mouth, still thick and hard beneath you, pulsing against the heat between your legs. You let out a soft, involuntary sound right into his mouth and he groaned in response, a wrecked, high sound he’d never made in front of anyone before, and pulled your hips down against him like he couldn’t get you close enough.

You rocked into him once. Just once. And his breath broke as you reached down between your bodies, your fingers sliding along the rigid shape of him through the open front of his underwear. His whole body shuddered as you angled him, your breath warm against his cheek. “I need you now,” you whispered, raw and shaking. And while he was still trying to process that, you used his length to nudge your panties aside. Yunho’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack as you began to sink down onto him. Slow at first, just enough for the stretch to steal your breath, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lowered yourself onto him.

Yunho whimpered. Actually whimpered, a soft, strangled sound of pure overload as his hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned, head tipping back as your body adjusted around him, the sheer fullness making your thighs tremble. He was big. And inside you fully now, every inch seated so deep you felt him pulse. “Yunho…” you breathed, voice breaking. “God you…. you feel so good….” He squeezed his eyes shut like he needed a second to survive the sensation, his forehead pressing to your collarbone as his breath trembled. “Baby,” he whispered, almost laughing from disbelief, “you’re perfect… too perfect”

You rolled your hips once. Just once. And he let out a low, helpless sound into your skin, fingers tightening on your hips hard enough to anchor him. He looked up at you then, eyes blown wide, face flushed, hair falling into his forehead as you sank down again, taking him even deeper. Slow still, testing the stretch, savoring the depth, then faster, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lifted and dropped onto him with a rhythm that was pure instinct.

Yunho’s mouth fell open. No sound at first. Just this stunned, undone expression, like he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his best friend, the person he’s loved since he was seventeen, was riding him like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Then the sounds came. Quiet, strangled, breathless groans as every downward motion pulled another broken noise out of him. You didn’t slow. You picked up speed, your hips slamming down onto him with a pace that nearly knocked the air out of both of you, the wet heat of you taking him again and again while he tried to hold himself together and failed spectacularly.

His hands flew to your waist, trying to anchor you, trying to steady you, trying to survive you as you slammed down again. He swore, head falling back, voice cracking with the sheer intensity of feeling you so tight, so warm, so desperate for him. You grabbed the back of his neck, panting into his mouth as you moved on him harder. “I can’t…. I can’t stop… you feel too good…..”

“Alright,” he breathed, standing up so fast you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he lifted you with his hands locked under your thighs. Your body stayed connected to his, still full of him, still pulsing around him. You clung to his shoulders, breath catching as the new angle made him hit deeper. He groaned, a deep, shattered sound, and thrust up into you once, hard and your whole body shook. “Y/N,” he rasped against your ear, walking you backward toward the hall with your body bouncing on him with every step, “if you keep taking me like that, I’m not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You whimpered as he thrust into you again mid step, the impact stealing every bit of breath from your lungs. He tightened his grip on you, his steps heavy, determined, each one punctuated with another deep thrust that made you cling harder to him. “Which room?” he panted against your neck, kissing the skin there in desperate, open mouthed presses. “Yours? Mine? Sweetheart, pick fast, because I’m about to lose it…”

You moaned into his shoulder, your voice barely holding together as he kept pounding into you while walking. “Yours…” you breathed. “take me to yours….” He let out a low, grateful, ruined sound. And then he did. He slammed his bedroom door open with his foot, carried you inside without stopping. He carried you straight to his bed, your legs locked tight around his waist, your mouth on his like you were both trying to make up for every year you went without touching each other.

He didn’t let you down. Not even for a second. His hands stayed under your thighs, holding you up with so much strength it made your breath catch, and while you were kissing him, messy and desperate, he was already thrusting up into you again. Hard. Deep. The kind of rhythm that made your whole body jolt in his arms. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand clawing at his shoulders as every motion pushed a broken sound out of you. His breath shook against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he moved inside you with the kind of pent up hunger that had been waiting almost a decade.

“Yunho….” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I… you’re….”

“I know,” he panted against your mouth, lifting you higher just to slam up into you again. “Baby, I know. I’ve got you. Hold on to me.” You tried to kiss him back, you really did, but your voice kept breaking, every thrust stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Your legs started trembling around him. He felt it instantly. His hands tightened around your thighs, supporting all your weight as he thrust into you even slower, deeper, dragging a sound out of you that made him shudder.

“That’s it,” he whispered into your neck, kissing your skin between breaths. “Come for me. I can feel you…. please…” Your legs locked around him, your nails digging into his back as your whole body tightened, the pleasure snapping so sharply it dragged a helpless cry out of you. “Yunho!” He held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back now, the other gripping your thigh so tightly he was probably leaving marks, thrusting you through the wave, kissing your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he could reach.

Your climax hit hard, too hard, and your body jerked in his arms, your breath breaking into little gasps. You clung to him, shaking uncontrollably as he kept moving, kept whispering against your skin, kept holding you like you were something precious that finally, finally belonged to him. When the pleasure crested, your body tensed again with the aftershock, and that’s when he lifted you. Pulled you up, your back arching as he slid out of you, and the moment he did, your release spilled over. A sharp, sudden rush.

Yunho froze mid breath. His mouth dropped open, eyes going wide as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way your thighs trembled, the way liquid hit his stomach, the bed, the floor, everywhere, squirting. “Y/N….” his voice cracked, nearly a whisper, “holy…” You weren’t even fully aware, your head was buried in his shoulder, trembling, barely holding on. He held you through all of it. Strong arms around your back. One hand cradling your spine. His breath shaking against your ear.

You were shaking so hard he lifted you and set you gently onto the bed, brushing your hair from your face, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked wrecked. And in love. And hungry for more. His palm slid up your spine, warm and grounding, before he cupped your cheek and tilted your face toward his. His eyes were soft now, not tame, never tame, but softened with something deeper. Something reverent. Then he kissed you. Slow this time. Deep. Unhurried, like he wanted to learn every shape your mouth could make against his.

He guided you backward until your head hit his pillows, his body hovering over yours, still panting lightly from everything you’d just done to him. His hand stroked down your side, over the curve of your waist, lingering like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this. You were still catching your breath when his mouth left yours, traveling down your jaw, your throat, the line between your collarbones. He kissed every inch he passed, like he was memorizing the map of your skin. When he reached the edge of your green top, the one he’d been staring at all night at the bar, trying and failing not to imagine taking it off, he paused. His fingers slid along the hem. “This,” he murmured against your skin, a smile tugging at his lips, “has been driving me insane since the moment you walked in.”

You felt heat rush through you all over again as he lifted his head just enough to look into your eyes as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, palms warm against your ribs. He gathered the bottom of your top slowly, not ripping, not rushing, just savoring the moment. His knuckles brushed your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed, his lips soft and lingering, like he was blessing your skin with his breath. When he finally lifted the top over your head, he sat back on his heels for a moment, eyes washing over you with a slow, reverent hunger. Then he leaned in again, kissing the newly exposed skin above your chest, down your sternum, across your stomach, his pace maddeningly slow.

His hands moved to your skirt, thumbs stroking the waistband with agonizing patience. He looked up at you. “This little skirt,” he murmured, lips brushing your hip, “nearly got me fired tonight.” You laughed breathlessly, and he smiled like he’d been waiting to hear that sound in this context for years. Then, gently, his fingers curled into the waistband of your skirt and slid it the rest of the way down your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs as it pooled on the floor. His hands roamed upward, slow, reverent, mapping the curves of your hips, your waist, your stomach, like he couldn’t believe you were really lying naked on his bed for him.

You reached for him, breathless and wanting. He didn’t let you though. He caught your wrist gently, eyes dark and soft all at once. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered against the inside of your knee, “I’m not done looking at you.” You trembled as he sat back on his heels then, chest rising and falling harder than before. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs under the band of his underwear and shoved them and his pants on down and completely off with a single sweep of his foot. His shirt was next. He grabbed the back of it, yanked it over his head, and tossed it somewhere toward the corner of the room without looking.

Then he looked at you again. Every muscle in his arms, chest, stomach tight and tense with the kind of restraint he didn’t usually need but absolutely needed right now. “My turn,” he murmured, voice lower than it had been all night. Before you could speak, he reached for your hips with both hands and pulled you across the sheets like you weighed nothing. You let out a startled sound as he shifted your body, repositioning you exactly where he wanted you, near the edge of the mattress. Your back hit the pillows. Your legs parted instinctively. And that was when you realized what he was doing. He climbed onto the bed, grip firm on your hips as he slid beneath you, guiding your thighs over his shoulders and your breath hitched. “Yunho…”

“Come here,” he said, voice rough, hungry. “I want you right here.” He pulled you forward with a strength that made your stomach flip, adjusting your legs so your knees framed his head, your thighs tensing around his ears as he settled between them. You tried to lift yourself up, nerves sparking through your entire body. He didn’t let you. His palms pressed to the outside of your thighs, warm, steady, holding you exactly where he wanted.

“Baby,” he murmured, looking up at you from between your legs like you were something holy, “sit.” Your breath caught. “You want me to…”

“Yes,” he said, grip tightening just enough to make your pulse jump. “I want you to ride my face.” Heat flooded you so sharply you swayed. He noticed, and his smile turned slow and dangerous. “You did all that to me tonight…” his thumbs stroked your trembling thighs, “now you’re going to let me take care of you.” He pulled you down that final inch, just enough for you to feel the warm brush of his breath against your pussy.

At first, you didn’t move. Not because you didn’t want to. Because the moment his mouth touched you, your whole body jolted like you’d been plugged into something electric. His fingers tightened on your thighs, his tongue easing you open with soft, slow strokes. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t greedy. Not yet. He was savoring you. Letting you adjust to the feeling of his mouth exactly where he’d wanted you for years.

Your hands slid into his hair, your hips hovering just a little, breath catching on every measured, deliberate stroke of him beneath you. “Sweetheart…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low against your skin, “come on… don’t hold back from me.” You trembled. Then you rolled your hips once. Just once. And his entire body reacted. A deep sound vibrated into you, half moan, half gratitude, half finally, his hands shooting up to grip your thighs and pull you down more firmly onto his mouth.

You gasped, your knees tightening around his head as he licked deeper, firmer, his tongue finding a rhythm meant to unravel you slowly. Your breath broke into little stutters as you moved again, a little faster this time. And then a little more faster. His moan rang through you like a shockwave. That’s when you gave in. When instinct took over. You started riding his face in earnest, building a rhythm that felt too good, too addictive, his mouth guiding you, meeting every movement with hungry precision.

Your thighs shook around his head. Your breath tangled in your throat. His grip tightened until you could feel his fingerprints warming your skin. He moaned again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating straight through your core. Tongue thrusting in and out of you. His hands slid to your hips, anchoring you, pulling you down so he could taste you deeper, sloppier, needier. He was losing it. But so were you.

You rode his mouth harder now, the same way you clung to him on the back of his bike, reckless, breathless, completely uninhibited. Your hips rocked against his lips, chasing every stroke of his tongue, your moans getting louder with every pass. His dick twitched helplessly between his legs, aching, pulsing, untouched and desperate. He wasn’t focused on his pleasure right now, he didn’t even care, he was obsessed with yours.

His fingers dug into your hips as you smirked down at him, riding his face harder, your voice thin and taunting and desperate all at once. “You’ve… you’ve been wanting this for years, haven’t you?” He moaned so loudly the bed shook. You laughed breathlessly, grinding down again. “Yeah… I can tell.” That broke him. His mouth grew hungrier, his tongue firmer, his grip tightening as he devoured you like you were the only thing on earth that could keep him alive. You cried out as his pace matched yours, as if he was urging you to lose yourself again, begging silently for it.

Your legs were shaking again.

Your hips were stuttering. The room was spinning. And he held you there, mouth open, tongue eager, moaning into you like he’d die if you stopped. “Yunho…” you gasped, fingers fisting his hair, body trembling…. and he pulled you down harder, his voice a low, feral growl against your skin. “Come for me.”

Something in you broke loose. You tightened your grip in his hair, planted your knees around his head, and rode his face like your life depended on it. Your hips moved with frantic, desperate need now, grinding against his mouth with a rhythm that made his breath hitch under you.He didn’t shy away. He held you there, fingers digging into your hips, arms strong and steady as he met every movement with his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper, firmer, hungrier. Your thighs were trembling so hard they shook the bed. Your breath came in broken, wild bursts. Your voice kept slipping out of you, soft at first, then louder, then barely even words.

He moaned into you. A deep, low sound that vibrated through your entire body and stole the last of your control. You screamed. Not a cute little moan. Not a gasp. A broken scream, your hands flying as your whole body arched forward, collapsing around the sensation of his tongue driving you straight over the edge. The wave hit hard, fast, sharp, your thighs locking desperately around his head as your release shook through you in violent pulses. But Yunho didn’t let you pull away. He held you down, hands tight on your hips, keeping you on his mouth as your body convulsed through the orgasm. His tongue kept moving, slow strokes, deep pushes, little circles that dragged every last ounce of pleasure out of you.

Your scream dissolved into choked cries, your body jerking uncontrollably as overstimulation hit. He groaned into you again, arms tightening, pulling you down harder onto his mouth, refusing to let you escape the intensity. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. Every tremor, every sound, every ounce of pleasure he could force out of you. Your hips bucked. Your hands flew to his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him away or hold him there forever.

His tongue pressed deep into you, deliberate and slow, and another wave hit, smaller than the first but just as overwhelming, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cried out again. He finally eased up but didn’t stop. He gave one more slow, hungry stroke with his tongue before kissing the inside of your thigh, breathing hard against your trembling skin. You collapsed forward, hands catching on the sheets, your body still twitching with aftershocks.

Your legs were still trembling when Yunho pulled you into his arms, breathing hard, kissing your shoulder, grounding you after the intensity he’d just pulled out of you. But you weren’t done. Not even close. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell in uneven breaths. You kissed him once, slow, deep, savoring the taste of yourself still faint on his lips, then you pulled back and let your mouth trail along his jaw. His breath caught instantly. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as your lips traced the sharp line of his jawbone,

Your mouth drifted lower, kissing down the strong column of his neck, lingering on his pulse until you felt it jump beneath your lips. Yunho groaned, quiet, helpless. Your tongue traced a slow path over the spot, and you felt him shudder. Then you nipped him. A sharp, teasing bite right where his neck met his shoulder. You smiled against his skin and did it again, slower this time, teeth dragging just enough to make his breath stutter, your tongue following to soothe the sting. He cursed under his breath as your kisses drifted down, moving from his neck to his collarbone, then lower to the broad expanse of his chest. His hand slid into your hair, not to stop you, just to feel you, to guide you without forcing as you pressed your lips to his sternum.

He let out a low, shaky sigh. Then your mouth moved left, soft kisses, slow licks, and you paused right over his nipple. Yunho’s breath hitched violently. He tried to hold still. He failed. Your tongue glided across it, light and teasing, and his whole body jerked like you’d hit a nerve wired straight to his spine. You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Sensitive?” You smirked and his jaw clenched. And you sank down again. This time, you opened your mouth around him, slow, warm, deliberate, letting your tongue circle before you bit. Not hard. Just enough to make his breath break. Then you tugged.

Yunho growled. A deep, low sound that vibrated through his whole chest and made his hand fist in your hair with a groan. He sat up so fast you gasped, his hand sliding down your back to grip your hips with dark, hungry intent. And you moved. Quick. Fluid. Laughing breathlessly as you slipped right out of his grip. “Y/N…” he warned, voice low and dangerous, “don’t you dare….” You backed away from him across the bed, eyes locked with his, a wicked glint flashing through yours. He lunged forward to grab you and you dodged him, giggling. “Come on,” you teased softly, backing toward the foot of the bed, “you’re faster than that… aren’t you?”

You turned around, bending over the foot of his bed, hands braced on the comforter, your back arched, your hips lifting high… and you gave your ass a slow, taunting shake. Yunho froze like you’d hit him with a stun gun. His breath left him in one sharp exhale as you looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with the most bratty grin he’d ever seen in his life. “What’s wrong” you asked sweetly, rolling your hips again.

That was it. That was the last thread of restraint holding him together. Yunho stepped toward you like a predator who’d finally cornered his prey, slow, deliberate, every muscle tight with hunger. His dick hung heavy and aching between his legs, twitching with every step as he stalked closer. “Brat.” he murmured, voice dropping to something dark and sinful as you wiggled your hips again, teasing, inviting, wicked.

He made a sound in his throat, half groan, half disbelieving laugh, and closed the last steps between you in a heartbeat. His hand came down on your hip, gripping hard, pulling your hips higher. “So this is how you want it?” he growled behind you, chest rising against your back as he pressed close without entering you yet. “Bent over my bed… shaking yourself at me like you want to be ruined?” You pushed back against him, just enough to feel the warm, hard pressure of him along your backside. He inhaled sharply. “Yunho…” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge, “do it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to move. He grabbed your waist with both hands. Pinned you there. And you could feel him, hot, throbbing, ready, sliding along your entrance in a slow drag that made your whole body jolt. He groaned against your spine. He didn’t push inside you. Not yet. Instead, he slid forward just enough for the warm length of him to press against your entrance, then he dragged upward. Slow. Teasing. The entire length of him gliding along your folds, up to your lower back, then back down again.

Your breath hitched so sharply your knees almost buckled. “Yunho…” you gasped, pushing back instinctively and he grinned. A dark, wicked, triumphant grin you’d never seen on him before. “Impatient now?” he murmured, dragging himself along you again, slower, deliberate, letting the head of him catch and slide in a way that made your whole body quake. “Where’s all that brattiness you had a second ago?”

You pushed back harder this time, trying to make him slip into you, but he held your hips still, refusing to let you take control. “Let me…” your voice cracked, frustration spilling into the moan, “Yunho, stop teasing…..” He laughed softly. “Sweetheart… you started this.” He lifted his hips and dragged himself along you again, this time pressing a little firmer, just enough to make you gasp and arch your back, chasing him. You pushed back again, desperate now. And that’s when he did it. His hand slipped off your hip, and came down on your ass in a sharp, firm smack.

Your moan hit the room instantly, loud, broken, shocked, and somehow needier than anything you’d made yet. Yunho went still. Absolutely still. “Oh my god,” he whispered, staring at the way your body responded, “you liked that.” You were already pushing back again, voice breathless. “Baby…. do it again… please…..”

His breath left him in a ragged groan. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered and brought his hand down again. Harder. Your whole body jolted forward, a desperate sound ripping from your throat as your back arched beautifully for him. You looked back over your shoulder, eyes dark, lips parted, a sinful little smile tugging at them. “Give it to me.”

Yunho grabbed your hips, hard, positioned himself exactly where he wanted you and you could feel the head of him press right against your entrance, no more teasing, no more dragging, just pure, trembling need about to snap. He leaned over you, chest against your back, voice breaking against your ear. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “hold on.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your elbows bending as your back arched, your fingers clenching at the sheets. The stretch hit deep and slow, your body tightening around him with a heat that made his jaw go slack.

He pushed deeper and your knees trembled as inch after inch filled you, his breath shaking against your spine, one hand locked on your hip to keep you steady. Then he bottomed out. A soft, helpless sound left you and a broken, guttural one ripped from him. “God…” he whispered, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades, “you feel unreal.” His free hand slid up your back. Slow. Possessive. Tracing your spine with aching precision, like he wanted to memorize every curve of you. The warmth of his palm trailed higher, over your ribs, between your shoulder blades, up the back of your neck…. until his fingers slipped into your hair.

He kissed the back of your shoulder once, like he needed something to ground him as you pushed your hips back the slightest inch. He groaned, then he pulled out, slow, deep, the friction making your whole body tense, before he thrust back in. Hard. Your mouth fell open, a moan ripping out of you as your hands clawed at the sheets. Yunho’s grip in your hair tightened, guiding your head down slightly, angling you perfectly for him. “Sweetheart…” he breathed, thrusting again, deeper this time, “you’re gripping me so tight….” Another thrust. Your knees nearly buckled. He held you up with both hands, one gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair, and set a steady, powerful rhythm that had your breath stuttering with every movement.

Each time he drove into you, your ass met his hips with a sound that made him curse into your shoulder. Your voice broke into little gasps, each one pushing him closer to losing control. He leaned over you, chest flush against your back, his hand in your hair tightening as he thrust harder, deeper, the pleasure building in both of you like a tide that couldn’t be stopped. “That’s it…” he panted, kissing your shoulder, your neck, anything he could reach, “take it… take all of me….”

You moaned his name, desperate, breathless and his pace quickened, his grip in your hair anchoring you exactly where he wanted you as he thrust into you harder, your body pushing back on instinct, matching him with need that felt like it was burning through every nerve you had. “Yunho…” you gasped, voice breaking, “don’t stop….” His hand fisted your hair tighter, pulling your head back just enough for his lips to graze your ear as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, your body catching every movement, your breath breaking, his rhythm so relentless you could barely hold yourself up.

He felt it. The tremble in your legs. The way you tried to brace on the sheets but kept sinking. The way your sounds came out thin and wrecked. He slipped the hand in your hair lower… down your spine… around your waist… And then he pulled. You gasped as he dragged you upright, your back slamming against his chest, his hips still snapping up into you from behind, harder now with the new angle, your whole body jolting against him. Your head fell back onto his shoulder with a cry. His breath hit your ear, hot and ragged. “Look at you…” he groaned, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. “Can’t even hold yourself up for me anymore.”

Your hands flew back, gripping his thighs, your body arching with every sharp thrust. He shifted his grip, his fingers sliding up, up, until his hand curled gently, firmly, around your throat. You exhaled a broken sound the second you felt it and Yunho groaned like the air punched out of him. His thumb stroked the side of your neck, slow and possessive, while his other hand gripped your hip, dragging you down onto him each time his hips surged up.

His grip tightened just enough to claim, not restrain, his breath trembling as he pressed his forehead to the side of your head. “You’re mine.” The words hit you harder than his thrusts. You cried out, back arching, your walls tightening around him so suddenly his rhythm faltered and he let out a strangled moan. He thrust up again, harder, his hand tightening on your throat as he held you against him, your body bouncing on his with every sharp movement. “You hear me?” he growled into your ear, voice shredded. “Mine.”

Your legs gave out entirely but he didn’t let you fall. His arm locked around your torso, his hand at your throat keeping your head tilted, your back arched beautifully for him as he pounded up into you with a rhythm that shook the bed. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, desperate and hungry between breaths. “Say it,” he groaned, his hips snapping up with a force that made you scream. “Tell me who you belong to.” You sobbed against him, breathless, shaking, undone. “Y… Yunho….”

His grip on your throat tightened. His hips slammed up into you again. “Say it.” You tried to breathe. To speak. To hold onto something solid. But all that came out was a choked, cracked sob, “Y… you… I’m yours….” Yunho broke. A sound tore out of him, his hand tightening at your throat in pure instinct before he released you entirely, catching your waist with both hands. “Baby…” he gasped, “come here…..” He pulled out of you so fast your knees buckled. Before you could fall, he turned you over, flipping your trembling body onto your back like you weighed nothing. His mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was desperate and breathless and warm, like he was trying to swallow every ounce of those words you’d just given him.

His hands cupped your face. Your thighs wrapped around his hips instinctively. Your chest rose and fell in broken breaths as his lips devoured yours. He kissed you like he’d waited a decade for this moment, like he couldn’t believe he finally heard you say it. Then, without breaking the kiss, he slid one hand down your stomach. Lower. Between your thighs. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers parted you gently, your pussy still trembling from everything he’d done to you on his face and from just moments ago. He pulled back just enough to breathe your air and look into your eyes. “Let me feel you,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

His other hand reached down, wrapped around his dick, and you could see it twitch in his grip, still soaked, still achingly hard. He dragged himself along your folds, slow, teasing, pressing his hips forward so you felt every ridge of him slide against your clit. You gasped, choking on a moan. He kept going. Up. Down. Dragging himself over you again and again in slow, sinful strokes meant to unravel what little sense you had left. The friction hit you like lightning. Your thighs spasmed. Your breath broke. Your fingers tightened desperately around his wrist as you shook your head helplessly.

He grinned, a dark, breathless, hungry thing, and pressed himself against you a little harder, moving his hips in deliberate circles. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing you again, swallowing the sound you made, “come for me.” You did. Violently. Suddenly. A rush that ripped through your stomach and your legs and your spine all at once. Your whole body arched off the bed, hands clamping around his wrist so hard he groaned, your voice breaking into a desperate, shaking cry.

And Yunho watched you fall apart with awe carved into every line of his face. “That’s it…” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth as your climax pulsed through you, “give it to me… all of it…” You collapsed back into the pillows, trembling uncontrollably, still clinging to his wrist as aftershocks shook through you. He leaned over you, forehead touching yours, breath hot and uneven, his dick still pressed against you. He lifted your leg. Then the other. Spreading you open beneath him, your thighs soft and shaking, your breath thin and uneven as he positioned himself between them. “Y/N…” he whispered, staring down at where your bodies met, “look at you.”

His voice cracked as he lined himself up with one slow drag of his hips, the head of him brushing your sensitive entrance and your whole body jolted. You clutched at the sheets as his hand slid to your inner thigh, thumb stroking gently as he whispered, “Hold yourself open for me.” You grabbed your thighs, spreading yourself wider, exposing every soft, trembling part of you. Yunho inhaled sharply, a sound that came from somewhere deep and starved as he pressed forward. Slow. Deep. You felt every inch of him glide into you, the stretch making your legs shake all over again, your mouth falling open in a soundless cry. Your walls fluttered, still oversensitive, still pulsing from your last climax.

He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, both of you breathless and shaking for different reasons. Your body clung to him, a warm, tight drag that made both of you gasp. And Yunho looked down. He shouldn’t have. Because the second he saw the way your body clutched around him, the way you glistened around his length, the way you pulled him back in like you couldn’t let go, his voice broke into a helpless moan. “Baby… you….” He pushed in again. Your body welcomed him with a soft, involuntary squeeze that made his knees tremble as you started to cream around him.

A soft, wet bloom each time he pulled back, coating him, marking him, pulling him deeper with every glide. Yunho’s head dropped back. “Oh my god…” he gasped, voice strained and thick, hand tightening on your thigh. He thrust again, not hard, but deep enough to feel the way you fluttered and coated him even more. He looked down again. And groaned. Long. Low. Destroyed. Your legs shook uncontrollably. His thrusts grew a little faster now, still deep, still deliberate, but driven by the sight of you softening and creaming around him with every movement. He was hypnotized. Completely undone.

His voice dropped into a broken whisper. “You’re mine… all of this… all of you… mine…” And he kept watching you take him. Again. And again. And again. He couldn’t look away from the way your body took him, couldn’t look away from the way you coated him, pulled him back in, squeezed around him like you were made exactly for him. But then your voice hit him. A soft, helpless sound. A broken whimper of his name. His head lifted. Your legs shook around his hips. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders. Your lips parted in a cry you couldn’t hold back. And suddenly teasing you, watching you, none of that was enough.

He needed you close. Needed you right here. Yunho leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearms until his forehead pressed against yours, your noses brushing, your breaths mixing, your bodies fully connected. Your hands flew up, gripping his biceps, dragging him closer with a desperate little sob. His next thrust hit deep. You gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering, body trembling around him. His forehead pressed harder to yours, his voice cracking against your lips. His breath broke. He thrust again, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room, your cries getting louder, your nails sinking into his back.

“Fuck….” he gasped, hips stuttering, “I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands trembled around his shoulders. Your eyes filled with something hotter than lust as you choked on a sob. “Yunho… I…..” But he kept going. Deep hard thrusts that pushed the air from your lungs, his voice shaking with each one. “I love you.”

Your voice broke completely. “Yunho…. please… please come for me….. come inside me…” He groaned, a sound so deep and undone it vibrated against your chest. You cupped his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was wet, messy, desperate, tears slipping from the intensity, “I love you… please….. come…” Your body clenched. Hard. So suddenly you screamed, arching into him, your release hitting like a tidal wave ripping through every nerve in your body. Your legs locked around his waist. Your nails dragged down his back. Your voice broke into a sobbed, “I… love….. you…”

Yunho shattered. A strangled moan tore from his throat as he thrust once, twice, a final, desperate, deep surge, and he spilled into you with a cry of your name, his whole body shaking, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his voice wrecked. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing you shakily, “I love you…. god, I love you so fucking much…”

You pulled him into you completely, bodies tangled, hearts pounding, both of you still trembling from the aftershocks. And he stayed there. Inside you. Against you. Wrapped around you. Like he’d finally found home.

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Monday morning sunlight stretched across the quiet street as Yunho’s bike rumbled into the school parking lot, a low, steady purr that made heads turn before anyone even saw you. Lisa was outside with her coffee.

Three teachers were talking by the door. A handful of students lingered on the sidewalk waiting for the bell.

Totally normal morning.

Except… not at all.

Because everyone knew the routine by now, Yunho giving you rides to work wasn’t new. They’d watched you hop off his bike for a couple weeks now, helmet hair and shy smiles, insisting you were “just friends.”

Except today wasn’t that.

Today, when Yunho parked and cut the engine, you didn’t hop off right away. Your fingers lingered on his stomach, your chest pressed to his back just a little longer than necessary. You finally swung your leg over and slid to the ground, tugging the helmet off with a soft breath. Your hair fell, messy from the wind and the weekend, but glowing in the morning sun.

A couple of students nudged each other. Lisa blinked into her coffee like she needed a caffeine reset as you handed Yunho the helmet. He took it. Then paused. Slowly, he removed his own helmet, shaking out his hair, that stupidly attractive half wet, half tousled look falling perfectly into place. And then he grabbed you. Not roughly. Not for show. Just with a certainty that said, mine, in a way that rewired the entire parking lot.

He tugged you forward by the waist, your bodies colliding, and kissed you, deep, warm, claiming, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because you’d already given it a thousand times between Saturday night and that morning. You let out a soft sound against his mouth and reached up, gripping his chin in your fingers, tilting his face just the way you liked.

That tiny motion? It ended the parking lot. A chorus of shocked whispers rippled through the air. Lisa choked so hard on her coffee she had to turn around. One of the teachers dropped her tote bag. A senior literally said, “BRO?” loud enough to echo. And one girl muttered, “I KNEW IT,” with her whole chest.

Yunho only kissed you deeper before he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, thumbs brushing your hips as he whispered, low enough for only you, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

You smirked, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip. “Pick me up after work?”

He grinned slow and wicked.

“Count on it.”

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[yungistiny]

offices of jeong and beg for it

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which for seven years the two of you played denial and hate until you’re forced to work together and that thread of tension snaps

warning: possessive switch yunho, switch reader, unprotected sex, edging, multiple orgasms, mirror sex, oral, squirting, creampie

pairing: yunho x afab reader

genre: smut

word count: 12k

masterlist

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Chicago in the spring was a liar. The calendar claimed winter was over, but the wind whipping between the glass towers downtown still carried enough bite to make people regret leaving their coats at home. The streets below were packed with commuters balancing coffee cups and briefcases, traffic crawling through the Loop beneath a sky painted in shades of pale gray.

Twenty floors above it all, the offices of Jeong & Partners were already alive. Assistants hurried through hallways carrying files. Junior associates practically sprinted toward conference rooms. Partners barked orders before most people had finished their first cup of coffee. And somewhere in the middle of the controlled chaos, you were running late. Again.

The elevator doors slid open and you stepped out, laptop tucked against your side, heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floors. Your outfit was simple, professional, and entirely appropriate for one of Chicago’s most prestigious law firms. A fitted black turtleneck disappeared beneath the lapels of your coat while a tailored plaid skirt hugged your figure, paired with sheer black tights and heels that made navigating the city feel like a competitive sport. You barely looked up as you crossed the bullpen.

You had a deposition in three hours. A mountain of discovery documents on your desk. Three emails from a partner marked urgent. And absolutely no patience for anyone before your first coffee. Unfortunately for you, someone was already watching. From behind the glass walls of a corner office overlooking the city skyline, Yunho looked up from the contract spread across his desk the second you appeared. Like always. It was embarrassing at this point. Years later and he still did it. Every morning. Every damn time.

The moment you stepped onto the floor his attention automatically found you. His eyes followed your path through the office, taking in the familiar sight of you weaving around desks and associates with barely a glance in their direction. His jaw tightened slightly as the skirt moved with every confident step, forcing himself to look away before someone noticed him staring at your ass. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. Because apparently seven years wasn’t enough time to get over a crush. Not law school. Not graduation. Not working together for almost three years. Nothing helped. If anything, seeing you every day only made it worse. Far worse.

A sharp knock pulled him from his thoughts as his assistant stepped into the office. “Jeong, the Montgomery files.” Yunho looked down at the documents in front of him. “Thanks.” The assistant left and Yunho immediately looked back toward your office. Pathetic. Actually pathetic and he knew it. His father knew it. Half the damn firm probably knew it. Yet there he was. Still watching. Still hopeless. Still completely screwed. Then his mood darkened. Because Danny appeared. The new associate. Fresh out of Northwestern. Too eager. Too friendly. And unfortunately very interested in you.

Yunho watched as Danny crossed the floor carrying two coffees. One for himself and one for you. His jaw immediately clenched as Danny stopped outside your office just as you reached your desk. You looked up from your laptop and he flashed a smile, said something Yunho couldn’t hear. Then handed you the coffee and your smile appeared. And Yunho nearly snapped the pen in his hand. The worst part wasn’t even that Danny liked you. Everybody liked you. That wasn’t new. The problem was Danny had the confidence to actually do something about it. While Yunho had spent years pretending he wasn’t completely obsessed.

From your office, you accepted the coffee with a grateful smile and Danny laughed at something you said and you laughed back. And across the floor, Yunho looked one minor inconvenience away from committing several felonies. A moment later his office door opened and his father stepped inside carrying a folder. One glance out the glass wall was all it took and older man sighed. The sigh of a man who had watched this exact situation unfold for years. “Morning, son.” Yunho didn’t answer as his father followed his gaze. Saw Danny. Saw you. Saw the coffee. And immediately understood. “Still haven’t told her?”

Yunho’s eyes never left the scene outside. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right.”

“Not a clue.”

His father nodded then placed the folder on the desk. “You know, most people simply ask someone out.” Yunho finally looked at him. “I’d rather jump off the roof.” His father laughed. “That’s probably easier than whatever it is you’re doing now.” Outside, Danny said something else that made you smile again and Yunho looked away immediately. Because for some reason, that smile had always been his biggest weakness. And unfortunately for him, you had absolutely no idea.

Yunho’s father didn’t look particularly sympathetic. In fact, the older man looked far too entertained for someone standing in the office of a man currently contemplating murder. Outside the glass walls, Danny was still lingering beside your desk, leaning casually against the doorway while you sorted through emails. Whatever he was saying earned yet another laugh from you and Yunho’s eye twitched.

“You’re glaring.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re glaring while working.”

“I’m multitasking.”

His father snorted. “Very professional.” Yunho finally dragged his attention back toward the folder sitting on his desk. “What do you need?” The smile his father gave him instantly made him suspicious. Twenty seven years old and it still worked. Every time that smile appeared, it meant trouble. His father slid a folder across the desk. “New case.” Yunho opened it and froze.

First came confusion. Then disbelief. Then something dangerously close to hope. His father watched every emotion happen in real time.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

Yunho flipped through the first few pages. Major client. Corporate litigation. Huge account. Millions at stake. The kind of case that could make careers. His eyes landed on the staffing page then stopped. Because directly beneath his own name was yours and for a second he forgot how to breathe as his father folded his arms. “Surprise.” Yunho read it again. Then again just to make sure. Still there. Your name. Partnered with him. For months. Potentially longer. Depositions. Strategy meetings. Client dinners. Travel. Late nights. Court appearances. The entire package.

Slowly, his father sat down across from the desk. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Yunho tossed the folder onto his desk and his father grinned. “You two will be leading it together.” Yunho groaned, putting up that front of his. Denial. False annoyance. “Why?”

“Because you’re my two best associates.”

Yunho immediately narrowed his eyes. “That sounds fake.”

“It’s not.”

“It sounds fake.”

His father laughed. “It is a little fake.” Yunho rolled his eyes. “There it is.” The older man leaned back in his chair. “The client requested our strongest team.”

“And?”

“And unfortunately the two of you are extremely good together.”

Yunho hated that. Not because it wasn’t true. Because it was. You fought constantly. Argued over strategy. Disagreed on nearly everything. But somehow every case the two of you touched ended in a win. The entire firm knew it. Which only made it worse. His father studied him for a moment then sighed. “You know this is probably healthy.” Yunho already hated where this conversation was heading. “Healthy?”

“Yes.”

“Working sixty hour weeks is healthy?”

“No.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

His father pointed toward the bullpen. Toward you. “The time together.” Yunho immediately looked away. “Absolutely not.”

“The kind of time where you’re not obsessing over her from behind glass.” Outside, a group of associates walked past your office while Yunho stared at his father like he’d just committed a crime but the older man just continued. “Maybe you’ll actually have a conversation.”

“I talk to her.”

“You argue with her.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

Yunho rubbed a hand over his face. His father was enjoying this far too much. “You’re being dramatic.” His father nearly choked laughing. “Me?”

“Yes.”

The older man pointed at the floor to ceiling windows. “Son, you’ve spent the last ten minutes watching her drink coffee.”

“That’s not true.”

“You literally stopped listening when she smiled.” Yunho opened his mouth and closed it. Opened it again. Then gave up. Because unfortunately that was exactly what had happened and his father looked positively delighted. “Seven years.”

“Stop.”

“Seven.”

“Please stop.”

“Years.”

Yunho groaned as his father stood and straightened his jacket. “You know, normal people would’ve asked her out by now.”

“I’m not normal.”

“Clearly.” His father moved toward the door then paused and gave one last glance over his shoulder. One final bullet to the head. “Try not to scare her off.” The door closed behind him and Yunho stared at it. Then immediately looked across the office floor straight toward your office. As if sensing it, you looked up and your eyes met through the glass. And for a brief second. One tiny second. Before you rolled your eyes and went back to work….. Yunho felt something in his chest do a complete backflip. Then Danny reappeared carrying another stack of files and just like that, his mood was ruined again.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The rest of the morning passed exactly how most mornings at Jeong & Partners passed. Chaotically. Emails. Phone calls. Research requests. Partners demanding updates. Clients demanding miracles. By noon, you had almost forgotten about the conversation you’d overheard between two associates discussing some major litigation assignment being announced later that week. Almost. Unfortunately, one particular blond attorney seemed determined to make sure you didn’t forget.

Across the floor, Yunho had spent the better part of the last three hours pretending to work. The keyword being pretending. Because every time he looked up from his desk, he could see your office. Every time he glanced through the glass walls, there you were. Typing. Reading. Arguing with opposing counsel over the phone. Running a hand through your hair when frustrated. And every single time, he had to force himself to focus on something else. The problem was now he knew. Now he knew you’d be working together. Months. Possibly longer. Which meant his already fragile self control was hanging on by a thread. And the worst part? He was excited.

Which was exactly why he needed to be an asshole. The asshole persona was safe. The asshole persona couldn’t accidentally confess he’d been in love with you since constitutional law. The asshole persona couldn’t accidentally admit he remembered what color dress you’d worn to graduation. So the asshole persona stayed and by lunchtime, you were gathering your things. Your laptop disappeared into your bag. You grabbed your phone. A few files. Your wallet. And finally stood from your desk. But the second you stepped into the hallway, a familiar voice appeared like a curse. “Going somewhere?”

You stopped walking and closed your eyes. Counted to three then turned. Yunho stood a few feet away looking irritatingly perfect as usual. The charcoal three piece suit fit him like it had been stitched directly onto his body. His tie had disappeared sometime during the morning, the top button of his white dress shirt undone. The silver blond hair he’d been bleaching for as long as you’d known him fell across his forehead in a way that should’ve looked ridiculous. Instead, annoyingly, it worked. You hated that it worked. You hated that your brain occasionally noticed things like that. Mostly because it was easier to be irritated by him when he wasn’t walking around looking like the human embodiment of an expensive magazine ad of your exact type. “What do you want?”

His mouth immediately twitched. “You know,” he said casually, sliding one hand into his pocket, “most people start conversations with hello.”

“Most people aren’t you.”

“Ouch.”

“Tragic.”

Yunho looked positively delighted and you hated that too. Then again, he always seemed happiest when annoying you. Which honestly said a lot about his mental stability. “So,” he said.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I know enough.”

His grin widened. God, you wanted to throw something at him. “Did you hear the news?” You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. “What news?” For a brief moment something flashed through his expression. Excitement. Then it disappeared beneath the usual cocky smile as Yunho pulled a folder from under his arm and held it out making you frown as you took it and opened it. And immediately froze. Your name. His name. The case assignment. The same realization hit you that had hit him hours earlier. “Oh no.” Yunho laughed. The bastard. “Oh yes.” You looked up. Then back at the paperwork. Then back at him. “No.”

“Afraid so.”

“There has to be a mistake.”

“There isn’t.”

“Your father hates me.”

“My father loves you.” You blinked and Yunho blinked. And for one horrifying second neither of you moved. Then he recovered. Far faster than you did. “Professionally,” he added quickly and your eyes narrowed. “Right.”

“Obviously.”

Neither of you seemed entirely convinced as Yunho cleared his throat. Then leaned slightly closer. Not enough to invade your space. Just enough to be annoying. His favorite distance. The distance that made you aware of him. Made you notice things. Like the expensive cologne. Or the sharp line of his jaw. Or the fact that his eyes always seemed to be looking directly through people. Except when he looked at you. Then they felt entirely too focused. Entirely too attentive. And entirely too dangerous.

His grin returned. Slow and cocky and infuriating. “Looks like you’re mine for the next few months, sweetheart.” You stared at him as you slowly closed the folder and smiled. The kind of smile that made junior associates run. “Oh, Jeong.” Yunho’s stomach immediately dropped. Because that tone never meant anything good. And he hated how it made his dick twitch. “What?” You stepped forward. Close enough to pat his shoulder. Close enough to watch his stupid confident smile falter slightly. “If you call me sweetheart one more time…” Yunho looked amused as you smiled wider. “I’m going to make sure every minute of this case feels like a personal attack.”

For a second silence hung between you. Then Yunho laughed. A real laugh. Low. Warm. Entirely too attractive. And to your absolute horror, the man looked thrilled. Like you’d just promised him a vacation instead of a threat. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes and walked away toward the elevators and behind you, Yunho watched you go. Watched until the elevator doors closed. Watched until you disappeared completely. Then let out a slow breath. Because working with you every day for months was either going to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or the thing that finally killed him. And honestly? He wasn’t sure which outcome was more likely.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By the time you returned from lunch, your irritation had somehow gotten worse. Which was impressive. You’d spent nearly forty minutes convincing yourself you were overreacting. Convincing yourself that being assigned to a case with Yunho wasn’t the end of the world. That you were both professionals. That you’d survived law school together. That you’d survived three years working in the same building. You could survive one case. Then you’d walked back into the office and the first thing you’d seen was Yunho leaning against someone’s desk laughing about something. The second thing you’d seen was him noticing you. The third thing was that stupid grin appearing immediately. And suddenly all your progress had disappeared.

Now you stood outside the managing partner’s office. Mr. Jeong’s office. The largest office in the building. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked downtown Chicago while shelves lined with legal awards and framed photographs occupied nearly every wall. Most people were intimidated walking in here. You weren’t. Mostly because you’d known the man for years. The door was already open and Mr. Jeong looked up from a stack of documents when you appeared and a smile immediately pulled at his mouth that looked too much like his son’s. Which should have been your first warning. “Ah.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t ‘ah’ me.” His smile grew. Definitely a warning sign. “Good afternoon, Y/N.”

“You put me on a case with your son.”

“Yes.”

“No explanation?”

“No.”

You stared and he stared back completely unbothered as you dropped into the chair across from his desk. “Why?” The older attorney set down his pen. “Because you’re both excellent attorneys.”

“That’s the official answer?”

“It is.”

“I want the real answer.”

His eyes sparkled and you immediately regretted asking as Mr. Jeong leaned back in his chair. “You know, when you ask a question like that, it makes it sound like working with Yunho is some terrible punishment.”

“It is.”

The man laughed. “That’s harsh.”

“You raised him.”

“I tried my best.”

“You failed.”

“I know.” Another laugh and honestly, it was annoying how much amusement he got from this. You crossed your arms. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Mr. Jeong.”

He sighed dramatically. Then folded his hands on his desk. “The truth?”

“Yes.”

“You two are the best litigators I have.”

You opened your mouth but he raised a finger. “And before you argue, let me finish.” You immediately closed it. Mostly because he was giving you the same look he gave witnesses right before destroying their credibility. “The two of you disagree on everything.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why you work.” You frowned as he continued. “Yunho sees details nobody else sees.” You hated how true that was. “You see angles nobody else sees.” Unfortunately also true. “You challenge each other.” You rolled your eyes. “We annoy each other.”

“That too.” The older man smiled. “But every single time I put the two of you in the same room, the work gets better.” You couldn’t immediately argue. Which was irritating and Mr. Jeong noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. “You know what your biggest problem is?”

“I have several.”

“You assume things about my son.” The sudden shift caught you off guard. “What?”

“You assume you already know who he is.”

You leaned back. “And I don’t?”

“No.” The answer came immediately. Without hesitation. Without doubt. And for some reason that bothered you. Mr. Jeong glanced toward the windows. Toward the city beyond them. “He works harder than anyone in this building.” You opened your mouth but he raised a hand again. “I know exactly what people say. Founder’s son.” His voice was calm. “Nepo hire.” Your expression shifted slightly. “Everything handed to him.” The older man smiled. A sadder smile this time. “They’ve been saying it since he first started law school.” Something uncomfortable settled in your stomach. Because if there was one thing you knew about Yunho… he never defended himself. Ever. He’d make a joke. Deflect. Smile. Move on. But he’d never actually defend himself.

Mr. Jeong looked back at you. “The reason I’m putting you together is because I trust both of you.” You nodded slowly. That answer at least felt genuine. Then the older attorney ruined it. “I also think it’ll be entertaining.” You groaned. “Seriously?”

“Very.” The man grinned again. “You should’ve seen his face when I told him.” Your eyes narrowed as Mr. Jeong looked entirely too pleased with himself. “What face?” His grin widened. “The kind that suggested he was trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t happy.” Now you looked suspicious. “Happy?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Why?”

The older man suddenly became fascinated by a document sitting on his desk. “Oh, who knows.”

“Mr. Jeong.”

“No idea.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“It never does.”

You stared at each other. And the older man looked remarkably smug as you stood. Because you weren’t getting anything useful out of him. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You moved toward the door, reaching for the handle. Then his voice stopped you. “Give him a chance, Y/N.” You paused as Mr. Jeong’s expression had softened. Only a little. But enough. “A chance to what?” His smile returned. Smaller this time. “To genuinely surprise you.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you walked out. But for the rest of the afternoon, as annoying as it was, you couldn’t quite get those words out of your head.

Because for the first time in years, a tiny part of you wondered if maybe there was more to Yunho than the arrogant smartass who spent half his life trying to get under your skin. Unfortunately, that thought lasted exactly seven minutes. Because the moment you got back to your office, there was a sticky note on your monitor in familiar handwriting.

Don’t forget our strategy meeting after hours tonight, sweetheart. ❤️

You stared at it long and hard. Then immediately started plotting his murder.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

By five thirty, the office had settled into its usual evening rhythm. Some associates were packing up and heading home. Others were just beginning the second half of their day. The litigation department lived on caffeine, spite, and impossible deadlines, and today was no different. You had spent the last two hours buried beneath discovery documents, deposition transcripts, and a growing headache that felt suspiciously like the beginning of a migraine. Which was why you eventually abandoned your office in search of salvation. Specifically, a Red Bull.

The break room was mercifully empty when you walked in. At least for the first ten seconds. You opened the refrigerator. Found the can you’d stashed there that morning and immediately heard a familiar voice behind you. “Please tell me that’s not your dinner.” You glanced over your shoulder. Danny. Of course. He stood in the doorway carrying a stack of files under one arm. His tie was loosened and his sleeves were rolled up. The picture of an overworked attorney trying very hard to impress someone. Namely you.

“It has vitamins.”

Danny laughed. “That’s not how vitamins work.”

“It is when you’re desperate.”

“You know, normal people eat food.”

You cracked the can open. “Normal people aren’t handling four cases and a psychotic partner.”

“Fair point.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation while you leaned against the counter sipping your drink. Danny was nice. Maybe a little eager. Maybe a little obvious. But nice. The kind of guy who remembered birthdays and probably called his mother every Sunday. Unfortunately for him, he had made the mistake of developing a crush on someone who worked directly across the hall from Yunho. A mistake Yunho was becoming increasingly aware of. Because at that exact moment, Yunho stepped into the break room and stopped.

The sight before him made something unpleasant settle in his chest. You standing beside the counter. Red Bull in hand. Skirt riding up a little. Laughing. And Danny standing entirely too close. Smiling entirely too much. Looking entirely too interested. For a moment, Yunho considered turning around. Walking away. Being mature. Then Danny reached over and brushed something off your sleeve and suddenly maturity became significantly less appealing.

“Well.”

Both you and Danny turned as Yunho stood in the doorway. One hand tucked into his pocket. Expression casual. The kind of casual that usually meant trouble and you immediately sighed. “No.”

“No what?”

“No whatever you’re about to do.”

His smile widened as Danny looked between the two of you. Confused. Concerned. Possibly afraid. Smart man. Yunho ignored him completely. Instead he walked directly toward the coffee machine. “You know,” he said, “I was wondering why productivity suddenly dropped on this floor.”

Danny blinked. “What?”

Yunho pressed a button on the machine. “Oh, nothing.” The machine whirred as you narrowed your eyes. Because you knew that tone. “So what was the cause?” Danny asked and Yunho looked over his shoulder. Smiling. “Apparently extended social visits during work hours.”

You nearly laughed despite yourself. Danny looked offended. “I was grabbing files.”

“Mm.”

“I was.”

“Of course.”

Danny frowned again. “You got a problem?” Dangerous question. Very dangerous question. Because Yunho’s smile never slipped. Not even slightly. “I don’t think I said I did.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied many things.”

Danny’s jaw tightened as you pinched the bridge of your nose. Because this was exactly what you didn’t need. Two men posturing in the break room like they were in a nature documentary. Somewhere a narrator was probably explaining mating rituals as Yunho finally turned around. Coffee in hand. Expression pleasant. Far too fucking pleasant. “How long have you worked here now, Danny?” The younger associate frowned. “Four months.”

“Interesting.”

Danny looked even more confused. “What is?”

Yunho took a sip. “The confidence.”

You closed your eyes. There it is. There was the antagonizing. Subtle enough that nobody could technically accuse him of anything. But sharp enough to draw blood. Danny folded his arms. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Yunho grinned. God, he was annoying when he grinned like that because he looked even more attractive. “It means four months is impressive.” Danny stared. You stared. Even Yunho seemed amused by his own answer. “You’re impossible,” you muttered and immediately his eyes found yours. And just like that, all his attention shifted. The irritation. The jealousy. The possessiveness he’d been fighting all afternoon. Hidden again. Buried beneath that infuriating grin. “You say the sweetest things.”

You rolled your eyes as Danny looked between the two of you. Then realization slowly crossed his face. Not complete realization. But enough. Enough to notice something was off. Enough to notice that Yunho watched you differently. Enough to notice that Yunho had entered the room focused entirely on him and somehow ended up focused entirely on you. Yunho noticed the realization too. Which was exactly why he smiled even wider. A warning disguised as amusement. Danny wasn’t stupid. “Right,” Danny said awkwardly, gathering his files. “I’ve got to finish those motions.”

“Good luck,” Yunho said as he left and silence settled over the room as you slowly turned toward Yunho. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I really don’t.”

“Liar.”

Yunho leaned against the counter beside you. Close enough to annoy you. Far enough to remain technically innocent. His favorite game. “I was getting coffee.”

“You were antagonizing Danny.”

“He seems sensitive.”

Yunho took another sip of his coffee as you took another sip of your Red Bull. The silence between you wasn’t comfortable. It never was. Not because it was awkward. Because it always felt like something was happening beneath it. Some current neither of you acknowledged. Some invisible tug of war that had existed for years. You were glaring at him and Yunho seemed entirely unbothered by that fact.

“What?” you asked.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

His mouth twitched. “I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“Maybe you’re just distracting.”

You groaned immediately. “There he is.”

“There who is?”

“The world’s most annoying attorney.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

You rolled your eyes. A habit he was personally responsible for. For a moment neither of you moved. Then Yunho’s expression shifted slightly. Not enough that most people would’ve noticed. But you knew him. You’d known him for years. You knew when he was about to say something annoying. You knew when he was about to start a fight. You knew when he was about to push your buttons just because he could. And right now? Something else flickered behind his eyes. Something sharper.

His gaze drifted toward the door Danny had disappeared through. Then back to you. “You know he’s wants to fuck you, right?” You nearly choked on your drink. “Jesus fucking Christ Yunho.” The room felt smaller all of a sudden. The air heavier. Like something had shifted. You could feel it as Yunho pushed away from the counter and took a step closer and you took another drink from your Red Bull. Mostly to give yourself something to do. Yunho’s coffee had long been forgotten. It sat abandoned on the counter while he leaned against it beside you.

His gaze drifted over your face before he suddenly asked, “What happened to Kevin?” You blinked, furrowing your brows. The question caught you completely off guard. “What?”

“Kevin.” He shrugged. “The boyfriend. Haven’t seen him come by in a while.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you know his name?” Yunho immediately realized his mistake. Because he absolutely shouldn’t know his name. Not with the confidence he’d just said it. Not unless he’d been paying attention. A lot of attention. Which unfortunately he had. For years. His recovery came quickly. “He picked you up from work like fifty times.” That was fair. Kevin had practically lived in the firm’s lobby for a year. “Why?” Yunho looked down at his coffee. Acting casual. “No reason.”

“He’s gone.”

Something sharp flickered behind Yunho’s eyes at your answer. Gone. As in gone gone. “When?”

“Months ago.” That got his attention. “Months?” You nodded. “Five.” Yunho stared at you. Five months. You’d been single for five months. And somehow he was only finding out now. For a brief moment he wondered if he’d actually died and nobody told him. Then he remembered he was supposed to be acting normal. So instead he asked, “What happened?”

You sighed. The kind of sigh that carried old irritation. “He cheated.” Yunho’s jaw tightened. Not because he was surprised. He wasn’t. He’d known. Hell, he’d been the one who made sure you found out. An anonymous email. Photos attached. No name. No explanation. Just evidence. Enough evidence that Kevin never had a chance of talking his way out of it. To this day you had no idea who sent it and Yunho intended to keep it that way. “He cheated,” you repeated, shaking your head. “A year and a half together and apparently that wasn’t enough.”

Yunho looked away. Because if he looked directly at you right now he was going to say something reckless. Something honest. And honesty around you had always been dangerous. “You have terrible taste in men.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and you laughed. A genuine laugh. The first one he’d heard from you in a long time. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m serious.”

“You think every guy is terrible.”

“No.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

Yunho looked back at you slowly. And something in his expression started shifting. Softening. Dangerously. “No,” he said quietly. “Just the ones you date.” The laugh died in your throat and neither of you moved as Yunho’s gaze dropped briefly. Just for a second. Taking in the skirt you’d worn that morning again. The one he’d been trying not to notice all day. Then his eyes lifted back to yours. “You settle.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“You settle.” His voice remained calm. “You keep picking men who don’t deserve you.” For once there wasn’t a joke attached. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. And somehow that was far more dangerous than any of his usual flirting. He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. Almost disbelieving. As if he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “You know what the problem is?”

“What?”

His smile returned. Smaller this time. Less cocky and more personal. “The second someone gets your attention they stop trying.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Yunho looked away briefly. Because he knew exactly what it meant. It meant he couldn’t imagine taking you for granted. Couldn’t imagine looking elsewhere. Couldn’t imagine spending years wanting someone only to risk losing them. When he looked back at you, his gaze had darkened, something settling there you couldn’t quite decipher just yet. “If I had you in my bed every night….” He leaned down, moving closer until his mouth was right at your ear. “no other woman would exist to me.”

It’s like your brain just stopped computing. His words slammed into you like a truck and you had no idea how to respond to that. Especially when the feel of his lips just barely brushing your ear still lingered as a cough cleared from the doorway. Yunho backed away from you casually. Like he hadn’t almost had you pinned to the counter. Mr. Jeong stood in the doorway, his gaze going back and forth. First you. Then his son. Then back again with a hint of amusement. “Am I interrupting something.”

“Not at all.” Yunho picked his coffee back up. “I was just asking Y/N if she’s coming to my place tonight so we can start briefing and going over our new case.” He looked way too smug. “Excuse me?” You broke out of your daze quickly, glaring at him. “I am not going over alone to your place. We can go to my place. My roommate will be home but he shouldn’t bother us.” Roommate. Yunho knew exactly who you were talking about. Wooyoung. Yunho had seen him visiting you a few different times back in law school. He also brought you lunch sometimes now. Always had thick eyeliner. Tattoos. A wicked little smirk he liked to throw at anyone who piqued interest.

“Sounds like a plan.” Yunho grinned again and his father gave you both one last look before walking away. You groaned. Last thing you needed was to be alone or semi alone with Yunho outside of work.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“I need you to stay home tonight.” You were practically begging into your phone. Wooyoung snorted obviously intrigued and confused. “And here I was planning to get my back blown out tonight.”

“Woo, I’m serious.” You hissed and looked up catching Yunho in his office through the glass wall. He noticed you and smirked and had the audacity to wave at you. “Look…. I have this new case. It’s a big one and…..” You paused. Hesitated. “I have to… I have to do it with Yunho.” The silence on the other end of the call was deafening for one second. Two. Three. Four. “OH MY GOD!” Wooyoung laughed, actually cackled. “You’re kidding me. You’ve wanted to climb that man like a tree since law school.”

“I HAVE NOT.” You didn’t mean to yell. One of the newer attorneys passing by your office jumped at your outburst which to your luck also caught Yunho’s attention. “I have not.” You repeated much lower this time and you could practically hear Wooyoung roll his through the phone. “Please.” He scoffed. “You told me yourself that you and I quote, want to choke him with that annoying tie and make him beg for it.”

You gasped. “I was drunk.” You hissed. It was on Wooyoung’s birthday. Right after you left your ex. Turns out all your dirty little secrets weren’t so secret with tequila in your system. “Drunk words are true thoughts or whatever.” Wooyoung said and you just know he was grinning. “I hate him!” You snapped which at this point wasn’t true at all. He annoyed you most the time. Made you question whether you wanted to slam his face into a wall or drop to your knees. And after Mr. Jeong told you to give his son a chance…. No. Absolutely not.

“If you hate him that just means the sex will be amazing.” Wooyoung was enjoying this way too much. “There will be no sex.” You immediately regretted saying that because of course. Of course! The devil himself was leaning in your office doorway, brow raised looking far too amused at whatever parts of the conversation he was picking up. “Just be home.” You told Wooyoung before ending the call and clearing your throat. “What do you want? Other than eavesdropping.”

Yunho let out a laugh under his breath and that sound immediately made you suspicious. “What?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Nothing.” He shrugged but he was smiling too smugly for your liking. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“You are literally smiling.”

His grin only widened. Which meant he was absolutely about to be annoying. Wonderful. Fan fucking tastic. You crossed your arms. “Spit it out, Jeong.” Yunho tilted his head slightly, that damned silver blonde hair falling across his forehead as his gaze flicked briefly toward your phone before returning to you. “Well,” he said casually, “I just found one part of that conversation particularly interesting.”

Your stomach dropped and you muttered under your breath. You were going to kill Wooyoung. And Yunho. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” His smile sharpened. “The part where you informed whoever that was that there would be no sex.” Heat immediately flooded your face. “Jesus Fucking Christ Yunho.” You were starting to wish you got paid for every time he got that out of you.

“So there was sex on the table at some point?”

“There was never sex on the table.”

“Interesting wording.”

“Yunho.”

“Just asking questions.”

“You are a lawyer. You get paid to twist words.”

“True.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Still doesn’t answer my question.” You stared at him, eye twitching and he just stared right back. Completely shameless. And the worst part? He looked unfairly good doing it. You hated that your brain insisted on being horny every time he was around. You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

Yunho laughed. A real one. Warm and Low. And unfortunately dangerously attractive. “See, now I’m curious.”

“You should be billing hours.”

“I am billing hours.”

“You are standing in my office harassing me.”

“Multitasking.”

“That isn’t how billing works.”

“It is when you’re talented.”

You made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a threat and Yunho’s grin somehow widened further. Then, unfortunately, his gaze drifted lower. Only for a second once again. But you caught it. The way his eyes flicked over the way your skirt rode up from sitting and your pulse did something stupid.

“So,” he said.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I know enough.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an impressive amount of energy thinking about me.”You nearly choked. “Excuse me?” You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Immediately. Right now. “I’m just wondering…..” You immediately cut him off. “About what?” His gaze held yours. “Whether you’ve really hated me all these years.” The question caught you off guard. And for a moment the office felt quieter. The sounds of phones ringing and conversations outside seeming farther away. You looked away first. A big mistake on your part. Because Yunho noticed everything. He always had. A slow smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “There it is.”

“There what is?” You snapped.

“You didn’t answer.”

You hated that he was right. You hated it even more because you weren’t entirely sure what the answer was anymore as Yunho pushed away from the doorway. “See you at your place.” He turned to walk back to his office. The two of you only had an hour before you got off. “You don’t even know where I live.” You called after him and Yunho didn’t even glance back as he answered.

“Don’t I.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The entire drive home was torture. Not because of traffic. Not because downtown Chicago was a nightmare at six o’clock. But because every single red light gave your brain more time to replay the conversation and how Yunho asked whether you’ve really hated him all these years. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

Seven years of knowing Yunho Jeong and somehow that stupid question had managed to lodge itself directly inside your skull. You’d spent years calling him arrogant. Annoying. Insufferable. None of those things were technically lies. But lately… things felt different. And you hated that.

By the time you pulled into the parking garage beneath your apartment building,you had a headache. Perfect. Exactly what you needed before spending an entire evening trapped with Yunho. You grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and headed upstairs and the second you stepped through the apartment door, the smell hit you. Pizza. You closed your eyes. Thank God.

“Kitchen.” Wooyoung’s voice carried through the apartment as you kicked off your heels near the door and followed it. Sure enough, Wooyoung was leaning against the kitchen island wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, a slice of pepperoni in one hand while two pizza boxes sat open on the counter. His eyes immediately found you and narrowed. “Oh.”

You froze. “What?”

Wooyoung pointed his pizza at you. “You’re spiraling.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

You dropped your bag onto one of the stools. “I’m fine.” Wooyoung laughed as he took a bite. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You walked into this apartment like someone just told you the IRS was outside.”

You glared at him as Wooyoung took another bite. Still staring. Still judging. Still entirely too observant for your liking. Then his eyes widened like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Oh my God.” You immediately regretted everything. “What now?”

“You really do want him.”

“No.”

“YOU DO.”

“I DON’T.”

Wooyoung practically slapped the counter. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You literally sound twelve.”

You grabbed a paper plate. “I’m getting pizza.” Wooyoung gasped at you. “You are avoiding the conversation.” You shook your head as you grabbed two slices. “I’m hungry.” You shoved a slice into your mouth as Wooyoung folded his arms then smirked. A dangerous smirk. The kind that usually meant somebody’s life was about to become significantly more difficult. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

You sighed dramatically. Because unfortunately something had happened. Not a big thing. Not really. Just enough things. Enough tiny moments. Enough comments. Enough looks. Enough questions. Enough of Yunho being… Yunho. And now your brain refused to shut up about it. Refused to forget the way his lips felt grazing your ear…. Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed further. “What did he say?” You stared at your pizza. Bad sign. Very bad sign. Because now Wooyoung looked genuinely interested. “Oh, this is serious.”

You chewed at your pizza, hesitant before swallowing. “He told me… he told me if he…” you could still hear the way his voice had dropped when he said it. “If he had me in bed every night then… no other woman would exist to him.” The silence was loud because Wooyoung was never silent and somehow now…. he was speechless. You watched him blink. Once. Twice. Then he slowly set his pizza down on the counter. “Oh.”

You hated that response. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Woo.”

“Nothing.”

“Wooyoung.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “Y/N.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He grinned. “Because I think I just witnessed the moment your life became a romantic comedy. A very hot romantic comedy.” You groaned. “Oh my God. Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” He pointed at you. “Do you have any idea how insane that is. He was flirting. Practically throwing himself at you.” You shook your head in complete denial. “He was not.”

“Yes he was.”

“No he wasn’t.”

Wooyoung stared at you a second before shaking his head. “Jesus Christ.” You groaned. “What now?” He rolled his eyes in pure exasperation. “You really don’t see it.” Your brows furrowed, your voice muffled around the bite of pizza. “See what?”

“The fact that Yunho Jeong has been down catastrophically bad for you since law school.”

You choked a little and pointed your pizza at him. “Don’t say that.”

“Make me.”

“You are impossible.”

“Again,” Wooyoung said, “he practically through himself at you.”

“He did not.”

“Y/N.”

“He did not.”

“Y/N.”

You groaned loudly. Because the problem wasn’t that Wooyoung was wrong. The problem was that for the first time… you weren’t entirely convinced he was. Your gaze drifted toward the clock on the microwave. Yunho would be here soon. And suddenly the thought of being alone with him felt very different than it had this earlier. Dangerously different.

You quickly finished eating your pizza and didn’t even glance at Wooyoung as you headed towards the bathroom. “I’m getting a shower before Satan gets here.” The bathroom door slammed shut behind you. Your clothes came off achingly slow. You sat your phone on the sink counter, letting music play to try and clear your head. Steam poured into the room as the water rushed out the shower head. Scolding and too hot. You adjusted it and stepped in letting the water try and fail to wash away your spiraling thoughts.

“He was not throwing himself at me.” You didn’t believe yourself anymore though. Because in the comfort of the shower you started to think. How in law school Yunho would always been standing outside your civil procedure class and would finally go in once you showed up. How he once brought handed you coffee on graduation day because he happened to have an extra but it tasted like your favorite. How he mentioned his dad’s law firm had an opening and you thought he was trying to annoy you and then next day you got a call from Mr. Jeong himself…..

“Oh my god…” you stopped washing your hair as the realization slammed into you. “he was throwing himself at me.” Holy shit. It should have been obvious. Your heart was pounding now because Yunho on his way over. You were both about to spend insane amounts of time together in the near future for this case. And he likes you. “Fuck!” You almost slipped, your hand shooting out your grab at the shower curtain.

What were you supposed to do? What if you were crazy? Imagining it? What if Wooyoung had gotten inside your head? But even as the thoughts came, they felt weaker. Less convincing. Because the truth was becoming impossible to ignore. The truth was that this wasn’t just physical anymore. Wasn’t just finding him attractive. Wasn’t just noticing the way his suits fit. Or the way his hair fell into his eyes. Or the way his voice always seemed lower when he spoke directly to you.

Somewhere along the way, something had changed. Something dangerous. Something that made your pulse race every time he looked at you too long. Something that made the thought of him showing up at your front door feel terrifying and exciting all at once.

You closed your eyes. And finally admitted the thing you’d been avoiding for years. “Shit.” Because the problem wasn’t that Yunho liked you. The problem was that you liked him too. Because now every want and needy thought you’ve ever had about him shifted from just physical attraction to something else. Something crazy. Completely and totally insane. “Oh my god.” You wanted him too and that realization refused to leave.

Even after you finished washing your hair. Even after you stood beneath the spray for another five minutes pretending your life hadn’t just completely unraveled. By the time you finally shut the water off, your fingers were wrinkled and your thoughts were somehow worse. “Great.” You grabbed a towel. “Fantastic.” You wrapped another towel around your hair as you stepped out of the shower. “Wonderful.” The mirror was fogged over completely. Which was probably for the best. You didn’t need to see the expression on your own face right now.

Because apparently after seven years of arguing with Yunho, you had finally realized you had feelings for him. Feelings. Actual feelings. You wanted to throw yourself out a window. But unfortunately you lived on the eighteenth floor. You tightened the towel around yourself and stormed toward the door. This was Wooyoung’s fault. Entirely his fault. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, you’d still be blissfully ignorant. Or trying to be anyways.

The second the bathroom door opened, you were already talking. “This is your fault.” You marched into the hallway. “You couldn’t just mind your own business for once in your life.” The living room came into view. “And now I have to spend the entire evening pretending I don’t have feelings for….” You screamed. The kind of scream usually reserved for horror movies and home invasions. Because Yunho was sitting on your couch now looking equally startled for approximately half a second before he started laughing.

“Oh my God!” Your hand flew to your chest, gripping your towel. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Across the room, Wooyoung was absolutely useless. In fact, he looked delighted. “There she is!” You glared at your best friend before your gaze snapped back toward Yunho. Which was a mistake. A huge mistake. Because somehow seeing him outside the office felt different. The charcoal suit jacket was gone. Tossed over the back of the couch. His tie hung loose around his neck. The top button of his white dress shirt had disappeared. The sleeves were pushed up to his forearms. And somehow that looked more intimate than if he’d shown up wearing nothing but sweatpants.

You hated that thought immediately as Yunho’s eyes flicked over you, dragging down and staring at where the fluffy pink towel you had ended just barely covering anything. Then he looked directly at the ceiling and a muscle jumped in his jaw. And of course Wooyoung noticed. The bastard looked like Christmas had come early. “You know,” Wooyoung said casually, “most people greet guests when they arrive.”

“I was in the shower!”

“Clearly.”

You groaned. Because somehow this day had gone from bad to catastrophic. And the worst part? The absolute worst part? You’d just spent twenty minutes realizing you had feelings for Yunho. Then immediately walked into your living room wearing nothing but a towel. Wooyoung looked between the two of you grinning as you backed toward the hallway, tightening your grip on the towel again. “I’m getting dressed.”

“Probably for the best,” Wooyoung agreed and you glared at him. Then at Yunho. Then immediately regretted looking at Yunho because he was already looking at you. “Five minutes,” you muttered before disappearing down the hall and into your room and slamming the door behind you.

Silence settled over the apartment. Or at least it should have. Instead, Yunho found himself staring at the wall. His brain had stopped cooperating somewhere around the moment you’d walked into the living room. Not because of the towel. Well. Not entirely because of the towel. It was the fact that you’d looked completely caught off guard. Completely real. Not the sharp tongued attorney who spent every workday arguing with him. Not the woman who could dismantle opposing counsel with a single question.

Just you.

Then his mind drifted. The way when you had turned around he could see a glimpse of your ass peaking from the bottom of the towel. “Well,” Wooyoung’s voice snapped him out of it. “I’m going to my room. I have a new season….” Yunho stopped listening again as Wooyoung disappeared down the same hall you had. He’s wanted you for seven years. Obsessed over you. Yearned over you. Might of moaned your name a few times during one night stands. And now he was sitting here in your apartment and had the perfect opportunity to finally try and have you. “Shit.” Why did he feel nervous? He doesn’t get nervous.

The apartment felt strangely quiet when you stepped back into the hallway. For a moment you simply stood there. Yunho was exactly where you’d left him. Sitting on the couch. One arm stretched across the back cushion. The case file sitting untouched on the coffee table. And he was staring at absolutely nothing. Lost somewhere inside his own head. You’d never known Yunho to be quiet.

The floor creaked beneath your foot and his head turned. And immediately his eyes found you. His gaze dropped before he could stop it. Legs. Bare from mid thigh down. Your black shorts doing nothing to cover them. His jaw tightened and his eyes immediately snapped back to yours. And for the first time all day, Yunho looked caught. Actually caught. Not cocky. Not smug. Caught.

Something about that made your stomach flip. “Nice staring,” you called him out and his eyebrow lifted. “Nice outfit.” You rolled your eyes. “There he is.” He grinned, eyes lighting up. “Missed me?”

“Not even a little.”

“Liar.” The word came automatically. Like breathing. Like every conversation you’d ever had together. Yet somehow tonight it felt different. Softer and more familiar. Your gaze drifted toward the coffee table. Toward the thick litigation folder sitting there. Thank God. Something normal. “Did you at least bring the case file?” Yunho followed your gaze and let out a quiet laugh. “I did.”

“Good.”

“Look at us.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Being responsible.”

“We’re attorneys.”

“Debatable.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself and Yunho’s expression immediately brightened. Like he’d just won something. Idiot. You hesitated another second before finally crossing the room. Every step felt weirdly loud and noticeable. The couch suddenly looked much smaller than it was. You hated that. You hated it even more because Yunho seemed perfectly relaxed. Until you sat down. Then his entire body went subtly rigid. The cushion dipped beneath your weight, thigh ending up far closer to his than either of you probably expected.

The scent of your shampoo drifted through the air as you reached forward grabbing the case file before your brain could focus on anything else. “Okay,” you said, opening it onto your lap. “Work.”

“Work,” Yunho agreed. The word sounded strangely disappointed but you ignored that as you flipped hrough the first few pages. “Corporate fraud.”

“Mm.”

“Thousands of pages of discovery.”

“Mm.”

You glanced over but Yunho wasn’t looking at the file. He was looking at you. You cleared your throat finding it harder now to focus on anything other than your newly accepted feelings for him. “So…” you looked back towards the file, scanning words but not reading any of them. “this is a pretty big case…”

“I want you.”

You froze and you could practically hear the panic in Yunho’s voice. “Shit…” he did not mean to say that out loud. Not like that. “I mean…. I uh…” he shook his head. Because fuck it. “Actually…. Yeah. I want you. Fuck.” He let out a humorless laugh. “It’s driving me crazy for the better part of a decade.” When he looked at you, you were still staring at the file. Frozen. Shocked. “Look…. I know you…. Kind of hate me. I mean…. I do…”

“I don’t hate you.” Your voice was quiet, heart beating so loud you were sure Wooyoung could hear it from his room. Because Wooyoung was right. Your shower spiraling was right. Yunho had feelings for you. “I don’t think I ever hated you. You could just be…. a pain in the ass.” Yunho snorted despite his confession making him nervous. “I was only like that because I never wanted someone like that before. And I couldn’t afford distractions in law school. So I… tried blocking you out… it just made it worse.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “So you just decided to be like some third grader pulling at my pigtails.” He laughed then. A full on real laugh. “Something like that.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re an absolute idiot.” It got silent for a moment. You both just stared at each other until Yunho looked away. “Idiot might be understatement. I…. there’s something you should know.” He hesitated. Because what he was about to say was probably gonna make actually hate him. But he couldn’t shoot his shot without the truth being out. Otherwise it would eat him alive.

“What is it?” You furrowed because he liked serious. Like what he had to say was more serious than his arguments defending anyone in court. “I knew your boyfriend cheated on you. I saw him…”

“It was you.” You cut him off. Of course it was Yunho. He never could mind his own business. “You sent me that email. The pictures….. what you just…. followed him?” Yunho scoffed like he was offended. “I didn’t follow anyone.” He shrugged. “I hired a private investigator.”

“Oh my god…” you laughed. Because what were you supposed to say? Were you meant to be mad? Mad that he caught your boyfriend cheating and found a somewhat weird to tell you? “you’re obsessed with me.” You were joking. Kind of. Mainly teasing but Yunho didn’t deny. In fact his demeanor shifted. He sat up, and when his gaze met yours again…. it had darkened. Sharpened into something heated and hungry that made your stomach twist and your thighs to almost clench together.

“I told you…” the tone of his voice had dropped. Which was dangerous. Because Yunho’s voice was already deep. Intoxicating if you will. But right now….. you couldn’t help but remember the break room and that same tone against your…. “that if you had me in your bed no other woman would exist to you.” You finished for him and it was like all that tension that built for the last seven years snapped.

“Wrong.” Yunho’s gaze dropped to your legs, taking his time to work his way up, pausing at your lips and staying there. “No other woman exist to me since that first day you told me to fuck off.”

You knew the two of you should probably talk. Actually talk. Go over everything. Have that real, I like you, you like me, speech…. but you were over it. Seven years of him driving you crazy. Seven years of him obsessing over you…. your own gaze fell to the loose tie around his neck and you remembered that little drunk confession you gave Wooyoung.

“What are you….” Yunho froze when you reached out and grabbed his tie. You gripped it, thumb rubbing against the material. “You want to know what I was talking about…. when you were eavesdropping at work?” You looked at him and your gaze was almost as dark and hungry as his. Yunho gulped, remembering that phone call. He hadn’t heard much other than you proclaiming no sex. “Wooyoung was reminding me of a dirty little secret.”

“Yeah?” Yunho was gone. He was gone the second you grabbed his tie. You could tell him to get on the floor right now and bark me he probably would. Because the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re imagining every detail of him under his clothes. Like you could see his dick twitch in his pants when you tugged his tie a little. “Mhm.” You started scooting closer on the couch, your thigh brushing against his leg now. “Apparently I told him I wanted to choke you with this tie” you gave his tie another tug for emphasis. “and make you beg for it.”

You both just stared at each other for a moment before leaned his head back, let out a groan and then looked back at you completely undone. “Fuck me.” He grabbed you, your grip on his tie tightening as he pulled you into his lap. Your lips met messy. Desperately. Needy. You moaned into because now you could feel him. Feel the bulge in his pants where his dick had started getting hard the second you grabbed his tie. Could feel his dick twitch when your tongues collided. And you moaned when he pulled back just enough to start kissing down your neck, lips grasping at any skin available within the tank top you had on.

“Fuck…” Yunho was the one moaning now as you kept your grip on his tie and started rocking, grinding. His dick aching in his pants as you rode him. “You gonna beg for me, Yunho?” He wanted to say no. It was instinct. He never begged before in his life. He always had control. But for you…. “Make me.”

“I bet you don’t last two minutes.” You said it so sure of yourself and that alone made him want to give in. He watched you, pupils blown, dick practically screaming to be let out and buried inside you already. You reached down with the free hand that wasn’t still gripping his tie and palmed him through his pants. His bulge alone was big and you could only imagine what he had zipped up underneath. And Yunho? He just sat there, his breath already uneven as your fingers worked at his belt and zipper with deliberate slowness.

The apartment around you felt charged, the spring air from Chicago filtering through a cracked window doing little to cool the heat building between your bodies. You tugged his pants and underwear down just enough, freeing his dick. It sprang out, thick and heavy, the tip already flushed and aching with a bead of precum that caught the low light.

A low groan rumbled from his chest the moment your hand wrapped around him, and you felt it twitch hard against your palm, pulsing with need as if it had a mind of its own. You stroked him once, twice, dragging your thumb over the slit to spread that slickness, savoring how his hips jerked forward involuntarily. His tie remained clenched in your other hand, anchoring him in place while you worked him in unhurried strokes that made his thighs tense and his knees weaken slightly. Every vein along his length throbbed under your grip, the heat of him radiating into your skin as you took your time exploring every inch.

You shifted closer on the couch, using the head of his dick to hook the edge of your shorts and panties and with a slow push, you moved the fabric aside, exposing your soaked pussy to the cool air. Instead of taking him inside you, you guided him between your folds, letting the length glide along your slick. The underside of his dick pressing right against your clit as you rocked your hips, using him like a toy to rub slow circles. Each pass sent sparks through you, your grip on his tie tightening while your strokes on him matched the rhythm.

Yunho's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out as he fought to stay still, but his dick kept twitching between your folds, leaking more with every glide. You could feel the way his tip caught just slightly on your entrance before sliding up again, teasing without entering, building that unbearable friction against your swollen clit. His breathing grew ragged, eyes locked on where your bodies met, pupils blown wide with the effort of holding back as you kept the pace torturously steady, riding the length of him without letting him slip in, your clit grinding down on the ridge of his tip again and again in deliberate, dragging motions that made your own thighs quiver.

The wet sounds of your arousal coating him filled the room, mixing with his soft curses under his breath. “Fuck sweetheart..” His control frayed at the edges with every pass, shoulders rigid, fingers digging into the couch cushions as he resisted the urge to thrust up into you. You edged him mercilessly, slowing your strokes whenever his dick pulsed too hard, drawing out the moment until the tension built in his body like a coiled spring. The pressure mounted in your own core too, each glide pushing you closer until your own orgasm hit. Your thighs shook, a soft cry escaping as you came against him, slick coating him further and dripping down him. That was when he broke.

“Fuck… please ok! Please let me fuck you,” Yunho gasped out, voice strained and desperate, his hands trembling as they gripped your hips. And the second you nodded, he moved. Strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stood. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease, he lined up and impaled you down onto his dick in one deep thrust. The stretch burned in the best way, forcing a sharp cry from your throat as he filled you completely, thick and unyielding, your walls clenching around every inch of him.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then his fingers dug into your thighs and he started pounding up into you. Each thrust drove deep, the force making your body bounce against him while you clung to his tie and shoulders like a lifeline. The living room filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin and there was no way Wooyoung wasn’t hearing all of this with the way your moans grew louder until you screamed his name, your pussy clenching hard as you squirted around him, soaking his dick and thighs in a rush of release that stained dripped and stained the carpet below you.

“Which one is your bedroom?” Yunho asked, his voice hoarse with need. Still buried inside you, “the…. one on the right down the hall…” you were breathless as he carried you there without pulling out, every step making him shift and press deeper, his dick nudging against sensitive spots and wedging against your g spot that had you gasping. He wasted no time getting you on the bed, his gaze catching site of the mirror angled perfectly toward it and grinned, dark and hungry as you both made quick haste of getting your clothes off, tossing them aside until nothing remained between you.

He grabbed you, pulling your body flush to his. “Look at the mirror,” he ordered, sinking to his knees between your legs. “Watch how I make you beg for it.” His tongue thrusted into your pussy in firm, wet strokes that had you arching instantly. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging at the bleached strands as the pleasure built fast and sharp. Your legs shook, cries spilling out, “fuck…. Yunho… please… please make me come…. I need…” you started grinding against his face and he didn’t let up until you shattered again, body trembling and pulsing around his tongue.

Yunho kissed his way back up your body, slow and deliberate, pausing when you eyed his dick and he smirked. “If you want a taste all you have to do is take it.” You shook your head, pulling him closer. “Next time,” you breathed, needing him inside you again too badly to wait. Too impatient for it. “Fuck…” he had to hold back from saying, Fuck I love you, instead, he flipped you onto your stomach, holding you down and positioning you to face the mirror.

The head of his dick teased between your pussy and ass, sliding back and forth in lazy passes that made you whimper and push back. After a minute of that torment he sank back into you with a single thrust, your walls instantly clenching around him as one of his hands fisted in your hair, tilting your head toward the reflection of the mirror. The sight of him over you, buried inside you staring back a painted sin. “Watch…. watch how my dick is about to make you mine.”

He started fucking you hard, hips snapping forward in deep, relentless strokes that had you babbling, begging, “harder…. harder….. deeper… Yunho please…” and he gave it to you. Hands gripping your waist, hard, as he grinded into you, “you feel so fucking good, sweetheart….” he paused for a moment just to feel you clenching around him, then, just as the pressure peaked, he pulled out and flipped you and folded you a little, your legs pressed up and over his shoulders.

He tapped his dick against your clit a few times before sinking back in, his hands moving your legs to pin your thighs down as you watched in the mirror as you started squirting again, making a mess over both of you. Ruining the new sheets you only bought a few days ago after Wooyoung spilled his iced coffee on your others. The sight spurred him on, his pace turning brutal. “You’re mine. Pussy… mine. All of you. Mine.” Maybe he was a little possessive.

Your back arched as another orgasm crashed through you, sobs and cries tearing free but Yunho didn’t stop. He kept pounding, chasing his own release until he buried himself deep and came with a groan, filling you until he you milked him almost dry then he collapsed on top of you, still buried inside, his weight comforting as you rubbed slow circles over his back, a soft chuckle escaping you. “You begged for it.” He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes with a satisfied grin curving his own lips.

“So did you.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The next morning felt strange. Not bad strange. But an awkward kind of strange. For seven years, you and Yunho had existed in this bizarre limbo of arguments, tension, stolen glances, and denial. Now, after finally tearing down every wall between you, you were somehow expected to walk into Jeong & Partners and act normal. Which was proving significantly harder than either of you anticipated. Especially because Yunho was terrible at it.

“You are wearing the same suit.”

Yunho looked over from the driver’s seat. “So?” He hadn’t even gone home last night. After he had finally pulled himself out of you, you took another shower, that lead to you dropping to your knees and finally getting him in your mouth. Had an amused and smug little told you so looks thrown at you from Wooyoung. Slept together which lead you to find out that Yunho liked being the little spoon which was beyond hilarious with his size. Then he gave you no argument in letting him drive you both to work in his ridiculously expensive Mercedes.

You stared at him. “People will know.” Not that you really cared. “And?” And apparently Yunho didn’t either. You looked at him as pulled into the law firm parking garage and when he looked back at you after parking, you both burst out laughing.

Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto the twentieth floor and immediately, something felt off. Not wrong. Just… observant. Associates looked up from their desks. Assistants paused mid conversation. Even the receptionist seemed suspiciously interested in her computer screen. Nobody knew anything. But somehow everybody knew something.

You stepped out first with Yunho a few feet behind you. Both of you trying very hard to appear casual. Which probably would’ve worked if Yunho didn’t keep looking at you every thirty seconds as you headed toward your office. And you almost made it. But then Yunho’s eyes narrowed. Because across the floor, Danny appeared. Coffee in hand. Making a direct path toward you just like every morning. Only this morning was different. Because this morning, Yunho’s patience had completely disappeared.

Danny slowed as Yunho walked straight past him. Past several confused associates. Past two paralegals who immediately stopped pretending to work. Then he reached you and you barely had time to speak before his hand wrapped around your wrist. “What are you doing?”

“One second.”

“Yunho.”

He ignored you completely as he turned you toward him and kissed you. Right there in the middle of the litigation department. The entire floor collectively forgot how to breathe and when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours, a grin tugging at his mouth. Possessive and completely unrepentant. And entirely too pleased with himself.

“Mine,” he murmured softly and your face immediately flushed. “Yunho….”

“Just reminding you.” Then his eyes shifted past you. Right towards the frozen associate still holding two coffees. Yunho smiled bright and friendly. And definitely cocky. “Morning, Danny.”

Danny looked like someone had personally unplugged his soul. And without another word, Yunho straightened his jacket and continued walking toward his office as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of the firm. The silence lasted approximately three seconds. Then chaos erupted. Across the floor, associates started whispering. Phones appeared. Someone actually dropped a stack of files.

And from behind the glass walls of the managing offices, Mr. Jeong looked up from a contract. Watched his son disappear into his office. Watched you standing there frozen. Watched Danny questioning every life decision he’d ever made. Then the older man leaned back in his chair and shook his head, muttering to himself.

“Fucking finally.”

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[minkieater]

some things are better off unsaid.

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 8/? 🎤︎︎ 18+ | 7.2k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, yunho is an angel sent from god above

IT’S BEEN WEEKS SINCE YOU’VE woken up beside someone else. Maybe even longer, the last time you slept at Yeonjun’s you didn’t even wake up beside him, you woke up alone in a cold bed that wasn’t your own. You forgot how much you missed it, the warmth of having a man beside you, skin touching yours that wasn’t purposeful, instead unconscious, like even in his sleep he wanted to be close to you. Couldn’t stand being far.

Ease washes over you at the sight. Head turned to the side, hair like white gold sprawled across his forehead, the pearly expanse of his chest rising and lowering softly, steadily. So peaceful, so fulfilling, your heart beats with happiness. A couple weeks ago you couldn’t imagine a life without Yeonjun. Yesterday morning you questioned everything you knew about yourself. But this morning, right now, sunlight seeping in through the cracks of your blinds, streaks of gold warming your skin, something inside you feels settled.

“Stop staring, creeper,” he mumbles, without even cracking an eye open. Your smile is immediate, silly and widespread and involuntary. Nestled in the crook of his elbow, your arms bent up between your front and his side, you wonder if you slept like this all night. If you were so comfortable, so sated, you didn’t move at all.

“But you’re so pretty,” your voice is dreamy, airy with every single shred of joy warming your skin. “I should be allowed to stare.”

His smile forms before his head turns toward you, blinking his eyes open, his other arm coming up to run his long fingers through his hair. “Fine, you’re allowed,” his morning timbre is rough, ragged, and it reminds you of every groan and grunt he uttered last night. “But only if I get to stare back.”

“Not at the same time, weirdo,” you laugh, turning your head, hiding from his eyes by digging your face into his strong, soft bicep. He turns, his other arm wrapping around you, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

You both lay there for what should have been an hour in silence, taking in the feeling of one another, the slow quiet of morning. It’s a Saturday, and you picked up someone’s shift tonight, so you revel in the peace, the stillness, the smell of his skin, refusing to think about what the day will look like, anything outside of what it feels like to be in his arms.

Until he yawns, his body stretching over you, legs and arms extending to the length of your bed, vertically and horizontally. You moan, “No, don’t go. Stretching means you’re getting up.”

He huffs a noise of amusement in the wake of his yawn, “We can’t lay here forever.”

“Yes we can,” you argue, peeking up at him over your brows. His eyes are closed, head tilted, chest on display again. Your fingers move without your mind telling them to, tracing over his skin, his torso, his collarbones. 

His hand closes over yours, sitting as one on the center of his chest. “Let’s get breakfast.”

“If you want to,” you mumble, words embodying a pout.

“Do you want to?” he asks, looking down at you again. “We can make breakfast here, if you’d rather do that.”

You nod, not quite ready to face the rest of the world yet. You want to stay in your perfect, comfortable bubble, away from eyes and questions and thoughts. You don’t want to think at all. Yunho turns again, making a show of tucking your body into his chest, his strong arm wrapping around your back, pulling you into him. You laugh, especially when he throws his leg over yours, like he’s cocooning you, hiding you with his own bare body.

“I can’t breathe,” you try, muffled by his skin against your mouth, laughter that’s still pouring out of you.

You can hear his grin, “Too bad, conserve your air.” Your tongue peeks out from between your lips, licking a swipe along his chest that really just ends up wetting your chin because he squeezes you harder. “Did you think that’d make me let you go? Spit?”

“Yunho,” you laugh, disguised as a whine. “Please?”

He sighs, “Since you asked so nicely.” He loosens his grip, letting you come up for air, his grin stupid as you suck down a breath.

“You tried to kill me,” you point your gaze. “That’s fucked up. I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you,” he answers simply. “So much that I just had cuteness aggression. Is it fucked up now?”

“Kinda,” you murmur, voice tiny. “What do you like to eat for breakfast? I’m not a great cook but I can definitely try.”

“Cooking is, like, one of my only four skills.” He steals his arm from beneath your head, sliding it under his own, elbow propped up on the mattress. “Let me cook for you.”

Your brows furrow at the argument. “But we’re at my apartment.”

“So?” he asks, his own blonde brows furrowing. 

You don’t really have an argument, so instead you ask, “What are the other three?”

“I can fix shit, I’m a good talker, and I’m a pretty good fuck.” You blink at him for a second before erupting into laughter. His smile grows, “What? They’re all true, no?”

“I’ll call you when I need shelves built,” you start, still giggling. “Then you can stay to fuck me.”

“Don’t forget talking,” he raises a finger between you. “I’m a good mediator, too.”

“So you break up fights in your frat house?”

“We don’t fight,” Yunho answers, certainly. “But if we did, I’d be there making them hug it out.”

“You’re stupid,” you shake your head, still smiling. “Go cook for me.”

“No please?” His brows raise. “We need to work on your manners, sunshine.”

You put an amused emphasis into your following, “Please.” Then you ask, “Sunshine?”

“That’s you.” He rolls away from you, pulling the sheets off, standing beside your bed in all his naked glory. You stare, watching the muscles in his body flex, his back, his arms, his thighs. And between his legs… just as damning in the daytime. Like he can feel your eyes, the corner of his lips tug upward, “Ah, now I see why you didn’t want me to get up.”

“No,” you quickly argue, tugging the sheets back up to cover your body, cheeks suddenly flaming. “I’m just… appreciating.” He laughs as he tugs his sweatpants up his legs, then looks around your bedroom floor, clearly on the hunt for his shirt. “In the living room.”

“Right,” he nods, lips pursing together before he leaves your bedroom. Just like that.

You sigh, turning to lay on your back, staring up at your ceiling. You feel like you haven’t given yourself any time to just be. You had two weeks to mourn Yeonjun, but just two nights ago you were close to yet another heartbreak, this time with yourself. You don’t know who you are anymore, what you want, what you need. Your eyes slide to your open bedroom door, listening to the footsteps in your kitchen, the man who’s already made himself at home. Maybe he’ll know.

You push yourself up off your bed, having to actually go through your drawers for a tee and shorts instead of picking something up from the floor. You ignore him by running to the bathroom, fixing yourself up a bit before meeting him back in the kitchen where he was actually cooking with ingredients and pans and spices you didn’t even know you had.

“Oh,” you mutter in surprise, taking in your full countertops. “You weren’t kidding.”

If he forgot or got sidetracked, you weren’t sure, but his sweats hang low, still shirtless, showing off his torso that makes your thighs twitch without consent. So tall and sculpted, a dream, and he’s cooking for you. For you.

“I’m serious about my skills,” he points toward you with a spatula, making you smile. “Not a jack of all trades, but a master of four.”

“Then I’m in luck,” you say over your shoulder, opening up your fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced coffee and creamer. “I’ll never have to pay to get anything fixed ever again.”

The pan he’s digging the spatula into sizzles as you grab ice from the freezer. “That’s all you’re excited about? Not my cooking or my conversation?”

“I think you’re forgetting one,” you muse as he reaches for eggs beside you on the counter while you stuff the ice into a glass, then pour the coffee, then the creamer.

He comes up behind you, hands on your hips, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I didn't forget,” he whispers into your ear, lips grazing cartilage, making you shiver. “That’s the payment for the cooking, the talking, the fixing.”

Your neck cranes, fingers closing around the glass of coffee on your counter, breath catching as flames erupt beneath your skin. His hand slides up into your hair, moving it off your neck that’s now exposed to him, and he leans in, softly pressing his lips to your jugular. 

“Yunho,” you sigh, like his name itself was a sound of pleasure. “You’re— the stove is on.”

“Payment in advance,” he says against your skin, lips moving downward makes your head tip back, arching as his hands slide up your torso, under your shirt. 

You hiss at the sharp throb between your legs from only his lips on your neck. He fucked you twice last night, leaving your body exhausted, spent; like sleep reset you, you’re ready to do it all over again. 

You turn abruptly, hands flying to the sides of his head to pull him to your lips, kissing him roughly, eagerly. He smiles into you, “That what you want?”

“Yeah,” you barely say the word, needing more, needing his lips, his hands, you need everything all over again. 

He bends, lifting you from under your thighs to sit you on the counter, you waste no time wrapping your legs around him, knotting your fingers in his roots. 

The sizzling on the stove gets louder, you don’t care. His tongue slips between your lips, hands under your shirt, grabbing at your chest, sliding around to your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You moan softly into his mouth, pressing your hips into the counter, body begging for friction. 

The front door swings open and you only hear it because of Yunjin’s laughter, sweet and bubbly. You whip your head around to see her stumble inside, San on her heel. 

You jump down from the counter in a panic, accidentally nudging Yunho out of the way as you turn to face the front door, skin bursting into flames as you look at the two who now notice you’re in the same room, and that they broke you up. 

“Morning,” San says with a smirk. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Yunjin looks like she’s trying incredibly hard to fight her grin. “I’m only here to shower,” she says coolly, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yunho as she throws her bag on the couch. “I need to wash the Penny and San off my body.” 

San’s brows furrow. “You need to wash me off your body? We’re only here so you can use your own body wash before you get me on your body again.” 

She whacks him in the chest. “Shut up, go to my room and wait.” 

He shakes his head, redirecting his attention to Yunho. “You see how she talks to me?” 

Yunho wears a small grin, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s how you like to be spoken to.” 

“Is something burning?” Yunjin turns back around, halfway to the bathroom already, and turning your attention to the stove you jump into action at the realization that the one, singular egg on the pan is burning. 

You curse under your breath, moving the pan to the other burner, shutting off the stove. San giggles where he stands, “So busy you forgot you were cooking?”

“My room,” Yunjin orders from the entrance to the bathroom, pointing to her bedroom. San’s arms raise in defense, quickly backing into her bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

She closes the door to the bathroom, leaving you and Yunho alone with more space between you, and it’s not all physical. 

“You panicked,” he points out. Your heart is beating out of your fucking chest, adrenaline, panic and arousal making your knees feel weak, your gut confused. 

“We almost burnt down the apartment.” You both know he isn’t talking about the egg. 

“Is it because someone saw us, or was it because someone saw us?” He asks bluntly, cutting right to the chase. 

“I just…” your hands find your hips, words caught in your throat. “I just got out of a long-term relationship, Yunho. I feel like it’s a little soon to be moving on.” 

“You think San is gonna judge you?” He leans his hip into the counter, one palm flat against the laminate, arm bent. “I know you aren’t nervous about Yunjin seeing you.” 

“No,” you shake your head quickly. “I’m not nervous about being judged, I’m just—”

“You don’t want anyone to think we’re together,” he finishes your sentence for you, words you were too scared to say, anyhow. “We’re not dating, we don’t even have to be exclusive if you don’t want to be.”

“If we're sleeping together, I want to be exclusive.” You at least know that for sure. 

“Okay,” he answers so quickly it makes you blink. “Then I’m only sleeping with you.” 

Your palm finds your forehead, your other arm gripping the counter behind you. “That doesn’t sound right, either.” 

“I’m not calling the shots, sunshine,” his head tilts, imploring you. “That’s all you.” 

You shift on your feet, lips scrunching to the side. You don’t know what you want. You don’t trust what you want. Not yet. 

Yunho sighs, pushing himself off the counter, taking two steps forward until he reaches you. His hands find your cheeks, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. 

“I’m not your boyfriend, but I’m not sleeping with anyone else. We can leave it at that.” He pulls away, using his hands on your cheeks to make you look at him. “That’s okay, and you’re allowed to want that. You deserve simplicity right now.” 

You nod, swallowing. “You’re okay with that?” 

He grins. “I told you I like you, and I’m patient.” 

His eyes are so clear, so fucking earnest you believe him. 

“Have you ever formed a routine in your life so fucking mundane that you’re just bored with it all? Your morning routine, classes, hanging out with your friends, partying… none of it feels like doing things anymore, it just feels like marking shit off a checklist. I think you guys could tell I was starting to feel that way with my ex bo— situationship. It all felt boring. I was bored.” 

“But I think in my weeks of being fully single, I started to learn that I wasn’t bored, the relationship had just ended a long time before it blew up in my face. I wasn’t bored, I was grieving, mourning because I was single, yet somehow still tied down. Now, I’ve come to learn that it’s really easy to confuse boredom with comfort, and being comfortable isn’t really that fucking boring at all.” 

You smile as Yunho crosses your mind, the past week you’ve spent together after giving your relationship a no-label label. You think you’ve seen him more than Yunjin, and you’re settling into that state of comfort, letting yourself breathe around him. You can feel your insides, what was a mess of weeds a week ago, slowly untangle themselves into something relaxed, open.

“They seem almost identical, right? Routine, predictability, knowing exactly what comes next, no anticipation or second-guessing. People use the word comfort with a bad connotation– like, if someone asked you, ‘why’d you break up?’ and you answered, ‘they got too comfortable’. Everyone seems to understand, but what the fuck does that even mean? Isn’t that what we should want? To be fully, absolutely comfortable with the person we love? Boredom is stagnation, to be without growth. Comfort is just… being yourself around someone, because you feel safe enough to be.”

“You can confuse a lot of things with boredom, when it’s really not boredom at all. Relationships don’t always end with a huge, massive blow up. Sometimes they die way before the eruption starts, sometimes they die while you’re still saying I love you every morning and every night. In that time, while the relationship isn’t breathing or bleeding or functioning at all anymore, that feeling… It feels like boredom. Existing in the same space, kissing, having sex, you don’t even realize you’re in mourning, moping over a loss that hasn’t technically happened yet. You’re lonely, even when you’re sitting beside someone who you think you love, who maybe you do still love.”

You sigh, frowning at your microphone.

“Comfort is… comfort is safety. It’s being able to laugh around someone when they said something stupid, and not being nervous that you’re too loud, or that it’s annoying. Comfort is wearing the same shirt you wore to bed two nights in a row, and not being scared that he’ll think you’re gross for it. Comfort is making a certain… noise during sex, and giggling about it because it’s funny. I still laugh, and if you don’t then you’re not fucking the right people. Comfort is safety to me, it’s stability, it’s laughing and enjoying company and finishing an entire pizza together because neither of you give a fuck.”

You’re smiling again, Yunho on your mind. 

“Two episodes ago, I talked about not being able to open up to anyone again emotionally. And I even said on the episode that the feeling doesn’t last forever, that eventually, you’ll want to open back up. It might be quick, but it’s fucking easy to when the other person makes you comfortable. Makes you feel safe enough to be yourself and not apologize for it.”

“Sorry I got deep for a second, I just… I’m reflecting on it a lot these days. And– ah!”

You scream as Yunjin pushes your door open, a pitched, blood-curling fucking scream. Then she screams too, jumping back a full step, nails clawing onto your door like she might scratch her way through it.

You slam your laptop shut, ripping your headphones off your ears. “What the fuck are you doing here!?”

“I skipped class!” she yells back, full of terror, then her eyes move to your bed. The mic, the headphones, your laptop slammed shut. You feel like you might throw up. She looks back at you, “Do I even want to know?”

“I sing,” you blurt. “I’m a singer. I sing. For fun. And post it on Soundcloud.”

She stares for a second, body uncurling from where it was bent up in fear, and then she laughs. Full-belly, clutching her fucking abdomen, bent over laughter. You still feel vomit clawing its way up your throat.

“You–” she laughs again, snorting. “I’m gonna fucking piss myself.”

“Why is that funny?” You gather your mic, your headphones, your laptop, shoving them all beneath your comforter. “Get out of my room, Jen. Your Friday classes are my time.”

Her knees are pinned together, upper half bent over, hand over her crotch, still laughing. “I’m sorry,” she tries to stand, breathless, laughter still pushing on her lips. “The idea of you– oh my god, I need to go pee before I piss on your floor.”

Quickly, you shove your equipment into your closet as she sprints for the bathroom. You take a deep, grounding breath, forcing the lie to spin in your head. You’re a singer. You sing ballads and post them to Soundcloud under an alias so no one will ever find you. You can still hear her fucking laughing in the bathroom. 

You run out to the hallway, yelling, “You laughing at me is not gonna help my fucking dreams come true, Jennifer!”

“I’m sorry!” she shouts from behind the closed bathroom door. “I cannot imagine it. I’ve heard you sing in the car and that shit is ass!”

You make a show of gasping like she pierced your heart. “I wasn’t trying in the car!” She just laughs harder. “It’s not that fucking funny!”

There’s only crickets until she pulls the bathroom door open again. Her face is stoic, expressionless. “I’m sorry,” she starts, and you can tell she’s using all the strength in her body to keep herself from laughing. “I support you in all your endeavors, and I think you’re an incredible singer. Please, bless my ears by letting me listen to a song.”

“Never,” you cross your arms in the doorway. “You don’t deserve to listen to my music.”

“You’re serious,” she leans into the doorframe of the bathroom, like you’re having a stand-off from one side of the hallway to the other. “Like, actually. You deadass sit in your room and sing into a microphone and post it to Soundcloud.”

“Yes,” you tilt your head, sounding assured. “I do. And I have listeners. Monthly ones.”

Her lips start quivering before she snorts. “I’m sorry,” she turns her head so you can’t see her, releasing her laughter in tiny before turning back around, clearing her throat. “You must be very talented, then. Please let me listen to a song.”

Using her same, sophisticated tone, you respond, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, I won’t laugh anymore. Seriously,” she stands up straight, arms flat at her sides. “Please let me listen.”

“Fuck no.”

“Please,” she begs, crossing the hallway. You quickly back up into your room, closing the door. “Please, please, please.”

“No!” you shout through the door, locking it just before she jiggles the handle. “Don’t try to come in here, you basically just crushed all my hopes and dreams. You’re in time-out.”

She giggles from the other side of the door, then stops abruptly. “I’m sorry! Please let me listen? I swear I won’t laugh. I’ll support you, I’ll even post the link to my story.”

“No!” You shout again, from your bed now. On your back, phone in hand, you cross your legs, scrolling through your texts, opening the thread with Yunho. 

yunho: r u busy yunho: come over  yunho: i have like 3 assignments i need ur brain

“Please! Please, please, please–”

“Stop begging!” you shout, typing back.

you: my brain?? my big smart journalism brain?????

yunho: yes yunho: ill eat u out

you: omw

“I’ll do anything,” she bangs on your door like she’s in a melodramatic musical. “I’ll cut off a limb… I’ll give you my firstborn… Please let me.”

“I’m going to Yunho’s!” you shout, already jumping off your bed to put a bag together. Clothes to sleep in, a hairbrush, your makeup, your laptop, you have assignments you need to finish, too.

There’s such a long period of time before Yunjin answers you think she might’ve finally given up. “I’m coming too!” she says excitedly from the other side, you can hear her smile. “San just said I can.”

Sighing, you reach for the doorhandle, unlocking it before pulling it open. She’s pouting, glossy lips bent, brows upturned, holding her phone open in her hand. “Please?”

“If you say anything about Soundcloud in front of any of them, I’ll kill you.”

“Then let me listen to a song before we go.” Your brows raise. “I won’t, I wouldn’t dare. You know that.”

You smile, satisfied. “Get ready, I’ll drive.”

After packing your toothbrush, you throw your bag and your purse over your shoulder, filling up your water before waiting for Yunjin by the door. She meets you just minutes later without a bag, without anything. You pop a brow. 

“If you’re staying at their house, I’ll bring him back here.”

“Ah,” your head tips back, tugging on your front door, locking it behind Yunjin. 

“You know, I could actually see you being a singer,” she says nonchalantly, walking beside you down the main staircase of your building. “Your talking voice is nice, I bet your singing voice is nice, too.”

“Jen,” you basically groan. “Just drop it already, please.”

“Let me be your number one fan,” she frowns, reaching the bottom step before you. “I feel weird about there being a part of your life I don’t know about.”

“Well, you laughed,” you make a face that says sucks to be you. “If you didn’t piss yourself, maybe I would have shown you.”

“I only peed a little!” she argues from behind you, standing her ground before following you to your car. “It just caught me off guard. You don’t seem like a singer, and it’s weird to me that you live this secret, double-singer-life.”

You sigh again, opening your car door, turning over the engine. “Drop it, Jen.”

“You seriously won’t show me?” she asks from the passenger seat, clicking her seatbelt into place. The emotion in her voice, the disappointment… You swallow down your guilt as you plug your phone in.

“I’ll show you when I’m ready,” you give her a small, comforting smile. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, her answering grin not fully convincing. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

You press play on your phone and turn the volume up.

“That’s you!” you hear San scream from the living room. “Drink, Yeo. You have to fucking drink!”

“Yun, these are still all questions he can answer with yes or no,” you sigh, pushing his laptop back toward him.

The dining room isn’t the most ideal place to do assignments. When there’s parties, this room is always full of people sitting around the table, passing around a bong, laughing, talking. It’s always full, just like the house is. What you didn’t realize is that even when there is no party, there’s still a party. Five frat guys and Jen sit in the living room playing god knows what while you sit with Yunho in the dining room, trying to help him with his final assignment you’ve gotten nowhere with in the hour that you’ve been here.

“I don’t even know what to ask anymore, I know all these answers already,” Yunho frowns, his blonde hair pushed back in a headband, his bottom lip red and swollen from how many times he’s bitten it. “Do you know how hard it is to come up with interview questions for Mingi when I already know everything about him?”

“Then why’d you choose him?” you ask, a grin warming your cheeks. 

“Because I thought he would be the easiest,” Yunho mumbles, leaning his cheek into his open palm. 

“I think the point is literally the opposite,” you try to hide your smile as you say it. “Aren’t these things usually supposed to be about someone you don’t know?”

His lips flatten, gaze falling to the table. “Yes.”

“Can you guys stop being losers and come play with us?” Mingi peeks his head into the dining room, his short, black hair unstyled, choppy over his forehead. “Yeosang is drunk and it’s kinda funny.”

“We’re almost done,” you respond with an affirming nod, even though you haven’t started your own assignment nor have you finished Unscripted for this week. You know you can’t do that here, though.

Mingi’s top lip lifts as he quietly mutters under his breath, “Losers.”

You turn to Yunho who’s staring at you with puppy dog eyes. You immediately laugh, “Oh, you cannot be serious. You asked me to come over here to help.”

“Can’t you just think of questions and I’ll write them down?” he asks, his pout deepening, the sparkle in his eye growing brighter. “I’ll eat you out so good, I swear.”

“You said you’d give me head if I helped,” your brows raise, leaning back into the creaky, wooden dining room chair. “Not if I did your work for you. That costs more.”

You think in the past week, you’ve gotten more head than you have in your twenty-one years of life. Not a complaint.

“Like… eating you out twice?” His voice is playful, teasing, his grin just as much. “Or did you mean fucking you stupid?”

You pretend to think on it, tapping your cheek with your index finger, eyes on the ceiling. “That could definitely be part of the payment.”

“Part?” his brows raise, still playful. “There’s more?”

“I want…” You lean in, whispering, “A new Gojo figure.”

He laughs from his chest, body sinking back into the chair. “Unserious.”

“Unserious?” you reiterate, brows in your hairline, “I’m completely serious, Jeong Yunho. The Dtalon Studios one. The freaky one.”

His face falls, blinking at you as the cogs turn in his mind, no doubt coming to the realization of which figure. “First of all, that figure is like, four hundred bucks. Two grand resold.” You nod. “For an interview assignment?” You nod again. “You’ve gotta be drunk.”

“Stone cold sober, baby.”

“The one where you can take his clothes off and he’s naked as fuck under? The mirror selfie one?”

With a breathy little giggle, you nod, “Yes, sir.”

He runs his hands over his face before facing his laptop again. “There’s gotta be things that I don’t know about Mingi.”

You giggle again, throwing your legs over his lap from your chair. “Interesting that you know so much about that specific figure.”

He doesn’t look up from his laptop screen as he says, “I went down a rabbit hole, don’t even ask.”

So you don’t. You lean into the chair, and watch him as he types, backspaces, and types again. So focused, jaw set, bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed unconsciously. So pretty, even when he’s doing nothing. It's unfair.

“Okay,” he leans back, and turns to you, presenting. “What’s your biggest goal after college?”

You hum, lips scrunching. You bend your knees, pressing your toes into his thigh, reworking his question in your mind. “What’s one thing you hope people will remember you by after college?”

In a split, Yunho answers, “His two-second shotgun record. He’s undefeated.”

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious? Why do you know that?”

“Because that’s his pride and joy,” Yunho shrugs. “If you ask him, that’s what he’ll say.”

“Mingi!” you shout, craning your head backward. When he calls back from the living room, you tell him to come into the dining room. When his thick thighs enter the room before he does, you ask, “What’s one thing you hope people will remember you by after you graduate?”

“My shotgun record,” he answers, right off the bat. “Did you know it’s two seconds?”

“Oh… my god,” you answer in complete disbelief, turning to Yunho. “Do you share one brain cell?”

Yunho laughs, standing, reaching forward to clasp Mingi’s hand, dapping him up. “Good shit.”

Mingi’s grinning, but he doesn’t ask why, or what it’s for. He just leaves. He doesn’t even care. You think you might lose your mind if you stay down here any longer. 

“Guys,” Yeosang enters right behind him, like Mingi passed the baton in the hallway between the two rooms. His blonde hair is more sandy than Yunho’s, longer, curling around his ears, the gray tee on his torso darkened with liquor, his sweatpants baggy. “Come play with us. Please? Pretty please? San keeps making me drink.”

He’s hammered. You cover your mouth with your palm as you laugh, Yunho outright snorting from beside you. Yeosang sighs, laying his palms on the table, his head dipping low between his shoulders. “Please,” he begs, sounding desperate. “I need someone to tell him no. Hongjoong won’t save me anymore ‘cuz he’s winning.”

“What are you playing?” you ask, curious now.

“We were playing Uno,” he stands again, running his hands through his hair, holding the strands taut at his crown. “Now we’re playing Never Have I Ever, and I’ve done a lot of things.”

You can’t hold back your snort this time. Yeosang whines, “Please, I need you both. I need someone else who has done things other than San and Yunjin, Yunho, please.”

“This isn’t due until next week,” Yunho almost whispers, leaning closer to you. “I can spare an hour.” 

“Never Have I Ever at our grown age?” You pop a brow. He shrugs. You sigh. “Okay.”

You grab drinks from the fridge before making your way out to the living room where Yunjin, San, Mingi, Hongjoong, Jongho, and Yeosang are already sitting on the couch. Everyone sits like they have their own space, San on the very end, Yunjin halfway in his lap. Mingi sits beside him, with a space between him and Hongjoong who sits beside Jongho, then Yeosang. You assume the space is for Yunho, who instead sits with you on the opposite side. You wonder where Seonghwa is, the last one you assume is out getting sucked and fucked.

On the coffee table are several, several empty bottles of beer, a tall, half-drank handle of vodka, and about fourteen empty, plastic shot glasses. You take a breath at the sight, and wonder if you’ll come out of the other end of this as sober as you started.

“Are we starting a new round?” Hongjoong asks as soon as you sit down, criss-cross applesauce on the couch, both hands holding onto the beer resting on the couch between his legs. “‘Cuz I was winning the last one, and I’m gonna be pissed if we start a new one and I lose.”

“How do you even win at Never Have I Ever?” Yunjin asks, her ass in the pocket between San’s lap and the armrest, a seltzer in her hands. Her legs over his lap, San just looks happy to be there, resting his arms over her legs, a beer in one hand.

“Not having all your fingers down, obviously,” Hongjoong answers quickly. “How are you just asking this now? We’ve played three rounds already.”

“So you just win if you’re a virgin?” Mingi asks, and suddenly everyone’s eyes besides Yunjin land on you.

Your cheeks flush. “I’m not a virgin.”

Yunho raises his hand, “Can confirm.”

Yunjin giggles loudly from the end of the couch, “Nice.”

“I’m not a virgin either, hello,” Hongjoong interrupts. “You all just ask stupid questions ‘cuz you’re drunk.”

“My questions aren’t stupid,” Jongho sounds offended, brown brows scrunching over his eyes. He’s lying sideways, propped up on his elbow, his knees bent so he doesn’t kick Hongjoong. He points to the older man with his half-drank beer, “I literally said never have I ever farted in front of a girl. That’s a solid question.”

Your lips tighten, trying not to laugh. Hongjoong nods, “Another reason why I was winning.”

“Okay, but that’s unfair,” San throws an arm in Jongho’s direction. “I eat a lot of protein, it’s not my fault.”

You find yourself looking at Yunho, “Would you have put a finger down?”

He’s smiling as he asks, “Do you really want the answer to that question?” 

“I can live without knowing,” you mutter as you turn to the rest of the group, bringing your seltzer up to your lips. It’s a mild flavor, more bubbles than anything, but you think you might need the alcohol if you’re going to participate. 

Yunjin clears her throat, “Never have I ever… been to a strip club.”

San, Mingi, and Yunho put their fingers down. You can only assume they went together. Yunjin kicks at San’s legs, and he shrugs, “It was Wooyoung’s idea.”

That makes sense. Yeosang stands, “Drink! You’re supposed to fucking drink!”

“No, you’re supposed to put a finger down,” Hongjoong reminds him, his voice steady. “You keep letting San bully you into drinking.”

You pout, bottom lip folding over. Leaning into Yunho, you whisper, “No one should bully Yeosang into anything, he’s too sweet.”

“He’s allowing it,” Yunho whispers back before sipping his beer. “He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t be drunk if he didn’t want to be, but you and Yunjin are here, so…”

“Damn,” you mutter, surprised. “Would not expect that from him.”

“Never have I ever,” San speaks up, his voice laying over the room like a blanket. “Hmm… Made out with one of my friends.”

Yunho, Mingi, Hongjoong and Yunjin put their fingers down. Yunjin you know has made out with probably your entire friend group, but your eyes bounce back and forth between Mingi and Yunho. Like he was reading the question in your mind, Yunho nods. 

“Really? Like, in a fruity way?” you question, brows in your hairline.

“He has literally been inside me,” Mingi says much too fucking casually from the other side of the couch before bringing his drink up to his lips. Your jaw touches the floor, you think.

Mingi doesn’t wait to say, “Never have I ever lied to someone in this room.”

Every single person puts a finger down, including you. Then Mingi laughs maniacally like he’s won the entire fucking game. Yunjin stares at you from across the couch, “Liar!”

“You put a finger down, too!” you shout back, pointing at her.

“I lied to San!” she points back, offended. 

San gasps, looking down at Yunjin, “You lied to me?”

“I lied to Yunho.” Frowning, you lean into him, “Sorry, but the last paragraph on your advertisement paper didn’t actually sound great.”

Yunho clutches his heart, his face morphing into heartbreak, “How could you?”

Your grin is silly as you lay your head on his shoulder, “Forgive me.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and for you, that’s forgiveness enough. You keep your head on his shoulder while Jongho announces, “Never have I ever been caught lying.”

“No fair, you just mooched off mine,” Mingi shouts at Jongho, his posture straightening out.

Jongho giggles, drinking his beer, but says nothing. When no one puts down a finger, the youngest man in the room scowls, “You’re all fucking liars.”

Hongjoong snorts, “That was a stupid question, I told you–”

Jongho stretches out one knee, kicking Hongjoong in his side. The older man gasps, whacking his leg with his arm, and Jongho just laughs in response. 

“I’m not playing this round,” Yeosang announces, body already halfway into the couch, eyes at half mast. Drunk and almost asleep, no one pays him any mind. When eyes land on you, you’re nervous, you didn’t think about what you’d say when it was your turn.

“Oh, shit,” you curse under your breath. “Uh, never have I ever… done anal.”

“I told you guys no one’s into anal,” Hongjoong mutters under his breath, completely missing Yunjin and Mingi who both put their fingers down. When he realizes, his jaw drops, “No fucking way.”

Yunjin just giggles, stretching her legs out over San until her toes prod at Mingi’s thigh. Mingi shifts farther away. 

Yunho, lips scrunched, seems to be thinking. “Never have I ever… shit, I’ve done a lot. Never have I ever drunk called an ex.” As soon as he says it, he looks at you. The rest of your fingers stay up. He smiles. 

“Boring,” San drags out from the other side of the couch. “This round was boring. We need another game, you all suck.”

“Let’s play karaoke,” Yunjin’s smile is evil as she stares at you from across the couch. Your body enters fight or flight.

“That’s not even a game,” Mingi mutters, sinking into the couch again, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Yup, not a game,” you quickly redirect your attention to Yunho. “We should go finish your assignment.”

“Boo,” Yunjin calls from across the couch, making your cheeks flush.

“They’re right, it’s not a game, Jen,” you hear from San as you stare at Yunho expectantly.

“I don’t wanna,” Yunho whines, laying back on the couch. 

“Then let’s go get you another drink,” you reach for his almost empty beer bottle, shaking it. Without giving him time to answer, you stand, “Come on.”

He follows you into the kitchen, but doesn’t speak until you’re out of earshot. While you’re opening the fridge for another beer, he wears confusion in his brows as he asks, “What’s up, sunshine?”

“Nothing,” you say breathily, almost satisfied as you watch him down the rest of his beer. Handing him the new one, you shrug, “Just wanted a second alone with you.”

He grins, setting the new, full beer on the counter before he grabs your cheeks, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. “Missed me?”

You lift yourself up on your tippy toes to swing your arms around his neck, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Maybe I’m ready to cash in.”

He laughs, “And the kitchen is where you want me? On my knees, for anyone to see?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” your head tilts, tone dripping in amusement, even if heat starts spreading through your lower half.

He hums, debating, using his hands on your waist to rock you both side to side. “Yes, but only because I don’t want anyone else to see you cum. That’s only for me.”

You kiss him again, with the intention of him bringing you upstairs. Even the dining room. Anywhere except the fucking living room where Yunjin is clearly dying to force you into singing, you’d rather kill two birds with one stone.

Yunho feels the heat, his hands sliding beneath your tee, his palms heavy on your hips. His thumbs tuck under the waistband of your sweats, tongue slipping between your teeth, pushing you backward, into the counter. You gasp when your back hits the laminate, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging at his roots.

He empties a quiet, rough noise into your mouth. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you keep your voice coated in innocence. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Go to my room,” he whispers into your mouth, then lets go of your hips. You pull your arms back down, grinning like you got your cake and you get to fucking eat it, too. You suppose it’s Yunho who would be eating it, actually.

“Woo,” you hear from the living room as soon as you turn to leave the kitchen. An announcement or a greeting, you aren’t sure, but you can feel your blood turn cold like an icy wind swept through the house, stealing all the heat you felt just moments ago.

Then you see him. Walking through the living room, towards the staircase, he’s in jeans, a hoodie, the hood swallowing his head, his hair. His jaw is set, his eyes low, his head down, but he sees you. His dark eyes land on you, then Yunho behind you, and it feels like slow motion, as if the world itself had pressed pause as his eyes rake you bottom to top. 

He walks past, up the stairs. You hear a door open, then close. Someone pressed play.

You still feel it, though, the absence. There was no anger in his eyes, no annoyance, just… silence.

Yunho’s hands land on your hips again, “You okay, sunshine?”

Your head tilts as he presses a kiss above your ear, you barely feel it. “Is he?”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Yunho says, like it’s no big deal. “Best to just leave him alone, he’ll be fine.”

You nod automatically, your eyes lingering on the staircase. You’re not sure you even heard what he said.

masterlist 🍬

[minkieater]

there are many, many things in life you’ll never understand. but the things you're trying to figure out right now are choi yeonjun, why no one is smart enough to figure out that unscripted is you, and how the fuck jung wooyoung is always right.

🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 3/? 8k words 🎤︎︎ 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, reader has a boyfriend who is choi yeonjun | smut minors dni

“HOW WAS THE PARTY ON TUESDAY?” Comes from Soobin, fully lounged out on the couch, his eyes on you the moment you step foot in his apartment. 

You close the door behind you softly, even if your heart is already racing in your chest. You ask, “What party?” 

Soobin sits up, a lazy grin on his cheeks, showing off his dimples. Not like San’s dimples, his are different, somehow, not as prominent. Not as damning. There’s something playing on the TV across from him, a cooking show, you think. 

His head tilts, eyes flaring like you both know what party he’s talking about. “I saw you there,” Soobin admits. “You were zip-tied to Jeong Yunho.” 

Heat spreads from your chest outward. You laugh, or try to, it comes out like a nervous sound of forced air, if anything. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you wonder, “I thought you were busy studying on Tuesday night.”

“Not busy enough to miss a handcuff party.” He sits up fully, leaning his chin into his elbows, arms hooked over the back edge of the couch. You creep closer after kicking off your shoes. 

“Is that what they’re called?” you ask, letting your purse fall from your shoulder to your fingers. “I’ve never been to one before.”

“They’re fun,” Soobin watches you carefully, like he’s reading your body language, or trying to. “If you’re tied to the right person.” 

“I was not,” you admit, pinning your arms behind your back, clasping your hands together. “Yunho made me shotgun, like, four beers. I don’t even like beer.” 

“Dirty martini, extra dirty, three olives,” Soobin recites from memory. “No, you’ve never been a Miller Lite kind of girl.” 

“Is Junie in his room?” You glance toward his closed bedroom door.

“He’s in there,” Soobin uncurls from the back of the couch, sinking into the plush leather again, focusing back on the cooking show. “He saw you with Yunho, too.” 

You took one step towards Yeonjun’s room before stopping in your tracks. Your neck snaps toward Soobin, “He was there?” 

“Weird, how you guys don’t talk when you’re in a relationship.” 

You don’t answer, already at Yeonjun’s door, pushing it open to see him exactly where you knew he’d be. At his desk, laptop open, headphones in his ears. Like he did to you Tuesday morning, you walk over to him and pluck one out of his ear. 

You skip greeting him. “So, I couldn’t come over Tuesday night because you were studying, but you could go to a frat party? That doesn’t interfere with your studying schedule?” 

He pushes his desk chair backward, looking up at you with a face that doesn’t read even the slightest bit of guilt. “I had been studying all day, I needed a break.” 

“And that involves frat parties, but not hanging out with your girlfriend?” You throw your purse onto his bed, hands landing on your hips. Anger brings your blood to a steady boil, skin steaming, a kettle ready to whistle. “Jesus Christ Yeonjun, you want to marry me but you can’t spend your Tuesday night with me?” 

“Hey,” he tries to soothe, eyebrows bent up in concern. He shakes his head before words can spill, “It was last minute, baby. I went with Soob and Gyu, I didn’t even drink.” 

“Did you get tied to anyone?”

“Did you?” he counters, and your mouth runs dry. He smiles, a small, soft grin, “I saw, but I’m not angry, am I?” 

Your lips bend downward in a frown, voice coming out quieter, like you didn’t want the answer as you ask, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me at the party? We could’ve gone together, been tied together.”

“Come here,” he soothes, holding his arms out. You look at him for a second before moving an inch. Sweats on his legs, a loose tee on his torso, but his hair is still styled from class earlier today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Your Yeonjun. 

You take a step toward him, and his hands land on your hips, giving you the okay to crawl onto his lap, feet dangling off the back of the chair as you settle over his thighs. Hands landing on his shoulders, you pout further, “They made me drink beer.”

He moves your hair away from your face, pouting with you, “How could they be so cruel?”

“You really don’t care that I went?” you ask, voice still small, partially guilty. “I didn’t even tell you I was going.” 

“I figured you needed to blow off some steam,” Yeonjun’s hands land on your bare thighs, warm palms smearing smooth strokes across your skin. “I haven’t been the most attentive lately.” 

“No,” you’re quick to answer. “You haven’t.”

“My pretty girl,” he reaches up for your cheeks, pulling you down to kiss him. A light peck, a greeting in the press of your lips. “Stay over tonight.”

You’re supposed to record tonight, an hour length episode on bondage. You should send Yunho a fruit basket for the idea. 

You hum, keeping your lips close to his. “Maybe.”

He kisses you again, one of his hands falling to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. He parts with your lips with his tongue, and you moan an almost silent noise into his mouth, a soft plea.

“Why maybe?” he whispers between kisses, teasing. “You’ve got a hot date? Choi San? Jeong Yunho?”

You smile, giggling into his mouth before pushing on his chest. “Shut up,” you press your forehead against his. “Your exam is tomorrow and I have a lot of shit to get done.”

You do, other than the podcast. His hands find your waist, slipping under your tee, warm against your skin. A shiver racks up your spine anyway, body giving into his touch, craving more, needing more. You don’t want to get your hopes up, even if he’s the one coming onto you. 

“Too much that you can’t make some time for me?” he’s smiling, voice too playful for the weight of his words. How did this get flipped on you?

Your response comes quickly. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

He frowns, voice suddenly sharp. “Do you think it’s easy? My classes? My assignments?”

“No,” you mumble, shameful. “I just think you can make more time than you let on.”

“So you think I’m a liar?” He sits back in the chair, leaving you with your hands on your thighs, disarmed. “You think that I enjoy spending all my time sitting at this desk, not doing the things you want me to do?”

Your cheeks feel hot, nails catching onto the skin of your thighs. “That’s not what I said, Junie.”

“You don’t have to say it,” he argues. “Do you think it felt good to see you tied to Jeong Yunho? Laughing with him? Smiling at him the way you smile at me?”

All the color drains from your face, leaving your skin feeling cold, your body stiff with discomfort and guilt. “I— you said you didn’t care that I went.”

“I don’t care,” he reiterates, voice still ridged with frustration. “I can’t care, because I know I’m not taking care of you the way I’m supposed to be. I was there to blow off steam, too, because all I can think about is cardiovascular hemodynamics when I should be thinking about you.”

You’re shaking your head before he finishes his sentence. “You don’t need to be thinking about me, focus on studying. I’m here, I’ll be here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

His lips bend in a small smile, hands landing on your thighs again, sliding his palms up and down reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby, I know, I just…” He glances at his laptop. “I need to finish this section.”

You swallow down your unease, mind drifting back to the party, to Wooyoung’s advice that you’ve refused to take for over a week now. Heat returns to your body, your hands landing over Yeonjun’s on your thighs. “Finish it in ten minutes.”

You can feel your heartbeat, moisture surfacing on your palms. You need this, you need him to lay you down, to remind you that he loves you. All of your questions from before the party have been answered: you clearly don’t respect him enough as a med student, you’re a shitty girlfriend for not giving him space, and you do fucking suck because all you can think about is still fucking sex. 

You pull your shirt over your head from the hem, throwing it to the floor beside you. Yeonjun watches, lips parting, eyes darkening to a moonless night.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, voice coming out sultry, like a glass of red wine. Your right hand slides down your stomach until it passes the hem of your shorts, the only layer separating you. You hear Yeonjun’s breath catch in his throat. 

Two fingers find your clit, adding pressure, swirling a small, precise circle. You release a pleased sigh, head falling to the side, eyes locked on Yeonjun whose gaze is focused on between your legs. 

“Study me,” you whisper just as your hips rock into your own hand, fingers picking up speed between your legs. Yeonjun’s brows furrow, nails sinking into your thighs, body sinking into the chair, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, voice layered with arousal, deep and seductive. 

“I’m so wet,” you whine, like it’s a complaint. But it’s not, the relief is immediate, body thrumming with pleasure as he watches your knuckles through your shorts. “D’you wanna feel?”

Finally, he looks up, and you can’t believe there’s a full second of debate before he’s grabbing you by your thighs and standing on his feet. In one quick motion he has you on your back, on his bed, legs spread and back arched. 

He tugs both his sweatpants and his briefs down his legs at once, crawling over you, helping you get your shorts down your calves, over the heels of your feet.

“Fuck me,” you whisper as he settles between your legs, before his lips meet yours. Your tongue slides into his mouth as you reach for the hem of his tee, breaking the kiss only to pull it over his head. He presses his chest against yours, and you swear the feeling of his skin against yours brings you closer. 

You can feel him sliding between your thighs, spreading the arousal you’ve spent the last few minutes gathering, unsurprisingly slippery. “Junie,” you pant into his mouth, back arching up into him, “inside, please.” 

He grunts like he’s letting go of the last bit of his restraint. Looking between your bodies, he lines himself up, and you brace yourself for the stretch, sucking in a tight breath, limbs locking. 

He groans as he pushes inside, savoring every inch of your heat, slowly filling you until he reaches the hilt. He's slow at first, like he always is, rocking into you softly, letting you feel every inch, every vein, every ridge. 

“Feel so good,” your boyfriend grits out, chin tucked to his chest, watching himself pull out and fill you up over and over. You reach for his face, keeping your song of pleasure quiet, legs hooking around his back as you pull his lips to yours. 

He picks up the pace, fucking into you steadily, making your lips go slack against his, the two of you breathing into each others’ mouths, fighting to keep quiet.

“Not gonna last like this,” he mutters into your mouth, voice tight. You whimper, using your legs around his middle to lift your hips, angling him upward so his cock curves right into the spot you needed it to. 

“Fuck,” the curse is sharp, his hips stuttering. “So tight, ‘h my god—”

“Wait, wait,” you pant, nails clawing into his shoulders, ankles crossing over his back. You’re not close, you’re barely dipping your toes into the pool of pleasure. You thought it’d be easier to reach the finish line, so wound-up, you assumed after a few measly touches you’d be coming undone. 

“Can’t,” he whines, voice strained, pitched and tight like he was two strokes away from finishing. 

And he was, much to your dismay. 

His pace quickens, staggered, rough, chasing his release until he pulls away, pulling out, he takes his length in his hand until he’s painting the expanse of your stomach white. 

You lay there, catching your breath, hating yourself for being disappointed. Wooyoung’s voice rings in your mind as you watch Yeonjun run a hand through his hair— three minutes of missionary. Was that even three minutes?

Yeonjun hops off the bed, no doubt in search of a towel to clean you up. You should just be happy he finally fucked you, you could work on the specifics later. That was progress. That was sound advice you received, used, and it fucking worked. 

It worked. 

“Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks, wiping your stomach with a warm, damp towel. 

You nod, reminding yourself to smile, “Yeah, ‘m fine. Happy.” He grins, so wide and full it makes the guilt weighing on your chest feel ten times heavier. “Will you be upset if I go? I still have to work on my multimedia report, it’s due tomorrow.” 

He crawls over you, then drops himself on the bed beside you, planting a kiss on your lips as soon as he lands. “I could never be upset with you, baby. You’re gonna be a big-shot reporter one day, aren’t you?” 

“A big-shot journalist,” you correct, smiling before you kiss him again. 

“I couldn’t take time away from you reaching your goal,” he presses another kiss to your forehead, voice soft, even if the wording makes it feel like a dig. “Go.” 

Go, Virgin. 

You crawl off the bed quicker than you mean to, finding your tee, your shorts. Guilt, disappointment and despair are swimming in your gut, a cocktail for you losing your patience, your temper and your mind if you don’t leave his condo now. You should be grateful. You should be happy you’ve made progress. 

But fuck, your insides feel hollow. You don’t feel any better than you did before. 

He mutters something about seeing you tomorrow, and you smile, kiss him once again, then sling your purse over your shoulder and get the fuck out of there. You don’t speak to Soobin, you don’t look at Beomgyu on the opposite side of the couch, you keep your gaze straight ahead as you make for the front door. 

Once you’re outside under the sunset, you finally breathe, filling your diaphragm with air and hope. This can’t be forever. You can’t be one of those wives that men talk about under the AITA subreddit, the ones who won’t fuck their husband because he fucking sucks. 

You can’t be in a sexless marriage. 

You can’t marry him at all.  

S&M by Rihanna is blasting in Wooyoung’s headphones, and only God and Unscripted could possibly answer why. 

“Good morning, afternoon, or goodnight, whatever time you’re listening to this week’s episode of Unscripted. Today, we have an exciting topic that I cannot wait to dive into. Bondage. And I know what you’re thinking: am I secretly really kinky? Well, I guess it’s not much of a secret after over fifty episodes, is it?” 

“If you don’t know what bondage is, then I’ll give you the Merriam-Webster definition. Bondage is a sadomasochistic practice—hence S&M for the intro—that involves the physical restraint of your partner. Or of you, depending on what you’re into. I’d like to start off with a story, if that’s cool with you.” 

Wooyoung internally groans as he stares at the treadmill screen with a blank expression. He needs her to get to the juicy part and fast. 

“This weekend, I went to a frat party. I know, so sophisticated, but it was enlightening in a very physical way. My wrist was zip-tied to a random guy, someone I had barely even met, and it got me thinking— do we all have someone that we're zip-tied to, whether it’s a physical, or an emotional bond?”

Wooyoung almost trips over his feet. She was at his party this weekend? What other frat on campus could have had the same themed party on the same weekend?

“Even though I was physically tied to this beautiful, tall, random ass man I’ve never spoken a word to, there was someone else at the party who is tied to a vastly different part of me. By midnight, the alleged rules state that all couples are to finish a pack of alcohol together, and then you could get your zip-tie cut off your wrists, and enjoy the party. Six beers down, I was freed, and trust me, I enjoyed that tall man and the party. But now, a few days later, I’ve come to realize what was supposed to be such a simple party theme might have changed the trajectory of my life forever.” 

Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Boring. No one cares about hearing about her life if it’s not the sexy bits, especially him. He doesn’t reach for his phone.

“I didn’t even know he was there, the other guy, not the sexy one I was tied to with a strap of plastic. But now that I know, I’m wondering, was I really ever tied to Mister Tall? Did I even consider the fact that I could be tied to Mister Tall? Or was I tied to someone else the whole time, and I couldn’t even enjoy that I was physically attached to a tall, sexy ass man?” 

Wooyoung is confused. So many words, so many words repeated, he thinks he lost somewhere around strap of plastic.

“Do we all find ourselves, at some point in our lives, attached, bonded to someone we know we shouldn’t be, but we can’t do anything about it? We can’t stop because we’re scared of what it’s like to not have them in our lives, we’re scared of what it’s like to feel fully alone again.”

Wooyoung has never disagreed with anything more. 

“Sex should be fun. It should be filled with curiosity, comfort, laughter, and pleasure. You should try new things, like bringing zip-ties to the bedroom or having a woman on your face while another is between your legs.”

That's something Wooyoung can agree with. He loves it when it feels personal. 

“It shouldn’t be… it shouldn’t feel like a chore. Or like you’re a hole or something, sorry, that’s foul wording, but it’s the truth. Sex is between two people, and it should feel that way, whether you’re bonded to the person or not. If you’re a guy listening, please take everything I just said to heart, and if you’re thinking ‘is this about me?’ then it is.”

Damn. This isn’t the usual fun and flirty sex talk he usually hears from her podcast. He guesses women like Unscripted go through shit, too. And here he thought she was just as free-spirited as he was. Wooyoung guesses everyone goes through shit— he wonders if he’ll ever feel anything close to what she’s going through, or something like what you’re going through. 

He laughs under his breath at the idea. Or tries to, at least, his breath cleared from his goddamn chest thanks to the speed of the treadmill. 

“My bad, someone sent in a question asking if I’d ever experienced a situationship and I needed to let everyone know that even I get lonely sometimes, and sleep with a man more than once. But anyways, let’s move on to the good shit, right?” 

Wooyoung peels his headphones off his ears and cringes when he realizes they’re as sweaty as he is. Resting them around his neck, he turns the treadmill off, wipes it down, and throws his bag over his shoulder all while still trying to catch his breath. 

It didn’t feel like an hour running through podcast episodes, at the end of this one he’ll be all caught up, and by this point he feels like he knows her a little better. He relates to her, in a weird, hatred-filled way, it’s like she’s the female version of him, but he’d rather fall off the treadmill than admit that to someone else. 

Especially San. 

He feels even weirder now that he’s come to terms with relating to her, but knowing that even she’s felt a level of romance before when he’s never felt it at all, makes him feel like an oddball. He leaves it up to a strong case of FOMO, but in his soul he knows he doesn’t actually want to experience it. 

Everyone he knows that’s in a relationship hates it in one way or another. Or they’re too stubborn to admit it, like you, very obviously just showing up for your shift behind the gym counter. 

“Virgin,” Wooyoung says by way of greeting. You’re shoving your bag under the counter when he says it, and when you look up, Wooyoung nearly jumps where he stands on the opposite side of the black acrylic. You look like shit.

“Damn,” Wooyoung mumbles, taking in your dark circles, your zombie-fied, lifeless looking skin. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I don’t have the energy for you today,” you respond, voice curt. No playful tone, no sarcasm, just the honest-to-god truth. It kinda hurts his feelings. 

“What happened?” Wooyoung asks, his tone concerned, and it surprises him that he cares. Instinct, not choice. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, throwing your phone onto the acrylic, a little hard for someone who’s trying to play off their state as fine. “Go home, Wooyoung.”

Something tugs at his gut, telling him to go. Instinct tells him not to press, not to get involved, but by now he’s in too deep to not be intrigued. 

“Does it have to do with the husband?” He pries anyway, crossing his sweaty forearms over the counter. “You look like shit.” 

You deadpan, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “Oh, really?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. Maybe the sarcastic part of you stays intact no matter what. “I had no idea, I guess running on no sleep and copious amounts of caffeine isn’t good for one’s appearance. Who woulda thought?”

“I’m serious,” he pushes, his front pressing up against the counter. He leans his cheek on his palm. “Are you sick or something? Why are you working?” 

“I’m not sick,” you mumble, changing directions, as if Wooyoung wouldn’t follow you. You should know him better than that by now. 

“Then what’s your deal?” He meets you at the opposite side, his sweaty arms leaving another mark on the acrylic. 

“God, Wooyoung, what if I’m just having a bad day?” Your voice is raised, basically shouting, sounding exasperated like he’s hit every single nerve he could reach. “And if something is wrong, maybe I don’t want to fucking talk to you about it!” 

His brows raise. Maybe he should have listened to his gut. It's never steered him wrong before, listening to his gut is how he hit his last personal record, six women in one day.

He can’t find it in himself to come up with a snarky response, so instead he taps the black acrylic twice in place of saying goodbye with his lips sealed tight, and carries himself back to his car like he never asked in the first place. He reminds himself he doesn’t care, not about you, not about your love life, he wouldn’t give a fuck if you never spoke to him again. 

He will admit that he kind of wants to know if his advice worked, though. A creeping thought has been breaching the walls of his mind lately, if he could really be the male version of Unscripted, if he started posting podcast episodes of himself talking about sex. Would he become as popular? Would he get as many listeners? Would people take his word as seriously as they take Unscripted’s?

The music playing from his speakers is a low hum all the way back to his house. His mind wanders, from you, the way you looked, to Unscripted, to himself. If sex is his singular, undeniable skill in this life, shouldn’t he do something with it?

“What’s wrong with you?” San asks from the kitchen as soon as Wooyoung closes the door behind him. Damn, did your shitty mood rub off on him?

“Nothing,” Wooyoung shrugs, crossing the living room. “I just left the gym. Did you know Virgin works there?”

“I feel like she appeared out of literally nowhere, and now she’s everywhere,” San indulges the topic while making a sandwich, which was really stuffing different meats and cheeses between two burger buns. Wooyoung thinks it’s Jongho’s turn to go to the grocery store. 

Wooyoung jingles his lanyard at his side, mindlessly listening to the keys playing a small tune. “She seemed weird,” Wooyoung mumbles, lost in thought again, staring at the makeshift sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the world. 

Yunho walks in from the back door, eyes landing on San’s sandwich, too. “Ooh,” he perks up at the sight. “Can you make me one, too?” 

“Not enough bread,” San holds up the plastic bag that once held the burger buns, now empty. “Go yell at Jongho to go to the store.”

Yunho dips his chin toward Wooyoung, “Wanna go with me?” 

“Hell no,” Wooyoung makes a why-would-you-even-ask face. “It’s Jongho’s turn.” 

“He doesn’t follow the list,” Yunho walks to the fridge, peeling the blue sticky note from the stainless steel. Pinching it between two fingers, Yunho shows it to San and Wooyoung like it's a piece of treasure. “Do you see this list? We make this list for a reason.”

“We see the list,” San and Wooyoung respond as one, voices flat and monotonous. 

“You’re coming with me,” Yunho points at Wooyoung with his other hand. “You’re driving, let’s go.” 

He can’t even shower first? He still smells like sweat and whatever funk is left from your bad mood raining all over him. He doesn’t argue, though, Yunho’s a high-spirited guy and if there’s anyone who could fix Wooyoung’s attitude, it’s him. 

In the car, Yunho rambles about Tuesday’s party, the guy who warmed his bed that night. It's always been interesting to Wooyoung, how Yunho could play for both teams, how he never leaned toward one side over the other. If Wooyoung was honest with himself, he would have slept with a guy a long, long time ago. That day will come eventually. 

Somehow even that reminds him of you. Well, your possibly gay boyfriend, which isn’t doing great things for aforementioned eventually. He tips his head back until it’s leaning against the headrest, tuning Yunho out while he thinks about your sex life instead of his own. When he wonders if you’ve gotten the balls to suck his dick yet, he shivers, and decides to start listening to Yunho again. He fears eventually is nearing closer than he thought.

“Do you ever feel like that?” Oh shit, he wasn’t listening. “Like everything is already mapped out for you, but you don’t know if you’re following the steps? Or the road?”

“Like the yellow brick road?” Wooyoung quips with a sly grin. 

Yunho laughs, sinking further into the passenger seat, knees touching the glove compartment. He’s in workout clothes, sweatshorts, a loose tee, the same headband on his head he always wears. Wooyoung’s dressed in the same— perfect grocery store attire. 

“Why is everyone so deep today?” Wooyoung wonders out loud, turning into the parking lot of the grocery store. He needs to stop thinking so hard while he’s driving, he doesn’t remember getting here. 

“Who else? And deep in who?”

Wooyoung snorts at his lame joke. “I was listening to Unscripted earlier—”

“You hate Unscripted,” Yunho doesn’t let him finish, snapping his body sideways to look at Wooyoung. “Why the fuck were you listening to Unscripted?”

“I just was,” Wooyoung snaps. “And she was talking about the party on Tuesday, she was there.” 

“How many people away from her do you think we are?” Yunho asks, suddenly excited. “Do you think we know her already? Or do you think she’s a friend of a friend? Bro, you’ve probably fucked her.” 

“I have not fucked her,” Wooyoung argues while swiftly backing into a parking spot. The lot wasn’t too crowded for a Friday evening, everyone is probably out partying already. 

“How do you know?” Yunho unclips his seatbelt, folding his big ass to get out of Wooyoung’s low sports car. When they’re both out of the car and the door is locked, Yunho continues, “She doesn’t have an identity. She’s faceless, identity-less, she’s a sex ghost.”

“Sex ghost,” Wooyoung mumbles under his breath, and he’s reminded why the fuck he hates Unscripted so much. “That really bothers me, y’know, that you all listen to her and believe every word she says just because she’s a woman.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Yunho drags out. “I’ve heard it all already. You never mentioned how she got all deep.”

“She was supposed to talk about bondage, like cuffs and rope and tape and shit, but she started talking about this situationship she has, and how he was at the party, too. She seemed pissed or something.” 

Yunho hums, surprised. “I would have thought she was just like you, allergic to relationships of any kind.” 

“I thought that too,” Wooyoung nods while getting slapped across the face by the grocery store’s air conditioning. His nose crinkles, but maybe the air will wash off the rest of his Virgin funk. 

“That reminds me,” Yunho wonders out loud as he bee-lines toward the produce. Wooyoung grabs a basket and follows him. “That girl that almost passed out at the Penny, she was at the party, too.” 

“I know, she interrupted my threesome,” Wooyoung says, holding out the basket for Yunho to throw whatever was on the list inside. 

“So you’re friends,” Yunho turns, brows furrowed like it was a question. “Did you know her boyfriend doesn’t fuck her?”

“Unfortunately,” Wooyoung sighs. Is there no escaping you now? 

“She’s pretty,” Yunho turns again, holding up the blue sticky note, probably making sure he isn’t missing anything. “I’ll never understand staying in a relationship you aren’t happy in.” 

“She’s happy in her own strange way, I guess,” Wooyoung catches the vegetable Yunho throws into the basket. “I don't understand staying in a relationship, period. Could you imagine not having the opportunity to fuck two women at once, because you had a partner waiting for you at home?” 

“You’re twisted,” Yunho shakes his head. “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re getting your whore-ism out now. When you find a partner, you’re going to be more loyal than anyone else on the fucking planet, I guarantee it.” 

Wooyoung laughs, “Sure, and Virgin’s gonna break up with her boyfriend and blow through the frat like a fucking freight train.” 

When Yunho turns to look at him, there’s a twinkle in his eye, and Wooyoung swears it’s hope. There’s a part of him that doesn’t like it, that look, that glimmer. 

He doesn’t know what that says about him. 

You decided to put together a basket. A good job basket, or a be proud of your hard work basket, or a congratulations basket, even if you know Yeonjun doesn’t have his exam results yet. Maybe you’ll just call it an I love you basket. You raced to three different stores after your shift in a panic, worried about not only the episode you posted this morning, but also the fact that you kind of fucking hate your boyfriend.

Okay, you don’t hate him literally at all, but having sex with him didn’t feel right and it’s really freaking you the fuck out. So you need something to do, something tangible your hands can create, something that will help ease the tension in your spine because Yeonjun is supposed to be your forever and you don’t know if you can handle anything other than that.

Were you being too direct on the podcast? What if he somehow ends up listening to it, recognizes your voice, and realizes all the things you said were about him? You suppose if Yeonjun ends up listening to Unscripted, hearing himself in your words is the least of your problems.

You stuffed colorful highlighters, his favorite gel pens, trail mix, protein bars, gum, a brain-shaped stress ball and a handwritten note you wrote about fifteen minutes ago into a wicker basket you got for four bucks at the convenience store. You shift each gift in the basket, making sure each one is visible, then make sure the basket as a whole is visually appealing in height and color.

You’re stalling. It’s past eleven at night and you have no reason to go to Yeonjun’s condo other than to drop off this basket in hopes that Yeonjun feels your appreciation for all his hard work. You’re stalling because it’s not about the basket at all. 

“That’s cute.” You shriek, jumping off the carpeted floor you’re sitting on. Your roommate, Yunjin is standing in your doorway, staring at the basket you can’t seem to finish putting together. “Gift for Junie?”

Her hair, a pretty, chocolate brown, is curled up and pinned in different places, framing her face perfectly. She’s always so put together, even with a bare face, even in the middle of the night. You wish you could say the same, but you still haven’t slept, so you’re pretty sure you still resemble death itself.

“Yeah,” you smile, proud of your basket. You look up and over your shoulder at her, “Think he’ll like it?”

In her matching pink pajama set, she walks into your bedroom and crouches down into her legs beside you, ignoring all the wrappers and price tags you cut off of each gift strewn across your floor. “What’s it for? Are you telling him you’re pregnant or something?”

You choke on your own spit. “You think I’d get him colorful highlighters and a brain-shaped stress ball if I was pregnant?”

“Stress ball for him to use when he freaks out,” she points as she explains. “Then after he’s accepted it, highlighters to document each trimester and what symptoms you’re feeling.”

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” you sigh. “He had an exam today, this is congratulatory or something.” Then on a vulnerable note, you ask, “If I was pregnant, would you be happy for me?”

“Probably not at first,” she shrugs like that was the obvious answer. “You’re basically fresh out of the womb, your womb isn’t ready to have anything in it yet.”

“Stop saying womb,” you scrunch your face, amused. “He told me the other day that he wants to marry me as soon as we graduate, then he wants to get me pregnant.”

“Who cares what he wants?” She sits back on her butt, elbows landing on her bent knees. “You’re always worried about what he wants. What do you want?”

“Can I be honest?” you ask, then add, “can I also be really vulgar for a sec?” She nods with a grin, eyes flaring interest. Vulgar is her favorite. “I want good sex. Like, really good, world-shattering, it’s insane that I just survived sex.”

She doesn’t laugh. Her brows furrow, “You’ve been dating Yeonjun for over a year. Give a girl more context.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, unease and a little bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine. You don’t know why it feels so hard to say the words to her, when you can tell Wooyoung and half his frat with ease.

“We had sex last night,” you’re basically whispering, your voice is so low. “I’ve been asking– basically begging for… rougher sex, I don’t know. Sex where I actually feel like he wants me. Last night we had sex and it felt like I accidentally got him hard and he just needed to get off or something. It's always like that.”

“How long?” she asks, her face bent in concern, her already soft features somehow softer. You feel a weight lifted off your chest, maybe it’s because you’re finally confiding in one of your friends, maybe it’s because she’s a woman. You don’t know why you thought that she’d make fun of you.

“A long time,” your lips flatten, scrunching to one side. Then your chest feels tight, and you can feel the tears forming, but you refuse to let them spill. “He just told me he wants to marry me, to start a family with me, but I can’t even get him to have sex with me half the time, and the other half he’s finishing after legitimately four strokes.”

She frowns, reaching a hand out to land on your arm. “I’m sorry,” her voice is filled with pity. “Can you see yourself marrying him?”

“I did,” you blurt, then correct yourself, “I do. I can, I mean. Or I did until last night, and now I’m freaking out, so I made this basket.”

She glances at the basket again, everything inside it with cool, calculated eyes. “One more question, and then I’m done quizzing you, I swear. Is the basket for you, or is it for him?”

“For him,” you answer, but your brows furrow. Why would it be for you?

She hums. “You’re smart, babe. You’re good at seeing people who aren’t used to being seen, you’re good at making them feel special, because you have a big heart, and you care. Shitty sex aside, does he do that for you? Does he see you? Does he make you feel special?”

You swallow, face falling flat, eyes a little wider than they should be. You should be screaming yes, yes, yes at the top of your lungs, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t made you feel special since the six month mark, when the honeymoon phase was over and your relationship flipped overnight into seeing each other only when it was convenient, scheduled dates made weeks in advance, or the two of you coexisting in the same place but not together.

You don’t like how this feels. You don’t like how every sign seems to be pointing in the same direction, you won’t accept it. You can fix this, you can make it feel like the first few months again, you can bring back the spark you lost. 

You won’t give up on him. 

“I’m gonna bring him the basket,” you avert, quickly standing on your feet, not meeting Yunjin’s gaze. 

She doesn’t move, you can feel her eyes on you from the floor. “We could have a girl’s night instead, I have face masks in the fridge already. We can make popcorn and watch a movie, you don’t have to go there.” 

“I want to go there.” You pick up the basket from the floor and grab your purse from your desk, throwing it over your shoulder. 

Watching you cross the living room, she stays standing in your doorframe, arms crossed. When your fingers touch the door handle, she calls out, “You’re too young to be this stressed out over a man.” 

“He’s not just a man,” you look at her over your shoulder. “I’m committed to him.” 

You quickly turn away, you don’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. You don’t know if this is the right choice, if your relationship is worth fighting for, if it should be this much of a battle. Yunjin seems to have the answer, and you don’t want to see it spelled out on her face. 

You keep your gaze straight ahead for the entire walk to Yeonjun’s condo, just in case the bushes along the sidewalk had some insight to add, too. It looks empty from the outside, all the lights are off, from where you stand it’s almost as if no one is home at all. Being a Friday night, three pre-med students should be home, asleep. You shouldn’t expect that of Tuesdays, though, you guess. You fish for your keyring from your purse before pushing the key to Yeonjun’s into the lock, turning it, then let yourself inside. 

The living room is dark. Eerily dark. The lights are off, even the corner lamp, the couch in pristine condition with the throw blanket folded perfectly over the back. You could see well enough from the moonlight pouring in through the windows, painting streaks of silver on the hardwood floor, on the furniture. The door beside Yeonjun’s opens, just enough for you to see Soobin’s dark eyes peeking through, then it opens halfway, and he leans up against the doorframe, his expression blank. No curiosity, no questions, as if he just wants to watch. 

It makes you panic. Blood surges through your veins, your breath picking up, you rush across the living room and open Yeonjun’s door, expecting to see anything but what was behind it. 

“No,” you whisper, taking in the sight before you, even under the blanket of night you could still make out both figures on the bed. The contents of your stomach fall to the floor, blood pounding beneath your skin, “No, no, this is a dream, I’m dreaming.” 

Beomgyu picks his head up first. Your name tumbles out of his mouth once in confusion, twice in panic, then he’s smacking Yeonjun’s bare back, his bare arms, pushing your naked boyfriend off of his own naked body like it’d somehow hide what you’ve already seen. 

“I’m dreaming, right?” you ask Beomgyu, who stares at you with terrified, wide eyes as Yeonjun blinks his eyes open. A little louder, your voice cracking on the word, you ask again, “Right?!”

“You’re cheating on me?” your voice cracks again on cheating. “You’re cheating on me with Beomgyu?”

Yeonjun sits up, confusion still sprinkled across his features, “Who? What are you doing here? What?” 

“Wake the fuck up,” you’re yelling now, and Beomgyu is scurrying off the sheets, trying to catch his footing on the floor. You point at him, “Don’t fucking move.”

Beomgyu stills like you froze him. Yeonjun comes to, glancing at you, then Beomgyu, then his face contorts in panic. “Baby, I can explain—”

“You can explain Beomgyu naked in your fucking bed?!” You’ve never yelled at him before. He’s never seen you truly angry. “You fucked me yesterday and Beomgyu’s naked in your fucking bed, Yeonjun?!” 

“You had sex with her yesterday?” Beomgyu interrupts, voice sharp, hurt laced into the question. 

Yeonjun sits up fully, pulling the sheets over his lap, and then he holds them over his obviously naked fucking body as he crawls toward the foot. “Baby, it’s not what it looks like— he’s just, we were studying, and then one thing led to another—”

You laugh, dropping the basket to the floor. Yeonjun stiffens, and you know it’s because he’s never heard that laugh before. “Studying for what? Did you even have an exam today?” You turn to Beomgyu who’s already looking at you, features still blown out with terror. “Answer me, you lying piece of shit.” 

Beomgyu’s head even stutters as he tries to shake it, “N-no.” 

“Gyu!” Yeonjun grits out under his breath, then he turns to you. “It’s not what it looks like, just let me explain.” 

You take a step closer to Beomgyu who’s hands are shaking as he covers his bare crotch. His chest is sinking and rising rapidly, you can smell the fear on him. “How long?” Beomgyu blinks. “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend, Beomgyu?!” 

“T-three months,” he stumbles over the words, taking a step away from you, his chest growing red in asymmetrical splotches. 

“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun is yelling now, panic ebbed in his tone, like he could have lied his way out of this. You think he might still try. “He’s lying, baby, listen to me. Listen to me, I’m your boyfriend.” 

“Is this why you won’t have sex with me?” you finally ask, reality becoming crystal clear. “Be honest, Yeonjun, I already fucking caught you, there’s no point in lying anymore. Is he why you won’t fuck me?”

Yeonjun’s face is beet red, color bleeding down onto his shoulders, his chest. Shame, panic, guilt, you couldn’t pinpoint what emotion has his clamped fingers shaking on the sheet. 

“Yes,” Yeonjun whispers. “But it’s just sex,” he defends,  “there’s no feelings involved. I love you, I want to marry you.” 

Beomgyu’s neck snaps, horror in his eyes, spilling from his dropped jaw. You would have already known he was lying even if you didn’t get the confirmation from Beomgyu. 

“I brought you this,” you pick up the basket from the floor, tossing it onto the bed, Yeonjun jumps backward as the contents spill across his baby blue sheets. His dark eyes turn glossy, a frown bending his lips as he glances at each gift. “You don’t deserve my effort or my kindness, you never deserved a second of the time I’ve wasted caring about you. Loving you.”

Your words come out even, almost practiced, as if you’ve been waiting a long, long time to say the words. Your chest aches, of course, but there’s a certain weightlessness to your body, something close to relief. You should be angrier. You should be tearing apart his bedroom, beating his ass and Beomgyu’s.

You can’t bring yourself to move an inch.You turn to the younger man, “I’ve known you since the day I met Yeonjun, you’ve been my friend all this time, Beomgyu. You’re just as guilty as he is.”

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu squeaks out. “I’m sorry… I— I love him.” 

You give him a weak smile, “So do I.” Turning to Yeonjun again, silent tears stream down his cheeks now, his upper body slouched over, defeated. You keep your shoulders back, steady. “Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t come to my apartment. Forget I ever existed.” 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, his voice heavy from crying. He picks his head up, panic still webbed across his features, “I’m not— I’m not gay. It's just… Beomgyu. It’s just Beomgyu.”

Anger strikes, but instead it’s because Wooyoung was fucking right. Again. God— how the fuck are you gonna tell him? After you flipped the fuck out on him earlier, you don’t know if you’ll ever get the chance to tell him. You wouldn’t approach someone after they snapped at you, but it might be for the better, anyway.

“I don’t fucking care what you are,” you blurt, harshly. “I care that you cheated on me, especially after I've spent weeks trying to figure out what's wrong with us. I hope you two are happy together.”

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun yells out when you turn on your heel. “I love you, I’ll call you— I’m going to fix this, please–” 

You close the door behind you, pushing out a staggered, broken breath from between your lips. Soobin stands across from you, leaning against the back of the couch, body slouched casually like he’s been listening to the entire ordeal. 

“He really thinks he can fix it,” Soobin says first. You can hear Yeonjun yelling at Beomgyu behind the door. “He’s been trying to stop sleeping with Gyu for the past month. Couldn’t bring himself to.”

“You knew,” you whisper your understanding, jaw locked. There’s venom on your tongue as you ask, “Was it entertaining for you, watching me try over and over?”

Soobin shakes his head. “Not necessarily,” he cranes his neck, sinking into his shoulders, fingers clamped over the back of the couch. “I didn’t think it’d take so long for you to figure it out. It wasn’t my place to say anything.” 

You push off the door, a laugh coated in sarcasm tumbling off your tongue. “Right,” you nod, “because your loyalty is to Yeonjun, not to me.” 

Soobin shrugs. “If a guy stops fucking a girl like you, there’s only one clear answer why.”

“You’re just as fucking guilty as they are,” you spit out, striding past Soobin, towards the front door. “I hope I never see the three of you ever again.” 

“I wouldn’t bet your money on it,” Soobin calls after you. “It’s a small campus.” 

masterlist 🍬

[velvetmatz]

afterdark ─c.sn★⸝⸝🍓‧₊ (m)

p*rnstar!san x camgirl!reader

for mature audiences only, minors will be stockaded in the town square

⟢ a/n: the long awaited... | this is NOT in any way, shape, or form meant to depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.

⟢ summary: everyone knows choi san. the choi san. and the pornstar wonder boy just invited you to do a collab with him

⟢ word count: 35.7K

⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | masturbation (f), oral (m,f), p->v, unprotected sex (don't do that), squirting, edging, dirty talk, san makes a Crazy first impression, cowgirl/riding, bondage (f, not reader), slight yeosang x reader (mentioned), porn industry, blowjob, fingering, basically just everything you’d find in a porn

posted: 06.27.26

⟢ [OPEN] taglist: @christinerose380 @violatedvibrators @tiramingisu @cocostar1117 @lilliesofthevalley8 @princesskatriinnaaa @starhwasx @mythicalthing @inlovewithhongjoongno1 @fixxedonmingi @deokityu @lxvmiki @rhea-sylvea @planetherk @kkitomy @sweatyracoon @ebly-bembly @fancypeacepersona @angstylittleb1tch @liightlizard @angelnameddeveraux @shesgirlfriendmaterial99 @onlyforwoosan @maliabobea15 @lovemollywho @yu5qii @minyunsan-kitten @honghwalvr @toothjuiceee @flowering-weeds @bearxgyeomie

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You love your life. 

You love that you can wake up whenever you want, and that you have no set schedule to live by. The only deadlines you have to worry about are the ones you make for yourself. You love your beautiful apartment that you didn’t need anyone else’s help to get, and that it is so close to everything in the city. You love not worrying about money anymore. You get to live however you deem fit, taking life one day at a time. Everything in your life is by your own design. Honestly? It’s a dream. 

And it’s easy money, giving men a fantasy for the night. 

That’s what you sell, the idea of you. In everyday life, you don’t pout nearly as much as you do on camera, nor do you talk as sweetly to strangers. Some of them, though, aren’t strangers to you anymore. You recognize their usernames and their donations, especially the ones who have been fans of yours since you started, and the ones who pay for your highest tiered subscription. Twenty-five dollars a month just to jerk off to your exclusive content. Ah, men. 

Your fanbase has grown and grown, skyrocketing somewhat recently when you convinced Yeosang, your hot guy friend, to join you in one of your videos. He’d worn a face mask to protect his identity, but it had been so obvious that he’s attractive even with it on. The black tank top left little to the imagination as your audience watched the muscles in his arms flex as his strong hands fingered you over and over again while he talked you through each orgasm. It was a rather simple video, with no actual sex. Regardless, that became one of your most viewed videos even though it was an exclusive, and the video that ended up paying for this apartment. Men and women alike scrambled to type in their credit card information to see it, boosting not only your ego, but your bank account as well. You gave Yeosang a decent sized chunk of your earnings, seeing as he was in the video too.  

His whole face had turned red when you showed him the number of views, hiding behind his hands for good measure. He’s always been shy, it was a damn miracle you even got him to do it in the first place. 

Since then, you’ve been living quite comfortably. Yeosang, too. Despite your efforts to convince him to create his own account for people to subscribe to, he’s maintained his ‘innocence’. However, recently he’s been asking you more and more about the details and dynamics of running an account like yours. You’re almost afraid to jinx it, like if you ask him outright if he’s thinking about it, he’ll forget the whole thing and never do it. Who are you to potentially accidentally deny the general paying population of your hot friend? 

He may become even more popular than me, you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

You glance at your laptop, its camera trained at a specific angle towards your empty bed, and you peek at how many people are waiting for your livestream to start. Friday nights are always good to pull in larger crowds, and tonight is no different. 

Nine hundred, and climbing. 

Whoa.

You let out a low whistle at the number, the highest you’ve ever seen it just for the amount of people waiting. You’re not even due to start for another ten minutes. The number shifts around a couple times, losing some, and gaining more every minute. For the first time in a while, you start to feel a little self-conscious. This newfound fame is still just that: new. Even though you can’t see the audience you’ve gathered, you still feel that there are nine hundred pairs of eyes on you in your bedroom. There’s a nervous flutter in your chest that you can’t seem to shake off in the dwindling minutes before your stream begins. 

With only two minutes left, you flit around your room, double checking how you look in your mirror, fixing your hair and makeup, and adjusting one of the straps to the lingerie you picked out for the evening. You sit prettily on the bed, taking a few moments before you start to center yourself, taking deep breaths and focusing on getting your head clear for tonight’s performance. 

A ‘performance’ is basically all it is.   

Your fingers hover over the trackpad of your laptop, counting down the seconds until there are none left, and you click “Go Live”. 

As usual, you allow about ten seconds to go by, waiting for more to join once they get the notification that the stream has started. You read the sudden influx of chat, smiling when you see familiar usernames and knowing that rent will be covered for the next couple of months, just by their presence here. If you wanted something, all you had to do was ask for it. Someone in the chat will gladly donate however much you need – and then some – just for the chance to hear you read their username and thank them in your sweet voice. 

So easy.  

You saturate your greeting with honey, looking up into the laptop camera, eyes round and innocent. 

“Hi, everyone,” you sing, giggling for all of the people vying for your attention. Each comment is sent with the hope that you’ll read it out. Some send tips already, small amounts mostly in the single digits, but there are a couple of doubles sent your way already. The tip counter in the upper corner of the screen increases steadily with each donation as they come. Compliments, questions, requests, and general niceties move up the screen in a constant staccato, making room for the next. 

You lean back on your hands, pretending that you don’t know what you’re doing with this angle. The camera is angled down, providing an almost perfect POV shot for the audience. The fantasy begins immediately. You uncross your legs, feigning shyness. 

“My day was okay, thank you,” you purr, knowing you just made someone nearly cream their pants by answering their question. “But… I’ve just been so lonely.” 

You pout, right on cue to accompany your words. Instantly, the comment section floods with volunteers to cure you of your loneliness. Each one promises they can fix it, that they’ll be there for you, that they’ll never leave. It’s flattering, but none of them really mean it. Maybe they think they do, but again none of them really know you. You doubt most of them want to get to the very root of you and figure you out. No, most if not all just want to get into your pants to say that they have. Bragging rights. 

[user75846] will yeo be joining you?

You read the comment aloud, shaking your head in quiet defeat. “No, it’s just me tonight.” 

Some comments beg for his return, others are happy that it’s just you – the jealous types – and the rest are simply impatient to see your body. Your hand trails across the hem of your flimsy, sheer tank top you chose to wear for the evening. It leaves little to the imagination. The quiet pinging of more money being donated motivates you further. You sigh, looking up into the camera again. 

“I’ve been so sad and lonely all day… you guys will help me, right?” 

You pull your shirt down just a little more, showcasing your cleavage while keeping your face as innocent as possible. The comments spike again, but you don’t pay attention to them anymore. Your hand travels farther up to your mouth, fingers threatening to slip between your glossy lips. Twelve hundred people watch and wait. You hum, parting your lips slightly but not quite giving them the visual they want. Not yet. There’s no rush – not for you, at least. But one comment catches your eye because of its impatience.   

[mntn3000]: start.

Very blunt. You don’t recognize the username as one of your regulars or subscribers. Whoever this is must be new. You’ve run and maintained a rather strict program with your subscribers when it comes to what they say in the live chat – politeness being one of the main rules. The lack of a ‘please’ to sweeten the demand nearly twists your face into something less angelic. Maybe whoever this user is is already close, unable to finish his sentence before he finishes himself. You bet once you take your shirt off he’ll blow his load and leave. It happens. For now, you’ll have fun with him. Teach this newcomer some manners. 

You dip your fingers in, tongue peeking out to greet them into your mouth. The amount of comments slows just a little, silently telling you that some of your viewers are beginning to work themselves up along with you. 

“Oh dear… ‘mntn3000’ just said ‘start’. No ‘please’? Will someone let him know how this works?” You keep your voice sugary, making sure everyone knows you aren’t hurt or being stuck-up, but that you’re rather amused at the comment. 

Almost immediately, upon request, you see one of your regulars tag the newcomer in a message explaining the chat rules. 

“Thank you, Woo,” you hum, lifting your shirt up even more, just for him, to show your gratitude. Your hand lingers near your breast, a small shudder running through your body as you graze your nipple. 

‘Woo’, your nickname for him from his username, has become somewhat of an anonymous friend to you. He’s subscribed to your highest level tier and the VIP extras that you offer, including private shows and a group chat on Discord. He’s always the first to step in if someone says something out of line or disrespectful in any way. Your own personal guard dog. 

Whoever he is, ‘mntn3000’ doesn’t say anything to Woo’s message. 

Fourteen hundred people now. 

You hum again, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You love the attention. And after doing a rough estimate in your head how much money you’ll make tonight, it just makes you want to put on an even better show. 

“If you want something…” you purr, taking your shirt off completely. The comments erupt. “Ask nicely~” you tease, giggling to yourself.

A donation pops up immediately, the sum of which nearly makes you gape.   

[mntn3000] has donated $500 

Well… that’s certainly nice. 

[mntn3000]: start, kitten

That’ll do it. 

You’re quick to control your reaction to the generous donation. However, now you can’t help but feel like you’re performing under pressure. Some of your other patrons comment on it, but you’re on autopilot now. 

One more deep breath in and your tight little shorts soon join your shirt on the floor. 

You exhale audibly, turning the breath into a quiet moan as your hand continues to explore your own body. This time, you don’t tease when your fingers come back up to your mouth, accepting them immediately. Your free hand finds its way to your neglected chest, kneading the warm skin. It’s easy to pretend that the touch belongs to someone else’s manipulation. 

It’s more than just a little confusing for you to immediately imagine it’s Yeosang, if not friendship-wise. The two of you have mutually agreed that you’re platonic. The collaboration was just… a friend helping a friend. Moreso than the views and money you earned from it, you’re thankful that there is no awkwardness between you two in the aftermath of it. When you had switched the camera off, he had even joked about graduating to another level of friendship, or something like that. You can’t remember exactly right now, you’re a bit preoccupied. 

You pry your eyes open to read the chat, wanting to know if they’re enjoying the view so far. 

[user92834]: i keep expecting yeo to show up ㅠㅠ  i miss him

You whine, only able to nod once or twice. “I miss Yeo, too.” 

Now you’re playing with fire. Multiple people in the chat remind you of their personal favorite parts of that video, giving you a much needed visual to get yourself off. Is it wrong? To use memories of your best friend ‘platonically’ overstimulating you for the better part of an hour? Maybe. You think you just need to get laid soon. Admittedly, it’s been rather long since you have been. Longer than most of your viewers will ever believe.  

“I wish someone was here to help me,” you blink slowly into the camera, pouting again. 

Your artificial patheticness is like a siren call to these men. It seems that every single one of your viewers suddenly comes alive, flooding the chat and your donations box all at once, each claiming that they should be the one to help you next time. That they have what it takes. 

Except one. 

You haven’t seen that ‘mntn3000’ guy’s username pop up since he sent the generous donation earlier. You wonder if he’s still watching. Maybe he’s embarrassed from earlier. 

Whatever. He’s more likely just another background viewer. You probably won’t hear from him again. 

Pushing the thought away, you start to finally trail your hand down your stomach to lightly circle your clit. Your hooded eyes flicker up to the screen, making sure everything’s in view. Satisfied with what you see, you resume touching yourself, continuing to loudly suck on your fingers for good measure. 

[user82392] has donated $5

[user01743] has donated $20

[puppyu.u] has donated $50

[mars9843] has donated $50 

[puppyu.u] has donated $100

You can’t help but smile, watching the silent competition between your viewers. Every time someone ups the amount they’re willing to drop on you, there’s dozens more who are willing to match it. You feel like you’re at auction. Who will win in the end? Usually, it’s one of your regulars, the ones with access to the private Discord, who come out on top. You’re betting on ‘puppyu.u’ tonight. He seems like he has something to prove. 

No one’s quite willing to match ‘mntn3000’’s five hundred dollar starting offer just yet. 

You get the feeling that everyone who regularly competes here silently agrees to just… ignore it. Everyone here spoils you, of course. But dropping five hundred dollars straight out the gate is a blatant power move that seems intent to undermine most of the others in here in one fell swoop. 

But he’s quiet now. Maybe he spent all he had in one go. It happens sometimes. Rarely, but sometimes. 

You’re not sure why you’re so hung up on this random user. You’re not used to being caught off guard like this. Closing your eyes so no one can see you roll them, you decide to not think about him anymore. 

And you have just the thing for it. 

While they spend money to achieve imagined dominance over the others in the chat, you reach just offscreen to grab your favorite dildo. It’s a fan-favorite as well. You scoot a little farther back on the bed, finally taking your fingers out of your mouth and replacing it with the head of the dildo. You sigh around it, like you’re content, grateful to have something in your mouth again. In reality, this is just so that it goes inside of you easier.   

This time, you don’t make them wait. 

The blunt head of the toy slips inside easily, and you fight to keep your head up so everyone can see your reaction to it. Halfway in, you give up. Head back, a visible shudder runs through your body that has the donation notifications ringing like crazy. Around this point in your little show, you’ll pay less and less attention to the chat, only focusing on the pleasure you’re creating for yourself. 

But this time, something’s off. 

No matter what you do, you can’t seem to find that specific angle that makes you cum. Not even playing with your clit seems to be any help. You try to relax, to see if maybe you’re too tense to feel anything, but it’s quite hard to relax when you’re this frustrated already. You’re not about to let the audience know that, but it’s discouraging. You don’t like to lie, but again, it’s all part of a performance. A fake, tailored show to sell a fantasy version of you. The one who always comes for whoever is watching, the one who is just so insatiable for each individual person watching.  

At one point, you obtain false hope. You hit an angle that nearly does it for you, getting you closer than you were before to that sweet edge. It’s so close you can almost taste it, quickening your pulse and electrifying every vein in your body. There’s an ache in your wrist that is starting to become strained and uncomfortable, and your eyebrows furrow together to try and maybe will an orgasm into existence. And yet the payoff evades you completely.  

You make a sharp, high-pitched noise out of frustration, which hopefully comes across as ecstacy instead. You’re not even enjoying it anymore, and your hand begins to slow down the pumps of the dildo as your fake moans increase again. There’s a trick you know to make your legs look like they’re realistically shaking from an orgasm – learned by ego-boosting one too many failed relationships and one night stands in the past – and you use it now. 

Ugh. 

The toy slips out of you, and you blearily toss it next to you on the bed. You let the audience watch the slowing rise and fall of your chest as your breaths even out. 

What the fuck was that? You think to yourself, tilting your head back to hide your look of confusion. You’re kind of nervous to look at what people are saying in the chat, worried that they somehow caught onto the fact that you faked it. Without any proof, you conjure up images of cancellation, accusations, name-calling, every possible and yet unrealistic bad thing that could potentially happen. 

Steeling yourself as best you can, you straighten and take a look at the chat. 

All worries melt away at once as soon as you notice the heart emojis that flood the comment section. You’re not sure when this started, nor do you know who began the trend, but it has turned into something similar to applause at the end of a stream. A cute signal that they enjoyed the show. You smile at the screen, even laughing a little from relief. Time and time again, you’re proven to be loved no matter what. 

There are a few more donations, although they’ve slowed down now that you’re done. You push your hair back, taking the time to slowly breathe in and out as you read the comments. Most of them tell you how hard you made them bust, which earns you a few more dollars. Still, there’s one username you’re stuck on that you’re not seeing. Not yet. You hope you’re not being obvious, waiting for it to reappear. Maybe with some manners and patience this time. Your eyes stay locked on the corner of the screen.

It’s after you blow a puff of air up towards your hair to move it out of your face that he reappears. Maybe your impatience was received loud and clear to him. 

He only sends one word. Four letters. 

[mntn3000]: cute 

[mntn3000] has donated $1000

[mntn3000] has left the stream

Huh. Your spinning head almost registers that. A good thing about streaming is that you’re not exactly on a time limit. You can take as much time as you need to to calm down and regroup before addressing your audience again. Most will leave during this time, and that’s alright too. Your devoted viewers will stay, still seeking out your attention, praise, and appreciation. You always thank them for watching and of course, donating. 

“There’s thousands of others you could have spent your time with tonight, so thank you for choosing me. I hope I made it worth it.” 

In the middle of catching your breath, you manage a small grin into the camera. With a whispered, ‘goodnight’, and a kiss blown straight to your audience, you end the live and flop backwards on your bed. Another job well done. Another year of rent earned. 

You force yourself to move after five minutes, showering, changing into new, comfier clothes and taking your makeup off in the bathroom until it’s just you in the mirror, and not the character. It’s not until you’re brushing your teeth that you realize how tired you are from that live, nearly drifting off with the toothbrush still in your mouth. Head about to hit the wall, you jerk back to stand upright and finish up quickly. You can practically hear your bed calling your name.   

A text from Yeosang lights up your phone, halfway buried underneath a pillow. You pull it out and stand by your bed to read it. 

[yeoyeo🌻]: another successful day at the office?

You can’t help but grin, burying yourself under the covers and texting him back quickly. 

[y/n🌸]: another small fortune 🥱

[yeoyeo🌻]: still wanna hang out tomorrow?

[yeoyeo🌻]: or is the princess too tired 

[y/n🌸]: stfu 😂

[y/n🌸]: yes pls i miss you :( 

[yeoyeo🌻]: fine fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: i’ll be over at noon 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you better be awake -.- 

[y/n🌸]: goodnight pretty boy!

[yeoyeo🌻]: 🖕🏻

[yeoyeo🌻]: goodnight 

Exiting the messages app, you reach over to the nightstand and grab your laptop from its perch, keen on transferring your earnings into your bank account as soon as possible. Luckily, the site you use makes it rather easy, just a click of a button, but this time around, you take a second to look at the number in the corner. 

$14,601. 

You whistle lowly at the sight of it. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars for thirty minutes of ‘work’. If you spend and save wisely, you’ll never have to set foot in an office for as long as you live. 

Laptop set aside for the time being, you make a mental note to try and fit in some pilates tomorrow morning before Yeosang comes over. There are certain things you try to do to maintain your beauty and health, especially if the rewards look like this number. The sore muscles, cutting off sugar, and time spent trying to match your wing eyeliner are worth it. Almost… you do miss sugar quite a bit and are prone to cheat if tempted.  

You quickly do the math in the calculator app to see how exponentially your bank account is about to grow once the transfer is complete. The total makes you smile ear to ear. Already, you’re thinking of more ideas, ways to keep everyone interested… but also… maybe a vacation. A first class flight to anywhere in the world seems more than desirable. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask Yeosang if he’d like to come too. The thought excites you, making you want to stay up and look at potential destinations. 

Closing out of the calculator and banking apps, you’re just about to go on TikTok to look through your ‘dream vacay’ folder, when a notification directs your eyes upward. It’s from your email, but it's no promotional message from one of the many stores you shop at, nor is it spam. 

The sender is simply ‘H.J Kim’, accompanied by three words in the subject line: ‘Exclusive Collaboration Offer’. 

That certainly piques your interest, although it could just be a scam. Since you don’t have an agent, you’ve learned the hard way how to filter out those who just wish to take your hard-earned – well… earned – money away from you. When you were just starting out, you had to change numerous passwords more than once. You’re on a first-name-basis with your bank. Usually, you ignore emails like this, but something draws you to it. In what you can see of the preview, the sender doesn’t use more words than he has to, and the word choice seems rather official. Not as scammy as you’re used to. 

Hesitant, but intrigued at what this offer could possibly entail, you click on it to see what the rest of the email says.

__________________________

Dear Miss Y/N, 

I hope you are doing well. My name is Kim Hongjoong and I am a Talent Agent with Afterdark Productions, representing Choi San. We have been admiring your work for a while now, and would love to extend an offer for a collaboration between the two of you. 

If accepted, I will be more than happy to disclose more information regarding the details of the shoot as well as beginning the process of arranging transportation and accommodation. Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, and I will respond as quickly as I can. 

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the possibility of working together. 

Sincerely, 

Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

__________________________

You sit up, suddenly needing more air. 

Choi San. 

Just his name makes your thighs clench together under the plush comforter.

You make a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a laugh of disbelief. You reread it a couple more times, making sure you’re reading it correctly. There’s simply no way someone like Choi San knows you exist, and if he does, then how? Sure, you’re gaining popularity on cam platforms, but you didn’t think the industry on the other side of the coin would take notice. Maybe you’ve just been naive. It’s essentially the same thing but without a script or team involved. You do everything yourself — the lights, the camera, the action. The idea of even attempting what ‘Afterdark’ is known for is quite daunting. The thought of potentially meeting San even more so. 

Everyone knows Choi San. 

Somewhat of a respected micro-celebrity, he is currently revolutionizing the stigma around adult videos and being an adult actor. Breaking stereotypes, barriers, and backs. Impressive. It also helps that he has adonis-like features and a smile that can universally melt hearts. Very helpful, indeed. 

It’s still not fully clicking that you’ve been offered a chance to work with him. Not yet. Most likely, it’ll hit you in the morning when you check your phone for the millionth time, making sure you didn’t just dream this all up in a post-orgasmic haze. Each time you reread it, the words stay the same. The name jumps out at you. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” you whisper, pressing your palm to your mouth, reading the email over just one more time. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. 

A collaboration… you assume that means on his turf. On his side of the industry, anyway. Your mouth dries. Are you even up for this? 

A visual learner all your life, you find yourself opening a private browser and looking up a porn site you know has posted a couple of San’s videos. For research. Literally. Your thought process is to refresh your memory, imagine yourself in the actress’ place and discern whether or not you think you can handle what this offer entails. You pick the very first result after you enter his name in the search box, and settle back against your pillows, nervously biting your nails as the video begins. 

It starts off like many others of its kind, a flashy montage of what’s to come – pun unfortunately intended – to entice viewers to keep watching. You skip ahead, like many do, not caring for whatever ‘plot’ has been thrown together to justify why these two hot people are sleeping together this time. Although, from the clips you do see as the video jumps ahead, inching closer to the real action, you have to admit he’s a decent actor. You stop skipping through it towards the end of their conversation, landing at the proposition and steadily rising scripted passion. 

San steps closer to the actress, really getting into her space, and holding eye contact the whole time. The type that would make any girl melt. It’s not fiery or intimidating, no, it’s something much worse. 

Desire. 

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch, too focused on how his hands wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer. What startles you is how… almost vulnerable he looks. Attentive. His head tilted down slightly, looking at her through his eyelashes, enchanting her so effortlessly as his hands gently wander. You cross an arm over your chest, eyes still fixated on the phone screen. You’re getting affected this much just watching him look at her like that? How the hell will you possibly be able to handle it in real life? The short answer is: you probably won’t. 

Because the next time you skip, impatience gnawing at you to just see and know what he does, you’re thrown right into the fray. 

The camera is almost cinematic, capturing precise angles where everything can be seen, the lighting low and sensual. They’re on a large bed, and San has taken the time to place one of the pillows under her head as well as her hips. A blindfold covers the actress’ eyes, but you can tell right away she’s been steadily crying through the fabric. Her hands tighten in his hair, his mouth latches onto one of her breasts, and his hand between her legs where quiet, constant, wet sounds are being drawn from. Still, he looks earnest. Genuine. Like he cares about her pleasure, and wants to make sure she’s getting just as much out of this experience as he will. At this point, you’re sure the script is thrown out the window, because the way he talks to her, so soft and sincere, praising her closer and closer to the edge, is something that no scriptwriter could come up with. No, this was pure San. 

When she’s close, she tells him immediately and he changes nothing. He whispers the same praises, keeps his hand at the same pace and angle, reaching deep and curling up over and over, coaxing her body to release. The automated subtitles are no help, so you turn the volume up just a bit more, so you can hear him clearly. He must’ve been edging her because she starts begging him, trying to not pull his hair out at the roots. He simply covers her mouth with a free hand and leans over her, giving her permission to let go for him. 

She shudders violently, thighs pressing into the sides of his body to prevent him from moving. He's not going anywhere, though. That infamous dimpled smile appears as he watches her come undone beneath him. 

Your thighs clench. That’d be you. 

His voice drifts languidly from your laptop speakers, melting your brain even further. “Yes, baby, that’s it. There you go… such a good girl.” 

A girlish squeal gets stuck in your throat and you press your lips together to ensure you don’t let it out. You haven’t even said yes yet. There could be conditions you don’t agree with, payment arguments. He could be an asshole for all you know. Or this could all be a very elaborate and convincing scam. 

Still, just in case it is real, and for the sake of ‘research’, you keep watching. 

He kisses her chest, slowly making his way up her throat, her jaw, until he reaches her lips. He takes his sweet time, like he knows no one would dare look away. She sighs into his mouth, quiet whimpers leaving her every so often while he gently rubs her clit, just enough to keep her stimulated as she gets used to the feeling of being empty once again. You wonder what it’s like to kiss him. Your hands itch to reach for your phone and text Yeosang to tell him everything, however, you’re rather busy holding them still at the moment.  

You appreciate how he doesn’t move onto the next thing immediately. Too many times have you seen other actors in his industry not giving their partner a bit of a breather after such an intense orgasm. Granted, some may like that, the overwhelming and constant stimulation, but the way San allows her to take her time, silently encourages her to follow the deeper rhythm of his breathing, and how he holds her hand and places slow, soft kisses all over her body, it all adds up to make you crave a slower pace. An intimate interaction like this. 

San checks in with her quietly, and with a nod from her and another peck on the lips, he’s positioning himself between her legs. Stars in her eyes, she reaches down and strokes his length, whimpering softly. He gently brushes her hair back, admiring the look of nervous anticipation on her face. When he finally pushes inside, the two of them moan at the same time. Buried the way in, he smiles down at her before kissing her deeply. All dimples. A broken moan of his name tumbles from her lips, and you’re almost sure she didn’t realize she even said anything. She’s staring up at him like he’s a deity. Like he’s come down from heaven just for her. And she’s not acting. 

One thing you know for sure: you’d be stupid to decline the offer. 

You consider your mind made up. 

Reluctantly exiting the video, saving it for later, you reopen your email app. Part of you wonders whether or not two in the morning is an appropriate time to email someone, but another part of you simply doesn’t care. It’ll be in Mr. Kim Hongjoong’s inbox first thing when he wakes up tomorrow. Your reply is enthusiastic yet professional, expressing appreciation for the offer in the first place. You thank him and San for taking notice of you and offer praise of his work as well. Wrapping up with the same politeness the original sender used, you sign off with your name. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a minute before adding a kiss emoji to the side of your name. Before you can second guess that choice, you send it off. 

Needing to expel some of these nerves, you get up out of bed to scavenge your fridge for a well-past-midnight snack. Maybe yogurt or something. Standing in the white light of the fridge, you realize food may not be the best choice. Nothing jumps out at you to want at two o’clock in the morning, stomach already doing flips and tricks as it is. You settle on a mini carton of strawberry milk that you may or may not finish and walk back to bed a little too fast. Quicker than your usual leisurely pace. 

You glance at your phone, laying face down on your bed like what you just watched on it made it shy. You want to text Yeosang so badly, to get his take on all of this, but you should let him sleep. Just because your sleep schedule is fucked doesn’t mean you have to ruin his as well. Your fingers absentmindedly tap the carton, only two sips deep in your drink. Hm. 

You’re just starting to flirt with the idea of calling Yeosang anyway when you get a notification that effectively snaps you out of your thought spiral. Whoever or whatever it is has just unknowingly saved Yeosang’s REM cycle. 

Not expecting a response so soon, your eyes widen a bit when you see that you’ve gotten a response back already. The quickness makes you a little wary. Scams usually are quick to respond back too. 

Or, this ‘Hongjoong’ guy may have a sleep schedule quite like yours. After all, you responded rather quickly to his first email. 

__________________________

Hi Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer. 

The next steps in moving forward are rather simple. I will ask you to fill out a form – which I have linked to this e-mail – and send that at your earliest convenience. It is your basic questionnaire, really, and a chance for us to get to know you as well as your preferences for the shoot and scene. 

 After you have sent that and we go over it, I would like to meet with you – either in person or through video call – for both our safety and to finalize all arrangements. If you choose to meet in person, I will gladly bring along a female member of my team in an effort to make you feel more comfortable and safe.  

As always, please feel free to reach out if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Looking forward to hearing from you again. 

-Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

| Attachment: 1 File

__________________________

‘We’, he wrote. 

‘We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer.’ 

At first, you assumed he was just referencing the production company, but the specific use of it catches and holds your attention. Did San… ask for this collab to happen? Scrolling up to reread it again, the second line of the first e-mail you were sent strikes you: ‘We have been admiring your work for a while now…’ Not just the company. ‘We’ as in… 

You swallow hard, setting the strawberry milk on your nightstand and shrinking back against your pillows again. Your phone burns your eyes in the dark, but you can’t stop reading this new message. There’s so much to unpack, even though it’s so straightforward. As of right now, in regards to meeting with Kim Hongjoong, you’re leaning towards just a video call. You’re still not quite totally convinced this isn’t an elaborate prank of some kind. Maybe a weird fan who wants this to happen but there’s no truth to it. But again… you don’t get that vibe. Not from how professional this seems. And a crazy fan wouldn’t offer to bring along another woman to make you feel more comfortable, he’d insist on meeting alone, under the guise of ‘protecting our privacy’. 

And if it is real… then it is really happening. Moving forward, as the talent agent said, a collaboration in the early stages of planning. With Choi San. 

Dammit, Yeosang, why can’t you be awake right now, you think and you huff dramatically, burying your face in your hands. He’ll certainly get an earful of all of this tomorrow afternoon.   

But you decide you need to talk this through to somebody right now. Or some people. 

Even though you just went live, you’re quick to open your Discord app, not even bothering to send a warning message to tell your exclusive members that you’re going live again. This time, just for them. You know they’ll come. They always do. 

Once you have your laptop adjusted and headphones on, you’re ready to go. You click the microphone button and wait.  

As expected, four of them join immediately. You regularly wonder how they’re all able to drop everything to watch you, no matter what time you go live. Two others join soon after, but they rarely comment in the chat. Silent viewers with open wallets are never unwelcome here. 

“Hi guys! I have big news,” you smile into the camera, reading all the messages as they pop up. 

[woogoesthere]: tell ussssssss!!!!!

[fix0nmi]: 👀?

[mars9843]: what is it cutie?

[puppyu.u]: hi baby why the secret meeting?? 👀

You take a minute to let them get all their guesses out, increasing their desperation to know what you’re hiding from them. Hopefully they’ll take the news well. As far as you can tell, none of them specifically come across as the parasocial jealous type, but you don’t know for certain. However, they seemed to handle your previous collab with Yeosang pretty well. That gives you some more confidence to confide in them about this. 

“I’ve been offered to do a collab with someone from…” You pause before saying the company name for dramatic effect. “Afterdark.”

You’re a little surprised by the lack of comments right away, even worried a little. The thought of them being the parasocial jealous type crosses your mind again. Especially Woo. For a split second, you worry that you may have just angered your most loyal – and charitable – fans. The abrupt absence makes your heart plummet to your stomach. 

It takes a full minute before anyone says anything. The longest minute of your whole life. 

[woogoesthere]: are u telling us ur collabing w choi san?!!??!?!?! :0

Leave it to Woo to ease any worry you may have. You mask your relieved exhale under a light laugh. 

“Should I be worried?” you half joke. 

The immediate responses in the comments are overwhelming and collective:

[puppyu.u]: yes!!!!!! 

[mars9843]: be afraid, be very afraid 

[fix0nmi]: he’s gonna wreck you lmao 

[fix0nmi]: icw to watch 🤪

[puppyu.u]: same 😭😏😭

[mars9843]: if you could barely handle yeo………

Your confident smile fades slightly, the corners of your mouth dropping back down as you read the multiple comments confirming what you’ve been wondering. 

[woogoesthere]: guys stop ur gonna scare her ㅠㅠ

You try to laugh it off, looking off camera to grab your strawberry milk again. The action gives your hands something to do as worry begins to settle in your chest. Of course, Woo tries to ease your growing anxieties in the chat as you lift the bottle to your lips, eyes still scanning the messages… or rather, the warnings. 

[puppyu.u]: well it’s true 

[woogoesthere]: we should be encouraging tho >:( 

[fix0nmi]: yeah or else she won’t do it 👀

[mars9843]: … 

[mars9843]: y/n we’re just kiddinggggg

[fix0nmi]: you’ll be fine~! >:) 

[woogoesthere]: -.- 

[puppyu.u]: drink lots of water beforehand! 

[woogoesthere]: you pervs are so annoying

“I can do it!” You try to regain your previous confidence. 

A shroud of doubt begins to creep up over your shoulders, weighing you down. You’re able to hide it well, but you go quiet. Quieter than usual when you’re live. You don’t like silences that last too long. Unfortunately, your sudden silence is noticeable. 

[puppyu.u]: babyyyyyy 

[puppyu.u]: don’t listen to us we’re just teasing 

[fix0nmi]: haha sorry baby

[mars9843]: you’re gonna be great, pretty girl 

[fix0nmi]: can’t wait to see it ;) 

[woogoesthere]: you ARE gonna be great

[woogoesthere]: choi san has no idea what an honor this is fr ㅠㅠ

That last message brings your smile back, tugging at the corners of your mouth until you give into it. ‘Woo’ is right. You have to remember who the fuck you are. Choi San sought you out specifically. There’s no need to be nervous about anything. It’s a different side of an industry that you’re already accustomed to, that’s all. You just have to adapt to however it operates for one day, and if you hate it, you’ll never have to do it again. And hey, you’ll get to say you’ve had that first and only experience with San of all people. 

What a debut. 

Your loyal fans must notice the confidence boost you’re experiencing because they’re quick to praise it in the chat. 

[fix0nmi]: there she is :) 

[woogoesthere]: ugh ur too cute 

[puppyu.u]: fr that bastard has no idea how lucky he is ㅠㅠ

[mars9843]: he better be nice to u >:( 

“Aww, you guys are so sweet,” you giggle softly, enjoying their attention and their praises. Your nerves are somewhat settled for the time being, though you can’t promise they won’t return once you open your eyes tomorrow morning. You wonder what Yeosang will say about it. 

Leaning back against your headboard, you exhale deeply – maybe even adding a little hint of a whine-like noise to keep them entertained. ‘Pervs’, as ‘Woo’ put it, indeed. Not that you minded. 

You hum to yourself and mention how much better they’ve made your night, and they eat it up. 

“Thank you all for your love and support. Truly.”    

You talk with them for a while longer, reciprocating their interest in you by asking them about their days and what they’re doing tomorrow. One of the silent viewers goes offline, and you can’t say that you blame them – no one should still be awake at this hour. You’re not sure if you’ll fall asleep quickly after you log off, so maybe that’s why you linger here and continue to talk with them. The minutes continue to go by and you start to feel guilty for keeping them all up this late. You know it’s their choice to stay and talk, but still. Odds are that at least one of them has to be up early tomorrow morning. They won’t leave until you do. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, guys. Thank you for staying up and chatting with me.” You smile, watching all of their usernames simultaneously start typing again. 

[mars9843]: goodnight cutie

[fix0nmi]: night babe ;)

[woogoesthere]: aww have a good night jagi <333 

[puppyu.u]: sweet dreams baby <3

[puppyu.u]: <3333

You giggle, noticing ‘puppyu.u’’s competitiveness. Before ‘Woo’ can start a war to see how many 3’s they can add to their hearts, you quickly blow them all a kiss and end the call. 

The silence of your apartment comes back quickly. Naturally, so do your racing thoughts. You place your laptop on your nightstand and crawl back under the covers, hoping against hope that you can smother your thoughts with your pillow. 

Your phone vibrates against your thigh and you sneak a quick glance at it, half-expecting another e-mail, only to find a Venmo notification. It’s from Woo. Your exclusive members have the username of your ‘business’ Venmo account to send you money outside of cams, if they choose to. The message he attaches to the money makes you laugh: ‘i’m not losing to puppyu.u so easily. goodnight<333333333333’ 

Oh, man. 

Make that $14,751 now. 

You wince as you notice the time in the upper lefthand corner of your phone screen. Yeosang was very clear in his text: you better be awake by noon. Knowing how late you usually sleep until, it’s not looking good. Hoping it will help, you set several alarms on your phone. Surely one of them will wake you up. You switch your phone off, refusing to check it again until tomorrow morning. 

Without your phone to distract you though, all you do is replay that video you watched of San and that actress. The memory of it projects against your eyelids and you can’t look away. A shiver runs through you when you picture how his hands held her with such gentle strength, and the addictive moans he wasn’t afraid to let out. The same thought echoes until you finally fall asleep: that’ll be you.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Against all odds, and seven missed alarms later, you manage to wake up – albeit, exhausted – around ten o’clock. Plenty of time before Yeosang is due to come over. 

After you eat breakfast, you decide to spend the morning researching San, watching more of his videos, listening to interviews, stalking his Instagram, anything you can find to get to know him better. Or at least, to get a better grasp on what you should expect. Hongjoong never clarified if it was going to be just you and him at this future meeting or you, him, and San. You want to be ready. 

From what you can find, you’ve come to the tentative conclusion that he appears smart, funny, well-traveled, and handsome. That last one is a given to anyone with eyes, though. It seems like he could’ve succeeded in any field of his choosing, but his candor is notoriously present and blunt whenever he gets asked why he’s gone into this profession: “I like sex. I happen to be good at it, so why not?” 

You get it. Easy money. 

His Instagram is mostly pictures of him in exotic locations. It seems you and him have dream destinations in mind for the future as well. Nine million followers strong – and counting – he has his comments turned off to them on every post. There is also no message option anywhere. He completely cuts himself off from being accessible. A part of you is a little jealous, but at the same time you like the closeness with your fans. It feels more intimate, it gives you a reason to be punctual and come back and care about what you do. Although some, like that ‘mntn3000’ guy, can sometimes be quite rude in the chat. You have your chat open to all, and your public Instagram is the complete opposite of San’s. Thirst traps, a highlight on your profile for song recommendations, and the ability to comment and message you. Not that you answer most of them. Most are gross, obnoxious, frankly misogynistic men who choose the most unhinged, disgusting words to express their… ‘desires’. You’re thankful for Woo and fans like him. Still… you find yourself wondering if you should limit your accessibility as well. Your popularity is rising. Maybe now is the time. 

You still find yourself looking for everything and anything that has to do with him online. Everyone wants to be him or be with him. One of those guys. Of course. 

You rest your head in your hands, groaning to no one in particular. After all the women he’s been with, you hope you can meet his expectations. A worthy costar. Same industry, different department. 

By the time Yeosang knocks on your door at a quarter past noon, your mind is so far away he has to call you to let him in. 

“Hey, sorry.” You apologize, ushering him in and locking the door behind him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be awake,” he grins, making himself right at home on your couch. “Is going live for thirty minutes really all it takes to make you catatonic the rest of the day?” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder as you sit down next to him. “Shut up, it’s not because of that. Well… not exactly.” 

Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on, then. What’s up?” 

You pull out your phone, ready to show him the evidence to back up what you’re about to say. The original email is still unchanged as you glance down at it, which is encouraging. Another reminder that you didn’t make this all up in your head. It didn’t happen in a dream, there’s hard evidence staring you in the face. 

Well, now or never. Out with it. 

“I, um… I got an offer to work with Choi San.” Your voice toes the line between excitement and cautious optimism. If anyone’s opinion matters to you at all, it’s Yeosang’s. 

Yeosang’s eyebrows raise at the name. “Like… the Choi San?”

“The Choi San, yes.” You nod, confirming it’s exactly who he’s thinking about. 

Handing your phone over to him, email ready to be read by a fresh pair of eyes, you watch his reactions closely. You find yourself biting the side of your thumb nail, a habit you keep thinking you’ve grown out of, only to be proven wrong in times like these. 

Yeosang’s face is serious as he reads it. You can tell he’s searching for any indication of this being a scam first and foremost before he digests the rest of it. Finding no blatant or well-hidden tricks, he pays more attention to the general message.       

“Are you gonna do it?” He asks, handing your phone back to you. His voice holds some reservation to it that you clearly pick up on. You take no offense, though. He’s just worried about you. It’s more… public than you’re used to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, answering him honestly. “I’ve done my research on him and already sent them an email back saying that I was interested and wanted to know more, but… do you think I should?”

You truly value his opinion. Yeosang has been such a good friend to you for the past couple of years. The two of you had met in your second year of college and became fast friends. When you moved to the city, about a year after he did, he helped you find your first apartment, got you a job, and checked in on you to make sure you knew you had a friend here. He made everything easier. He still does.  

Yeosang shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. If you feel confident about doing it, then go for it. If something is telling you to not do it, then don’t.”

He makes it sound so easy. Should it be? 

“Yeah, but… I value your opinion.” You mumble, not outwardly saying what you’re thinking. But he reads your mind anyway. 

“Y/N, it’s not gonna change my view of you if you decide to do this. If I had a problem with my best friend being a mattress actress, I would’ve told you a long time ago. Y’know… before I collabed with you.” 

At this, you can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s right. A pressure you didn’t realize was weighing on you is alleviated off your shoulders, making you feel lighter. He grins as you let out a small sigh of relief, glad that he eased some of your worries. Now, to tease you about it. As best friends do. 

“I’m just worried that you won’t survive the experience,” Yeosang says dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm and sneaking a smile your way. 

“Stop, what do you mean?” You push him, playfully. 

“You said you researched him, right?” 

You nod, wondering where he’s going with this. Is there something you’ve missed? You feel like you’re the only one left out of a well-known inside joke. You try to think back to the videos you’ve seen of him. Sure, you haven’t watched his whole filmography, but nevertheless, you’d like to believe you know roughly what to expect of him when the day comes. 

“Did you watch the ones he’s done for ‘Fantasy’?” Yeosang smirks. 

You blink, trying to remember if you did. To be totally honest, you weren’t really paying much attention to which company was posting the videos. Just that San was in them. 

“I don’t know… maybe?” 

Yeosang shakes his head, already seeming to know the answer. “You’d know if you did,” he says definitively. “If you wanna know what he’s really capable of, watch some of those.” 

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, frustrated that no one will just tell you what they’re talking about. You only have one guess, that it may be due to the fact that you’ve only ever been with two guys before. They each taught you the basics, but everything you bring to your livestreams, you learned all on your own. And it’s not like you’re clueless when it comes to the different kinds of sexual encounters one can experience. You’ve watched porn before – hell, you do a type of it for a living. So why does everyone keep underestimating you? What does San possibly do to make everyone think you won’t survive him? 

A part of you kind of doesn’t want to know. You don’t need to give your creeping self-doubt any more ammo. It had taken you a long time to beat it far back enough in your mind for it to not invade every time you hit a little snag in life. A resurgence would make you question everything, make you back out of this quickly. You don’t want that. No, you’re determined even more so now to see this through. To prove everyone wrong. More importantly, though, to prove it to yourself. 

“Sounds like he sought you out though,” Yeosang says. His words almost make you jolt. Not only do they pull you out of another spiral, it reinforces something you were thinking in passing last night. Maybe you aren’t reading too much into it after all. “Kinda seems like this Hongjoong guy and San are fans of yours.” 

You hide your face in your hands and groan, making Yeosang laugh at your rare display of shyness. It’s frustratingly unclear to you why the idea of him watching your content makes your cheeks burn so much. You’re obviously comfortable with people seeing your body and earning a profit from it, but you like the anonymity of the people watching. You simply don’t want to know. Perhaps it’s because he’s about to not be a faceless viewer anymore. Rather, a colleague of sorts. 

Also, in a way, you tend to view cam’ing as more… intimate than porn. The sole focus of the audience is on you. No fake plot, no costar, no distractions. Just you, reading the chat, and existing and getting off in real time. 

“Sounds like it,” you agree. “I must’ve done something he likes to pique his interest.” 

Yeosang shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Or he saw the collab and this is all just an elaborate ruse to get to me.” 

You’re grateful to relax enough to laugh again. “Oh, I bet.” You say, playing along. Though, part of you does wonder for a brief moment if San had watched the collab and that’s why he thought you’d be a good partner for his next project. It’s definitely plausible.    

“So,” Yeosang leans back against the couch, crossing his legs, “what do you have to do now?” 

Remembering the phone in your hand, you look down at it, visualizing that attachment Hongjoong sent you. Yet to be opened. “There’s a form I have to fill out, I think it’s some kind of consent form.” 

He nods, “Yeah, that’d make sense.” 

There’s a small silence between you that follows as he watches you stare down at your phone. You have the most recent email pulled up, analyzing it again. He watches you bite the inside of your cheek, a habit you have that comes up when you’re thinking a little too hard about something.  

“Do you want me to go through it with you?” He asks, though he thinks he knows what you’ll say. 

“No, I’ll do it myself. It’s gonna ask like… in depth questions,” you insinuate, almost shyly. 

Yeosang doesn’t press you on it, which you appreciate. But you know he’s probably thinking there’s not much he doesn’t know about you. After all, he was fingering you to high heaven in front of a camera only a week ago. Still, he doesn’t push your privacy or your boundaries. It’s one of the many things that makes you feel safe with him. 

Breezing past the subject, knowing you probably need to relieve some stress, he picks up one of the gaming controllers on your coffee table. 

“Rematch?” He asks, referring to a game of Mario Kart fairly won by you, though his opinion of the event is rather different. Something to do with you ‘innocently’ bumping into him, causing him to almost drop his controller, and giving you the lead in the race. His win streak is much cleaner than yours. 

“You’re on,” you agree, playfully narrowing your eyes at him as he scoots away from you on the couch. 

There’ll be no ‘accidents’ this time. But maybe you’ll think of something.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

The rest of the day is light. 

Little by little, the weight of uncertainty you feel fades into the background, instead transforming into unserious frustration as Yeosang beats you in Mario Kart six times in a row. You win the seventh round, but you highly suspect he let you. He had several speed boosts and red shells that would just disappear from his screen the next time you looked, wondering when he would fire one of those shells at you. 

You order in, opting to stay inside and just be lazy today, and the two of you eat on the couch. When the sun eventually starts to set late in the afternoon, he takes a nap while you scroll on your phone, half-watching a K-Drama on your TV. Neither of you bring up San or the form still laying in wait in your inbox again. He wakes up around eight o’clock, yawning and stretching as he gets up to go home – he mentions that he promised his friend he’d go out with him tonight. Though he extends the offer, and part of you does want to go, you decide to be responsible and take the night to go through the form with a somewhat clearer mind than last night or this morning.   

Almost as soon as Yeosang leaves, you’re back in bed and pulling everything up on your laptop. The attached file on the most recent email takes just a second to load, bringing you to a Google Form sheet, ready to be completed. 

But first, you think about what he said about San. You want to know what everyone else already seems to. At least one video. Just for research purposes again. 

In another tab on incognito mode, you hesitantly type in the search for ‘choi san redfantasy’ and bite the inside of your cheek as the page loads. The typical ads pop up before you’re able to see any actual content, avoiding the scams and viruses with practiced ease. Trying to not overthink it, you just click on the first video that comes up. In fact, you barely look at the title. It’s in all caps, a bunch of buzzwords and tags jammed together to get as many eyes on it as possible, but his name is always put first. That’s the seller right there. Audiences are in the market for Choi San. 

There is no plot this time, at least none that you can discern. The lighting is darker, as well as the mood. There’s less build up, the action begins almost straight away after the company logo screen fades away. 

Your chest constricts at the very first shot. A rather pretty woman, on her knees in the middle of a room. Her bare knees dig into the plush carpet beneath her and she looks up at the man in front of her, tilting her head up with a firm hand in her hair. 

San. 

“...didn’t you?” You barely hear him say to her, and you quickly turn up the volume on your laptop, rewinding the video ten seconds to hear the full question. 

“You misbehaved today, didn't you?” He purrs, nodding once to give her permission to speak. 

“Yes, sir.” She replies, obediently. 

The hand in her hair is taken away, and yet she never takes her eyes off of him. You imagine that’s probably what she was instructed to do… but you’re starting to think a director wasn’t involved in this. Everything seems more intimate, less corporate. Like San just set up a camera in this expensive looking hotel room. A step above amateur porn. 

San stalks around her, humming to himself as if sizing her up. The camera cuts to a slightly different angle, farther away, and you only just now realize that her hands are tied behind her back. The multiple static angles all but confirm your theory: everything in this video is by San’s design. 

He then sits down on a rather large, black leather couch, facing her. The camera caresses his features, letting you see every detail of the tailored suit he’s wearing that fits him perfectly. The suit itself is probably more expensive than five of those couches. Wordlessly, he beckons her closer with two of his fingers. He almost looks bored. But you think bored is the wrong word… curious actually. Like he’s just taking his time, waiting for her to act first. His tempo is carefully curated and well-calculated. He reacts, even though he knows they’re both just enacting what this company wants to see. Like this isn’t just for the cameras. Every scene is serious to him, and yet it doesn’t come across as corny or too much. You wonder why he doesn’t go into acting. He seems more than able to convince people of real chemistry between himself and his co-star each and every time. And with a face card like his, you doubt he would’ve had many rejections. 

Then again, you imagine it’d be rather hard to make a smooth transition into becoming a serious and respected actor after being in adult films. 

She manages to make her way over to him, knelt in between his knees, waiting for further instruction. And he makes her wait. The camera cuts a couple of times, documenting the power dynamic from several angles. It’s evident a long time has passed because she keeps shifting her weight, knees never quite finding relief on the floor.   

A small whimper leaves her, and it earns her a sharp smack across the cheek. You gasp at the same time she does, not expecting that at all for an action so miniscule. In almost the same motion, San’s grip returns to her hair, pulling her closer to his clothed crotch. 

“Be actually useful for once, baby.” He says sweetly, like he’s praising instead of degrading her. “Earn it.” 

You can tell she’s holding back another whimper, trying to be good. San guides her further down, until her face is pressed into the front seam of his tailored pants, and holds her there until she realizes what he wants her to do. Rather pathetically, she mouths at his dick through the fabric. He’s not even hard yet. No, he fully expects her to do all the work for him, including getting him ready. 

While she’s… busy, he lazily takes off his watch, setting it aside and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt to just above his elbows. You’ve seen him naked about a dozen times in these types of videos, and for some reason, this is what sends an uncontrollable shiver down your spine. Almost on sight, you feel how wet you’ve become, panties starting to cling to you. 

His face is stony, refusing to give away what he’s thinking. That’s privileged information. But the harder he gets, the more motivated she becomes, tilting her head to the side to attempt to wrap her lips around his length as best she can. And yet, he never says anything. No praise, no degradation. He lets her actions speak for themselves, lets it burrow into her mind on her own. Pathetic. She doesn’t bother looking up at him for reassurance anymore. He’s not giving her anything to work with. 

Abruptly, he yanks her back by the hair, just to see if she makes a noise. She does. Another sharp crack against her cheek makes you squeeze your thighs together. She takes three more slaps until he stops, his hands leave her entirely and one grips himself through his pants, sighing like he’s bored. Or rather, disappointed. From what you can discern from the print against his pants, he’s only half-hard. 

“You don’t want it that badly, do you?” He asks like he’s already decided her answer. 

Frantically, she shakes her head, denying his assumption. “No, no sir, I do want it. Please, I want it so–” 

Unfortunately for her, his mind is already made up. 

San rises from the couch, picking her up into his arms easily, like she weighed nothing. The camera cuts, now facing the bed, and San lays her down onto it. He then goes about tying her down to it, on all-fours. The girl’s face presses into the pillows, muffling any noise. San ties her ankles to the bedposts, leaving her spread open for him with no chance of closing herself off. Fully exposed, at his mercy. Or lack thereof. 

San then loosens his tie before wrapping it around her throat, fashioning it into a makeshift collar and leash. He tugs it once, testing its reliability. Satisfied, he lets it go for the time being, no doubt planning on using it later. For now, he stalks around the bed, admiring his work, and assessing the best way to deal with the girl tied up in front of him.

“Since you couldn’t wait and just had to touch yourself before you came to me, I’m gonna teach you some patience.” 

As if the last few times weren’t enough, an involuntary sound escapes from her lips. Soon enough, her ass is red and bruised, San’s hand quick to punish her for making noise. 

“Be quiet,” he reminds sternly, “or you get nothing.” 

That’s good motivation. Suddenly, you feel like you can’t make a single noise either. 

He disappears offscreen for a while, the camera cutting a few times to capture how the anticipation makes the girl very nervous and wet at the same time. Impatient, you skip ahead thirty seconds and San pops back into frame, holding something. 

There’s no warning, no telling her what it is. Only he and the audience (you) know. He holds the vibrator wand right up to her pussy, mere centimetres away and pauses. Her toes curl in an effort to stop the rest of her body from squirming. He waits for any minuscule movement. It’s when she cranes her neck, attempting to look back to see what he’s doing, that he turns it onto the highest setting and presses it against her clit in one swift motion. 

Poor thing gasps and screams at the intense, unexpected vibrations, earning her another brutal round of spanks. 

“Shhh,” he hushes her softly, “be quiet. Don’t move.” 

Your pulse stutters, eyes wider than they were before, and your hand starts to drift downwards, underneath your clothes, to find your clit. The relief is immediate, like scratching an itch. You work yourself up alongside her, trying to follow San’s instructions yourself. Breaths turning shallow, you press your lips together to keep from making any sounds. If you really wanted to immerse and challenge yourself, you’d grab your own vibrator from the drawer, but you can’t tear your gaze from the screen. You don’t want to miss anything, and you feel like pausing it would disrupt the experience. If this is potentially what’s in store for you, and she doesn’t get a break, you don’t get one either. 

Her fists tighten and grab at nothing, still bound behind her back. You can tell she’s losing the fight to follow through with his instructions. San notices this too. He moves the vibrator up and down, grinding the head of it harder on her clit before moving it away again. You have no idea how she’s managing to hold on. 

San hears it the same time you do, not a gasp or a noise per se, but a hitch of her breath, just audible enough to hear. At the same time, her legs begin to shake, out of her control to stop them from doing so. 

He takes the vibrator away, switching it off. 

Her toes curl again, burying her face deeper into the pillows to silence any sounds. Your hand stops dead, even though all you want to do is keep circling your clit. 

“See what I have to do?” He sighs, trailing the head of the vibrator down the back of her thighs. “If you just waited for me, I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to waste my time teaching you to be patient.”

Damn. Have you ever heard him talk to any of his scene partners like this? The San from the first video you watched as part of your ‘research’ seems a million miles away. A completely different person. 

Eventually, the vibrator is returned to her clit, humming at full power. You resume your own administrations as well. San kneads her ass with his free hand, eyes glued to her body, waiting for her to fuck up. Any excuse to take the pleasure away again. An excuse comes when she’s forced back onto the brink of an orgasm, and he switches the toy off again. But he keeps it pressed against her pussy. On instinct, her hips rock backwards, trying to chase the pleasure, and you can’t help but groan out of frustration as you take your hand away. This time, he doesn’t administer spanks to her ass, but right on her pussy. And she can’t help the high-pitched yelp that leaps from her throat. San spanks her pussy until she shuts up. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until the uncomfortable pressure in your throat forces you to inhale deeply. 

The girl shudders after the last smack but doesn’t move or say a word. You’re both rooting for her and secretly hoping she’ll screw up again, just to see what he does. Also, you want to see if he’ll actually fuck her. 

Rather impatiently, you skip ahead a couple of minutes, needing to know if he’s the type to punish by leaving her empty the whole time. It takes only a second for the video to buffer and when it does, you see that he’s added another toy, keeping it pressed deep into her pussy, right up to the very base of it. The vibrator never leaves her clit. The skin of her ass is bright red and already bruising in some areas. It looks rather painful. She’s moaning but it’s muffled and barely audible – you can imagine San gagged her in some way to keep her quiet after failing over and over again. Possibly with his tie. He doesn’t move the toy at all, instead just forcing her to feel the thickness and weight of it buried deep inside of her, no doubt pressing right up against her g-spot. 

If he denies her again in this state, you’ll really be scared of him. 

And that, he does. 

This time, she wails through her gag, her whole body locking up and then quickly deflating in defeat. But the time in between denials is no longer merciful. San waits maybe ten seconds before starting again, placing the vibrator back where it belongs. 

God damn– you think, becoming wetter as your fingers find your clit again, your own pleasure building. The poor girl shrieks into the pillows, incoherently pleading with him to stop. Instead of listening to her cries, San taps the vibrator against her pussy, driving her – and you – even more crazy. 

“I’m doing you a favor,” he says flatly, not caring that she’s essentially begging for mercy. “You should be apologizing for making me waste my time to teach you basic manners.” 

Your mouth drops open at that. He’s so mean, and yet if you were in her position – which you may be soon – you’re pretty sure you’d start apologizing right away. But she can’t, at least not properly. Not with a gag in her mouth and her face half-pressed into the pillows. You imagine after being denied what must be nearing ten orgasms at this point, her mind is also going a bit blank. 

He presses the vibrator harder against her, making her back arch. “Tell me how sorry you are and maybe I’ll stop.” 

That grabs her attention. Muffled, garbled, and barely full sentences immediately tumble from her lips, on the off chance that he’ll take pity on her and stop this edging torture. Her body shudders violently, cutting off her voice entirely.  

Rather surprisingly, he does let up. Both toys disappear at once, and he watches her body collapse onto the bed, burning muscles unable to hold herself up any longer. But he doesn’t let the relief stay for long. His hand twists in her hair, yanking her upright until her back is against his chest. With the other, he rips the gag out – which was, in fact, his tie. 

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me the truth,” he mutters in her ear, his other hand lingering dangerously close to her sore mound. “Did you just cum without permission? Yes or no.” 

A sob tears itself from her throat, knowing that she’s been caught. 

San pulls her hair again, causing her to yelp again. “Answer me,” he hisses, “and don’t you dare lie to me.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” she whimpers, honest. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let her go. He just makes her stay with that feeling of guilt, the shame of being caught, and the foreboding knowledge that he’s going to have to punish her again. With his free hand, he runs the pads of his fingers through her soaking wet folds, collecting the evidence for himself. To humiliate her even further, he shoves those fingers into her mouth, pressing on her tongue. She whines around them, which he rewards by shoving his fingers deeper, into her throat. Tears flow down her face and neck, already utterly fucked out and he hasn’t even touched her himself, really. He’s still fully clothed, for fuck’s sake. 

San sighs, thinking aloud, “What should I do with you, hm?” 

Busy choking and spluttering around the intrusion in her throat, she can’t answer him at all. He probably doesn’t want an answer, though. You have a feeling he knows exactly what he’s going to do with her. 

Once again, you’re proven correct when he lets her go and pulls his fingers out of her mouth. He watches her gasp for air and cough violently for a fleeting moment of relative peace before dragging her back towards the edge of the bed. 

“Fucking useless slut…” he mutters to himself, just audible enough for her to hear. “You wanna cum so bad? Fine.” 

A new toy is brought into frame, this one looking more daunting than the other two. You can tell it’s one of those two-for-one types, and your heart goes out to her. It slips inside of her easily, though it’s thicker than the previous dildo, all but confirming once again that she did cum without his permission. This time, there’s no mystery or question about what he’s going to do to her. She knows. The knowing is almost worse than the not-knowing. 

He switches it on without much ceremony. She does her best to not move or make a sound, but another orgasm builds rapidly. Too fast, too soon. 

For seven straight orgasms, he just watches her. He doesn’t even touch himself even though you can tell he’s hard beneath those tailored pants. Her pleas fall on deaf ears, like he’s not even in the room. You’ve barely managed to keep up with her, coaxing two weak orgasms from your own body with just your fingers and already feeling exhausted. Fuck, maybe everyone’s right… 

You tap the screen to see how much more of the video is left, and your eyebrows raise when you see there’s still ten more minutes. You decide to skim through, just curious if he ever does let her have his cock.

Spoiler alert: he does not. 

In reality, the only thing he changes is that he jerks himself off, getting off on her screams and pleas for him to turn the toy off, that she’s had enough. For the last two orgasms he forces her through, he adds his thumb to her clit, circling it mercilessly. 

“One more, come on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To cum?” 

Through her tears and scratchy voice, she warbles, “W-want– wanted you t-to fuck me…” 

He only laughs at her, and it sends such a blow to your psyche. 

“Did you really think I would?” 

She screams again, mixing with her sobs and choked groans as the final orgasm rips through her worn-out body. The only act of kindness he gives her is removing the toy and kissing her back, in between her shoulder blades. 

He takes his time to untie her ankles from the bedposts, his hands smoothing over the skin where the rope had been. Wrecked and twitching, she curls into a ball on the bed, pussy sore and swollen. Knowing this, San drags her back down towards the foot of the bed, forcing her legs apart again. Her hands weakly try to push him away, but he ducks down, licking a near-fatal stripe up her folds, sucking harshly on her clit. Voice basically gone, her scream is broken and breathy. 

That’s a habit he has, you’ve noticed. Or maybe just a signature thing. No matter what, when he’s done with his scene partner, he gives their pussy one final lick. As if he’s sealing the deal. Something they’ll feel long after the cameras stop rolling, along with the ache of their inner walls. 

San chuckles, patting her inner thigh with his hand before pulling her onto the floor, back down onto her knees. He doesn't say anything more as he jerks off in front of her, aiming his cock right at her face. He lets her suck on it, much to your surprise, and he eventually comes. Some of it inside of her mouth, and the rest, he smears across her face. The final act of humiliation for her. 

You slam your laptop shut. 

Holy. Shit.       

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You come back to the forms after a cold shower and a half an hour long pacing session in your living room. 

With a somewhat clearer head, you decide to take it one question at a time. 

At first glance, you can’t help but feel like you’re filling out the forms you’d normally get in a doctor’s office. It covers everything. Height, weight, age, consent for Afterdark to inquire upon certain medical history to ensure the prevention of any diseases or illnesses, and payment information. On the next page, it goes deeper, and you almost want to take another lap before you dive in and check off any of the boxes. 

There’s a checklist of kinks, each one with a box to check if any are ‘hard no’s’ or ‘hard yesses’for you. You gotta hand it to Afterdark, they’re very thorough. At the very top, just above this checklist, you notice two more boxes simply labelled ‘Rough’ and ‘Gentle’. 

Ah. 

This must be the reason that every video with San feels different. Not just because of whatever context they provide in the beginning of the video, but he never exactly has the same go-to way of fucking every time. Except of course, that parting move he’s so accustomed to doing. With some women, he takes it very slow, gentle and caring with lots of praise, and with others, like the one you just watched, he is ruthless and mean, denying orgasms and spanking them until their skin turns an alarming shade of red. They’ve tailored their own experience with him. That makes you feel a bit better actually, gives you more of a sense of control. You’re not just walking into this with no say in what he does to you, nor will you be blindsided. Actually, you’ll have a pretty good idea, and no worries that he’ll do something you’re uncomfortable with. 

The empty boxes still taunt you. Which version of him do you want? 

After much consideration, you eventually let fate decide. You pick both options. Rough and gentle. Let’s see what he does with that. 

Moving on, forcing yourself to breathe slower, you continue down the list of kinks. Again, it’s very thorough, even asking for locations that you’d be okay filming in. You check off ‘hard no’ on most, if not all of the ‘bodily fluids’ section of the kink list. All except creampies, crying, and squirting. You wonder if he’ll be able to make you do that. If so, you don’t want to discourage him from it. You’re okay with toys, cunnilingus, fingers in your mouth, body worship, hair pulling, hickies, clothed sex, light bondage, the traffic light system, and spanking, just to name a few. You also mean to check off a hard ‘yes’ to aftercare. Aftercare is a non-negotiable for you. One of your exes never did that for you, and it’s been a dealbreaker ever since you got out of that relationship. You dislike feeling used after-the-fact. Discarded. It’s an ugly shock to your system, one that you’d like to avoid if possible. 

Double checking everything on this page, you go to the third and final page. 

In the top half, there’s an interactive calendar so you can input dates and times when you’re free to do the shoot. You’re pretty much free all the time, if you’re being honest. You just have a family wedding to go to in late August, two months from now. Though you’d rather do the shoot later in the day, not wanting to risk sleeping through it with your terrible sleep schedule. So, you mark every afternoon and evening as ‘available’. 

In the bottom half of the page, there’s just one last question, accompanied by a text box: ‘Tell us about yourself, and what we can do to better tailor this experience for you.’ 

You have to admit, you weren’t expecting this kind of question to come up. They want to know about you? Tailor this opportunity for you? 

Huh. 

Your mind goes blank at first. What could they possibly want to know? What are they actually looking for? There’s really no telling. 

Slowly, you type out a vague summary of where you grew up, why you started doing cam-shows, and that your favorite color is purple. When it comes to writing about how they can improve on this collaboration, your fingers hover over the keyboard. Stuck. You could just straight up not say anything, or just put ‘N/A’. But your inner professional tells you to answer it. You search yourself, wondering if there’s anything that would make you feel a little more comfortable while there. You assume they’ll provide a robe for you, or something to cover you up when you’re not filming, but you’ve also heard how ‘fucking cold’ porn sets are kept. Not exactly wanting to show up with a blanket from home, you decide that’ll be your one request. 

‘If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like a blanket while on set. Thank you! :)’ 

You double – triple – check each form page, making sure you didn’t accidentally check something off or type in your information wrong. After you confirm that everything is accurate and spelled correctly, you click on the ‘submit’ button. A ‘thank you’ screen pops up, and you quickly exit the tab, not wanting to think about it anymore. It’s out of your hands now. 

But speaking of the hands it’s now in, you have to set up a meeting time with this Kim Hongjoong guy.  

Right. Okay, onto the next step. 

In a new email, you type out all the dates and times you’re free – you may have made yourself sound busier than you actually are – and send it off to him. Glad to have everything done, you flop back against your pillows and groan. You replay all the images you’ve seen. All the things he’s done to multiple women. 

You wonder what on earth he’ll do with you. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

It’s the next day that ends up being the meeting day. 

You opt for a virtual meeting, reasoning that it’ll probably be quicker and easier for both of you. From what it sounds like, being employed by Afterdark and Choi San keeps Hongjoong rather busy. 

You do your makeup and hair, wanting to look presentable. It’s the shirt that gives you a headache. You’re rather unsure how professional you should look. What does someone wear to a meeting like this? You look down at your chest, trying to mentally calculate how much of it is appropriate to show, and choosing a shirt based on that. Eventually, you just pick a nice triangle lace cami. Kim Hongjoong will just have to excuse the fact that it’s summer and hot in your apartment in the afternoons. You’ve been meaning to figure out how the air conditioning works. It’s hi-tech in a way that truly baffles you. You’ll get Yeosang to figure it out the next time he comes over. 

Moving your laptop into the kitchen for the natural light, you try to shake the nerves out of your hands as you walk around the kitchen island. You grab a cold water from the fridge and drink half of it before forcing yourself to sit down. The meeting is set for two-thirty, just a few minutes away. You kind of want to scream into the pillows on your couch. This will be the final stage until you actually go through with this whole collaboration. The last buffer until it happens. 

In the upper right hand corner, you see an email notification from Hongjoong, providing you with a link to a video chatroom. For a full sixty seconds, you pretend you haven’t seen it yet. But when that minute is up, and you have to be an adult, you take one more sip of water before clicking on the link and sneaking a glance at yourself in the reflection of your laptop as the camera loads. 

There’s a small boop sound from your laptop, signalling that the call has been connected and you brace yourself for a scam. Your hand hovers above the trackpad, ready to hit ‘end call’ at a moment’s notice. When his camera finally loads, you breathe a little easier. He’s in an office based on context clues of what you can see around him, and he’s rather handsome himself. That admittedly takes you aback. He has short, dark brown hair, round eyes, and a charming smile once he sees you on his screen. He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose, and leans forward in his seat a little bit. 

“Miss Y/N! It’s so nice to talk with you today, how are you?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you. Are you the one I’ve been emailing?” You ask when he doesn’t introduce himself by name. You just want to clarify. 

He laughs to break any awkward tension, “Yes, that’s me. My apologies, I’m San’s agent, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Okay, good.” You smile back, shoulders relaxing a little more. His dress shirt makes you feel a bit… well, underdressed, but when you notice that the top two buttons are undone, it makes you feel a bit better. He’s clearly not going for ultra-professional right now either. Off camera, in your lap, you play with one of your rings, giving your nervous hands something to do. 

Unexpectedly, the first ten minutes are spent just making small-talk, especially after finding out you and him grew up around the same area. He asks you how you like the city, and you find yourself telling him about how much you love it, and that you never want to leave. Turns out he shares the same sentiment. It’s starting to feel less like a rigid job interview and more like a casual interaction. Nothing to be afraid of. You feel much more comfortable than you did ten minutes ago, that’s for sure. 

Hongjoong eventually looks over to the side, where his desktop computer is and starts clicking around, the light reflecting off of his glasses. And you realize that it’s time to actually start talking about the collab. You fix your earring for no real reason, just to give yourself something to do.  

“So, I’ve received the forms you completed – thank you for doing that, by the way – and I was wondering if you have any questions for me about them?” 

You pause before you answer. Now’s the time to ask, and with the right person, too. Humming to fill the silence, you think about a good question to ask first. 

Hongjoong picks up his phone when it starts vibrating incessantly, and looks at the screen for only a few seconds before placing it face down on his desk. Someone must be trying to get in touch with him, but he doesn’t bother with replying right now. You know it must be important, whatever it is, so you appreciate him keeping you the center of his attention right now. 

“I guess I’ve been wondering about… like… if I check off certain boxes will we do all of that? Or…?” 

Very eloquent. 

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “Oh, no, no. Usually what happens is we take a look at it, figure out which ones would work best together and with you and San, and take it from there. It’s just to see what you’re comfortable with and to see which direction you want this collab to go.” 

That makes sense. And now that you think about it, what if someone puts a ‘hard yes’ next to something that San would check off as a ‘hard no’, obviously they wouldn’t do it. It’s a mutual agreement. They find the things that match between you two and take it from there. 

“Actually,” Hongjoong says with a small grin, still scrolling through the forms on his computer. “You two are pretty similar. It wasn’t hard to match up.” 

You hear it but your brain doesn’t process what it means yet. 

“Oh, really?” You say, not knowing how else to respond. 

Hongjoong just hums, nodding once. He pushes his glasses up again before turning back to you. 

“Regardless of that, though, I wanted to also let you know that if at any point during the shoot you feel uncomfortable and want to leave, you can, and you will be paid in full, no questions asked. Obviously though, if you leave before, or if you don’t show up at all, we can’t really do anything to pay you. We have this in place because we don’t want you to feel trapped once the scene starts. Does that make sense?” 

You nod quickly, “Yes, it does.” 

“Perfect,” he says. “So, with your schedule that you sent me, if you’re okay with it, we can set the date relatively soon. Is this coming Friday, at six o’clock alright?” 

Friday. As in… Friday, two days from now, Friday? Your mouth dries instantly. Two days from now. Is he not busy? You assumed this wouldn’t happen for a couple of weeks, at least. A delusional voice in your head tells you that maybe he cleared his schedule to be with you sooner rather than later. Oh, sure. Yeah, right.

Still, it baffles you. 

And yet you hear yourself say, “Friday’s good for me!” 

Well, now it has to be whether you’re ready or not. Your hands itch for your phone, needing to text Yeosang immediately, even though you know he’ll probably find your dilemma rather entertaining. You also need to book a waxing appointment and get your nails done ASAP. Maybe even a facial, too.

Fucking hell, Y/N, the things you get yourself into. 

Hongjoong lights up, quickly typing something on his keyboard, scrunching his nose once or twice to keep his glasses from moving down again. A few more clicks of his mouse, and it’s done. 

“Okay, perfect. I’ve got you booked for six o’clock this Friday. If you could email me where you’d like our driver to pick you up, that’d be great. Otherwise, do you have any other questions, comments, or concerns for me?” 

Your lips part. Driver? Someone from Afterdark is going to bring you to the set? Your right hand grips your phone, turning it over and preparing to call Yeosang as soon as you hang up with Hongjoong. 

Fuck, okay. Sure, why not? 

“Oh, um–” you suddenly remember one thing he hasn’t mentioned at all. “Is there a script? Like, do I need to know any lines before…?” 

Hongjoong answers right away, “Ah, this shoot will be unscripted. It’ll feel more natural that way.” 

More natural. Your heart feels like a brick in your chest. To be honest though, you’re really glad there is no script. However, a rubric would be helpful as well. You nod, acknowledging that information. So it really will be like the videos you watched. That’s the experience you’ll be getting. 

“Okay, cool,” you reply, desperately needing another drink of water for your dry mouth. “Thank you.” 

Hongjoong smiles politely. “No problem. Alright, well if everything sounds good, we’ll see you on Friday! Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.”

We. 

Again, he’s probably just talking about the company, but Yeosang’s words from yesterday are stuck in your head. Your secret delusions and Yeosang’s smart mouth are never a good mix. 

“See you Friday! Thank you.” You reply politely, the very picture of calmness and professionalism.  

And once the call disconnects, you’re slamming your laptop shut and calling Yeosang to tell him everything.   

He picks up on the third ring, yawning and obviously not fully awake just yet. You forgot he went out with his friend last night. Still, it’s definitely time for him to be awake now. 

As expected, once you rattle off every detail of the call you were just on, Yeosang laughs his ass off. 

“Oh man,” he says with an audible sigh, “you’re fucked.”      

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Part of you wishes that the driver will somehow get hopelessly lost on the way to the set. 

You’re sure he’s been there multiple times before, but you pray for a random dose of amnesia anyway. It’s not that you’re second-guessing the decision – not at all – you just weren’t expecting the day to come so soon. It’s crazy how forty-eight hours now seems like no time at all. You shake out your hands as you step out of the car, and look up at the building. It’s rather unassuming, blending seamlessly into the numerous ones around it. Nothing about it screams that this is where adult films are produced. Not that you really expected it to. 

The driver parks with the hazards on, and gets out as well to let you into the building via a keycard. You thank him quietly as he holds the door open for you. He must’ve told you his name, but for the life of you, you cannot remember it. He points you in the direction of the elevators, and confirms that he’ll see you later to drive you home.

Then, you’re alone. He gets back into the car and drives it around the building, to an underground parking garage you assume.

You take a deep breath in the lobby, finding the elevators quickly and starting towards them. Hongjoong said the shoot is on the eighth floor, so you press the ‘8’ button once in the elevator car. 

As soon as the doors shut, the silence and gravity of what you’re there to do settles in immediately. You force yourself to take a deep breath, really dragging out how long you exhale to try and ease your heart rate. The second floor comes and goes, as does the third. But the higher you climb, the tighter your throat becomes. On floor five, you think of bailing. Past the sixth floor, already almost there, Yeosang’s custom text ringtone startles you. Glad to distract yourself, you immediately read the text.  

[yeoyeo🌻]: don’t let him intimidate you, you’re the one he wanted for this 

[yeoyeo🌻]: remember he’s literally just some guy and you’ll be fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you’re gonna be great :)    

You can’t help but smile, and you roll your shoulders back to stand taller. He’s right, as always. Choi San is many things, but at the end of the day, he is just a man. You have to view this as a very elaborate hookup rather than a career opportunity, just to calm your nervous system if anything else. 

When the elevator doors open on the eighth floor, someone is already waiting for you on the other side. 

Hongjoong. 

You don’t realize until this moment how relieved you are to see a somewhat familiar face. 

“Miss Y/N,” he greets, extending his hand out for you to shake, “it’s so nice to meet you in person.” 

You smile warmly, returning the greeting and hoping that your handshake is up to par. Before you have time to possibly overthink such a small thing, he asks if you need anything. 

“Oh, um…no, not at the moment, thank you.” 

“Of course,” he nods once. “If you do need something at any time, please let one of us know.” 

You assume that ‘one of us’ probably means the team of people you’re about to meet and be fucked in front of. Forcing another deep breath, you manage another easy smile and thank him again. 

He motions for you to follow him, and you have to look down at your feet to get them to move. You beg yourself inwardly to get a grip and soon. 

Hongjoong leads you down a long hallway, deeper into the Afterdark floorplan. You’re surprised by how nice it smells in here, like someone is burning incense somewhere. The walls are decorated with miscellaneous artworks and some awards, as well as headshots of the actors and actresses signed with them. At the end of the hallway, there are two huge double doors, and he pulls one of them open with ease, letting you walk into the gigantic room it reveals first. 

When you finally enter the large set, you can instantly feel the drastic temperature drop. Just as you had been led to believe, they must have turned down the thermostat in the room, making it several degrees colder than the early summer weather outside, and you rub your arms to try and warm them up. 

No more than five seconds after the two of you enter, Hongjoong is suddenly flanked by a young woman with a clipboard. A sticky note flutters as she keeps pace with you and him, and she mutters something to him that you can’t hear. 

“No, that’s alright,” he says quietly, “I think he’s good without her right now, but double check for me, please.” 

You keep your eyes on the floor, pretending that you didn’t hear anything, but your mind races. Who is ‘she’, you wonder? As quickly as she appeared, the assistant scurries off, past the camera and lighting crews, and over countless miscellaneous wires with practiced ease. 

While the two of you walk, you’re rather relieved that no one is staring at you as you go by. You’re just another actress to them, and right now, that’s okay with you. And luckily, the path Hongjoong is taking you on is relatively close to the perimeter of the set, so you’re not exactly the center of attention right now. A part of the wall juts out, making it look like a closet, but once he opens the door, you see it’s a dressing room. Complete with vanity lights, a full bathroom, and a brand new silk robe for you to wear on set, hanging up by the door. There’s also a small, plush couch up against the wall next to the vanity that you have a feeling you will be texting Yeosang on as soon as you’re left alone. 

“This is all yours for the day,” Hongjoong says, “someone will come around in a minute to help with hair and makeup, and then we’ll start.”

You nod, swallowing down as much of your anxiety as possible. 

“Will you, um–” you ask before you can stop yourself. Hongjoong pauses before he heads out, waiting expectantly for you to finish your question. “Are you gonna be on set the whole time?” 

His expression changes into something akin to surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting you to ask anything about himself. He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a moment to try and understand why you’re asking that. You can almost see the professional within him piecing together a corporate response in real time.

“We try to limit how many people are in the room to those who are absolutely necessary. I usually stay close in case someone needs me. Why?” 

You wave your hand, trying to brush everything off. “No, I was just wondering. Nevermind. Thank you!” 

Hongjoong looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately leaves you alone, gently closing the door behind him. 

As soon as it clicks shut, you’re moving to sit on the couch, ready to call Yeosang, but you stop yourself at the last minute. You’re acting crazy, you do realize that. And you have a sneaking suspicion he’ll tell you the exact same thing. 

Instead, to satiate your need to call him, you reread his last three texts of encouragement. 

Lock in. Remember who the hell you are. Now. 

You put on some ego-boosting music so you’re not just getting ready in silence, and quickly undress before hair and makeup arrive. Folded neatly on the vanity, is your outfit for the scene. A tight, cropped black lace cami, and a plaid mini skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

No panties anywhere in sight. No bra, either. Total and easy access. 

Your lower stomach starts to heat up, already envisioning how San might go about undressing you. From what you’ve seen, rarely does he let girls undress themselves. No, he wants to be the one to do it. Like he’s unwrapping a present, just for him.  

After you throw your hoodie onto the couch with the rest of your pile of clothes, you turn back to the vanity, noticing a small army of mini water bottles lined up and waiting for you if need be. You’re almost positive that if you look in the vanity drawer, you’ll find snacks as well. Maybe you can get used to this. But you’ll wait to give your final verdict after the job you came here to do is done. It’s best to wait. 

You’re only waiting for a minute or two before there’s a light knock on the door. Two women wearing face masks enter the dressing room, bowing to you and introducing themselves. You try to remember their names – Youngmi, you think is the makeup artist, and Rina, the hair stylist – but your brain is elsewhere, working double overtime to try to calm you down. Luckily, the Britney Spears song in the background is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. Youngmi and Rina are quick, and good at what they do. Rina makes you laugh by scrunching her nose and singing along to the song as she brushes through your hair. Youngmi only rolls her eyes at her colleague, but it’s all in good fun. 

By the time they’re done, you no longer feel like the scared outsider that doesn’t look the part. They made you even more beautiful. 

There she is, you think as you admire yourself in the mirror. 

You sigh in relief, feeling much more confident than before. And not only that, you feel ready. It’s not the easiest thing to turn your nervousness into excitement, but somehow, this time, you manage to do it. So many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now – or, in your skirt. You had kicked your shoes off next to the couch. 

You make sure to thank Youngmi and Rina before they bring you out, not knowing if you’ll have a chance once you’re on set. With one more spritz of your perfume that you brought with you from home, and a last minute decision to bring the robe out with you, you finally follow them out towards the set. Just mere feet from where you’ll be… ‘performing’. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

As you’re walking and looking around, you start to wonder if San makes it a point to surround himself with equally beautiful people. Or maybe it’s a company requirement. 

Sure, maybe Hongjoong, Youngmi, and Rina are just coincidences, but even the camera and lighting crew are arguably just as pretty. Speaking of Hongjoong, you look around, noting that he isn’t anywhere to be found at the moment. He’s probably with his talent right now. 

When you’re introduced to the director, you almost say something about it. Everyone in this room is attractive. Conventionally, unconventionally, and everything in between. 

“Hello Ms. Y/L/N, I’m Choi Jongho, I’ll be directing you two today.” He introduces himself, bowing politely and shaking your hand. 

You bow your head and reply, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” 

He offers you a chair to sit in while everyone waits for San to come out, and you take it gratefully. You don’t know how long he’ll be. Youngmi and Rina excuse themselves, heading off in the other direction together, walking with purpose. You drape your robe across the back of it, unsure if you’re supposed to give it to someone or take it with you onto the set. 

“Would you like anything to drink, Ms. Y/L/N?” The director asks, noticing that you don’t have anything with you ready for any breaks. 

Director Choi only refers to you as “Ms. Y/L/N.” Very professional, cordial even. Makes you feel like more than an object his star is about to fuck on screen. You’re being treated with real respect, which is a pleasant surprise in comparison to what you had expected from the porn industry. 

You look around yourself, only just now realizing you didn’t take one of those mini water bottles from your dressing room like you originally planned. 

“A water, please–” you start to say. As soon as the last syllable of ‘water’ is spoken, an assistant hands you one. You didn’t even see him standing next to you, much less holding a bottle. Then again, you aren’t really paying attention to whether or not people are carrying water bottles or not right now. Damn.   

You try to warm up your arms by rubbing them, now that you’re virtually wearing next to nothing in this arctic-like room. Only a few moments later, a blanket is handed over to you wordlessly by another assistant, a quick bow following the action. You tilt your head down as a responding bow, shocked. You didn’t even have to say anything. 

Is this what San is used to? Everything given to him at once, on a silver platter with no questions asked? You imagine every single thing handed to him accompanied by hopeful, round eyes looking at him for his approval, only to be ignored or thanked by a small nod. You’re so used to doing everything yourself, this type of treatment makes you feel… stuck up – and every fiber of your being screams at you to make sure none of the staff think that of you. 

“San will be out in just a moment,” Director Choi says, but his heart isn't in it. He checks his watch and glances towards San's dressing room with nearly well-concealed impatience. It is rather late in the day, and you only just now think about the possibility that they may have been here since early morning. Maybe even shooting San with someone else. It’s entirely possible. You can imagine they all just want to get this last one done and go home. None of them would ever let that show, though. No, you have to admit everyone here is quite professional. 

Your hands absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you zone out. At least for now, you can zone out with a blanket wrapped around you. 

The air shifts just moments later.

It’s like a sudden pressure drop where everything goes still for only a second. That one second feels like a lifetime as you turn your head to see what’s going on. Though, in your heart you know exactly what it is without needing to look – it’s the arrival of the main attraction. 

From where you are, leaned back in your chair, you can’t see him too well. He’s surrounded by a team that moves with him like a clump of cells, or maybe in this case, like sheep in a herd. Finishing touchups by Youngmi and Rina, an assistant by his side carrying a medium-sized leather bag and holding his coffee cup when San hands it to him, and other miscellaneous characters that float around the star. Everyone wants to be near him in some way. 

Hongjoong stays at the back of it all, looking down at his phone as he walks. 

The team finally disperses one by one, revealing more of Choi San to your eyes. 

When San finally gets close enough to you, whatever air in your lungs is promptly sucker-punched out of you at the sight of his refreshing beauty. It’s even more pronounced in real life. You’re not entirely sure how to greet him, or what he’s used to. But you remember Yeosang’s encouragement again: He’s just a guy. Don’t let him intimidate you. You’re gonna be great. 

He’s just a guy. You’ve dealt with those before. It’s just that this guy in particular is crafted like an apology for creating men in the first place. And a couple of days ago, you were watching him make a girl cry on a bed that looks quite similar to the one on set right now. 

You stand up, smoothing down your skirt and standing still, hands clasped in front of you. 

“Hey Jongho, sorry we’re late,” Hongjoong calls over, pocketing his phone. He side-eyes San, who bows his head in apology as he walks.  

The director waves him off, clearly used to his tardiness and the apologies that follow. “It’s alright,” he says, “you’re actually earlier than we thought you’d be.”   

“We need to go over the rules with her,” San says once he’s close enough to you and the director, sounding tired. You wonder if he just woke up. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he speaks, and catches you looking. You don’t see it when you quickly avert your eyes, but his whole demeanor changes. No longer lethargic, he becomes awake and alert at the sight of you. 

Director Choi nods and grabs a clipboard from his own director’s chair. You nervously roll your ankle, hearing it crack quietly in the interim.  

“Right, number one rule is consent. If at any time you want to stop, just say the word. No questions asked. Second rule is to keep all details of this shoot private, including any conversations with each other,” At this, Director Choi looks up at you. “Third rule is health and safety, but Hongjoong said you covered that with him, and when you sent in the form,” Again, his eyes flick up from the clipboard to glance at you. “Fourth is to be respectful at all times – there’s no room for ego here. And lastly, don’t look at the camera unless told to, otherwise keep the illusion.” 

You go over each rule in your head before you forget. Consent, confidentiality, feel safe, be respectful, and don’t look at the camera. Simple enough. You keep your chin up, and shoulders back. You force that annoying inner voice of self-doubt to mumble the lyrics of the Britney song from earlier. 

“Follow these, and we’ll have a great shoot day. We should be ready to go in just a few minutes.” Director Choi offers both of you a quick smile before he turns on his heel and walks towards the cameraman, getting everything finalized and ready to shoot. Your heart pounds underneath the robe. Hongjoong steps closer to San, muttering something to him before walking back towards the dressing room. 

You’re just about to walk over to the set to get used to it and be ready to go whenever they are, when San steps right in front of you, effectively blocking the way.  

Out of the blue, he crowds your personal space, and you have to really dig deep to make yourself stay put. Right where you stand. Don’t be intimidated. At the end of the day, you’re both here to do the same job, and both of you are successful in your own rights. He’s just a man, you remind yourself again. 

San towers over you, his shirt opened just enough for you to see his perfectly toned and tan chest right in your face. You keep eye contact, even though all you want to do is look away. It’s much easier to be confident and independent on your own turf, but here on his, it’s more of a challenge. Still, you stand your ground. You have to if he’s going to keep sizing you up. He has been since he walked out here.  

“You didn’t cum,” he says matter-of-factly. 

… 

Pardon? Did you hear him right? What an odd opening line to say to someone you’re meeting for the first time. 

Your lips part and eyebrows furrow, rather startled. “I’m sorry?” 

There’s no way you heard him correctly.  

“Your last liveshow,” he shrugs. “Am I right?” 

Well… yes, but– how did–? 

Is this how he starts all of his conversations? With a personal accusation? 

“That’s alright. We all do it sometimes,” he shrugs again. He leans down so his mouth is next to your ear and lowers his voice. “You’re not gonna fake it with me, though,” he says, and the terrifying thing is that he sounds genuine. It’s not unfounded cockiness or meaningless bravado. He means what he says in all seriousness. He says it like you shouldn’t worry about it. Like it’s a promise. 

And you exhibit monumental self-control to not clench your thighs together at this moment. 

Your mind races at a million miles a minute. That, you didn’t expect. Isn’t that all that porn is? Fake, overblown orgasms for the girls and endless, guaranteed pleasure regardless for the men? You’re starting to think that this may not be the case with him. You think about the videos you watched as part of your ‘research’, and a bolt of electricity zips up your spine. You never doubted that he made his costars feel good, but you know full well that a lot of porn actresses pretend that they’ve cum with their scene partner. But with him, now you know: all of the girls weren’t acting. In fact, you really doubt that they needed to fake just how good he made them feel. The last video you watched of him comes back to mind… you wonder if he’ll make you scream like that too.

Unsure of how to respond to that, you just take a small step backwards to put some distance between you two. Room to think and process if possible. But he’s relentless, and he seems to like getting up in people’s space. A mischievous glint in his eye tells you that he’s enjoying this particular encounter especially. He’s definitely the type of guy that finds it fun to make girls flustered or nervous. 

You swallow hard. 

“You sound rather confident,” you note, still trying your best to hold eye contact with him. To not back down or seem weak. You’re sure it’s not working. You just refuse to melt all over him, or suck up to him. Especially not when he’s the one who asked you here.  

Surprisingly, he smirks. “Shouldn’t I be? I’ve done my research, I know you probably have done yours as well.” 

So you were right. Yeosang, too. San has seen your content before. And not only has he seen your previous works, he was right there with you, watching your last live. Your speculation sounds a lot like confirmation now. 

“Does that make you nervous, kitten?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly to the side like he’s about to kiss you. He could if he just leaned forward a couple more inches. 

A little, you admit to yourself. Your heart hammers against your chest like it’s trying to push you forward, to get closer to him. At this proximity, you can easily smell his cologne and dammit, somehow it makes him even more attractive. You’re almost getting annoyed with him now. Surely there should be at least one flaw to him, something that makes him human like the rest of the world. 

“No,” you lie, “I’m fine.” Arms crossed. Eyes up. 

San laughs lightly, and his smile instantly becomes the most attractive thing about him so far, even if it’s at your own expense. 

“If you say so,” he shrugs again. 

He doesn’t move away from you, though. Not right away. His gaze lingers on your lips for a fleeting moment, which gives you just enough time to come up with a question of your own. 

“So, you’re a fan of mine?” 

At that, he pauses. But, he doesn’t shy away from it. 

“Yeah,” he says, owning up to it immediately. He straightens back up as you nod, taking in the information. “Have been for a while now. I saw that other collab you did with that guy, it was really fuckin’ hot.” 

You make a mental note to let Yeosang know he was right about that, as well. To be honest, you weren’t expecting the compliment.  

“I’m– glad you liked it,” you say, clearing your throat in the middle of the sentence. You’re doing pretty well on the outside despite your nervousness beginning to rise again on the inside. San studies you once more, like he’s searching for something on you that only he can see. You step back again and turn your face away from him as you take a sip from your water bottle, taking your time to screw the cap back on. 

“Mm… you’re even prettier in real life,” he says, so casually it almost doesn’t register. 

You nearly swallow wrong, just barely avoiding choking on the small amount of water still left in your mouth. Luckily, Director Choi calls over to you two to start making your way onto set. 

The final few minutes begin to tick down.  

You don’t attempt to hide the deep breath you take, but you do try to not make it very noticeable. Placing the water bottle onto the chair you were just in, you clear your throat again. 

“Any final advice or warnings for me before we start?” You ask, keeping your voice casual and light. It’s a subtle dig to him, but you mean no malice behind the words. Fortunately, he picks up on it. 

“Oh, tons,” he grins, keeping pace with you onto the set. It’s almost easy to forget the cameras.  

You steal a glance at him as you walk, the floor bitterly cold beneath your feet. With each step the bed gets closer and closer. Now finally getting a chance to see the set in detail, you’re pretty impressed. It’s a pretty realistic bedroom setting, complete with shelves decorated with trinkets and records, but vague enough to have no specific personality. Nobody’s going to be admiring the set design when they watch this. Still, you appreciate the effort made by the production team to make it feel real. 

The lights facing you are blinding and you wince when you accidentally look right into one. Good incentive to not look that way, you suppose. 

San sits on the edge of the bed. “You get used to it,” he says, nodding towards the lights. 

You nod as well, placing a hand above your heart, willing it to stop racing. 

Noticing this, San takes your hand and guides you to sit down next to him. You do feel a bit better now that you’re sitting. You keep your eyes down to avoid burning your retinas, and turn your head slightly towards him. He shifts a little closer, positioning his body so he’s facing you. 

“Nervous?” He asks rhetorically, knowing full well that you are. He’s still holding your hand, playing with each of your fingers one by one. 

“Obvious?” You reply, managing to laugh at yourself, despite your nerves. 

San grins, his eyes turning into crescents, and that dimple in his cheek reappearing. “Only a little bit. But, I’ve seen worse.” 

You hum in response. Being reminded of his experience, leaps and bounds ahead of yours, does nothing to help your anxiety. You just hope you can live up to the fantasy version of your own self. That’s the version of you he invited. 

Where’s Britney when you need her?  

You push your hair back, a minute attempt to self-soothe in some way. You only realize halfway through the action that Rina probably just clutched her pearls somewhere past the lights, cursing you for messing up her work. Oh, well. According to what you’ve seen and the information you’ve gathered, your hair’s gonna be plenty messed up anyway. 

The room is starting to become a lot less crowded. Just like Hongjoong had said, only the essential people stay on set to make sure everything goes smoothly and safely. Everyone else becomes fading background noise, filtering out into the hallway you first came in from. 

But less distractions means you notice the man right next to you even more. 

You can feel San’s eyes on you. 

It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, quite the opposite actually. The weight of it is light, soft around the edges as he appreciates how he managed to practically will you onto this set with him. You’d been sure you may be insecure around him because of his almost unnatural beauty, but… actually, having his eyes on you right now makes you a bit more confident. He’s not looking at anyone else but you. Not just looking, but admiring. 

His gaze drifts down, greedily drinking in the sight of your collarbone and legs – the only skin you’re revealing at the moment. If the crew would just hurry up, he’ll be able to see more. 

Fortunately, he’s never been one to wait to get what he wants. Especially not in this industry. And right now, he wants you. 

“I meant it, by the way,” he says quietly, “you’re beautiful.” 

Without any water to choke on, or an interruption from the director, you simply look up at him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s no trace of irony anywhere. Not in what he said, and not hidden somewhere within his features. The genuinity, and the doubling-down of the compliment takes you aback. 

“Thank you… you’re quite beautiful yourself.” You compliment him back, shifting how you’re sitting to face him as well. 

By now, your knee is touching his. Even this small amount of contact between you makes your shoulders tense again. You’re not sure why, but you just want to melt into him already. Perhaps due to the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. 

Maybe it’s the insane sexual tension between you both, that very well could be the root cause as well. 

You remember how real his scenes look… this must be how the chemistry is kindled. Starting before the cameras capture anything, it makes it all seem less like a show. And you know what? Until the director yells ‘cut’, you’re more than willing to match that energy.

His hand moves from yours to rest on your thigh, slowly, like he’s silently asking for permission to continue. When you don’t flinch or push him away, he hikes up your skirt just an inch or two higher, exposing more of your skin. The light ghost of his touch makes you freeze in place. It’s already dizzying enough to have him in such close proximity, and now adding in the electricity of his touch, it’s a whole other level. And this, you assume, is just the warmup. Getting you used to the feeling of his hands on you. It’s nice that it doesn’t feel wrong. 

The lighting crew dims one of the lights and one of them loudly asks the director if it looks good on camera. Distracted, you turn back to look their way again, but San gently cups your face with his hand, making you face him instead. 

He hums, looking down between your still-clothed bodies. His other hand dips under the hem of your skirt, and your breath hitches. Worrying too much about the crew still, you look back to see if this is alright to do before the cameras start rolling. 

“Don’t look at the camera, kitten,” San purrs, “I believe that was rule number five.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you mumble without any real bite to your words. 

That smile of his returns, and the energy between you becomes even more charged. The moment right before someone gives in after holding back for too long. 

San never looks anywhere else, entirely focused on you. It doesn't matter to him that there’s about twenty people still in the same room, all witnessing this ‘warm-up’ unfold. It barely fazes him. He’s experienced in this setting, way more used to it than you are. You just have to roll with it. 

His hand on your face drops back down to the mattress as his wrist turns, and you inhale sharply when he lightly drags his fingers through your wet folds. He hums again, clearly satisfied. 

“What’s got you this wet already, kitten?” 

Your lips part to answer, but he finds your clit before you can speak. This time, you gasp quietly before you can stop yourself. Once again, you glance over at the crew, wondering if anyone is watching the two of you. You can’t see very well because of the lights and the various equipment in the way, but several of the crew and team are. 

San smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your clit. “You like the attention?” He asks, following your gaze. “It’s different from your little camshow isn’t it? Now the audience is only a few feet away…” 

His fingers begin to move in small circles, occasionally dipping further down to collect your wetness before bringing it back up to your clit. 

“San–” you breathe, catching his wrist in a semi-firm grip. Not to move it away, but just to hold onto something. Jesus, the shoot hasn’t even officially started yet, but you’re about to beg them to hurry up so it can. 

San just moves closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in your cute expression. His voice is quieter, so only you can hear him. “Already thought about all the ways I’m gonna make this pretty cunt cum for me. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.” 

Another promise. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and that’s the moment the crew decides that they’re ready to shoot. 

San pulls away like nothing happened, even smoothing down your skirt for you. You force yourself to breathe through your nose, steadying your pulse. You quickly look down, checking to see if your top is still on straight.  

Director Choi walks up to you both for final notes. “Alright, no script so we’re mostly gonna follow your lead, just let us know when one of you needs a quick break. All three cameras are going to be rolling, and one handheld. You remember all the rules?” He looks over to you. 

You nod quickly, unable to meet his eye right now. The back of your hand lifts to your cheek to check how hot it’s gotten – as if you need additional confirmation. You hope you didn’t smudge your makeup or wipe some of it off by accident, but you imagine that if it shows up on camera, they’ll stop to fix it. 

“Okay, then we’re ready to go.” 

San thanks him as he walks off, turning his attention back onto you. Your gaze has dropped down to your lap, breaths kind of erratic from the little show you and him just put on, and from nerves. But you manage to pull yourself together, externally at least. All you really have to do now is look pretty for the camera. You can do that. Except for the live audience, this isn’t much different to a camshow, really. 

And aren’t you here for your fans anyway? Sure, you also wanted the opportunity and experience, but it’s also for your fans. The ones who supported you enough to even get noticed by Afterdark and San in the first place. You imagine they’ll make up at least half of the view count whenever this video drops. You’re performing for them. Not for the strangers in the room. 

Once that clicks for you, all your anxiety melts away, freeing you to finally just… enjoy this. Why not? You deserve it. 

Plus, you’re quite eager to pick up right where you and San left off just moments ago – and it seems that San is too. 

His gaze becomes heavier, darker as he shifts into his on-screen persona. 

“C’mere, kitten, want you on my lap to start.” He says, moving back on the bed a little more and gently pulling you towards him. 

You straddle his legs, slow to sit down fully. Now slightly above and closer than before, you can’t look anywhere else but at him. His hands slowly trail up your thighs again, watching you the whole time. You stop breathing when his fingertips tease the hem of your skirt again. He can probably feel through those dress pants he’s in how wet you are. Equally though, you can feel how hard he’s getting. 

Subtly, you grind your hips down onto him. The immediate pleasure of the friction against your bare pussy makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands sneaks to your hip, gripping it tightly, and you meet his eyes again. 

“It’s just you and me,” he says quietly, breath fanning across your cheek. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed again as you grind into him once more. “Okay…” 

Through your pleasurable hazy fog, you faintly hear someone yell, ‘Action!’. 

And San stops holding back. 

The hand on your hip pushes you back and pulls you in, encouraging you to keep grinding on him – and to not stop anytime soon. His other hand moves to your hair, keeping your face close to his as he finally kisses you. His lips are pleasantly soft, and he tastes like peppermint. You hope you do too, you probably brushed your teeth at least four times before the driver showed up outside your apartment building. San seems to have no complaints as he moans quietly, his hand tightens in your hair. 

Your whole body feels electric, every touch amplified by a thousand. He makes out with you slow and deep, savouring the taste of you, and groans into your mouth with each roll of your hips. 

San tilts your chin up to kiss your neck, hiding his face from the camera. “Never answered my question,” he whispers, barely audible so his voice doesn’t get picked up by any of the overhead microphones. 

You disguise your response as a moan, “Hm?” 

He licks a small stripe up your neck, right up to your ear and looks down between you. You follow his gaze, only to find a wet patch staining his pants already. 

Ah. 

His question from mere minutes ago: What’s got you this wet already? 

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, a bit louder. It’s alright if the microphones pick that up. “Wonder why…” 

It’s the knowing smirk that does it. You move to undress him first, intriguing him. He didn’t expect you to be so bold right out of the gate. But, you have an on-screen persona of your own. Now both of your characters are out to play. 

In your dwindling patience, you come close to just ripping the shirt off when you fumble with one of the buttons. San finds your lips again as you push the offending fabric off of him, eager to explore his newly exposed body. But you’re next. 

Both of his hands lift up your shirt until it comes off over your head, forcing you two to break apart for a moment. Neither of you wait to make up for that lost time. You drape your arms around his shoulders, one of your hands lightly tugging at the roots of his hair. At first, your whole body erupts in goosebumps from the cold air now hitting your upper body as well, and not just your arms, but you can’t blame your reaction entirely on the temperature. 

San must notice how your shoulders hunch a little and how you press further into him, because he is quick to warm you up. 

One arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, chests touching. The first brush of your peaked nipples against his skin makes you gasp into his mouth. He nips at your bottom lip, distracting you while his hand moves from the back of your head, down to one of your breasts. His thumb flicks over the sensitive bud there and you have to duck your head down to catch your breath for a second. You grind down onto him again, adding to your arousal tenfold. 

Refusing to prolong this any longer, San suddenly flips you onto the bed, underneath him. His hand returns between your legs, fingers shallowly dipping into your entrance and circling your clit. He keeps just out of your reach, his lips so frustratingly close to yours. You glance down to watch him. The visual of his hand disappearing underneath your skirt, the veins in his arm beginning to rise and pop, and the heat of his body against yours is all starting to add up. 

You tug at your own skirt, looking up at him with doe eyes. He nods twice, understanding. In no time at all, your skirt is unzipped and pulled down your legs, discarded somewhere onto the floor. 

Now fully exposed, San pauses. 

The tempo of the scene slows abruptly as he takes his time to look at your body, laying so prettily beneath him. He looks at your body like he’s deciding where to start first, with too many enticing options. You drag your hands down his chest, lightly scratching him and making him shiver in the process. This, you realize, is how he makes every scene feel legit. He takes his time to admire his partner, make them feel admired and wanted. You have to admit, it does work its magic. Not just for the audience, but for you as well. 

He catches both of your wrists, bringing your hands together to kiss them both before guiding them down above your head. 

“Keep them here,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

You barely have time to enjoy or savor the taste of him again before he moves to kiss your neck. Eyes closing, you sigh into the feeling, wanting to commit this to memory. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, moving down to kiss your chest next. Soft, wet warmth once again wraps around your nipple and you arch your back to try and get more of it. You twist your hands in the sheets above you, keeping them anchored there just like he instructed. 

San then moves further down, ghosting his lips past your stomach. You part your legs to accommodate him, and he kneels on the floor, gently pushing your legs further apart. He drags this out, just to torture you, you think. His intentions and what he’s about to do are clear, but he’s a professional at driving his partners crazy. The kisses turn to licks, right next to your labia. So tantalizingly close. 

If your eyes were open, you’d see that he’s been watching you the entire time, trying to pace himself as best he can. You’re actually lucky there’s a job to do here because if it was just the two of you alone, he doesn’t think he’d be holding himself back from just taking what he wants. 

To him, this is all just a chance for him to prove himself to you. To him, you’re the star. And he’s going to make sure you leave this set more than satisfied. Wanting for nothing. 

But he’s not going to start until you beg him to. 

His breath fans across your wet lower lips and your hands find his hair again, trying to push his mouth where you need him. You hear him laugh, exhaling through his nose before moving your hands away. 

“Thought I told you to keep your hands up there, kitten,” he reminds you, with a slight warning edge to his voice. 

Oh, shit, you realize all too late. The last video flashes through your mind, and he feels you tense up. He kisses your hipbone to calm you down. 

“Be a good girl and keep them above your head,” he repeats his previous order. 

You nod quickly, “I’m sorry–” but he cuts you off by licking a thick wet stripe through your folds. Your breath hitches, and your hands stay cemented to the sheets, to hold on for dear life. 

When he repeats the action, the tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, making you see stars already. 

“Oh my god…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again. 

Your hands itch to move back down to his hair, wanting to pull him closer and to push him away. You want to touch him again, but the fear of him reenacting the ‘Fantasy’ video keeps you frozen. 

As expected, his mouth is just as perfect as the rest of him. The softness of his lips against your core only stokes the dull heat in your lower stomach. He alternates between focusing more on your clit, and dipping his tongue into your entrance. The most addicting part is that he’s moaning while he eats you out, like the taste of you is getting him off. You hope he lets you return the favor. 

He readjusts his hands on your thighs when they threaten to close around his head, opting to push them back towards your chest. Your toes curl as he sucks your clit hard, and you can’t help the high-pitched sound that escapes your mouth. He does it again, and again, getting you louder each time. 

“Look at me, baby,” he breathes, his nose brushing up against your sensitive clit as he speaks. 

You whimper as you lift your head up, resting on your elbows to not strain your neck. He meets your eyes for just a second before shoving his tongue into your hole, rubbing his nose against your clit again. You cry out, throwing your head back as the pleasure increases and squirm in his strong grip. Legs shaking and breath uneven, it’s clear that you’re close. Now you’ll get to see what he has planned for you. The two boxes you checked off, ‘Rough’, and ‘Gentle’ come back to haunt you. 

A moan cuts you off as you try to warn him that you’re close, but he can tell without needing to hear you say it. He’s been the cause of enough female orgasms to see the warning signs of one approaching. Two of his fingers suddenly dip into you as he sucks on your clit, hooking deep inside and prodding your g-spot over and over again. 

His voice is rough and gravelly against your pussy, “Cum for me, baby. Wanna taste it.” 

A bolt of electricity runs through you as you cum, shaking and moaning while it gradually subsides. The heat in your lower stomach cools off but stays simmering now, waiting to be rekindled again. You whimper, raising your head back up to look at him. He’s in his own world between your legs, gently licking your pussy and your inner thighs clean. Your core clenches around his fingers when he slowly starts to drag them out, and he smirks. He lowers your legs back down, kissing your knee and doing a quick check to make sure you’re okay to continue. 

You answer that check by sitting up and pulling him towards you, kissing him even more hungrily than before. He hasn’t even wiped his mouth yet, but you don’t care. Without breaking the kiss, he follows you back down onto the bed, sucking on your tongue and wrapping a hand around your throat. Not tight enough to restrict airflow, but just enough to make your head feel light. He grinds his still-clothed erection into you, and the friction makes your head spin. You don’t know if you’re allowed to move your hands or not, but you just want to touch him so badly. You want to grip his length, make him feel just as good, taste him too. 

For now, you just roll your hips up into his, moaning into his mouth. 

“Want it…want you,” you mumble, parting from his lips for just a second to tell him that. 

San hums, lazily kissing your jaw. “What do you want, kitten? Be specific.” 

You groan inwardly, but you know he has to prolong this a little. Damn… for a while, you forgot about the reason you’re currently underneath him. You sneak a glance over to your left, seeing where the set ceiling abruptly stops and opens up to the industrial interior of the Afterdark building. He notices your focus straying, and he’s quick to act. 

“Tell me,” San redirects you, blocking your view by kissing the left side of your neck and distracting you from everything else by keeping his hard-on pressed right up against your bare pussy. His voice is firmer. A small warning and reminder of rule number five. 

You take a deep breath before you voice what you want, “Wanna suck your cock… please, sir.” 

It’s the ‘sir’ that nearly kills him. You really have done your research, haven’t you? You know that’s what he likes to be called, especially when his scene partners are feeling extra submissive to him. Are you feeling that way already? Maybe you just really want to do this for him. San studies you for a second, confirming the latter. He can see how much you actually mean it by the way you look up at him, pleading with your eyes. 

And who is he to deny you? Especially when you ask so nicely. Plus, he’s been wanting to feel your mouth wrap around his cock since he watched your livestream. 

“Yeah?” He asks, biting the space where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing up against you again. 

You give him your best doe-eyed look, really tapping into your innocent act. “Yes, sir.” 

San helps you sit upright again and stands at the foot of the bed, starting to undo his belt. Wanting to be an active participant, you lean forward, dragging your lips down and across his abs, occasionally licking at his soft, honeyed skin. His belt hits the floor, and your hands are quick to do the rest. It’s a little hard to get the zipper down, but you manage it, successfully removing his pants. You’re just about to deal with his underwear next, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. You stumble a little as you find your footing on the floor, and let him lead you over to a chair against the set wall. It’s a better angle for the cameras, you assume. For him, he just wants to watch you do this properly. He wants nothing to obstruct his view, or the camera’s. 

San pushes his hair back as you drag the final piece of clothing away from his body. You avert your eyes until the very last second, tossing the garment off to the side to join the sad little pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Now you take your time, pressing a kiss to his knee, slowly rising up onto yours the further up you move. You hear his breath shift, and you finally glance up to face his cock. 

Somehow, it’s bigger than it looks on camera. 

You have no idea how that’s possible – you know about the fish eye lenses and tricks the porn industry will use to make someone’s dick look bigger than it is, but right now, you’re presented with the exact opposite. It’s larger in real life. This, you were not expecting, but it is such a pleasant and welcome surprise. And of course, it’s just as pretty as the rest of him.  

Both of these things combined only make you want to put your mouth on it even more. 

When you delicately wrap your hand around it, he hisses at the long-awaited contact. A hand tangles into your hair, not pulling you towards him, just resting there for now. San leans back against the chair, his toned body a feast for the cameras and for you. You remind yourself not to rush, and to savor this. 

Wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, you tease him a little by ghosting your lips up his length, watching him shiver and bite his lip. You kiss the tip, and linger there for a second, acting like you’re about to put him in your mouth, only to move away, kissing his hipbone next and stroking him with your hand. 

His grip tightens in your hair. Knowing he wants you to hurry up, you let go of him for a moment to spit in your hand before quickly returning to it. He groans a bit louder, head falling back a little as you gently twist your wrist, squeezing at the base of his cock. 

Finally, you lick him from the base to the head before wrapping your lips around him. His other hand balls up into a fist, but that’s the only reaction he gives away for now. You relax your jaw as much as you can, trying to accommodate his size before sinking down lower. You can taste his pre-cum in the back of your throat, coating your tongue. 

If you were annoyed with his apparent perfection before, you’re pissed now. How does he also taste good too? 

As if to get back at him somehow, you wrap your lips tighter around his cock and suck hard, which earns you a choked moan from him. You hum around him, amused and pleased with yourself. His hand shakes slightly as he pushes your hair back, the other one in your hair starting to guide you even further down. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag on it, forcing yourself to relax and remember to breathe through your nose. 

“Fuck, baby…so good,” He groans, starting to struggle to keep his eyes open. 

The visual of you choking on his cock is better than he could’ve ever imagined it to be. You don’t try to fight against him when he pushes you down or pulls you back up, simply letting him use your throat as he wishes. Even though you’re gagging and your eyes are watering, you don’t try to pull off. Not even when he shoves you down, making you fit his entire length into your throat, and holds you there for ten seconds. The longest ten seconds of your life. Your nails dig into your thighs, creating angry red crescent-shaped indents in your skin. His cock twitches in your throat and you whimper, keeping your gag reflex at bay. When the ten seconds are up, he lets you pull off of him completely to catch your breath. 

You cough into your shoulder, one of your hands wrapping around him again to make sure he still feels good. San can't help but praise you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, cupping your face with his hand to make you look at him. It’s a subtle check-in moment. Nothing between you is said out loud, but he searches your face for any signs of discomfort or stress of any kind. He’s rather relieved to find none, only your glossy eyes staring back at him, lips parted and breath heavier than before. Ready to go again or continue on. 

Whatever he wants. 

San shivers as you gently twist your wrist again, returning your lips to the head of his dick, kitten-licking the pre-cum that still leaks out there. You hope he’ll cum in your mouth. A rare hope, as you’ve never quite enjoyed the taste of it before, but with his track record so far, you’re willing to bet you’ll enjoy it this time. To encourage this dream to happen, you spit onto the head of his cock twice, collecting some of it with your hand already around his length, and the rest with your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. 

You hear soft footsteps behind you, and naturally, your first instinct is to whip around to see who it is. Luckily, your conscience kicks in, reminding you of where you are, and you’re able to stop yourself before you can even move an inch. It’s probably one of the crew leaving the set, you figure. But it sounds close by. 

As if to prove you right, soon there’s a figure or a shadow looming just out of your peripheral vision on your left, holding something. To combat every urge within you to turn around, you close your eyes and steal another kiss from San, who lazily kisses you back. He doesn’t seem to mind that your lips are covered in spit and pre-cum. Not one bit. His groans have increased the more you stroke his cock, one of his hands grips the arm of the chair in an attempt to ground himself. Harder, faster, your wrist begins to burn from exertion, but determination keeps it going. You’ll get a damn brace if you need to. 

“God–” he grunts, looking down at your hand. 

“Want you to cum too,” you say, looking up at him, almost pleading. 

San’s eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, a full body shudder wracking through him before he is able to compose himself again. 

“And where do you want me to cum, kitten?” He asks, his volume raising slightly, caressing your cheek. 

“In my mouth, sir.” You reply, also loud enough for the microphones to pick up. 

He all but shoves you down. You barely have time to make sure your teeth aren’t grazing his dick with every bob of your head as his hand returns to your hair, guiding your movements once again. This time, with just a fraction less of his notorious self control. You’re able to keep up easily, sucking harder whenever you’re closer to the head of it, and using your tongue as much as you can. 

San swears under his breath, hissing at your previously unknown skill level. It takes every ounce of composure to not fuck your throat the way he wants to. He’d be so mean to you if you’d let him. He wouldn’t have kept himself down your throat for ten measly seconds, it would’ve been until you tried to push yourself off, desperate to breathe again. That would’ve been heavenly, to feel your throat constrict around his cock, in search of air. But not for the first scene together. 

If there’s a next time, maybe that’s when he’ll let go just a little more. Show that side of him and see how you cope with it. For now though, he’s content to just enjoy the sight of you taking him in your mouth, wanting to make him cum. And you’re damn near close to achieving that. 

He ignores the cameraman standing barely two feet from you, and leans back again, relaxing his body as his dick twitches incessantly in your mouth. Every time his tip hits the back of your throat, sparks of electricity shoot up his spine. 

“Fuck… ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum… mmf–” San moans, head tilting back against the chair. 

You don’t change anything about what you’re doing, just continuing until finally, he releases into your mouth. Just like you wanted him to. And it’s just as you predicted. The taste of it makes you want him to cum in your mouth again and again, surprisingly pleasant. Slightly bitter, yes, but not overly so. You swallow around him, not pulling off just yet. You won’t until you suck him dry, until he pushes you off from overstimulation. Maybe subconsciously, it’s because you know he loves to overstimulate his scene partners – a subtle payback for all of them. You try to hide your grin as you finally release him. Not a single drop wasted. You swallowed everything. 

San looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, fighting to keep his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm. You lick your lips just for good measure, and he snaps. 

His hands return to your face and the back of your head, pulling you towards him to kiss you deeply. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips into yours, not caring in the slightest that can taste himself. As you straighten up on your knees, you can feel how wet you still are, and you can’t help but be a little surprised. You’ve never gotten wet from sucking dick before. If he finds out, it’ll go right to his ego, no doubt. 

But before he can, there’s an abrupt, loud clacking sound to your left, and at first, you think someone must have dropped something. San makes a quiet, irritated sound before pulling away, glancing towards the director. The cameraman right next to you moves away, going back over towards the others and adjusting something on his camera. You feel slow to catch up on what’s happening, looking back up at San for help. 

“We’re breaking for a second,” he explains, still out of breath. 

Ah. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, without thinking. You’re not even sure why you asked that. 

San blinks, processing your question as well before nodding once, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” 

There’s a fleeting moment between you that you can’t describe. Something deeper than the scene now that you’re out of it. It’s the way he’s looking at you, void of any facade or persona meant for the cameras. Almost like he’s curious about something. 

No one ever really asks him if he’s alright. 

Just as quickly as the moment appears, it’s gone. You hear a flurry of movement and murmured conversations on your left as you sink back onto your heels, processing everything. Your eyes close as you try to focus on your breathing now that nothing is blocking your throat, deep inhales and slow exhales.  

“You okay?” San asks as well, eyebrows furrowing in what appears to be genuine concern. 

“‘M okay… honest.” You nod as you speak to emphasize that you’re truly alright. One more prolonged exhale, and you roll your shoulders back, heart-rate decelerating back to its default speed. One of your hands reaches up to massage your aching jaw. 

Opening your eyes again, you accidentally make eye contact directly to his cock, still right in front of your face. It’s laying against his stomach, still slightly twitching, but… not softening. At least not as much as you’d expect it to. Surely, he can’t still be hard after coming. However, at this point, you wouldn’t put it past him to have a practically nonexistent refractory period. Might as well tack it onto the list of things he has been blessed with in life. 

San runs a hand through his hair, looking over towards someone who must be talking to him. You watch his eyes follow them until you see for yourself who it is – one of the assistants that had been in his little circle when he first walked out of his dressing room. He hands him a robe, and quickly walks off. You feel a small nudge at your shoulder and find one of the other assistants – the one that had handed you the blanket earlier – extending a robe towards you. You take it gladly, your body heat crashing down again now that nothing is happening, and the frigid air conditioning reminding you why you asked for a blanket in the first place. He also gives you a water bottle with a straw poked through the plastic cap, and you drink it down gratefully. 

Director Choi calls over Youngmi and Rina, and they’re quickly by your side, touching up your hair and makeup. You scoot back a little on the floor, giving San some space as his own team descends around him. Still, through the quiet rush of activity separating the two of you, your eyes stay glued to him. 

Once the four hair and makeup girls leave, you hear Hongjoong from somewhere behind you. You both look towards his voice, standing near the director. A young woman you haven’t seen milling around the set before stands right next to him, also in a short silk robe almost identical to yours from what you can see of it past the lights. Your chest burns. She’s gorgeous, and seems to only get prettier the more you look at her. She looks between Hongjoong and San expectantly, as if waiting for a regular cue. Totally relaxed. You look back down at your hands in your lap, toying with the hem of your robe. It’s obvious what she’s there for. You wonder if she’s been watching the whole time as well. 

But San is quick to rid you of any worries. 

Actually, he seems a little annoyed as he waves Hongjoong and the woman off, before turning his attention back to you. He helps you stand up, slowly to ensure you won’t get dizzy, and leads you back over to sit on the foot of the bed. Back where you started, in your own little bubble together in front of the lights and the cameras.  

Once settled again, San tilts your head up, his pointer finger under your chin, and holds it there, effectively disrupting your train of thought. He can almost see the self-doubt threatening to cloud your mind, even if you try to hide it behind your on-camera mask. He simply won’t have it. His other hand cups your cheek, making sure you don’t try to look anywhere but at him right now. 

“‘M still hard for you, kitten,” he says quietly, just for you. He moves closer, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “Made me feel so fucking good… doing so well…” 

You can’t help but blush at his praise. He’s so attentive, it’s a little shocking. You expected him to be, due to the videos you watched, but off-camera as well? 

To thank him, you wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it lightly, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. You want him to snap again. To just fuck you stupid already, to not wait for the production team to be ready. God, you just want to stop thinking and overthinking. You lean into the hand holding your cheek, humming at the comfort it provides. 

One of your hands wanders between you, trailing up his thigh. You want to feel it for yourself, even though the robe does little to conceal the truth in his statement. Nevertheless, your confidence is rekindled once more when you feel him through the silk, hard and ready for you. He hisses at the contact, resting his forehead against yours for a moment or two before straightening again. A low groan from him makes your thighs clench together. 

“Sorry, sir,” you whisper, grinning mischievously now that you’re the one teasing him.  

San laughs once, breathy and short. 

“You really have done your research on me, huh?” He smirks, watching you slowly move his robe aside to touch him properly. He tenses a little at the initial contact, but gradually relaxes again as his body gets used to it. 

You shrug, playing it cool. “Wanted to see what I was getting myself into,” the corners of your mouth twitch as you slowly stroke his cock, watching for his reactions. 

“And–” he clears his throat before continuing, “what do you think so far?” 

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you’re taken aback again by his genuineness. He’s not just asking to ask or to boost a sky-high ego, he really does want to know. Still, you want to keep him intrigued. Maybe you even want him to try and prove himself to you a bit.  

“Well… I’m still wet for you,” you admit, casting your eyes down towards your lap. “But I think I’ll give you a final verdict later.”  

San hums, remembering the taste of you, and how wet you were for him to start. His eyes trail downwards, towards your chest, which is slowly becoming more and more revealed as your robe loosens.     

“Deal,” he whispers, slowly leaning in to kiss you. 

Before he can though, you squeeze his member a little harder, your thumb circling the tip, making his mind nearly go blank. San shudders and leans back on his hands, his robe also loosening little by little, revealing his chest and the top of his abs to your hungry eyes again. He steals a quick glance over to the crew, before just taking matters into his own hands. 

As soon as his robe comes off, he tosses it in the camera’s direction. A rather obvious way of telling everyone the break is over. Director Choi quickly stands from his chair, shooing away a production assistant and waving another one over to collect the robes. You take yours off as well, tossing it onto his, and San eases you down onto your back, kissing you just as deeply as before. 

You shiver, finally underneath him once more. The promise of what’s to come thunders through your mind. He slots his knee in between your legs, keeping you open for him. You whine into his mouth when that knee raises slightly, pressing against your pussy. You can almost hear his smirk, confirming that you are indeed still wet for him. 

Well, he won’t make you wait any longer. 

And just in time too, because someone over on the left shouts, ‘Action!’. You feel kind of bad for stressing out the crew this much, but you can’t dwell on those guilty feelings when San is rubbing your clit again.

“Fuck… please…” you whimper, hips grinding up in search of something else.  

San moans, working himself up as he feels your pussy slicking all over his knee.  

“Are they gonna stop us again?” You ask, whispering in his ear. 

“They better fucking not,” San breathes, pressing one more kiss to your cheek before pushing himself up, spreading your legs further apart so he can kneel between them. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows again, intent on watching. You clench around nothing as he grips himself, angling his dick down towards your pussy. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation and impatience. Your brain goes haywire just at the sight of his cock near where you need him most, knowing he’ll stretch you out, and knowing that you probably won’t last too long with his size. Hopefully, you won’t cum as soon as he bottoms out. 

San presses the tip to your hole, and you hold your breath. It’s so big, but you’re ready. You’re definitely wet enough to help get him inside without any help from spit or lube. Nevertheless, he spits right on your clit, pausing to make you feel it drip down through your folds. He taps the head of his cock against your clit a couple times, greedily watching your reactions. 

And much to your despair, he doesn’t push inside just yet. Instead, he drags his cock up and down your pussy. Slowly. Forcing you to feel every inch of it, just not where you need it. Your clit is so sensitive, every time he rubs up against it, you can’t help but whine pathetically. 

San hums, mocking you. “Hm? What’s wrong, kitten?” 

“Please fuck me already,” you exhale, whimpering at yet another tap of his cock against your clit. 

“Louder,” he instructs, not just to make you beg for it again, but also so the microphones pick it up. You’d forgotten all about them again, to be honest. “Ask me properly.” 

Another shiver runs through you, and you gasp when you feel the head of his cock return to your entrance. Just barely enough so you can feel it’s there. But it’s enough motivation. You spread your legs further apart to convince him, holding them up and back by hooking your arms around your knees. Fully exposed to his eyes, open and ready to be filled. 

“Please, sir, please fuck me. Want it so ba–” 

Your voice is cut off by a choked noise as he finally pushes into you. Quickly, you look down, watching him breach you. All of your air is punched out of you as he stretches you out, sinking deeper and deeper, inch by inch. He takes over the task of keeping your legs apart, and he stills for a second to give your body time to adjust to him. He’s just barely halfway in, and your brain already feels like mush. 

Maybe it’s a good thing because the same cameraman from before comes back, aiming the camera right at you two. Your body is so tense from the intrusion that you can’t look towards him, even by accident.

San swears under his breath, watching his cock disappearing into you as well. 

“So fucking tight… god, baby…” he grunts, adjusting his knees slightly closer to your ass so he can feed you more of his length. 

One of his hands tilts your chin up again, silently telling you to hold eye contact with him. His eyes flicker down only for a split second. 

Then he shoves the rest of his cock inside. 

A mix of a gasp and a yelp punches its way out of you. Your whole body is like a livewire. Alert, teetering on an electric edge. Your hands grip the sheets next to you, biting your lip. You can feel everything. Every inch, every vein dragging against your walls when he slowly pulls it back again. You both crave and dread the next time he pushes in, knowing it’s going to feel so overwhelmingly good. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re close to coming already. 

Wide-eyed, all you can do is stare up at him as he rolls his hips into yours. Your walls flutter around him, legs already beginning to shake. There’s no hiding it anymore. 

Amused, San leans down, pushing your legs back even more, deepening the stretch. He groans as your pussy contracts around him tight, wanting more. 

“What, kitten? Already?” San smirks, a windfall of pride rushing through him. As if he needed any more validation for how good at this he is.

Your face burns, having been found out. 

The next roll of his hips is sinfully languid, taking his time. Then, he really betrays you. One of his hands leaves the back of your thigh and he uses his thumb to rub your clit. You yelp, body buzzing from pleasure, and he takes this time to start fucking you properly, thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he says, twisting his wrist so he can rub your clit with two fingers instead. “Let me feel it.” 

You’re starting to think all you need in order to cum is for him to tell you to do it. Your second orgasm of the evening is a bit stronger than the first one because of the addition of penetration. It makes you feel very floaty once it hits, clenching around his cock in order to prolong it. 

Unlike last time, he gives you no recovery period. The second he sees your eyes refocus, he’s fucking into you again. Like he never stopped. Your hands grip his shoulders, knowing you’re in for it. The tags for this future video flash through your mind, overstimulation being one. You lay flat on your back now, unable to keep holding yourself up as another strong wave of pleasure crashes into you. A third orgasm building up again. 

His fingers on your clit press down harder, making tight circles over the sensitive bud. He only relents for a second, just to hook your legs over his shoulders, letting him get even deeper inside of you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, whining at the feeling. Your hands try to push at his chest, to make him stop, to make him straighten up, you’re not entirely sure yourself. 

There’s no energy behind your actions, but San still subtly checks in. “Feel good, kitten?” 

You choke on another moan, his cock getting dangerously close to hitting your g-spot. “Mm- I’m– good, feels s-so good.” 

“Yeah? You liked coming on my cock?” 

“Yes…” 

“Yes, what?” San punctuates his question by ramming into you hard, unexpectedly. 

You’re quick to correct yourself, “Y-yes, sir!”

“There you go,” he brushes some hair away from your face, “my good girl.” 

Your body melts at the praise, replaying it over and over again as the feeling builds up higher and higher. You don’t realize until San winces that your nails started to dig into his chest, leaving some red scratch marks in your wake. As soon as you see that, you instantly take your hands away, feeling so bad that you’ve hurt him unknowingly. 

But he puts them right back where they were. 

And he leans down to your neck to return the favor, biting and sucking the skin there to create dark red and purple bruises wherever he can. His thrusts become more powerful, angling down into you to make you see stars. The simmering heat in your stomach is stoked with each direct hit to your g-spot. It’s getting to be more of a challenge to breathe normally like this.

Especially as your third orgasm begins to crest. 

“‘M coming–” you warn him, but he knows already. He can feel it. 

He hovers over you, moving his hips precisely and slightly faster. He wants to watch you again. To see you fall apart for him again. Truthfully, he already feels a bit pussy-drunk. Starting to get addicted to the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him, coming for him so prettily. And you don’t disappoint him the third time either. 

You’re loud this time, unable to control your volume. The third orgasm hits you like a truck, and it only builds higher and higher instead of gradually diminishing. You cry out, halfway through it. Something feels unfinished about it, and you’re desperate to chase it. Luckily, San knows exactly what you need. 

He quickly lowers your legs from his shoulders, jumping right into action to catch this. Your legs are held back, like the previous position they were in, and he returns his other hand to your lower stomach, pressing down hard. You can feel him moving inside of you. Your head falls back and you moan loudly, suddenly feeling everything tenfold. 

The sound is obscene, definitely pornographic. Wet, sloshing sounds, accompanied by your loud cries and moans fill the warehouse-like room of the eighth floor. His cock prods your g-spot every single time, building something insanely powerful that you’ve never felt before. You grab his wrist, looking up at him with slight fear in your eyes, but he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s determined, if anything. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, so affectionately it makes your brain melt. 

He adjusts his hand on your stomach just a little further down. At the same time that you feel him rubbing your clit again, he ducks down to suck on one of your nipples, and fireworks explode behind your eyelids. The quadruple stimulation makes you scream. 

“Gonna make a mess for me, kitten? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock again?” 

You don’t even have time to nod or reply in any way. A strong surge of pleasure smashes into you from all sides, whiting out your vision. It’s a feeling of release unlike any other that you’ve felt before, much harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. He keeps fucking you through it until your pussy forces him out, watching your body shake uncontrollably underneath him, soaking the sheets below you, and his lower body. Now you know damn well what kind of ‘rough’ you’ll be getting from him: overstimulation. Making you cum until you beg him to stop. 

San growls at the sight. It burns into his brain, and he can already say for certain that he’ll be jerking off to the memory of this later tonight and for days to come. 

Just to prolong it, he taps his heavy cock against your pussy and clit again, enjoying how you try to squirm away from it. 

You’re so wet, it’s audible. Every tap is loud, and a thin, stringy mixture of his spit and your slick clings to him for as long as it can whenever he pulls away. You reach for him, not knowing exactly what you want, but knowing you want him closer to you, and he obliges. He leans down over you again, slowly sliding his length between your puffy, wet folds. 

A familiar, faint voice from the left is ignored totally by you and him, too busy coming down from the most intense high of your life, and him holding you through it.  

An aftershock rattles you from head to toe, and you gasp when you feel it. The intense pleasure you felt gives way to sudden emptiness, and you realize you do not have anything to clench down on anymore. Though his dick is right there, dragging up and down your outer lips, it feels so far away from where you actually want it. 

Thankfully, sensing your dilemma – and hearing you whine for it – he doesn’t make you wait any longer. In your post-orgasmic haze, he guides you over onto all fours, now facing the foot of the bed. Ever the gentleman, he moves your hair out of your face. However, you imagine it’s so the camera can see your fucked out, dazed expression. 

His cock slips back inside of you easily, without any resistance, and the two of you groan in unison. In both relief and pleasure.  

That familiar, faint voice comes back. Clearer this time, and closer as well. “San… San! We’re taking another break now.” 

San kisses your shoulder blade, barely paying attention. “Okay, have fun,” he brushes the voice off, impatiently. 

You’d laugh if you had any coherent thoughts or spare energy left. No, you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment, your body trembling around his cock, and so happy that he’s pushed back into you. Truthfully, you don’t even care if you’re stressing out the crew anymore. All of your thoughts are about San. 

San smooths a hand up your spine, slowly pushing inch by inch into your soaked hole. He shushes you gently when you whimper, interlacing his fingers with yours when you try to reach back to find his hand to hold.  

“I know, kitten, it’s okay. Just relax.”

Easier said than done. 

He lightly presses your lower back, signalling you to arch it for him a little more. You nearly regret it when you feel him deeper than before in this position. Your elbows threaten to buckle, body shaking like a leaf. Yet, you still want more. Even though you’re nearing a certain point, wavering between overexertion and exhaustion, you crave more. You want to chase that feeling with him again. Make him glad he asked you to come here. Make him come back for more. So, you grit your teeth and keep yourself from face-planting into the mattress. For now, at least.  

San’s powerful pace resumes in no time, stealing every breath from your lungs. Another vague, quiet plea falls from your lips, and in response, he squeezes your hips, pulling them back to meet every thrust. Your throat is raw from all the noise you’re making, and you know you’ll have to drink some tea or honey tonight to get your voice back to normal. Not this thin, broken voice you have now. Your lower back aches from staying in this position, but you do your best to ignore it. 

It helps that his cock is basically in your stomach, that does a lot to distract you from a mere ache in your back. It also helps that your pussy is extra sensitive, coming three times – twice in a row without a break – and squirting for the first time. On camera, no less. Your viewers are going to lose their fucking minds. The image of your donation box on your livestreams, and your Venmo accounts skyrocketing after this video releases is motivation enough for you to want him to make you do it again. 

Your back arches even more, hips grinding back against his to get more of him somehow. 

Such a little natural.     

“Mmm, there you go. That’s it. Keep fucking yourself on my cock, pretty girl.” 

You make a noise, halfway between a whine and a moan and do as he says. Your chest grazes the sheets below you, chin buried into the mattress and arms gripping the edge of the bed in front of you. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, a couple of stray tears threatening to fall. “You’re s-so fucking deep.” 

San groans, increasing the pace. You yelp when you feel him smack your ass, and again when he hits it a second and third time. By the time the third strike lands, he doesn’t even give you any time to process the stinging pain he’s left behind before there’s a new one on the back of your head. 

Slightly dizzy, it takes you a second to realize you’re upright, on your knees. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling at the roots, and the other rubbing incessant circles on your swollen clit. His chest presses into your back, and he moves your head to face him so he can kiss you again. Mind threatening to wipe completely, you can’t fight to hold back your tears anymore. You shudder violently, and he groans as he feels your body struggle to keep up with him. He knows you can take it, though. You’re a fighter, he can tell. 

“Doing so well,” he whispers in your ear, “such a good girl for me, baby. Knew you would be. Knew I’d get this pussy to fall apart on my dick. Thought about it so fucking much…”

You whine against his mouth, tears wetting his face now as well. The blatant admission that he had thought about you like this before today goes straight over your head. 

All you hear is his praise. You’re doing well. Good enough for him, like you were so stressed about being. Nothing else matters to you anymore, now that you’ve earned his approval. A proud smile creeps across your face, and he grins at the faraway look in your half-lidded eyes. You’re so far gone. Completely pleasure-drunk.  

The hand in your hair tightens again and loosens, like it’s an afterthought now. Just something for him to hold onto. To keep you steady, if anything. Warm pressure building and building again in your stomach, you round your back as another shiver wracks its way through your body, making your spine tingle. His hand moves down to hold you by the back of the neck, and he slows his pace just enough to guide you back down onto the bed. This time, totally flat. Your pussy forces him out at this new position, but his other hand is quick to spread one of your ass cheeks apart, cock sliding back inside of you. 

He doesn’t ease you into his pace anymore. The first brutal thrust makes your eyes roll back, and your jaw falls open. Your nails claw at the bedding, every muscle in your arms straining while you hold onto the fabric for dear life.   

He’s so fucking deep. Impossibly, almost. 

He may just make you cum like this, without even needing to touch your clit. He’s making you learn so much about what your body can do when in the right hands. No wonder people are so obsessed with him. He’s become so in tune with your body so quickly, just by paying explicit attention to you this whole time. It makes you really appreciate his expertise, because he could easily have just used what has worked for other girls in the past. He probably could’ve made you cum like that as well, but he tailors himself for each girl. Adapts for them. For you. 

And he’s learning you pretty well. Probably read you like a fucking book. 

Every precisely angled thrust punches a moan out from deep within your chest. Each sound is partly muffled by the bedding, and you try to keep quiet, not wanting to be annoying. You can’t help it, though. Not when it feels this good. Certainly not when another orgasm is building, more rapidly than the others. 

You squirm under him, toes curling and nails digging into the mattress. 

“I– mmf–! You’re… you’re gonna make me cum again,” you have to speak quickly before it hits you. 

San leans over you, hands planted right next to your shoulders, fucking you harder. “Give it to me, pretty girl. I want every fucking drop.” 

Someone dressed in all black stands right in front of you, pointing something towards you. It doesn’t register that it’s the camera guy with the handheld camera for a couple seconds. You imagine he’s zooming in, capturing everything. He must know the future audience does not want to miss a single second of how you react to coming again, and how San won’t let up on you once you do… again. 

Your eyes shut tight once your fourth climax thunders through you. Pure ecstasy erupts in every vein. Euphoria clouds your brain. The sheets beneath you two become even more soaked, and you can feel your release dripping down your thighs. You must’ve been loud because your throat feels scratchy and rough all of a sudden, but your head is in such a rush that you don’t even hear anything. 

San holds you by your throat now, making you keep your face up. 

Just as you predicted, San doesn’t stop or slow his pace whatsoever. True to his promise that he’s ‘gonna make you feel so good’. Well, that promise is currently turning you into a limp, fucked out mess. You’ve never had this many orgasms so quick in succession before. It’s making your hormones go absolutely wild, and you cry harder, wetting San’s hand with your tears. The camera loves it. 

There are some sounds near you that you can’t be bothered to discern, and you just lean into San’s hand on your throat. Fully intent on just letting him do whatever he wants to you at this point. He pretty much already is. Although, you’re not entirely sure how many more times you can cum without passing out. You hope he’ll stop before that happens. You don’t want to embarrass yourself like that. 

San subtly taps your throat, getting your attention, before raising your head a little higher by the throat. 

You blink stupidly up at the cameraman in front of you, eyes half-lidded and heavy, struggling to keep them open. You flinch a little when you see that there are two more people in front of you, the director included. When did everyone get so much closer to the bed? All of them, you notice, are at least semi-hard. Director Choi nods behind the camera, muttering inaudible praises. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles turning white, and pull them up towards your mouth to muffle your screams. Out of frame, Director Choi motions for an assistant to pull the sheets down, ripping your comfort away, exposing how loud you’re being. Tears sting your eyes, both from exertion and from the intense pleasure San is giving you. 

“Pussy’s so good… so tight and wet… could fuck you forever.” 

Director Choi silently motions for San to keep talking like that. 

San grunts, fighting to catch his breath enough to speak again. “Such a good girl… gonna make you cum again.” 

And he does. 

Before you even realize that it’s been simmering and building, it knocks into you sideways. This time, you can’t even scream. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out due to your body locking up. San releases your throat, worried that you’re not breathing – and he’s right. He slows down considerably, moving your hair away from your face to check on you. Your body slowly relaxes again underneath him, one muscle at a time, and a low, guttural groan tears itself from your throat. 

You can feel every inch of him dragging past your inner walls, and every slightest movement makes your pussy clench, trying to simultaneously push him out and suck him in further. Instead of continuing again, though, he pushes all the way into you one more time, and then stops. 

It’s somehow both torture and a relief. You feel so fucking full, but he isn’t doing anything to continue the dull flames that engulf your lower stomach, and yet you know it’s better than being empty. He could pull out, leave you to deal with that emptiness before you felt ready. He doesn’t. Appreciative thoughts swirl around your head and you cry harder, trying to hide your tears in the sheets. 

When the camera crew and director see that he’s not continuing, they call for another break. Everyone moves away, and there’s no longer a black cloud in front of you. 

San doesn’t move an inch, though.  

He brushes through your hair with his fingers, comforting you. He’s intent on waiting until you calm down, not wanting to push you too far before you’re ready. He knows he went a little crazy, instantly getting addicted to the feeling of you coming around his dick, and you deserve a break. As long as you need. 

But you’re addicted yourself. A real glutton for the pleasure he’s given you thus far. You push back and wiggle against him, trying to get him to move again. His hands push you down by your hips, keeping them still. You whine at the denial, looking over your shoulder at him with teary, red eyes. He almost gives in. 

“I know, baby. Just relax with me for a moment.” 

You pout, another tear roaming down your cheek. Deep down, you know he’s right. Your body has been pleading for a break two orgasms ago. It’s high time you listen to it. You collapse, finally letting yourself relax, solely focusing on the quiet murmur of the crew off to the side, and San’s fingers running through your hair. 

It’s a nice moment.  

Nicer still when San litters your shoulders and back with gentle kisses, helping you calm down. Clearer thoughts slowly begin to reenter your mind, and your breaths even out, relatively back to normal. Better than the mixture of shallow inhales, long periods of holding your breath, and gasps for air. Because of the improved air intake, your head finally feels like it’s stopped swimming. Little by little, your energy comes back. 

You take a deep inhale, sighing contently as you exhale it back out. Looking behind you again, you catch him already watching you. 

“Hi,” you mumble, half-smiling.

San smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. “Hey, pretty girl. Feel okay?” 

You nod, humming, and you subtly push back against him. The feeling of his cock pressing into you doesn’t shock your body as much as it did before. Now it’s a welcome, familiar feeling. Sought after. You really are addicted. Maybe even insatiable when it comes to how well he fucks you. 

With the other hand, he places a water bottle in front of your face, the same one with a straw poked through the cap from before. You don’t bother wondering where he got it from. You have a pretty good idea. They’re always everywhere during a break. 

Once you’re done with the bottle, he places it against one of the pillows, where it will no doubt be collected by a production assistant within seconds. 

You push back again, trying to get him to move. You hear him chuckle behind you. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” 

Instead of contradicting his statement, you just nod. Why lie? 

“Wanna make you cum too,” 

San hums, just barely rolling his hips into yours. “How do you wanna do that, kitten?” 

You steel yourself for what you’re about to do. Hoping he will let you go through with your plan, you pull yourself away from him, and he slips out of you. The emptiness hits just as hard as you thought it would, and you whimper at the initial feeling. If all goes to plan, you won't be for long. 

San watches you carefully as you turn to face him on the bed, gently pushing him back against the pillows. His hands instinctually rest on your hips as you straddle him, and he looks up at you, patiently waiting for your next move. At least, coming across as patient externally. You don’t miss how his dick twitches, eager to be engulfed by your warmth again. He must feel something equivalent to the emptiness you felt when you pulled away. 

You’ll fix that gladly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the crew start to come back to their spots – lights, camera, microphones. They must have learned not to stay too far away when it comes to filming you two. You do your best to hide your grin. 

San helps you line up the head of his cock to your entrance, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders as you slowly sink down. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows furrowing as he exhales shakily. Following his lead, you don’t give him much time to adjust before you start moving. 

You swear you hear him whimper. Just once, but you catch it nevertheless. 

He keeps his eyes down, locked between you, watching your cunt swallow his dick over and over again. You bite your lip, nails digging into his shoulders as his hands become more firm on your hips. The next time you sink down, he pulls you down hard. You gasp, not expecting it, and he attacks your lips once again. 

You kiss him back just as eagerly, increasing your pace. Your thighs already start to protest from the strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care or stop. Not when he’s moaning into your mouth like this. Every noise you pull out of him is pure music to your ears. A rhapsody you could hear a thousand times and not get bored of. You pull away from his lips just to hear him clearer, and he chases you. He nips your bottom lip, one of his hands slowly travelling up to knead one of your boobs again. 

Breaths mingling, you shiver in his hold. His other hand dips down to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh there as you bounce on his cock. 

The heat of it all consumes you, drives you to get him to cum. You want to hear him. You want to repay him for making you cum four times, and put in just as much effort. 

It’s a battle to try and ignore your own pleasure, building up for a fifth time. You’re not convinced you can cum again. However, now you’re willing to see what happens. If you faint, you faint. 

You clench around him on purpose, grinding into him and rolling your hips, your gummy walls massaging his length and successfully driving him crazy. His head falls back against the headboard, and his fingers begin to leave bruises on your skin. 

“So fucking good,” he hisses, “such a good girl… gonna make me cum so hard.” 

The thought and image that accompanies it gives you a second wind of energy. Your hands move to his chest, and you press down as you continue to fuck him. 

“Want you to cum inside me,” you beg him, hot breath hitting his neck. You feel him shudder underneath you. 

San only nods, unable to speak. You lick a stripe up his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his sweat and kissing the hinge of his jaw. Right next to his ear, you moan again, enjoying how he tenses up. 

Suddenly, both of his arms are wrapped around your waist, and he sits up a little more. One of his hands presses into your upper back, supporting you as he starts fucking up into you, seamlessly matching your rhythm. 

He lets out a choked moan, cutting it off by kissing you one more time before his eyes shut tight. 

“Gonna cum…fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, kitten. Gonna feel me for days.” 

You whine at his words, and he seems to have worked himself up further by saying it as well. 

“Please, sir, need your cum inside of me. Please give it to me–” 

San pushes you down onto your back before you can blink. Your legs wrap around him, and the pleasure increases for you almost instantaneously. When you look down, you swear you can see a slight bulge in your stomach. His lips attach to your neck, sucking and biting to muffle his moans as much as possible. Every sound he makes is so pretty. 

He pounds into you without any more room for mercy, concentrating on coming again. And he can feel that you’re close again too. 

“Cum with me,” he pants against your neck, “give me one more. Let me feel your pretty cunt cum on my cock one more time, baby.”          

One more. You nod, eyelids growing heavy again. Everything is perfect in this moment. The feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the head of it pressing against your g-spot and fanning the flames of your arousal until it engulfs you like wildfire; his soft, plush lips on your neck, his words in your ear, and his warm, firm skin under your hands. 

As if that all wasn’t enough, San spits on his fingers and starts to rub your clit again. 

Everything adds up to push you over the edge. 

You cry out, body completely spent as you weakly squirt for him again. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, adrenaline and euphoria taking turns to run through your bloodstream. The sheets beneath you are completely soaked through. Every sense is both heightened and dulled. Exhaustion pulls itself over you like a weighted blanket. 

And your climax triggers his.

True to his word, he comes deep inside of you, filling you up until it’s leaking. The additional warmth is comforting for a second, until your stomach begins to cramp a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but just enough for you to notice. You’re definitely not used to coming this much. 

San shudders violently before dropping to his elbows, careful not to crush you under his weight. Both of you catch your breaths, chests heaving as you coax air back into your lungs. You tangle one of your hands in his hair, holding him close to you as you take this moment to settle down. He buries his face in your neck, small, audible sighs occasionally escaping him. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s never cum that hard before. Years of experience behind him, sure, he’s gotten close to this level, but never was able to reach it until now. 

Reluctantly, he slowly drags himself out of your pussy, eyes immediately glancing down to see his cum leaking out. He smirks as he watches you fight to keep it inside, not wanting to let it go yet. 

Then, like he does every single time, he ducks down to lick one more long, slow path up your pussy. Entrance to clit. A silent ‘thank you’. You whimper, legs closing when he pulls away. 

“Cut! Print it.” 

And he’s gone. 

You feel you just got a violent slap back into reality. 

What…just happened? You slowly push yourself up, with admittedly great difficulty. 

Half of the staff flutter around you, while the others flock to San’s side, covering him up in his robe and starting to lead him towards his dressing room. The production assistants assigned to you don’t say much, handing you the same water bottle as before and urging you to drink it all. You watch the cameraman and the director talk, leisurely packing everything up. Just another day at the office. It’s all over just like that. 

Meanwhile, you feel… stunned. Maybe even a little empty, and not just physically this time. You never thought about how aftercare is pretty much nonexistent in shoots like this. Everything is strictly business. Professional. Void of any emotion for the other ‘actor’. Still, as someone runs a brush through your messy hair, and someone else wraps a silk robe over your shoulders, you find that you cannot tear your gaze away from the direction of San’s dressing room door. Your eyes threaten to tear up, a dull yet powerful feeling of rejection blooming in your chest. 

Maybe you aren’t cut out for this type of thing, no matter how many offers you receive. Not if this is how it ends, as if nothing happened. Like none of it mattered. Another notch in Choi San’s belt. 

Director Choi suddenly appears in front of you, and you’re quick to act like nothing is wrong. “You did great,” he says, “thank you for your time today.” 

You manage a fake smile and thank him as well, apologizing for any issues you may have caused by being impatient or loud. 

He simply waves it off, “Happens more than you think. Have a good rest of your night, Miss Y/L/N. Maybe we’ll work together again in the future.” 

‘Maybe’. 

His words stick to you, gnawing at your skin like leeches. He truly didn’t mean to make you feel worse, you know that, and yet he really drove home just how… common you feel. Not special whatsoever after all. 

You imagine going back home and going live again. The notorious four exclusive viewers will want to know how it went, and you’re going to have to tell them something. You doubt you’ll be able to lie. Woo will probably be able to tell something’s wrong. 

Maybe, once this check hits, you can just disappear for the foreseeable future. If you’re astronomically lucky, everyone will forget it happened so you won’t have to relive the very tail end of it. You run a hand through your hair. You’re so fucking dramatic.

It hurts a little extra when even Hongjoong doesn't stick around to check in on you, tending to his star first and foremost. You can’t say you really blame him, though – that is his job. San should be his priority. 

It’s just that you desperately wish for a friendly face, or someone to genuinely check in with you. Comfort you. 

Not to be surrounded by strangers who won’t look you in the eye.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You’re not sure what the plan is. 

You don’t even know if he’s still here. But here you are, standing in front of his dressing room door like a fucking idiot. Another girl obsessed with him. Nothing new, just another number they’ll have to delete. 

Even so, you want to try and talk to him. Ask him why the fuck he left in such a hurry. Your hands readjust their grip on your purse, with half a mind to swing it at whoever opens the door. 

Gathering up all the courage imaginable, your hand raises in a fist, and you softly knock on the door three times. 

To be honest, you’re not really expecting a response. Half of the staff are gone already, it’s unlikely that he’d want to stick around here any longer than he has to. When you checked the time on your phone in your dressing room, you were surprised to see that it’s already nearing nine o’clock. Your stomach had growled almost immediately upon seeing it. You look over your shoulder, watching the rest of the staff still here turning off some of the lights and gathering wires.    

Distracted, you jump about a mile in the air when the door opens, revealing San, now also dressed and looking like he’s ready to leave. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” he says, so casually. “What’re you still doing here?” 

Embarrassment hits you like a brick wall. Yep, just another girl on the callsheet that stuck around to beg him for more. Ugh. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” you say, already giving up on the whole idea of confronting him. Britney can’t help you now. 

You start to turn on your heel, but he opens the door wider, stepping aside as if to invite you in. “No, no. Not bothering me. What’s up?” 

Your mouth dries. Okay, now you got to follow through. But god… does he really not know? You wonder if this has never come up before. If all of the girls before you are just collectively tougher than you emotionally and can handle no aftercare, no follow up, nothing. You should be, too, honestly. You know what porn is and what it isn’t. It’s not exactly a dating service. Two hot people fuck each other and go their separate ways, money wired to them before their heads hit the pillow at night. 

Still… you and Yeosang aren’t dating, and after your collab with him, he redressed you and cuddled you for an hour straight. He made sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that the friendship is still intact. You weren’t being used. 

You hesitate to step into his dressing room, and ultimately decide to just stay put. Stand your ground. You don’t want to take too long, you just need an answer. 

Out with it. 

“I was just wondering why you left so quickly? Did I do something to offend you in any way?”  

San blinks, slight confusion clouding his face. “Oh, no, I just– I saw your form. Didn’t want to hang around and make you uncomfortable.” 

Now you stare at him, just as confused. “Wait, what? What about my form?” 

“You checked off ‘Hard No’ to aftercare.”  

…Pardon? 

No way. 

He must see the bewilderment in your face because he fishes his phone out of his pocket to show you. 

“Yeah, Hongjoong said…” he trails off, the light of his phone screen reflecting in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah, look.” 

He holds his phone up to show you, and you step closer to it, squinting to see for yourself. Sure enough, amidst all of the other dozens of checkmarks, you accidentally fucked yourself over and selected ‘Hard No’ for aftercare. Luckily, you didn’t select one of the bodily fluid options as a ‘Hard Yes’ in your evident past confusion. You bury your face in your hands. 

“Oh my god. That was meant to be a ‘Hard Yes’.” You groan. Guilt threatens to eat you alive for all your negative thoughts towards him, and the texts you sent Yeosang while in your dressing room after the fact. You’re going to have to do some serious damage control to get Yeosang to not hate him forever. It’ll surely start with a screenshot of the form you fucked up, followed by a dramatic statement of your stupidity. 

San pockets his phone again, almost sheepish. He hesitantly steps closer to you, unsure of how to fix this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, “I should’ve double checked with you.” 

“No, no, please don’t blame yourself when it’s my own mistake.” 

“Still…” he trails off, looking down at the floor. 

It hits you that he’s really hurt by this. Hurt for you. 

“San…” you tilt your head to try and meet his eye. “It’s alright, really. I feel much better now that I know it wasn’t on purpose or because I did something wrong.” 

“I’d never do that to you, or anybody. I always stress how important aftercare is to the directors I work with so they don’t try to rush through it.” San runs a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he speaks, exasperated. You vaguely remember him saying something akin to that in one of the interviews that you watched. 

Damn, he really is nice. Here you were at the start of this, thinking he’d be a cocky son of a bitch who has the world at his feet, and anything he wants within arms reach. The last two parts of that description may be right, but your assumed attitude is definitely not. Well… maybe not entirely. The cockiness isn’t used to make anyone feel small, that’s the important difference. It’s confidence, more than anything. 

“I know,” you smile, trying to make him feel better. “Really, it’s okay.” 

He seems unconvinced. “Can I make it up to you in some way?” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. If you wouldn’t immediately cringe at yourself for doing so, you’d maybe ask for a hug or something. Physical contact in any way to comfort you, make you believe it. But the guilt he obviously feels is enough. The knowledge that he truly thought it’s something you were so against, and he respected it anyway, is more than enough. 

“You don’t have to, San.” 

“I want to, Y/N.” 

Your pulse skips a beat, wondering what he has in mind. The way he said it was so final, like he made up his mind already. His phone reappears in his hand, texting someone quickly and sending it off. He then reaches into his dressing room, turning off the light after doing a quick scan of it and closing the door behind him. 

“Can I walk you out?” 

That, you’ll allow. 

“Sure. Are you going home?” You ask, changing the subject as the two of you start walking towards the exit doors. 

“Nah, not yet. There’s a gym on this floor I’m gonna go to first.” 

You just nod in response, wondering how on earth he has the energy to go to the gym right now. You have a very special date with your bed for the foreseeable future. It’s highly doubtful that you’ll wake up before three in the afternoon. Truthfully, you can’t wait. Maybe you’ll sleep off some of the soreness you’re sure to have tomorrow. 

“Oh, by the way, do you have an agent?” San asks you out of nowhere, right before you get to the doors. 

You blink once. Twice, processing. “No…?” 

Yeosang’s the only one who may even come close. He’s the one you ask before doing anything, wanting his opinion and blessing. But technically and professionally, no, you’re an independent artist as far as you’re concerned. 

“I’d find one soon,” San says, glancing towards the bed, soaked through. “You’re about to get a lot of offers.” 

You blush furiously, reminded of everything that transpired between you barely an hour ago. “Maybe I should just take yours.” 

San groans, “Honestly, do it. I’m sure Joong could use a break from my bullshit.” 

You laugh, trying to hide it with your hand. San pretends to be offended that you agree, clutching his heart in betrayal, which makes you laugh harder. The doors push open, the white fluorescent lights blinding both of you after being so used to the golden studio lights on set. 

“Maybe I will let you have him,” he says, a smirk growing across his face. “It’s good manners.” 

He looks at you like he knows something you don’t, and it bothers you. The word choice sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Before you can ask, he steps closer to you, invading your personal space for the first time since being intimate with each other. You hold your breath. 

“Goodnight, baby.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking down towards the opposite end of the hallway, where you can only assume is the direction of the gym. 

Fuckin’ hell… 

You stand there like an idiot for another couple of seconds, still processing what just happened in the span of five minutes. You also try to figure out the implication behind his word choice. ‘Manners’. It bugs you so much, you know you heard something about it recently, but can’t pinpoint where or when. 

The question of what he meant follows you all the way to the lobby. You press the down button on autopilot, just now remembering to text the driver to tell him that you’re ready to be picked up downstairs and taken home. From down the hallway, you hear the door to the studio swing open again – probably some of the crew heading home as well. You glance towards the stairs, not exactly jumping at the chance to be stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers who watched you have sex an hour ago. 

But the footsteps that follow the sound of the door closing are what gives you pause. They’re hurried, and headed towards the lobby. The elevator dings behind you. You turn around just as the mystery runner comes around the corner. 

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Kim–”  

Hongjoong jogs over to you, catching you before the elevator doors open. 

“Sorry if I startled you. San is wondering if we can arrange another collab, but this time on your livestream.” He speaks quickly, like time is of the essence.  

You stutter, brain trying to connect with your vocal cords. 

“What?” You ask, even though you heard and processed everything Hongjoong said just fine. You’re just wondering if you actually heard him right. Today just keeps getting stranger and stranger. More interesting, definitely. 

He’s quick to repeat himself, almost pleading with his eyes for you to say ‘yes’. 

At least with the emails you had some time to think everything over. Now Hongjoong is staring dead at you, waiting for the response he hopes to hear. 

You can’t help it. You want to make him chase you again. 

“Tell him I’ll think about it,” you say as sweetly as possible, stepping into the elevator. 

You try not to enjoy the perplexed look on Hongjoong’s face until the doors close completely. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You have no idea how he does it, truly. 

Everything in his world is immediate. You’re not used to it whatsoever. 

Those are the thoughts you have as you step out of the elevator in your apartment building, walking up to your door. You're more than ready to throw your shit down in the kitchen and go the fuck to bed. Your phone is in the process of being fished out of your pocket, intent on texting Yeosang to ask if he's around for a debrief.

You stop dead in your tracks when you look up, about to unlock the front door. Perched tall and proud, is a beautiful bouquet of purple flowers in a glass vase right outside your door. A card is placed in between the overlapping petals, and you can’t help but gawk at the sight of it. 

How the hell did he find your address? 

Oh– Hongjoong, probably. Your initial creeped-out feeling vanishes. Hongjoong can just find anything for San, you’re sure. 

Punching in the keycode to your door, and switching the kitchen lights on, you place the flowers on the counter, taking a second to admire them. Purple, you note. Your favorite. Again, Hongjoong must have told him, but you can’t help but smile – he really did want to make it up to you. 

You pluck the small card from the flowers and read it, sitting down at your kitchen island. 

Hope you had a good time today. 

Sorry for being such a stupid slut </3

-San

Your smile widens, laughing and rereading it. You flip it over, and on the back is a phone number, scrawled in blue ink. 

Perhaps you missed a hidden clause in the forms that makes you promise to not fall in love with him. 

You hope not. 

[end of part one].

[velvetmatz]

afterdark ─c.sn★⸝⸝🍓‧₊ (m)

p*rnstar!san x camgirl!reader

for mature audiences only, minors will be stockaded in the town square

⟢ a/n: the long awaited... | this is NOT in any way, shape, or form meant to depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.

⟢ summary: everyone knows choi san. the choi san. and the pornstar wonder boy just invited you to do a collab with him

⟢ word count: 35.7K

⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | masturbation (f), oral (m,f), p->v, unprotected sex (don't do that), squirting, edging, dirty talk, san makes a Crazy first impression, cowgirl/riding, bondage (f, not reader), slight yeosang x reader (mentioned), porn industry, blowjob, fingering, basically just everything you’d find in a porn

posted: 06.27.26

⟢ [OPEN] taglist: @christinerose380 @violatedvibrators @tiramingisu @cocostar1117 @lilliesofthevalley8 @princesskatriinnaaa @starhwasx @mythicalthing @inlovewithhongjoongno1 @fixxedonmingi @deokityu @lxvmiki @rhea-sylvea @planetherk @kkitomy @sweatyracoon @ebly-bembly @fancypeacepersona @angstylittleb1tch @liightlizard @angelnameddeveraux @shesgirlfriendmaterial99 @onlyforwoosan @maliabobea15 @lovemollywho @yu5qii @minyunsan-kitten @honghwalvr @toothjuiceee @flowering-weeds @bearxgyeomie

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You love your life. 

You love that you can wake up whenever you want, and that you have no set schedule to live by. The only deadlines you have to worry about are the ones you make for yourself. You love your beautiful apartment that you didn’t need anyone else’s help to get, and that it is so close to everything in the city. You love not worrying about money anymore. You get to live however you deem fit, taking life one day at a time. Everything in your life is by your own design. Honestly? It’s a dream. 

And it’s easy money, giving men a fantasy for the night. 

That’s what you sell, the idea of you. In everyday life, you don’t pout nearly as much as you do on camera, nor do you talk as sweetly to strangers. Some of them, though, aren’t strangers to you anymore. You recognize their usernames and their donations, especially the ones who have been fans of yours since you started, and the ones who pay for your highest tiered subscription. Twenty-five dollars a month just to jerk off to your exclusive content. Ah, men. 

Your fanbase has grown and grown, skyrocketing somewhat recently when you convinced Yeosang, your hot guy friend, to join you in one of your videos. He’d worn a face mask to protect his identity, but it had been so obvious that he’s attractive even with it on. The black tank top left little to the imagination as your audience watched the muscles in his arms flex as his strong hands fingered you over and over again while he talked you through each orgasm. It was a rather simple video, with no actual sex. Regardless, that became one of your most viewed videos even though it was an exclusive, and the video that ended up paying for this apartment. Men and women alike scrambled to type in their credit card information to see it, boosting not only your ego, but your bank account as well. You gave Yeosang a decent sized chunk of your earnings, seeing as he was in the video too.  

His whole face had turned red when you showed him the number of views, hiding behind his hands for good measure. He’s always been shy, it was a damn miracle you even got him to do it in the first place. 

Since then, you’ve been living quite comfortably. Yeosang, too. Despite your efforts to convince him to create his own account for people to subscribe to, he’s maintained his ‘innocence’. However, recently he’s been asking you more and more about the details and dynamics of running an account like yours. You’re almost afraid to jinx it, like if you ask him outright if he’s thinking about it, he’ll forget the whole thing and never do it. Who are you to potentially accidentally deny the general paying population of your hot friend? 

He may become even more popular than me, you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

You glance at your laptop, its camera trained at a specific angle towards your empty bed, and you peek at how many people are waiting for your livestream to start. Friday nights are always good to pull in larger crowds, and tonight is no different. 

Nine hundred, and climbing. 

Whoa.

You let out a low whistle at the number, the highest you’ve ever seen it just for the amount of people waiting. You’re not even due to start for another ten minutes. The number shifts around a couple times, losing some, and gaining more every minute. For the first time in a while, you start to feel a little self-conscious. This newfound fame is still just that: new. Even though you can’t see the audience you’ve gathered, you still feel that there are nine hundred pairs of eyes on you in your bedroom. There’s a nervous flutter in your chest that you can’t seem to shake off in the dwindling minutes before your stream begins. 

With only two minutes left, you flit around your room, double checking how you look in your mirror, fixing your hair and makeup, and adjusting one of the straps to the lingerie you picked out for the evening. You sit prettily on the bed, taking a few moments before you start to center yourself, taking deep breaths and focusing on getting your head clear for tonight’s performance. 

A ‘performance’ is basically all it is.   

Your fingers hover over the trackpad of your laptop, counting down the seconds until there are none left, and you click “Go Live”. 

As usual, you allow about ten seconds to go by, waiting for more to join once they get the notification that the stream has started. You read the sudden influx of chat, smiling when you see familiar usernames and knowing that rent will be covered for the next couple of months, just by their presence here. If you wanted something, all you had to do was ask for it. Someone in the chat will gladly donate however much you need – and then some – just for the chance to hear you read their username and thank them in your sweet voice. 

So easy.  

You saturate your greeting with honey, looking up into the laptop camera, eyes round and innocent. 

“Hi, everyone,” you sing, giggling for all of the people vying for your attention. Each comment is sent with the hope that you’ll read it out. Some send tips already, small amounts mostly in the single digits, but there are a couple of doubles sent your way already. The tip counter in the upper corner of the screen increases steadily with each donation as they come. Compliments, questions, requests, and general niceties move up the screen in a constant staccato, making room for the next. 

You lean back on your hands, pretending that you don’t know what you’re doing with this angle. The camera is angled down, providing an almost perfect POV shot for the audience. The fantasy begins immediately. You uncross your legs, feigning shyness. 

“My day was okay, thank you,” you purr, knowing you just made someone nearly cream their pants by answering their question. “But… I’ve just been so lonely.” 

You pout, right on cue to accompany your words. Instantly, the comment section floods with volunteers to cure you of your loneliness. Each one promises they can fix it, that they’ll be there for you, that they’ll never leave. It’s flattering, but none of them really mean it. Maybe they think they do, but again none of them really know you. You doubt most of them want to get to the very root of you and figure you out. No, most if not all just want to get into your pants to say that they have. Bragging rights. 

[user75846] will yeo be joining you?

You read the comment aloud, shaking your head in quiet defeat. “No, it’s just me tonight.” 

Some comments beg for his return, others are happy that it’s just you – the jealous types – and the rest are simply impatient to see your body. Your hand trails across the hem of your flimsy, sheer tank top you chose to wear for the evening. It leaves little to the imagination. The quiet pinging of more money being donated motivates you further. You sigh, looking up into the camera again. 

“I’ve been so sad and lonely all day… you guys will help me, right?” 

You pull your shirt down just a little more, showcasing your cleavage while keeping your face as innocent as possible. The comments spike again, but you don’t pay attention to them anymore. Your hand travels farther up to your mouth, fingers threatening to slip between your glossy lips. Twelve hundred people watch and wait. You hum, parting your lips slightly but not quite giving them the visual they want. Not yet. There’s no rush – not for you, at least. But one comment catches your eye because of its impatience.   

[mntn3000]: start.

Very blunt. You don’t recognize the username as one of your regulars or subscribers. Whoever this is must be new. You’ve run and maintained a rather strict program with your subscribers when it comes to what they say in the live chat – politeness being one of the main rules. The lack of a ‘please’ to sweeten the demand nearly twists your face into something less angelic. Maybe whoever this user is is already close, unable to finish his sentence before he finishes himself. You bet once you take your shirt off he’ll blow his load and leave. It happens. For now, you’ll have fun with him. Teach this newcomer some manners. 

You dip your fingers in, tongue peeking out to greet them into your mouth. The amount of comments slows just a little, silently telling you that some of your viewers are beginning to work themselves up along with you. 

“Oh dear… ‘mntn3000’ just said ‘start’. No ‘please’? Will someone let him know how this works?” You keep your voice sugary, making sure everyone knows you aren’t hurt or being stuck-up, but that you’re rather amused at the comment. 

Almost immediately, upon request, you see one of your regulars tag the newcomer in a message explaining the chat rules. 

“Thank you, Woo,” you hum, lifting your shirt up even more, just for him, to show your gratitude. Your hand lingers near your breast, a small shudder running through your body as you graze your nipple. 

‘Woo’, your nickname for him from his username, has become somewhat of an anonymous friend to you. He’s subscribed to your highest level tier and the VIP extras that you offer, including private shows and a group chat on Discord. He’s always the first to step in if someone says something out of line or disrespectful in any way. Your own personal guard dog. 

Whoever he is, ‘mntn3000’ doesn’t say anything to Woo’s message. 

Fourteen hundred people now. 

You hum again, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You love the attention. And after doing a rough estimate in your head how much money you’ll make tonight, it just makes you want to put on an even better show. 

“If you want something…” you purr, taking your shirt off completely. The comments erupt. “Ask nicely~” you tease, giggling to yourself.

A donation pops up immediately, the sum of which nearly makes you gape.   

[mntn3000] has donated $500 

Well… that’s certainly nice. 

[mntn3000]: start, kitten

That’ll do it. 

You’re quick to control your reaction to the generous donation. However, now you can’t help but feel like you’re performing under pressure. Some of your other patrons comment on it, but you’re on autopilot now. 

One more deep breath in and your tight little shorts soon join your shirt on the floor. 

You exhale audibly, turning the breath into a quiet moan as your hand continues to explore your own body. This time, you don’t tease when your fingers come back up to your mouth, accepting them immediately. Your free hand finds its way to your neglected chest, kneading the warm skin. It’s easy to pretend that the touch belongs to someone else’s manipulation. 

It’s more than just a little confusing for you to immediately imagine it’s Yeosang, if not friendship-wise. The two of you have mutually agreed that you’re platonic. The collaboration was just… a friend helping a friend. Moreso than the views and money you earned from it, you’re thankful that there is no awkwardness between you two in the aftermath of it. When you had switched the camera off, he had even joked about graduating to another level of friendship, or something like that. You can’t remember exactly right now, you’re a bit preoccupied. 

You pry your eyes open to read the chat, wanting to know if they’re enjoying the view so far. 

[user92834]: i keep expecting yeo to show up ㅠㅠ  i miss him

You whine, only able to nod once or twice. “I miss Yeo, too.” 

Now you’re playing with fire. Multiple people in the chat remind you of their personal favorite parts of that video, giving you a much needed visual to get yourself off. Is it wrong? To use memories of your best friend ‘platonically’ overstimulating you for the better part of an hour? Maybe. You think you just need to get laid soon. Admittedly, it’s been rather long since you have been. Longer than most of your viewers will ever believe.  

“I wish someone was here to help me,” you blink slowly into the camera, pouting again. 

Your artificial patheticness is like a siren call to these men. It seems that every single one of your viewers suddenly comes alive, flooding the chat and your donations box all at once, each claiming that they should be the one to help you next time. That they have what it takes. 

Except one. 

You haven’t seen that ‘mntn3000’ guy’s username pop up since he sent the generous donation earlier. You wonder if he’s still watching. Maybe he’s embarrassed from earlier. 

Whatever. He’s more likely just another background viewer. You probably won’t hear from him again. 

Pushing the thought away, you start to finally trail your hand down your stomach to lightly circle your clit. Your hooded eyes flicker up to the screen, making sure everything’s in view. Satisfied with what you see, you resume touching yourself, continuing to loudly suck on your fingers for good measure. 

[user82392] has donated $5

[user01743] has donated $20

[puppyu.u] has donated $50

[mars9843] has donated $50 

[puppyu.u] has donated $100

You can’t help but smile, watching the silent competition between your viewers. Every time someone ups the amount they’re willing to drop on you, there’s dozens more who are willing to match it. You feel like you’re at auction. Who will win in the end? Usually, it’s one of your regulars, the ones with access to the private Discord, who come out on top. You’re betting on ‘puppyu.u’ tonight. He seems like he has something to prove. 

No one’s quite willing to match ‘mntn3000’’s five hundred dollar starting offer just yet. 

You get the feeling that everyone who regularly competes here silently agrees to just… ignore it. Everyone here spoils you, of course. But dropping five hundred dollars straight out the gate is a blatant power move that seems intent to undermine most of the others in here in one fell swoop. 

But he’s quiet now. Maybe he spent all he had in one go. It happens sometimes. Rarely, but sometimes. 

You’re not sure why you’re so hung up on this random user. You’re not used to being caught off guard like this. Closing your eyes so no one can see you roll them, you decide to not think about him anymore. 

And you have just the thing for it. 

While they spend money to achieve imagined dominance over the others in the chat, you reach just offscreen to grab your favorite dildo. It’s a fan-favorite as well. You scoot a little farther back on the bed, finally taking your fingers out of your mouth and replacing it with the head of the dildo. You sigh around it, like you’re content, grateful to have something in your mouth again. In reality, this is just so that it goes inside of you easier.   

This time, you don’t make them wait. 

The blunt head of the toy slips inside easily, and you fight to keep your head up so everyone can see your reaction to it. Halfway in, you give up. Head back, a visible shudder runs through your body that has the donation notifications ringing like crazy. Around this point in your little show, you’ll pay less and less attention to the chat, only focusing on the pleasure you’re creating for yourself. 

But this time, something’s off. 

No matter what you do, you can’t seem to find that specific angle that makes you cum. Not even playing with your clit seems to be any help. You try to relax, to see if maybe you’re too tense to feel anything, but it’s quite hard to relax when you’re this frustrated already. You’re not about to let the audience know that, but it’s discouraging. You don’t like to lie, but again, it’s all part of a performance. A fake, tailored show to sell a fantasy version of you. The one who always comes for whoever is watching, the one who is just so insatiable for each individual person watching.  

At one point, you obtain false hope. You hit an angle that nearly does it for you, getting you closer than you were before to that sweet edge. It’s so close you can almost taste it, quickening your pulse and electrifying every vein in your body. There’s an ache in your wrist that is starting to become strained and uncomfortable, and your eyebrows furrow together to try and maybe will an orgasm into existence. And yet the payoff evades you completely.  

You make a sharp, high-pitched noise out of frustration, which hopefully comes across as ecstacy instead. You’re not even enjoying it anymore, and your hand begins to slow down the pumps of the dildo as your fake moans increase again. There’s a trick you know to make your legs look like they’re realistically shaking from an orgasm – learned by ego-boosting one too many failed relationships and one night stands in the past – and you use it now. 

Ugh. 

The toy slips out of you, and you blearily toss it next to you on the bed. You let the audience watch the slowing rise and fall of your chest as your breaths even out. 

What the fuck was that? You think to yourself, tilting your head back to hide your look of confusion. You’re kind of nervous to look at what people are saying in the chat, worried that they somehow caught onto the fact that you faked it. Without any proof, you conjure up images of cancellation, accusations, name-calling, every possible and yet unrealistic bad thing that could potentially happen. 

Steeling yourself as best you can, you straighten and take a look at the chat. 

All worries melt away at once as soon as you notice the heart emojis that flood the comment section. You’re not sure when this started, nor do you know who began the trend, but it has turned into something similar to applause at the end of a stream. A cute signal that they enjoyed the show. You smile at the screen, even laughing a little from relief. Time and time again, you’re proven to be loved no matter what. 

There are a few more donations, although they’ve slowed down now that you’re done. You push your hair back, taking the time to slowly breathe in and out as you read the comments. Most of them tell you how hard you made them bust, which earns you a few more dollars. Still, there’s one username you’re stuck on that you’re not seeing. Not yet. You hope you’re not being obvious, waiting for it to reappear. Maybe with some manners and patience this time. Your eyes stay locked on the corner of the screen.

It’s after you blow a puff of air up towards your hair to move it out of your face that he reappears. Maybe your impatience was received loud and clear to him. 

He only sends one word. Four letters. 

[mntn3000]: cute 

[mntn3000] has donated $1000

[mntn3000] has left the stream

Huh. Your spinning head almost registers that. A good thing about streaming is that you’re not exactly on a time limit. You can take as much time as you need to to calm down and regroup before addressing your audience again. Most will leave during this time, and that’s alright too. Your devoted viewers will stay, still seeking out your attention, praise, and appreciation. You always thank them for watching and of course, donating. 

“There’s thousands of others you could have spent your time with tonight, so thank you for choosing me. I hope I made it worth it.” 

In the middle of catching your breath, you manage a small grin into the camera. With a whispered, ‘goodnight’, and a kiss blown straight to your audience, you end the live and flop backwards on your bed. Another job well done. Another year of rent earned. 

You force yourself to move after five minutes, showering, changing into new, comfier clothes and taking your makeup off in the bathroom until it’s just you in the mirror, and not the character. It’s not until you’re brushing your teeth that you realize how tired you are from that live, nearly drifting off with the toothbrush still in your mouth. Head about to hit the wall, you jerk back to stand upright and finish up quickly. You can practically hear your bed calling your name.   

A text from Yeosang lights up your phone, halfway buried underneath a pillow. You pull it out and stand by your bed to read it. 

[yeoyeo🌻]: another successful day at the office?

You can’t help but grin, burying yourself under the covers and texting him back quickly. 

[y/n🌸]: another small fortune 🥱

[yeoyeo🌻]: still wanna hang out tomorrow?

[yeoyeo🌻]: or is the princess too tired 

[y/n🌸]: stfu 😂

[y/n🌸]: yes pls i miss you :( 

[yeoyeo🌻]: fine fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: i’ll be over at noon 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you better be awake -.- 

[y/n🌸]: goodnight pretty boy!

[yeoyeo🌻]: 🖕🏻

[yeoyeo🌻]: goodnight 

Exiting the messages app, you reach over to the nightstand and grab your laptop from its perch, keen on transferring your earnings into your bank account as soon as possible. Luckily, the site you use makes it rather easy, just a click of a button, but this time around, you take a second to look at the number in the corner. 

$14,601. 

You whistle lowly at the sight of it. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars for thirty minutes of ‘work’. If you spend and save wisely, you’ll never have to set foot in an office for as long as you live. 

Laptop set aside for the time being, you make a mental note to try and fit in some pilates tomorrow morning before Yeosang comes over. There are certain things you try to do to maintain your beauty and health, especially if the rewards look like this number. The sore muscles, cutting off sugar, and time spent trying to match your wing eyeliner are worth it. Almost… you do miss sugar quite a bit and are prone to cheat if tempted.  

You quickly do the math in the calculator app to see how exponentially your bank account is about to grow once the transfer is complete. The total makes you smile ear to ear. Already, you’re thinking of more ideas, ways to keep everyone interested… but also… maybe a vacation. A first class flight to anywhere in the world seems more than desirable. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask Yeosang if he’d like to come too. The thought excites you, making you want to stay up and look at potential destinations. 

Closing out of the calculator and banking apps, you’re just about to go on TikTok to look through your ‘dream vacay’ folder, when a notification directs your eyes upward. It’s from your email, but it's no promotional message from one of the many stores you shop at, nor is it spam. 

The sender is simply ‘H.J Kim’, accompanied by three words in the subject line: ‘Exclusive Collaboration Offer’. 

That certainly piques your interest, although it could just be a scam. Since you don’t have an agent, you’ve learned the hard way how to filter out those who just wish to take your hard-earned – well… earned – money away from you. When you were just starting out, you had to change numerous passwords more than once. You’re on a first-name-basis with your bank. Usually, you ignore emails like this, but something draws you to it. In what you can see of the preview, the sender doesn’t use more words than he has to, and the word choice seems rather official. Not as scammy as you’re used to. 

Hesitant, but intrigued at what this offer could possibly entail, you click on it to see what the rest of the email says.

__________________________

Dear Miss Y/N, 

I hope you are doing well. My name is Kim Hongjoong and I am a Talent Agent with Afterdark Productions, representing Choi San. We have been admiring your work for a while now, and would love to extend an offer for a collaboration between the two of you. 

If accepted, I will be more than happy to disclose more information regarding the details of the shoot as well as beginning the process of arranging transportation and accommodation. Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, and I will respond as quickly as I can. 

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the possibility of working together. 

Sincerely, 

Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

__________________________

You sit up, suddenly needing more air. 

Choi San. 

Just his name makes your thighs clench together under the plush comforter.

You make a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a laugh of disbelief. You reread it a couple more times, making sure you’re reading it correctly. There’s simply no way someone like Choi San knows you exist, and if he does, then how? Sure, you’re gaining popularity on cam platforms, but you didn’t think the industry on the other side of the coin would take notice. Maybe you’ve just been naive. It’s essentially the same thing but without a script or team involved. You do everything yourself — the lights, the camera, the action. The idea of even attempting what ‘Afterdark’ is known for is quite daunting. The thought of potentially meeting San even more so. 

Everyone knows Choi San. 

Somewhat of a respected micro-celebrity, he is currently revolutionizing the stigma around adult videos and being an adult actor. Breaking stereotypes, barriers, and backs. Impressive. It also helps that he has adonis-like features and a smile that can universally melt hearts. Very helpful, indeed. 

It’s still not fully clicking that you’ve been offered a chance to work with him. Not yet. Most likely, it’ll hit you in the morning when you check your phone for the millionth time, making sure you didn’t just dream this all up in a post-orgasmic haze. Each time you reread it, the words stay the same. The name jumps out at you. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” you whisper, pressing your palm to your mouth, reading the email over just one more time. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. 

A collaboration… you assume that means on his turf. On his side of the industry, anyway. Your mouth dries. Are you even up for this? 

A visual learner all your life, you find yourself opening a private browser and looking up a porn site you know has posted a couple of San’s videos. For research. Literally. Your thought process is to refresh your memory, imagine yourself in the actress’ place and discern whether or not you think you can handle what this offer entails. You pick the very first result after you enter his name in the search box, and settle back against your pillows, nervously biting your nails as the video begins. 

It starts off like many others of its kind, a flashy montage of what’s to come – pun unfortunately intended – to entice viewers to keep watching. You skip ahead, like many do, not caring for whatever ‘plot’ has been thrown together to justify why these two hot people are sleeping together this time. Although, from the clips you do see as the video jumps ahead, inching closer to the real action, you have to admit he’s a decent actor. You stop skipping through it towards the end of their conversation, landing at the proposition and steadily rising scripted passion. 

San steps closer to the actress, really getting into her space, and holding eye contact the whole time. The type that would make any girl melt. It’s not fiery or intimidating, no, it’s something much worse. 

Desire. 

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch, too focused on how his hands wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer. What startles you is how… almost vulnerable he looks. Attentive. His head tilted down slightly, looking at her through his eyelashes, enchanting her so effortlessly as his hands gently wander. You cross an arm over your chest, eyes still fixated on the phone screen. You’re getting affected this much just watching him look at her like that? How the hell will you possibly be able to handle it in real life? The short answer is: you probably won’t. 

Because the next time you skip, impatience gnawing at you to just see and know what he does, you’re thrown right into the fray. 

The camera is almost cinematic, capturing precise angles where everything can be seen, the lighting low and sensual. They’re on a large bed, and San has taken the time to place one of the pillows under her head as well as her hips. A blindfold covers the actress’ eyes, but you can tell right away she’s been steadily crying through the fabric. Her hands tighten in his hair, his mouth latches onto one of her breasts, and his hand between her legs where quiet, constant, wet sounds are being drawn from. Still, he looks earnest. Genuine. Like he cares about her pleasure, and wants to make sure she’s getting just as much out of this experience as he will. At this point, you’re sure the script is thrown out the window, because the way he talks to her, so soft and sincere, praising her closer and closer to the edge, is something that no scriptwriter could come up with. No, this was pure San. 

When she’s close, she tells him immediately and he changes nothing. He whispers the same praises, keeps his hand at the same pace and angle, reaching deep and curling up over and over, coaxing her body to release. The automated subtitles are no help, so you turn the volume up just a bit more, so you can hear him clearly. He must’ve been edging her because she starts begging him, trying to not pull his hair out at the roots. He simply covers her mouth with a free hand and leans over her, giving her permission to let go for him. 

She shudders violently, thighs pressing into the sides of his body to prevent him from moving. He's not going anywhere, though. That infamous dimpled smile appears as he watches her come undone beneath him. 

Your thighs clench. That’d be you. 

His voice drifts languidly from your laptop speakers, melting your brain even further. “Yes, baby, that’s it. There you go… such a good girl.” 

A girlish squeal gets stuck in your throat and you press your lips together to ensure you don’t let it out. You haven’t even said yes yet. There could be conditions you don’t agree with, payment arguments. He could be an asshole for all you know. Or this could all be a very elaborate and convincing scam. 

Still, just in case it is real, and for the sake of ‘research’, you keep watching. 

He kisses her chest, slowly making his way up her throat, her jaw, until he reaches her lips. He takes his sweet time, like he knows no one would dare look away. She sighs into his mouth, quiet whimpers leaving her every so often while he gently rubs her clit, just enough to keep her stimulated as she gets used to the feeling of being empty once again. You wonder what it’s like to kiss him. Your hands itch to reach for your phone and text Yeosang to tell him everything, however, you’re rather busy holding them still at the moment.  

You appreciate how he doesn’t move onto the next thing immediately. Too many times have you seen other actors in his industry not giving their partner a bit of a breather after such an intense orgasm. Granted, some may like that, the overwhelming and constant stimulation, but the way San allows her to take her time, silently encourages her to follow the deeper rhythm of his breathing, and how he holds her hand and places slow, soft kisses all over her body, it all adds up to make you crave a slower pace. An intimate interaction like this. 

San checks in with her quietly, and with a nod from her and another peck on the lips, he’s positioning himself between her legs. Stars in her eyes, she reaches down and strokes his length, whimpering softly. He gently brushes her hair back, admiring the look of nervous anticipation on her face. When he finally pushes inside, the two of them moan at the same time. Buried the way in, he smiles down at her before kissing her deeply. All dimples. A broken moan of his name tumbles from her lips, and you’re almost sure she didn’t realize she even said anything. She’s staring up at him like he’s a deity. Like he’s come down from heaven just for her. And she’s not acting. 

One thing you know for sure: you’d be stupid to decline the offer. 

You consider your mind made up. 

Reluctantly exiting the video, saving it for later, you reopen your email app. Part of you wonders whether or not two in the morning is an appropriate time to email someone, but another part of you simply doesn’t care. It’ll be in Mr. Kim Hongjoong’s inbox first thing when he wakes up tomorrow. Your reply is enthusiastic yet professional, expressing appreciation for the offer in the first place. You thank him and San for taking notice of you and offer praise of his work as well. Wrapping up with the same politeness the original sender used, you sign off with your name. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a minute before adding a kiss emoji to the side of your name. Before you can second guess that choice, you send it off. 

Needing to expel some of these nerves, you get up out of bed to scavenge your fridge for a well-past-midnight snack. Maybe yogurt or something. Standing in the white light of the fridge, you realize food may not be the best choice. Nothing jumps out at you to want at two o’clock in the morning, stomach already doing flips and tricks as it is. You settle on a mini carton of strawberry milk that you may or may not finish and walk back to bed a little too fast. Quicker than your usual leisurely pace. 

You glance at your phone, laying face down on your bed like what you just watched on it made it shy. You want to text Yeosang so badly, to get his take on all of this, but you should let him sleep. Just because your sleep schedule is fucked doesn’t mean you have to ruin his as well. Your fingers absentmindedly tap the carton, only two sips deep in your drink. Hm. 

You’re just starting to flirt with the idea of calling Yeosang anyway when you get a notification that effectively snaps you out of your thought spiral. Whoever or whatever it is has just unknowingly saved Yeosang’s REM cycle. 

Not expecting a response so soon, your eyes widen a bit when you see that you’ve gotten a response back already. The quickness makes you a little wary. Scams usually are quick to respond back too. 

Or, this ‘Hongjoong’ guy may have a sleep schedule quite like yours. After all, you responded rather quickly to his first email. 

__________________________

Hi Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer. 

The next steps in moving forward are rather simple. I will ask you to fill out a form – which I have linked to this e-mail – and send that at your earliest convenience. It is your basic questionnaire, really, and a chance for us to get to know you as well as your preferences for the shoot and scene. 

 After you have sent that and we go over it, I would like to meet with you – either in person or through video call – for both our safety and to finalize all arrangements. If you choose to meet in person, I will gladly bring along a female member of my team in an effort to make you feel more comfortable and safe.  

As always, please feel free to reach out if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Looking forward to hearing from you again. 

-Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

| Attachment: 1 File

__________________________

‘We’, he wrote. 

‘We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer.’ 

At first, you assumed he was just referencing the production company, but the specific use of it catches and holds your attention. Did San… ask for this collab to happen? Scrolling up to reread it again, the second line of the first e-mail you were sent strikes you: ‘We have been admiring your work for a while now…’ Not just the company. ‘We’ as in… 

You swallow hard, setting the strawberry milk on your nightstand and shrinking back against your pillows again. Your phone burns your eyes in the dark, but you can’t stop reading this new message. There’s so much to unpack, even though it’s so straightforward. As of right now, in regards to meeting with Kim Hongjoong, you’re leaning towards just a video call. You’re still not quite totally convinced this isn’t an elaborate prank of some kind. Maybe a weird fan who wants this to happen but there’s no truth to it. But again… you don’t get that vibe. Not from how professional this seems. And a crazy fan wouldn’t offer to bring along another woman to make you feel more comfortable, he’d insist on meeting alone, under the guise of ‘protecting our privacy’. 

And if it is real… then it is really happening. Moving forward, as the talent agent said, a collaboration in the early stages of planning. With Choi San. 

Dammit, Yeosang, why can’t you be awake right now, you think and you huff dramatically, burying your face in your hands. He’ll certainly get an earful of all of this tomorrow afternoon.   

But you decide you need to talk this through to somebody right now. Or some people. 

Even though you just went live, you’re quick to open your Discord app, not even bothering to send a warning message to tell your exclusive members that you’re going live again. This time, just for them. You know they’ll come. They always do. 

Once you have your laptop adjusted and headphones on, you’re ready to go. You click the microphone button and wait.  

As expected, four of them join immediately. You regularly wonder how they’re all able to drop everything to watch you, no matter what time you go live. Two others join soon after, but they rarely comment in the chat. Silent viewers with open wallets are never unwelcome here. 

“Hi guys! I have big news,” you smile into the camera, reading all the messages as they pop up. 

[woogoesthere]: tell ussssssss!!!!!

[fix0nmi]: 👀?

[mars9843]: what is it cutie?

[puppyu.u]: hi baby why the secret meeting?? 👀

You take a minute to let them get all their guesses out, increasing their desperation to know what you’re hiding from them. Hopefully they’ll take the news well. As far as you can tell, none of them specifically come across as the parasocial jealous type, but you don’t know for certain. However, they seemed to handle your previous collab with Yeosang pretty well. That gives you some more confidence to confide in them about this. 

“I’ve been offered to do a collab with someone from…” You pause before saying the company name for dramatic effect. “Afterdark.”

You’re a little surprised by the lack of comments right away, even worried a little. The thought of them being the parasocial jealous type crosses your mind again. Especially Woo. For a split second, you worry that you may have just angered your most loyal – and charitable – fans. The abrupt absence makes your heart plummet to your stomach. 

It takes a full minute before anyone says anything. The longest minute of your whole life. 

[woogoesthere]: are u telling us ur collabing w choi san?!!??!?!?! :0

Leave it to Woo to ease any worry you may have. You mask your relieved exhale under a light laugh. 

“Should I be worried?” you half joke. 

The immediate responses in the comments are overwhelming and collective:

[puppyu.u]: yes!!!!!! 

[mars9843]: be afraid, be very afraid 

[fix0nmi]: he’s gonna wreck you lmao 

[fix0nmi]: icw to watch 🤪

[puppyu.u]: same 😭😏😭

[mars9843]: if you could barely handle yeo………

Your confident smile fades slightly, the corners of your mouth dropping back down as you read the multiple comments confirming what you’ve been wondering. 

[woogoesthere]: guys stop ur gonna scare her ㅠㅠ

You try to laugh it off, looking off camera to grab your strawberry milk again. The action gives your hands something to do as worry begins to settle in your chest. Of course, Woo tries to ease your growing anxieties in the chat as you lift the bottle to your lips, eyes still scanning the messages… or rather, the warnings. 

[puppyu.u]: well it’s true 

[woogoesthere]: we should be encouraging tho >:( 

[fix0nmi]: yeah or else she won’t do it 👀

[mars9843]: … 

[mars9843]: y/n we’re just kiddinggggg

[fix0nmi]: you’ll be fine~! >:) 

[woogoesthere]: -.- 

[puppyu.u]: drink lots of water beforehand! 

[woogoesthere]: you pervs are so annoying

“I can do it!” You try to regain your previous confidence. 

A shroud of doubt begins to creep up over your shoulders, weighing you down. You’re able to hide it well, but you go quiet. Quieter than usual when you’re live. You don’t like silences that last too long. Unfortunately, your sudden silence is noticeable. 

[puppyu.u]: babyyyyyy 

[puppyu.u]: don’t listen to us we’re just teasing 

[fix0nmi]: haha sorry baby

[mars9843]: you’re gonna be great, pretty girl 

[fix0nmi]: can’t wait to see it ;) 

[woogoesthere]: you ARE gonna be great

[woogoesthere]: choi san has no idea what an honor this is fr ㅠㅠ

That last message brings your smile back, tugging at the corners of your mouth until you give into it. ‘Woo’ is right. You have to remember who the fuck you are. Choi San sought you out specifically. There’s no need to be nervous about anything. It’s a different side of an industry that you’re already accustomed to, that’s all. You just have to adapt to however it operates for one day, and if you hate it, you’ll never have to do it again. And hey, you’ll get to say you’ve had that first and only experience with San of all people. 

What a debut. 

Your loyal fans must notice the confidence boost you’re experiencing because they’re quick to praise it in the chat. 

[fix0nmi]: there she is :) 

[woogoesthere]: ugh ur too cute 

[puppyu.u]: fr that bastard has no idea how lucky he is ㅠㅠ

[mars9843]: he better be nice to u >:( 

“Aww, you guys are so sweet,” you giggle softly, enjoying their attention and their praises. Your nerves are somewhat settled for the time being, though you can’t promise they won’t return once you open your eyes tomorrow morning. You wonder what Yeosang will say about it. 

Leaning back against your headboard, you exhale deeply – maybe even adding a little hint of a whine-like noise to keep them entertained. ‘Pervs’, as ‘Woo’ put it, indeed. Not that you minded. 

You hum to yourself and mention how much better they’ve made your night, and they eat it up. 

“Thank you all for your love and support. Truly.”    

You talk with them for a while longer, reciprocating their interest in you by asking them about their days and what they’re doing tomorrow. One of the silent viewers goes offline, and you can’t say that you blame them – no one should still be awake at this hour. You’re not sure if you’ll fall asleep quickly after you log off, so maybe that’s why you linger here and continue to talk with them. The minutes continue to go by and you start to feel guilty for keeping them all up this late. You know it’s their choice to stay and talk, but still. Odds are that at least one of them has to be up early tomorrow morning. They won’t leave until you do. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, guys. Thank you for staying up and chatting with me.” You smile, watching all of their usernames simultaneously start typing again. 

[mars9843]: goodnight cutie

[fix0nmi]: night babe ;)

[woogoesthere]: aww have a good night jagi <333 

[puppyu.u]: sweet dreams baby <3

[puppyu.u]: <3333

You giggle, noticing ‘puppyu.u’’s competitiveness. Before ‘Woo’ can start a war to see how many 3’s they can add to their hearts, you quickly blow them all a kiss and end the call. 

The silence of your apartment comes back quickly. Naturally, so do your racing thoughts. You place your laptop on your nightstand and crawl back under the covers, hoping against hope that you can smother your thoughts with your pillow. 

Your phone vibrates against your thigh and you sneak a quick glance at it, half-expecting another e-mail, only to find a Venmo notification. It’s from Woo. Your exclusive members have the username of your ‘business’ Venmo account to send you money outside of cams, if they choose to. The message he attaches to the money makes you laugh: ‘i’m not losing to puppyu.u so easily. goodnight<333333333333’ 

Oh, man. 

Make that $14,751 now. 

You wince as you notice the time in the upper lefthand corner of your phone screen. Yeosang was very clear in his text: you better be awake by noon. Knowing how late you usually sleep until, it’s not looking good. Hoping it will help, you set several alarms on your phone. Surely one of them will wake you up. You switch your phone off, refusing to check it again until tomorrow morning. 

Without your phone to distract you though, all you do is replay that video you watched of San and that actress. The memory of it projects against your eyelids and you can’t look away. A shiver runs through you when you picture how his hands held her with such gentle strength, and the addictive moans he wasn’t afraid to let out. The same thought echoes until you finally fall asleep: that’ll be you.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Against all odds, and seven missed alarms later, you manage to wake up – albeit, exhausted – around ten o’clock. Plenty of time before Yeosang is due to come over. 

After you eat breakfast, you decide to spend the morning researching San, watching more of his videos, listening to interviews, stalking his Instagram, anything you can find to get to know him better. Or at least, to get a better grasp on what you should expect. Hongjoong never clarified if it was going to be just you and him at this future meeting or you, him, and San. You want to be ready. 

From what you can find, you’ve come to the tentative conclusion that he appears smart, funny, well-traveled, and handsome. That last one is a given to anyone with eyes, though. It seems like he could’ve succeeded in any field of his choosing, but his candor is notoriously present and blunt whenever he gets asked why he’s gone into this profession: “I like sex. I happen to be good at it, so why not?” 

You get it. Easy money. 

His Instagram is mostly pictures of him in exotic locations. It seems you and him have dream destinations in mind for the future as well. Nine million followers strong – and counting – he has his comments turned off to them on every post. There is also no message option anywhere. He completely cuts himself off from being accessible. A part of you is a little jealous, but at the same time you like the closeness with your fans. It feels more intimate, it gives you a reason to be punctual and come back and care about what you do. Although some, like that ‘mntn3000’ guy, can sometimes be quite rude in the chat. You have your chat open to all, and your public Instagram is the complete opposite of San’s. Thirst traps, a highlight on your profile for song recommendations, and the ability to comment and message you. Not that you answer most of them. Most are gross, obnoxious, frankly misogynistic men who choose the most unhinged, disgusting words to express their… ‘desires’. You’re thankful for Woo and fans like him. Still… you find yourself wondering if you should limit your accessibility as well. Your popularity is rising. Maybe now is the time. 

You still find yourself looking for everything and anything that has to do with him online. Everyone wants to be him or be with him. One of those guys. Of course. 

You rest your head in your hands, groaning to no one in particular. After all the women he’s been with, you hope you can meet his expectations. A worthy costar. Same industry, different department. 

By the time Yeosang knocks on your door at a quarter past noon, your mind is so far away he has to call you to let him in. 

“Hey, sorry.” You apologize, ushering him in and locking the door behind him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be awake,” he grins, making himself right at home on your couch. “Is going live for thirty minutes really all it takes to make you catatonic the rest of the day?” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder as you sit down next to him. “Shut up, it’s not because of that. Well… not exactly.” 

Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on, then. What’s up?” 

You pull out your phone, ready to show him the evidence to back up what you’re about to say. The original email is still unchanged as you glance down at it, which is encouraging. Another reminder that you didn’t make this all up in your head. It didn’t happen in a dream, there’s hard evidence staring you in the face. 

Well, now or never. Out with it. 

“I, um… I got an offer to work with Choi San.” Your voice toes the line between excitement and cautious optimism. If anyone’s opinion matters to you at all, it’s Yeosang’s. 

Yeosang’s eyebrows raise at the name. “Like… the Choi San?”

“The Choi San, yes.” You nod, confirming it’s exactly who he’s thinking about. 

Handing your phone over to him, email ready to be read by a fresh pair of eyes, you watch his reactions closely. You find yourself biting the side of your thumb nail, a habit you keep thinking you’ve grown out of, only to be proven wrong in times like these. 

Yeosang’s face is serious as he reads it. You can tell he’s searching for any indication of this being a scam first and foremost before he digests the rest of it. Finding no blatant or well-hidden tricks, he pays more attention to the general message.       

“Are you gonna do it?” He asks, handing your phone back to you. His voice holds some reservation to it that you clearly pick up on. You take no offense, though. He’s just worried about you. It’s more… public than you’re used to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, answering him honestly. “I’ve done my research on him and already sent them an email back saying that I was interested and wanted to know more, but… do you think I should?”

You truly value his opinion. Yeosang has been such a good friend to you for the past couple of years. The two of you had met in your second year of college and became fast friends. When you moved to the city, about a year after he did, he helped you find your first apartment, got you a job, and checked in on you to make sure you knew you had a friend here. He made everything easier. He still does.  

Yeosang shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. If you feel confident about doing it, then go for it. If something is telling you to not do it, then don’t.”

He makes it sound so easy. Should it be? 

“Yeah, but… I value your opinion.” You mumble, not outwardly saying what you’re thinking. But he reads your mind anyway. 

“Y/N, it’s not gonna change my view of you if you decide to do this. If I had a problem with my best friend being a mattress actress, I would’ve told you a long time ago. Y’know… before I collabed with you.” 

At this, you can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s right. A pressure you didn’t realize was weighing on you is alleviated off your shoulders, making you feel lighter. He grins as you let out a small sigh of relief, glad that he eased some of your worries. Now, to tease you about it. As best friends do. 

“I’m just worried that you won’t survive the experience,” Yeosang says dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm and sneaking a smile your way. 

“Stop, what do you mean?” You push him, playfully. 

“You said you researched him, right?” 

You nod, wondering where he’s going with this. Is there something you’ve missed? You feel like you’re the only one left out of a well-known inside joke. You try to think back to the videos you’ve seen of him. Sure, you haven’t watched his whole filmography, but nevertheless, you’d like to believe you know roughly what to expect of him when the day comes. 

“Did you watch the ones he’s done for ‘Fantasy’?” Yeosang smirks. 

You blink, trying to remember if you did. To be totally honest, you weren’t really paying much attention to which company was posting the videos. Just that San was in them. 

“I don’t know… maybe?” 

Yeosang shakes his head, already seeming to know the answer. “You’d know if you did,” he says definitively. “If you wanna know what he’s really capable of, watch some of those.” 

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, frustrated that no one will just tell you what they’re talking about. You only have one guess, that it may be due to the fact that you’ve only ever been with two guys before. They each taught you the basics, but everything you bring to your livestreams, you learned all on your own. And it’s not like you’re clueless when it comes to the different kinds of sexual encounters one can experience. You’ve watched porn before – hell, you do a type of it for a living. So why does everyone keep underestimating you? What does San possibly do to make everyone think you won’t survive him? 

A part of you kind of doesn’t want to know. You don’t need to give your creeping self-doubt any more ammo. It had taken you a long time to beat it far back enough in your mind for it to not invade every time you hit a little snag in life. A resurgence would make you question everything, make you back out of this quickly. You don’t want that. No, you’re determined even more so now to see this through. To prove everyone wrong. More importantly, though, to prove it to yourself. 

“Sounds like he sought you out though,” Yeosang says. His words almost make you jolt. Not only do they pull you out of another spiral, it reinforces something you were thinking in passing last night. Maybe you aren’t reading too much into it after all. “Kinda seems like this Hongjoong guy and San are fans of yours.” 

You hide your face in your hands and groan, making Yeosang laugh at your rare display of shyness. It’s frustratingly unclear to you why the idea of him watching your content makes your cheeks burn so much. You’re obviously comfortable with people seeing your body and earning a profit from it, but you like the anonymity of the people watching. You simply don’t want to know. Perhaps it’s because he’s about to not be a faceless viewer anymore. Rather, a colleague of sorts. 

Also, in a way, you tend to view cam’ing as more… intimate than porn. The sole focus of the audience is on you. No fake plot, no costar, no distractions. Just you, reading the chat, and existing and getting off in real time. 

“Sounds like it,” you agree. “I must’ve done something he likes to pique his interest.” 

Yeosang shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Or he saw the collab and this is all just an elaborate ruse to get to me.” 

You’re grateful to relax enough to laugh again. “Oh, I bet.” You say, playing along. Though, part of you does wonder for a brief moment if San had watched the collab and that’s why he thought you’d be a good partner for his next project. It’s definitely plausible.    

“So,” Yeosang leans back against the couch, crossing his legs, “what do you have to do now?” 

Remembering the phone in your hand, you look down at it, visualizing that attachment Hongjoong sent you. Yet to be opened. “There’s a form I have to fill out, I think it’s some kind of consent form.” 

He nods, “Yeah, that’d make sense.” 

There’s a small silence between you that follows as he watches you stare down at your phone. You have the most recent email pulled up, analyzing it again. He watches you bite the inside of your cheek, a habit you have that comes up when you’re thinking a little too hard about something.  

“Do you want me to go through it with you?” He asks, though he thinks he knows what you’ll say. 

“No, I’ll do it myself. It’s gonna ask like… in depth questions,” you insinuate, almost shyly. 

Yeosang doesn’t press you on it, which you appreciate. But you know he’s probably thinking there’s not much he doesn’t know about you. After all, he was fingering you to high heaven in front of a camera only a week ago. Still, he doesn’t push your privacy or your boundaries. It’s one of the many things that makes you feel safe with him. 

Breezing past the subject, knowing you probably need to relieve some stress, he picks up one of the gaming controllers on your coffee table. 

“Rematch?” He asks, referring to a game of Mario Kart fairly won by you, though his opinion of the event is rather different. Something to do with you ‘innocently’ bumping into him, causing him to almost drop his controller, and giving you the lead in the race. His win streak is much cleaner than yours. 

“You’re on,” you agree, playfully narrowing your eyes at him as he scoots away from you on the couch. 

There’ll be no ‘accidents’ this time. But maybe you’ll think of something.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

The rest of the day is light. 

Little by little, the weight of uncertainty you feel fades into the background, instead transforming into unserious frustration as Yeosang beats you in Mario Kart six times in a row. You win the seventh round, but you highly suspect he let you. He had several speed boosts and red shells that would just disappear from his screen the next time you looked, wondering when he would fire one of those shells at you. 

You order in, opting to stay inside and just be lazy today, and the two of you eat on the couch. When the sun eventually starts to set late in the afternoon, he takes a nap while you scroll on your phone, half-watching a K-Drama on your TV. Neither of you bring up San or the form still laying in wait in your inbox again. He wakes up around eight o’clock, yawning and stretching as he gets up to go home – he mentions that he promised his friend he’d go out with him tonight. Though he extends the offer, and part of you does want to go, you decide to be responsible and take the night to go through the form with a somewhat clearer mind than last night or this morning.   

Almost as soon as Yeosang leaves, you’re back in bed and pulling everything up on your laptop. The attached file on the most recent email takes just a second to load, bringing you to a Google Form sheet, ready to be completed. 

But first, you think about what he said about San. You want to know what everyone else already seems to. At least one video. Just for research purposes again. 

In another tab on incognito mode, you hesitantly type in the search for ‘choi san redfantasy’ and bite the inside of your cheek as the page loads. The typical ads pop up before you’re able to see any actual content, avoiding the scams and viruses with practiced ease. Trying to not overthink it, you just click on the first video that comes up. In fact, you barely look at the title. It’s in all caps, a bunch of buzzwords and tags jammed together to get as many eyes on it as possible, but his name is always put first. That’s the seller right there. Audiences are in the market for Choi San. 

There is no plot this time, at least none that you can discern. The lighting is darker, as well as the mood. There’s less build up, the action begins almost straight away after the company logo screen fades away. 

Your chest constricts at the very first shot. A rather pretty woman, on her knees in the middle of a room. Her bare knees dig into the plush carpet beneath her and she looks up at the man in front of her, tilting her head up with a firm hand in her hair. 

San. 

“...didn’t you?” You barely hear him say to her, and you quickly turn up the volume on your laptop, rewinding the video ten seconds to hear the full question. 

“You misbehaved today, didn't you?” He purrs, nodding once to give her permission to speak. 

“Yes, sir.” She replies, obediently. 

The hand in her hair is taken away, and yet she never takes her eyes off of him. You imagine that’s probably what she was instructed to do… but you’re starting to think a director wasn’t involved in this. Everything seems more intimate, less corporate. Like San just set up a camera in this expensive looking hotel room. A step above amateur porn. 

San stalks around her, humming to himself as if sizing her up. The camera cuts to a slightly different angle, farther away, and you only just now realize that her hands are tied behind her back. The multiple static angles all but confirm your theory: everything in this video is by San’s design. 

He then sits down on a rather large, black leather couch, facing her. The camera caresses his features, letting you see every detail of the tailored suit he’s wearing that fits him perfectly. The suit itself is probably more expensive than five of those couches. Wordlessly, he beckons her closer with two of his fingers. He almost looks bored. But you think bored is the wrong word… curious actually. Like he’s just taking his time, waiting for her to act first. His tempo is carefully curated and well-calculated. He reacts, even though he knows they’re both just enacting what this company wants to see. Like this isn’t just for the cameras. Every scene is serious to him, and yet it doesn’t come across as corny or too much. You wonder why he doesn’t go into acting. He seems more than able to convince people of real chemistry between himself and his co-star each and every time. And with a face card like his, you doubt he would’ve had many rejections. 

Then again, you imagine it’d be rather hard to make a smooth transition into becoming a serious and respected actor after being in adult films. 

She manages to make her way over to him, knelt in between his knees, waiting for further instruction. And he makes her wait. The camera cuts a couple of times, documenting the power dynamic from several angles. It’s evident a long time has passed because she keeps shifting her weight, knees never quite finding relief on the floor.   

A small whimper leaves her, and it earns her a sharp smack across the cheek. You gasp at the same time she does, not expecting that at all for an action so miniscule. In almost the same motion, San’s grip returns to her hair, pulling her closer to his clothed crotch. 

“Be actually useful for once, baby.” He says sweetly, like he’s praising instead of degrading her. “Earn it.” 

You can tell she’s holding back another whimper, trying to be good. San guides her further down, until her face is pressed into the front seam of his tailored pants, and holds her there until she realizes what he wants her to do. Rather pathetically, she mouths at his dick through the fabric. He’s not even hard yet. No, he fully expects her to do all the work for him, including getting him ready. 

While she’s… busy, he lazily takes off his watch, setting it aside and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt to just above his elbows. You’ve seen him naked about a dozen times in these types of videos, and for some reason, this is what sends an uncontrollable shiver down your spine. Almost on sight, you feel how wet you’ve become, panties starting to cling to you. 

His face is stony, refusing to give away what he’s thinking. That’s privileged information. But the harder he gets, the more motivated she becomes, tilting her head to the side to attempt to wrap her lips around his length as best she can. And yet, he never says anything. No praise, no degradation. He lets her actions speak for themselves, lets it burrow into her mind on her own. Pathetic. She doesn’t bother looking up at him for reassurance anymore. He’s not giving her anything to work with. 

Abruptly, he yanks her back by the hair, just to see if she makes a noise. She does. Another sharp crack against her cheek makes you squeeze your thighs together. She takes three more slaps until he stops, his hands leave her entirely and one grips himself through his pants, sighing like he’s bored. Or rather, disappointed. From what you can discern from the print against his pants, he’s only half-hard. 

“You don’t want it that badly, do you?” He asks like he’s already decided her answer. 

Frantically, she shakes her head, denying his assumption. “No, no sir, I do want it. Please, I want it so–” 

Unfortunately for her, his mind is already made up. 

San rises from the couch, picking her up into his arms easily, like she weighed nothing. The camera cuts, now facing the bed, and San lays her down onto it. He then goes about tying her down to it, on all-fours. The girl’s face presses into the pillows, muffling any noise. San ties her ankles to the bedposts, leaving her spread open for him with no chance of closing herself off. Fully exposed, at his mercy. Or lack thereof. 

San then loosens his tie before wrapping it around her throat, fashioning it into a makeshift collar and leash. He tugs it once, testing its reliability. Satisfied, he lets it go for the time being, no doubt planning on using it later. For now, he stalks around the bed, admiring his work, and assessing the best way to deal with the girl tied up in front of him.

“Since you couldn’t wait and just had to touch yourself before you came to me, I’m gonna teach you some patience.” 

As if the last few times weren’t enough, an involuntary sound escapes from her lips. Soon enough, her ass is red and bruised, San’s hand quick to punish her for making noise. 

“Be quiet,” he reminds sternly, “or you get nothing.” 

That’s good motivation. Suddenly, you feel like you can’t make a single noise either. 

He disappears offscreen for a while, the camera cutting a few times to capture how the anticipation makes the girl very nervous and wet at the same time. Impatient, you skip ahead thirty seconds and San pops back into frame, holding something. 

There’s no warning, no telling her what it is. Only he and the audience (you) know. He holds the vibrator wand right up to her pussy, mere centimetres away and pauses. Her toes curl in an effort to stop the rest of her body from squirming. He waits for any minuscule movement. It’s when she cranes her neck, attempting to look back to see what he’s doing, that he turns it onto the highest setting and presses it against her clit in one swift motion. 

Poor thing gasps and screams at the intense, unexpected vibrations, earning her another brutal round of spanks. 

“Shhh,” he hushes her softly, “be quiet. Don’t move.” 

Your pulse stutters, eyes wider than they were before, and your hand starts to drift downwards, underneath your clothes, to find your clit. The relief is immediate, like scratching an itch. You work yourself up alongside her, trying to follow San’s instructions yourself. Breaths turning shallow, you press your lips together to keep from making any sounds. If you really wanted to immerse and challenge yourself, you’d grab your own vibrator from the drawer, but you can’t tear your gaze from the screen. You don’t want to miss anything, and you feel like pausing it would disrupt the experience. If this is potentially what’s in store for you, and she doesn’t get a break, you don’t get one either. 

Her fists tighten and grab at nothing, still bound behind her back. You can tell she’s losing the fight to follow through with his instructions. San notices this too. He moves the vibrator up and down, grinding the head of it harder on her clit before moving it away again. You have no idea how she’s managing to hold on. 

San hears it the same time you do, not a gasp or a noise per se, but a hitch of her breath, just audible enough to hear. At the same time, her legs begin to shake, out of her control to stop them from doing so. 

He takes the vibrator away, switching it off. 

Her toes curl again, burying her face deeper into the pillows to silence any sounds. Your hand stops dead, even though all you want to do is keep circling your clit. 

“See what I have to do?” He sighs, trailing the head of the vibrator down the back of her thighs. “If you just waited for me, I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to waste my time teaching you to be patient.”

Damn. Have you ever heard him talk to any of his scene partners like this? The San from the first video you watched as part of your ‘research’ seems a million miles away. A completely different person. 

Eventually, the vibrator is returned to her clit, humming at full power. You resume your own administrations as well. San kneads her ass with his free hand, eyes glued to her body, waiting for her to fuck up. Any excuse to take the pleasure away again. An excuse comes when she’s forced back onto the brink of an orgasm, and he switches the toy off again. But he keeps it pressed against her pussy. On instinct, her hips rock backwards, trying to chase the pleasure, and you can’t help but groan out of frustration as you take your hand away. This time, he doesn’t administer spanks to her ass, but right on her pussy. And she can’t help the high-pitched yelp that leaps from her throat. San spanks her pussy until she shuts up. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until the uncomfortable pressure in your throat forces you to inhale deeply. 

The girl shudders after the last smack but doesn’t move or say a word. You’re both rooting for her and secretly hoping she’ll screw up again, just to see what he does. Also, you want to see if he’ll actually fuck her. 

Rather impatiently, you skip ahead a couple of minutes, needing to know if he’s the type to punish by leaving her empty the whole time. It takes only a second for the video to buffer and when it does, you see that he’s added another toy, keeping it pressed deep into her pussy, right up to the very base of it. The vibrator never leaves her clit. The skin of her ass is bright red and already bruising in some areas. It looks rather painful. She’s moaning but it’s muffled and barely audible – you can imagine San gagged her in some way to keep her quiet after failing over and over again. Possibly with his tie. He doesn’t move the toy at all, instead just forcing her to feel the thickness and weight of it buried deep inside of her, no doubt pressing right up against her g-spot. 

If he denies her again in this state, you’ll really be scared of him. 

And that, he does. 

This time, she wails through her gag, her whole body locking up and then quickly deflating in defeat. But the time in between denials is no longer merciful. San waits maybe ten seconds before starting again, placing the vibrator back where it belongs. 

God damn– you think, becoming wetter as your fingers find your clit again, your own pleasure building. The poor girl shrieks into the pillows, incoherently pleading with him to stop. Instead of listening to her cries, San taps the vibrator against her pussy, driving her – and you – even more crazy. 

“I’m doing you a favor,” he says flatly, not caring that she’s essentially begging for mercy. “You should be apologizing for making me waste my time to teach you basic manners.” 

Your mouth drops open at that. He’s so mean, and yet if you were in her position – which you may be soon – you’re pretty sure you’d start apologizing right away. But she can’t, at least not properly. Not with a gag in her mouth and her face half-pressed into the pillows. You imagine after being denied what must be nearing ten orgasms at this point, her mind is also going a bit blank. 

He presses the vibrator harder against her, making her back arch. “Tell me how sorry you are and maybe I’ll stop.” 

That grabs her attention. Muffled, garbled, and barely full sentences immediately tumble from her lips, on the off chance that he’ll take pity on her and stop this edging torture. Her body shudders violently, cutting off her voice entirely.  

Rather surprisingly, he does let up. Both toys disappear at once, and he watches her body collapse onto the bed, burning muscles unable to hold herself up any longer. But he doesn’t let the relief stay for long. His hand twists in her hair, yanking her upright until her back is against his chest. With the other, he rips the gag out – which was, in fact, his tie. 

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me the truth,” he mutters in her ear, his other hand lingering dangerously close to her sore mound. “Did you just cum without permission? Yes or no.” 

A sob tears itself from her throat, knowing that she’s been caught. 

San pulls her hair again, causing her to yelp again. “Answer me,” he hisses, “and don’t you dare lie to me.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” she whimpers, honest. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let her go. He just makes her stay with that feeling of guilt, the shame of being caught, and the foreboding knowledge that he’s going to have to punish her again. With his free hand, he runs the pads of his fingers through her soaking wet folds, collecting the evidence for himself. To humiliate her even further, he shoves those fingers into her mouth, pressing on her tongue. She whines around them, which he rewards by shoving his fingers deeper, into her throat. Tears flow down her face and neck, already utterly fucked out and he hasn’t even touched her himself, really. He’s still fully clothed, for fuck’s sake. 

San sighs, thinking aloud, “What should I do with you, hm?” 

Busy choking and spluttering around the intrusion in her throat, she can’t answer him at all. He probably doesn’t want an answer, though. You have a feeling he knows exactly what he’s going to do with her. 

Once again, you’re proven correct when he lets her go and pulls his fingers out of her mouth. He watches her gasp for air and cough violently for a fleeting moment of relative peace before dragging her back towards the edge of the bed. 

“Fucking useless slut…” he mutters to himself, just audible enough for her to hear. “You wanna cum so bad? Fine.” 

A new toy is brought into frame, this one looking more daunting than the other two. You can tell it’s one of those two-for-one types, and your heart goes out to her. It slips inside of her easily, though it’s thicker than the previous dildo, all but confirming once again that she did cum without his permission. This time, there’s no mystery or question about what he’s going to do to her. She knows. The knowing is almost worse than the not-knowing. 

He switches it on without much ceremony. She does her best to not move or make a sound, but another orgasm builds rapidly. Too fast, too soon. 

For seven straight orgasms, he just watches her. He doesn’t even touch himself even though you can tell he’s hard beneath those tailored pants. Her pleas fall on deaf ears, like he’s not even in the room. You’ve barely managed to keep up with her, coaxing two weak orgasms from your own body with just your fingers and already feeling exhausted. Fuck, maybe everyone’s right… 

You tap the screen to see how much more of the video is left, and your eyebrows raise when you see there’s still ten more minutes. You decide to skim through, just curious if he ever does let her have his cock.

Spoiler alert: he does not. 

In reality, the only thing he changes is that he jerks himself off, getting off on her screams and pleas for him to turn the toy off, that she’s had enough. For the last two orgasms he forces her through, he adds his thumb to her clit, circling it mercilessly. 

“One more, come on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To cum?” 

Through her tears and scratchy voice, she warbles, “W-want– wanted you t-to fuck me…” 

He only laughs at her, and it sends such a blow to your psyche. 

“Did you really think I would?” 

She screams again, mixing with her sobs and choked groans as the final orgasm rips through her worn-out body. The only act of kindness he gives her is removing the toy and kissing her back, in between her shoulder blades. 

He takes his time to untie her ankles from the bedposts, his hands smoothing over the skin where the rope had been. Wrecked and twitching, she curls into a ball on the bed, pussy sore and swollen. Knowing this, San drags her back down towards the foot of the bed, forcing her legs apart again. Her hands weakly try to push him away, but he ducks down, licking a near-fatal stripe up her folds, sucking harshly on her clit. Voice basically gone, her scream is broken and breathy. 

That’s a habit he has, you’ve noticed. Or maybe just a signature thing. No matter what, when he’s done with his scene partner, he gives their pussy one final lick. As if he’s sealing the deal. Something they’ll feel long after the cameras stop rolling, along with the ache of their inner walls. 

San chuckles, patting her inner thigh with his hand before pulling her onto the floor, back down onto her knees. He doesn't say anything more as he jerks off in front of her, aiming his cock right at her face. He lets her suck on it, much to your surprise, and he eventually comes. Some of it inside of her mouth, and the rest, he smears across her face. The final act of humiliation for her. 

You slam your laptop shut. 

Holy. Shit.       

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You come back to the forms after a cold shower and a half an hour long pacing session in your living room. 

With a somewhat clearer head, you decide to take it one question at a time. 

At first glance, you can’t help but feel like you’re filling out the forms you’d normally get in a doctor’s office. It covers everything. Height, weight, age, consent for Afterdark to inquire upon certain medical history to ensure the prevention of any diseases or illnesses, and payment information. On the next page, it goes deeper, and you almost want to take another lap before you dive in and check off any of the boxes. 

There’s a checklist of kinks, each one with a box to check if any are ‘hard no’s’ or ‘hard yesses’for you. You gotta hand it to Afterdark, they’re very thorough. At the very top, just above this checklist, you notice two more boxes simply labelled ‘Rough’ and ‘Gentle’. 

Ah. 

This must be the reason that every video with San feels different. Not just because of whatever context they provide in the beginning of the video, but he never exactly has the same go-to way of fucking every time. Except of course, that parting move he’s so accustomed to doing. With some women, he takes it very slow, gentle and caring with lots of praise, and with others, like the one you just watched, he is ruthless and mean, denying orgasms and spanking them until their skin turns an alarming shade of red. They’ve tailored their own experience with him. That makes you feel a bit better actually, gives you more of a sense of control. You’re not just walking into this with no say in what he does to you, nor will you be blindsided. Actually, you’ll have a pretty good idea, and no worries that he’ll do something you’re uncomfortable with. 

The empty boxes still taunt you. Which version of him do you want? 

After much consideration, you eventually let fate decide. You pick both options. Rough and gentle. Let’s see what he does with that. 

Moving on, forcing yourself to breathe slower, you continue down the list of kinks. Again, it’s very thorough, even asking for locations that you’d be okay filming in. You check off ‘hard no’ on most, if not all of the ‘bodily fluids’ section of the kink list. All except creampies, crying, and squirting. You wonder if he’ll be able to make you do that. If so, you don’t want to discourage him from it. You’re okay with toys, cunnilingus, fingers in your mouth, body worship, hair pulling, hickies, clothed sex, light bondage, the traffic light system, and spanking, just to name a few. You also mean to check off a hard ‘yes’ to aftercare. Aftercare is a non-negotiable for you. One of your exes never did that for you, and it’s been a dealbreaker ever since you got out of that relationship. You dislike feeling used after-the-fact. Discarded. It’s an ugly shock to your system, one that you’d like to avoid if possible. 

Double checking everything on this page, you go to the third and final page. 

In the top half, there’s an interactive calendar so you can input dates and times when you’re free to do the shoot. You’re pretty much free all the time, if you’re being honest. You just have a family wedding to go to in late August, two months from now. Though you’d rather do the shoot later in the day, not wanting to risk sleeping through it with your terrible sleep schedule. So, you mark every afternoon and evening as ‘available’. 

In the bottom half of the page, there’s just one last question, accompanied by a text box: ‘Tell us about yourself, and what we can do to better tailor this experience for you.’ 

You have to admit, you weren’t expecting this kind of question to come up. They want to know about you? Tailor this opportunity for you? 

Huh. 

Your mind goes blank at first. What could they possibly want to know? What are they actually looking for? There’s really no telling. 

Slowly, you type out a vague summary of where you grew up, why you started doing cam-shows, and that your favorite color is purple. When it comes to writing about how they can improve on this collaboration, your fingers hover over the keyboard. Stuck. You could just straight up not say anything, or just put ‘N/A’. But your inner professional tells you to answer it. You search yourself, wondering if there’s anything that would make you feel a little more comfortable while there. You assume they’ll provide a robe for you, or something to cover you up when you’re not filming, but you’ve also heard how ‘fucking cold’ porn sets are kept. Not exactly wanting to show up with a blanket from home, you decide that’ll be your one request. 

‘If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like a blanket while on set. Thank you! :)’ 

You double – triple – check each form page, making sure you didn’t accidentally check something off or type in your information wrong. After you confirm that everything is accurate and spelled correctly, you click on the ‘submit’ button. A ‘thank you’ screen pops up, and you quickly exit the tab, not wanting to think about it anymore. It’s out of your hands now. 

But speaking of the hands it’s now in, you have to set up a meeting time with this Kim Hongjoong guy.  

Right. Okay, onto the next step. 

In a new email, you type out all the dates and times you’re free – you may have made yourself sound busier than you actually are – and send it off to him. Glad to have everything done, you flop back against your pillows and groan. You replay all the images you’ve seen. All the things he’s done to multiple women. 

You wonder what on earth he’ll do with you. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

It’s the next day that ends up being the meeting day. 

You opt for a virtual meeting, reasoning that it’ll probably be quicker and easier for both of you. From what it sounds like, being employed by Afterdark and Choi San keeps Hongjoong rather busy. 

You do your makeup and hair, wanting to look presentable. It’s the shirt that gives you a headache. You’re rather unsure how professional you should look. What does someone wear to a meeting like this? You look down at your chest, trying to mentally calculate how much of it is appropriate to show, and choosing a shirt based on that. Eventually, you just pick a nice triangle lace cami. Kim Hongjoong will just have to excuse the fact that it’s summer and hot in your apartment in the afternoons. You’ve been meaning to figure out how the air conditioning works. It’s hi-tech in a way that truly baffles you. You’ll get Yeosang to figure it out the next time he comes over. 

Moving your laptop into the kitchen for the natural light, you try to shake the nerves out of your hands as you walk around the kitchen island. You grab a cold water from the fridge and drink half of it before forcing yourself to sit down. The meeting is set for two-thirty, just a few minutes away. You kind of want to scream into the pillows on your couch. This will be the final stage until you actually go through with this whole collaboration. The last buffer until it happens. 

In the upper right hand corner, you see an email notification from Hongjoong, providing you with a link to a video chatroom. For a full sixty seconds, you pretend you haven’t seen it yet. But when that minute is up, and you have to be an adult, you take one more sip of water before clicking on the link and sneaking a glance at yourself in the reflection of your laptop as the camera loads. 

There’s a small boop sound from your laptop, signalling that the call has been connected and you brace yourself for a scam. Your hand hovers above the trackpad, ready to hit ‘end call’ at a moment’s notice. When his camera finally loads, you breathe a little easier. He’s in an office based on context clues of what you can see around him, and he’s rather handsome himself. That admittedly takes you aback. He has short, dark brown hair, round eyes, and a charming smile once he sees you on his screen. He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose, and leans forward in his seat a little bit. 

“Miss Y/N! It’s so nice to talk with you today, how are you?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you. Are you the one I’ve been emailing?” You ask when he doesn’t introduce himself by name. You just want to clarify. 

He laughs to break any awkward tension, “Yes, that’s me. My apologies, I’m San’s agent, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Okay, good.” You smile back, shoulders relaxing a little more. His dress shirt makes you feel a bit… well, underdressed, but when you notice that the top two buttons are undone, it makes you feel a bit better. He’s clearly not going for ultra-professional right now either. Off camera, in your lap, you play with one of your rings, giving your nervous hands something to do. 

Unexpectedly, the first ten minutes are spent just making small-talk, especially after finding out you and him grew up around the same area. He asks you how you like the city, and you find yourself telling him about how much you love it, and that you never want to leave. Turns out he shares the same sentiment. It’s starting to feel less like a rigid job interview and more like a casual interaction. Nothing to be afraid of. You feel much more comfortable than you did ten minutes ago, that’s for sure. 

Hongjoong eventually looks over to the side, where his desktop computer is and starts clicking around, the light reflecting off of his glasses. And you realize that it’s time to actually start talking about the collab. You fix your earring for no real reason, just to give yourself something to do.  

“So, I’ve received the forms you completed – thank you for doing that, by the way – and I was wondering if you have any questions for me about them?” 

You pause before you answer. Now’s the time to ask, and with the right person, too. Humming to fill the silence, you think about a good question to ask first. 

Hongjoong picks up his phone when it starts vibrating incessantly, and looks at the screen for only a few seconds before placing it face down on his desk. Someone must be trying to get in touch with him, but he doesn’t bother with replying right now. You know it must be important, whatever it is, so you appreciate him keeping you the center of his attention right now. 

“I guess I’ve been wondering about… like… if I check off certain boxes will we do all of that? Or…?” 

Very eloquent. 

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “Oh, no, no. Usually what happens is we take a look at it, figure out which ones would work best together and with you and San, and take it from there. It’s just to see what you’re comfortable with and to see which direction you want this collab to go.” 

That makes sense. And now that you think about it, what if someone puts a ‘hard yes’ next to something that San would check off as a ‘hard no’, obviously they wouldn’t do it. It’s a mutual agreement. They find the things that match between you two and take it from there. 

“Actually,” Hongjoong says with a small grin, still scrolling through the forms on his computer. “You two are pretty similar. It wasn’t hard to match up.” 

You hear it but your brain doesn’t process what it means yet. 

“Oh, really?” You say, not knowing how else to respond. 

Hongjoong just hums, nodding once. He pushes his glasses up again before turning back to you. 

“Regardless of that, though, I wanted to also let you know that if at any point during the shoot you feel uncomfortable and want to leave, you can, and you will be paid in full, no questions asked. Obviously though, if you leave before, or if you don’t show up at all, we can’t really do anything to pay you. We have this in place because we don’t want you to feel trapped once the scene starts. Does that make sense?” 

You nod quickly, “Yes, it does.” 

“Perfect,” he says. “So, with your schedule that you sent me, if you’re okay with it, we can set the date relatively soon. Is this coming Friday, at six o’clock alright?” 

Friday. As in… Friday, two days from now, Friday? Your mouth dries instantly. Two days from now. Is he not busy? You assumed this wouldn’t happen for a couple of weeks, at least. A delusional voice in your head tells you that maybe he cleared his schedule to be with you sooner rather than later. Oh, sure. Yeah, right.

Still, it baffles you. 

And yet you hear yourself say, “Friday’s good for me!” 

Well, now it has to be whether you’re ready or not. Your hands itch for your phone, needing to text Yeosang immediately, even though you know he’ll probably find your dilemma rather entertaining. You also need to book a waxing appointment and get your nails done ASAP. Maybe even a facial, too.

Fucking hell, Y/N, the things you get yourself into. 

Hongjoong lights up, quickly typing something on his keyboard, scrunching his nose once or twice to keep his glasses from moving down again. A few more clicks of his mouse, and it’s done. 

“Okay, perfect. I’ve got you booked for six o’clock this Friday. If you could email me where you’d like our driver to pick you up, that’d be great. Otherwise, do you have any other questions, comments, or concerns for me?” 

Your lips part. Driver? Someone from Afterdark is going to bring you to the set? Your right hand grips your phone, turning it over and preparing to call Yeosang as soon as you hang up with Hongjoong. 

Fuck, okay. Sure, why not? 

“Oh, um–” you suddenly remember one thing he hasn’t mentioned at all. “Is there a script? Like, do I need to know any lines before…?” 

Hongjoong answers right away, “Ah, this shoot will be unscripted. It’ll feel more natural that way.” 

More natural. Your heart feels like a brick in your chest. To be honest though, you’re really glad there is no script. However, a rubric would be helpful as well. You nod, acknowledging that information. So it really will be like the videos you watched. That’s the experience you’ll be getting. 

“Okay, cool,” you reply, desperately needing another drink of water for your dry mouth. “Thank you.” 

Hongjoong smiles politely. “No problem. Alright, well if everything sounds good, we’ll see you on Friday! Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.”

We. 

Again, he’s probably just talking about the company, but Yeosang’s words from yesterday are stuck in your head. Your secret delusions and Yeosang’s smart mouth are never a good mix. 

“See you Friday! Thank you.” You reply politely, the very picture of calmness and professionalism.  

And once the call disconnects, you’re slamming your laptop shut and calling Yeosang to tell him everything.   

He picks up on the third ring, yawning and obviously not fully awake just yet. You forgot he went out with his friend last night. Still, it’s definitely time for him to be awake now. 

As expected, once you rattle off every detail of the call you were just on, Yeosang laughs his ass off. 

“Oh man,” he says with an audible sigh, “you’re fucked.”      

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Part of you wishes that the driver will somehow get hopelessly lost on the way to the set. 

You’re sure he’s been there multiple times before, but you pray for a random dose of amnesia anyway. It’s not that you’re second-guessing the decision – not at all – you just weren’t expecting the day to come so soon. It’s crazy how forty-eight hours now seems like no time at all. You shake out your hands as you step out of the car, and look up at the building. It’s rather unassuming, blending seamlessly into the numerous ones around it. Nothing about it screams that this is where adult films are produced. Not that you really expected it to. 

The driver parks with the hazards on, and gets out as well to let you into the building via a keycard. You thank him quietly as he holds the door open for you. He must’ve told you his name, but for the life of you, you cannot remember it. He points you in the direction of the elevators, and confirms that he’ll see you later to drive you home.

Then, you’re alone. He gets back into the car and drives it around the building, to an underground parking garage you assume.

You take a deep breath in the lobby, finding the elevators quickly and starting towards them. Hongjoong said the shoot is on the eighth floor, so you press the ‘8’ button once in the elevator car. 

As soon as the doors shut, the silence and gravity of what you’re there to do settles in immediately. You force yourself to take a deep breath, really dragging out how long you exhale to try and ease your heart rate. The second floor comes and goes, as does the third. But the higher you climb, the tighter your throat becomes. On floor five, you think of bailing. Past the sixth floor, already almost there, Yeosang’s custom text ringtone startles you. Glad to distract yourself, you immediately read the text.  

[yeoyeo🌻]: don’t let him intimidate you, you’re the one he wanted for this 

[yeoyeo🌻]: remember he’s literally just some guy and you’ll be fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you’re gonna be great :)    

You can’t help but smile, and you roll your shoulders back to stand taller. He’s right, as always. Choi San is many things, but at the end of the day, he is just a man. You have to view this as a very elaborate hookup rather than a career opportunity, just to calm your nervous system if anything else. 

When the elevator doors open on the eighth floor, someone is already waiting for you on the other side. 

Hongjoong. 

You don’t realize until this moment how relieved you are to see a somewhat familiar face. 

“Miss Y/N,” he greets, extending his hand out for you to shake, “it’s so nice to meet you in person.” 

You smile warmly, returning the greeting and hoping that your handshake is up to par. Before you have time to possibly overthink such a small thing, he asks if you need anything. 

“Oh, um…no, not at the moment, thank you.” 

“Of course,” he nods once. “If you do need something at any time, please let one of us know.” 

You assume that ‘one of us’ probably means the team of people you’re about to meet and be fucked in front of. Forcing another deep breath, you manage another easy smile and thank him again. 

He motions for you to follow him, and you have to look down at your feet to get them to move. You beg yourself inwardly to get a grip and soon. 

Hongjoong leads you down a long hallway, deeper into the Afterdark floorplan. You’re surprised by how nice it smells in here, like someone is burning incense somewhere. The walls are decorated with miscellaneous artworks and some awards, as well as headshots of the actors and actresses signed with them. At the end of the hallway, there are two huge double doors, and he pulls one of them open with ease, letting you walk into the gigantic room it reveals first. 

When you finally enter the large set, you can instantly feel the drastic temperature drop. Just as you had been led to believe, they must have turned down the thermostat in the room, making it several degrees colder than the early summer weather outside, and you rub your arms to try and warm them up. 

No more than five seconds after the two of you enter, Hongjoong is suddenly flanked by a young woman with a clipboard. A sticky note flutters as she keeps pace with you and him, and she mutters something to him that you can’t hear. 

“No, that’s alright,” he says quietly, “I think he’s good without her right now, but double check for me, please.” 

You keep your eyes on the floor, pretending that you didn’t hear anything, but your mind races. Who is ‘she’, you wonder? As quickly as she appeared, the assistant scurries off, past the camera and lighting crews, and over countless miscellaneous wires with practiced ease. 

While the two of you walk, you’re rather relieved that no one is staring at you as you go by. You’re just another actress to them, and right now, that’s okay with you. And luckily, the path Hongjoong is taking you on is relatively close to the perimeter of the set, so you’re not exactly the center of attention right now. A part of the wall juts out, making it look like a closet, but once he opens the door, you see it’s a dressing room. Complete with vanity lights, a full bathroom, and a brand new silk robe for you to wear on set, hanging up by the door. There’s also a small, plush couch up against the wall next to the vanity that you have a feeling you will be texting Yeosang on as soon as you’re left alone. 

“This is all yours for the day,” Hongjoong says, “someone will come around in a minute to help with hair and makeup, and then we’ll start.”

You nod, swallowing down as much of your anxiety as possible. 

“Will you, um–” you ask before you can stop yourself. Hongjoong pauses before he heads out, waiting expectantly for you to finish your question. “Are you gonna be on set the whole time?” 

His expression changes into something akin to surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting you to ask anything about himself. He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a moment to try and understand why you’re asking that. You can almost see the professional within him piecing together a corporate response in real time.

“We try to limit how many people are in the room to those who are absolutely necessary. I usually stay close in case someone needs me. Why?” 

You wave your hand, trying to brush everything off. “No, I was just wondering. Nevermind. Thank you!” 

Hongjoong looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately leaves you alone, gently closing the door behind him. 

As soon as it clicks shut, you’re moving to sit on the couch, ready to call Yeosang, but you stop yourself at the last minute. You’re acting crazy, you do realize that. And you have a sneaking suspicion he’ll tell you the exact same thing. 

Instead, to satiate your need to call him, you reread his last three texts of encouragement. 

Lock in. Remember who the hell you are. Now. 

You put on some ego-boosting music so you’re not just getting ready in silence, and quickly undress before hair and makeup arrive. Folded neatly on the vanity, is your outfit for the scene. A tight, cropped black lace cami, and a plaid mini skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

No panties anywhere in sight. No bra, either. Total and easy access. 

Your lower stomach starts to heat up, already envisioning how San might go about undressing you. From what you’ve seen, rarely does he let girls undress themselves. No, he wants to be the one to do it. Like he’s unwrapping a present, just for him.  

After you throw your hoodie onto the couch with the rest of your pile of clothes, you turn back to the vanity, noticing a small army of mini water bottles lined up and waiting for you if need be. You’re almost positive that if you look in the vanity drawer, you’ll find snacks as well. Maybe you can get used to this. But you’ll wait to give your final verdict after the job you came here to do is done. It’s best to wait. 

You’re only waiting for a minute or two before there’s a light knock on the door. Two women wearing face masks enter the dressing room, bowing to you and introducing themselves. You try to remember their names – Youngmi, you think is the makeup artist, and Rina, the hair stylist – but your brain is elsewhere, working double overtime to try to calm you down. Luckily, the Britney Spears song in the background is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. Youngmi and Rina are quick, and good at what they do. Rina makes you laugh by scrunching her nose and singing along to the song as she brushes through your hair. Youngmi only rolls her eyes at her colleague, but it’s all in good fun. 

By the time they’re done, you no longer feel like the scared outsider that doesn’t look the part. They made you even more beautiful. 

There she is, you think as you admire yourself in the mirror. 

You sigh in relief, feeling much more confident than before. And not only that, you feel ready. It’s not the easiest thing to turn your nervousness into excitement, but somehow, this time, you manage to do it. So many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now – or, in your skirt. You had kicked your shoes off next to the couch. 

You make sure to thank Youngmi and Rina before they bring you out, not knowing if you’ll have a chance once you’re on set. With one more spritz of your perfume that you brought with you from home, and a last minute decision to bring the robe out with you, you finally follow them out towards the set. Just mere feet from where you’ll be… ‘performing’. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

As you’re walking and looking around, you start to wonder if San makes it a point to surround himself with equally beautiful people. Or maybe it’s a company requirement. 

Sure, maybe Hongjoong, Youngmi, and Rina are just coincidences, but even the camera and lighting crew are arguably just as pretty. Speaking of Hongjoong, you look around, noting that he isn’t anywhere to be found at the moment. He’s probably with his talent right now. 

When you’re introduced to the director, you almost say something about it. Everyone in this room is attractive. Conventionally, unconventionally, and everything in between. 

“Hello Ms. Y/L/N, I’m Choi Jongho, I’ll be directing you two today.” He introduces himself, bowing politely and shaking your hand. 

You bow your head and reply, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” 

He offers you a chair to sit in while everyone waits for San to come out, and you take it gratefully. You don’t know how long he’ll be. Youngmi and Rina excuse themselves, heading off in the other direction together, walking with purpose. You drape your robe across the back of it, unsure if you’re supposed to give it to someone or take it with you onto the set. 

“Would you like anything to drink, Ms. Y/L/N?” The director asks, noticing that you don’t have anything with you ready for any breaks. 

Director Choi only refers to you as “Ms. Y/L/N.” Very professional, cordial even. Makes you feel like more than an object his star is about to fuck on screen. You’re being treated with real respect, which is a pleasant surprise in comparison to what you had expected from the porn industry. 

You look around yourself, only just now realizing you didn’t take one of those mini water bottles from your dressing room like you originally planned. 

“A water, please–” you start to say. As soon as the last syllable of ‘water’ is spoken, an assistant hands you one. You didn’t even see him standing next to you, much less holding a bottle. Then again, you aren’t really paying attention to whether or not people are carrying water bottles or not right now. Damn.   

You try to warm up your arms by rubbing them, now that you’re virtually wearing next to nothing in this arctic-like room. Only a few moments later, a blanket is handed over to you wordlessly by another assistant, a quick bow following the action. You tilt your head down as a responding bow, shocked. You didn’t even have to say anything. 

Is this what San is used to? Everything given to him at once, on a silver platter with no questions asked? You imagine every single thing handed to him accompanied by hopeful, round eyes looking at him for his approval, only to be ignored or thanked by a small nod. You’re so used to doing everything yourself, this type of treatment makes you feel… stuck up – and every fiber of your being screams at you to make sure none of the staff think that of you. 

“San will be out in just a moment,” Director Choi says, but his heart isn't in it. He checks his watch and glances towards San's dressing room with nearly well-concealed impatience. It is rather late in the day, and you only just now think about the possibility that they may have been here since early morning. Maybe even shooting San with someone else. It’s entirely possible. You can imagine they all just want to get this last one done and go home. None of them would ever let that show, though. No, you have to admit everyone here is quite professional. 

Your hands absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you zone out. At least for now, you can zone out with a blanket wrapped around you. 

The air shifts just moments later.

It’s like a sudden pressure drop where everything goes still for only a second. That one second feels like a lifetime as you turn your head to see what’s going on. Though, in your heart you know exactly what it is without needing to look – it’s the arrival of the main attraction. 

From where you are, leaned back in your chair, you can’t see him too well. He’s surrounded by a team that moves with him like a clump of cells, or maybe in this case, like sheep in a herd. Finishing touchups by Youngmi and Rina, an assistant by his side carrying a medium-sized leather bag and holding his coffee cup when San hands it to him, and other miscellaneous characters that float around the star. Everyone wants to be near him in some way. 

Hongjoong stays at the back of it all, looking down at his phone as he walks. 

The team finally disperses one by one, revealing more of Choi San to your eyes. 

When San finally gets close enough to you, whatever air in your lungs is promptly sucker-punched out of you at the sight of his refreshing beauty. It’s even more pronounced in real life. You’re not entirely sure how to greet him, or what he’s used to. But you remember Yeosang’s encouragement again: He’s just a guy. Don’t let him intimidate you. You’re gonna be great. 

He’s just a guy. You’ve dealt with those before. It’s just that this guy in particular is crafted like an apology for creating men in the first place. And a couple of days ago, you were watching him make a girl cry on a bed that looks quite similar to the one on set right now. 

You stand up, smoothing down your skirt and standing still, hands clasped in front of you. 

“Hey Jongho, sorry we’re late,” Hongjoong calls over, pocketing his phone. He side-eyes San, who bows his head in apology as he walks.  

The director waves him off, clearly used to his tardiness and the apologies that follow. “It’s alright,” he says, “you’re actually earlier than we thought you’d be.”   

“We need to go over the rules with her,” San says once he’s close enough to you and the director, sounding tired. You wonder if he just woke up. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he speaks, and catches you looking. You don’t see it when you quickly avert your eyes, but his whole demeanor changes. No longer lethargic, he becomes awake and alert at the sight of you. 

Director Choi nods and grabs a clipboard from his own director’s chair. You nervously roll your ankle, hearing it crack quietly in the interim.  

“Right, number one rule is consent. If at any time you want to stop, just say the word. No questions asked. Second rule is to keep all details of this shoot private, including any conversations with each other,” At this, Director Choi looks up at you. “Third rule is health and safety, but Hongjoong said you covered that with him, and when you sent in the form,” Again, his eyes flick up from the clipboard to glance at you. “Fourth is to be respectful at all times – there’s no room for ego here. And lastly, don’t look at the camera unless told to, otherwise keep the illusion.” 

You go over each rule in your head before you forget. Consent, confidentiality, feel safe, be respectful, and don’t look at the camera. Simple enough. You keep your chin up, and shoulders back. You force that annoying inner voice of self-doubt to mumble the lyrics of the Britney song from earlier. 

“Follow these, and we’ll have a great shoot day. We should be ready to go in just a few minutes.” Director Choi offers both of you a quick smile before he turns on his heel and walks towards the cameraman, getting everything finalized and ready to shoot. Your heart pounds underneath the robe. Hongjoong steps closer to San, muttering something to him before walking back towards the dressing room. 

You’re just about to walk over to the set to get used to it and be ready to go whenever they are, when San steps right in front of you, effectively blocking the way.  

Out of the blue, he crowds your personal space, and you have to really dig deep to make yourself stay put. Right where you stand. Don’t be intimidated. At the end of the day, you’re both here to do the same job, and both of you are successful in your own rights. He’s just a man, you remind yourself again. 

San towers over you, his shirt opened just enough for you to see his perfectly toned and tan chest right in your face. You keep eye contact, even though all you want to do is look away. It’s much easier to be confident and independent on your own turf, but here on his, it’s more of a challenge. Still, you stand your ground. You have to if he’s going to keep sizing you up. He has been since he walked out here.  

“You didn’t cum,” he says matter-of-factly. 

… 

Pardon? Did you hear him right? What an odd opening line to say to someone you’re meeting for the first time. 

Your lips part and eyebrows furrow, rather startled. “I’m sorry?” 

There’s no way you heard him correctly.  

“Your last liveshow,” he shrugs. “Am I right?” 

Well… yes, but– how did–? 

Is this how he starts all of his conversations? With a personal accusation? 

“That’s alright. We all do it sometimes,” he shrugs again. He leans down so his mouth is next to your ear and lowers his voice. “You’re not gonna fake it with me, though,” he says, and the terrifying thing is that he sounds genuine. It’s not unfounded cockiness or meaningless bravado. He means what he says in all seriousness. He says it like you shouldn’t worry about it. Like it’s a promise. 

And you exhibit monumental self-control to not clench your thighs together at this moment. 

Your mind races at a million miles a minute. That, you didn’t expect. Isn’t that all that porn is? Fake, overblown orgasms for the girls and endless, guaranteed pleasure regardless for the men? You’re starting to think that this may not be the case with him. You think about the videos you watched as part of your ‘research’, and a bolt of electricity zips up your spine. You never doubted that he made his costars feel good, but you know full well that a lot of porn actresses pretend that they’ve cum with their scene partner. But with him, now you know: all of the girls weren’t acting. In fact, you really doubt that they needed to fake just how good he made them feel. The last video you watched of him comes back to mind… you wonder if he’ll make you scream like that too.

Unsure of how to respond to that, you just take a small step backwards to put some distance between you two. Room to think and process if possible. But he’s relentless, and he seems to like getting up in people’s space. A mischievous glint in his eye tells you that he’s enjoying this particular encounter especially. He’s definitely the type of guy that finds it fun to make girls flustered or nervous. 

You swallow hard. 

“You sound rather confident,” you note, still trying your best to hold eye contact with him. To not back down or seem weak. You’re sure it’s not working. You just refuse to melt all over him, or suck up to him. Especially not when he’s the one who asked you here.  

Surprisingly, he smirks. “Shouldn’t I be? I’ve done my research, I know you probably have done yours as well.” 

So you were right. Yeosang, too. San has seen your content before. And not only has he seen your previous works, he was right there with you, watching your last live. Your speculation sounds a lot like confirmation now. 

“Does that make you nervous, kitten?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly to the side like he’s about to kiss you. He could if he just leaned forward a couple more inches. 

A little, you admit to yourself. Your heart hammers against your chest like it’s trying to push you forward, to get closer to him. At this proximity, you can easily smell his cologne and dammit, somehow it makes him even more attractive. You’re almost getting annoyed with him now. Surely there should be at least one flaw to him, something that makes him human like the rest of the world. 

“No,” you lie, “I’m fine.” Arms crossed. Eyes up. 

San laughs lightly, and his smile instantly becomes the most attractive thing about him so far, even if it’s at your own expense. 

“If you say so,” he shrugs again. 

He doesn’t move away from you, though. Not right away. His gaze lingers on your lips for a fleeting moment, which gives you just enough time to come up with a question of your own. 

“So, you’re a fan of mine?” 

At that, he pauses. But, he doesn’t shy away from it. 

“Yeah,” he says, owning up to it immediately. He straightens back up as you nod, taking in the information. “Have been for a while now. I saw that other collab you did with that guy, it was really fuckin’ hot.” 

You make a mental note to let Yeosang know he was right about that, as well. To be honest, you weren’t expecting the compliment.  

“I’m– glad you liked it,” you say, clearing your throat in the middle of the sentence. You’re doing pretty well on the outside despite your nervousness beginning to rise again on the inside. San studies you once more, like he’s searching for something on you that only he can see. You step back again and turn your face away from him as you take a sip from your water bottle, taking your time to screw the cap back on. 

“Mm… you’re even prettier in real life,” he says, so casually it almost doesn’t register. 

You nearly swallow wrong, just barely avoiding choking on the small amount of water still left in your mouth. Luckily, Director Choi calls over to you two to start making your way onto set. 

The final few minutes begin to tick down.  

You don’t attempt to hide the deep breath you take, but you do try to not make it very noticeable. Placing the water bottle onto the chair you were just in, you clear your throat again. 

“Any final advice or warnings for me before we start?” You ask, keeping your voice casual and light. It’s a subtle dig to him, but you mean no malice behind the words. Fortunately, he picks up on it. 

“Oh, tons,” he grins, keeping pace with you onto the set. It’s almost easy to forget the cameras.  

You steal a glance at him as you walk, the floor bitterly cold beneath your feet. With each step the bed gets closer and closer. Now finally getting a chance to see the set in detail, you’re pretty impressed. It’s a pretty realistic bedroom setting, complete with shelves decorated with trinkets and records, but vague enough to have no specific personality. Nobody’s going to be admiring the set design when they watch this. Still, you appreciate the effort made by the production team to make it feel real. 

The lights facing you are blinding and you wince when you accidentally look right into one. Good incentive to not look that way, you suppose. 

San sits on the edge of the bed. “You get used to it,” he says, nodding towards the lights. 

You nod as well, placing a hand above your heart, willing it to stop racing. 

Noticing this, San takes your hand and guides you to sit down next to him. You do feel a bit better now that you’re sitting. You keep your eyes down to avoid burning your retinas, and turn your head slightly towards him. He shifts a little closer, positioning his body so he’s facing you. 

“Nervous?” He asks rhetorically, knowing full well that you are. He’s still holding your hand, playing with each of your fingers one by one. 

“Obvious?” You reply, managing to laugh at yourself, despite your nerves. 

San grins, his eyes turning into crescents, and that dimple in his cheek reappearing. “Only a little bit. But, I’ve seen worse.” 

You hum in response. Being reminded of his experience, leaps and bounds ahead of yours, does nothing to help your anxiety. You just hope you can live up to the fantasy version of your own self. That’s the version of you he invited. 

Where’s Britney when you need her?  

You push your hair back, a minute attempt to self-soothe in some way. You only realize halfway through the action that Rina probably just clutched her pearls somewhere past the lights, cursing you for messing up her work. Oh, well. According to what you’ve seen and the information you’ve gathered, your hair’s gonna be plenty messed up anyway. 

The room is starting to become a lot less crowded. Just like Hongjoong had said, only the essential people stay on set to make sure everything goes smoothly and safely. Everyone else becomes fading background noise, filtering out into the hallway you first came in from. 

But less distractions means you notice the man right next to you even more. 

You can feel San’s eyes on you. 

It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, quite the opposite actually. The weight of it is light, soft around the edges as he appreciates how he managed to practically will you onto this set with him. You’d been sure you may be insecure around him because of his almost unnatural beauty, but… actually, having his eyes on you right now makes you a bit more confident. He’s not looking at anyone else but you. Not just looking, but admiring. 

His gaze drifts down, greedily drinking in the sight of your collarbone and legs – the only skin you’re revealing at the moment. If the crew would just hurry up, he’ll be able to see more. 

Fortunately, he’s never been one to wait to get what he wants. Especially not in this industry. And right now, he wants you. 

“I meant it, by the way,” he says quietly, “you’re beautiful.” 

Without any water to choke on, or an interruption from the director, you simply look up at him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s no trace of irony anywhere. Not in what he said, and not hidden somewhere within his features. The genuinity, and the doubling-down of the compliment takes you aback. 

“Thank you… you’re quite beautiful yourself.” You compliment him back, shifting how you’re sitting to face him as well. 

By now, your knee is touching his. Even this small amount of contact between you makes your shoulders tense again. You’re not sure why, but you just want to melt into him already. Perhaps due to the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. 

Maybe it’s the insane sexual tension between you both, that very well could be the root cause as well. 

You remember how real his scenes look… this must be how the chemistry is kindled. Starting before the cameras capture anything, it makes it all seem less like a show. And you know what? Until the director yells ‘cut’, you’re more than willing to match that energy.

His hand moves from yours to rest on your thigh, slowly, like he’s silently asking for permission to continue. When you don’t flinch or push him away, he hikes up your skirt just an inch or two higher, exposing more of your skin. The light ghost of his touch makes you freeze in place. It’s already dizzying enough to have him in such close proximity, and now adding in the electricity of his touch, it’s a whole other level. And this, you assume, is just the warmup. Getting you used to the feeling of his hands on you. It’s nice that it doesn’t feel wrong. 

The lighting crew dims one of the lights and one of them loudly asks the director if it looks good on camera. Distracted, you turn back to look their way again, but San gently cups your face with his hand, making you face him instead. 

He hums, looking down between your still-clothed bodies. His other hand dips under the hem of your skirt, and your breath hitches. Worrying too much about the crew still, you look back to see if this is alright to do before the cameras start rolling. 

“Don’t look at the camera, kitten,” San purrs, “I believe that was rule number five.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you mumble without any real bite to your words. 

That smile of his returns, and the energy between you becomes even more charged. The moment right before someone gives in after holding back for too long. 

San never looks anywhere else, entirely focused on you. It doesn't matter to him that there’s about twenty people still in the same room, all witnessing this ‘warm-up’ unfold. It barely fazes him. He’s experienced in this setting, way more used to it than you are. You just have to roll with it. 

His hand on your face drops back down to the mattress as his wrist turns, and you inhale sharply when he lightly drags his fingers through your wet folds. He hums again, clearly satisfied. 

“What’s got you this wet already, kitten?” 

Your lips part to answer, but he finds your clit before you can speak. This time, you gasp quietly before you can stop yourself. Once again, you glance over at the crew, wondering if anyone is watching the two of you. You can’t see very well because of the lights and the various equipment in the way, but several of the crew and team are. 

San smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your clit. “You like the attention?” He asks, following your gaze. “It’s different from your little camshow isn’t it? Now the audience is only a few feet away…” 

His fingers begin to move in small circles, occasionally dipping further down to collect your wetness before bringing it back up to your clit. 

“San–” you breathe, catching his wrist in a semi-firm grip. Not to move it away, but just to hold onto something. Jesus, the shoot hasn’t even officially started yet, but you’re about to beg them to hurry up so it can. 

San just moves closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in your cute expression. His voice is quieter, so only you can hear him. “Already thought about all the ways I’m gonna make this pretty cunt cum for me. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.” 

Another promise. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and that’s the moment the crew decides that they’re ready to shoot. 

San pulls away like nothing happened, even smoothing down your skirt for you. You force yourself to breathe through your nose, steadying your pulse. You quickly look down, checking to see if your top is still on straight.  

Director Choi walks up to you both for final notes. “Alright, no script so we’re mostly gonna follow your lead, just let us know when one of you needs a quick break. All three cameras are going to be rolling, and one handheld. You remember all the rules?” He looks over to you. 

You nod quickly, unable to meet his eye right now. The back of your hand lifts to your cheek to check how hot it’s gotten – as if you need additional confirmation. You hope you didn’t smudge your makeup or wipe some of it off by accident, but you imagine that if it shows up on camera, they’ll stop to fix it. 

“Okay, then we’re ready to go.” 

San thanks him as he walks off, turning his attention back onto you. Your gaze has dropped down to your lap, breaths kind of erratic from the little show you and him just put on, and from nerves. But you manage to pull yourself together, externally at least. All you really have to do now is look pretty for the camera. You can do that. Except for the live audience, this isn’t much different to a camshow, really. 

And aren’t you here for your fans anyway? Sure, you also wanted the opportunity and experience, but it’s also for your fans. The ones who supported you enough to even get noticed by Afterdark and San in the first place. You imagine they’ll make up at least half of the view count whenever this video drops. You’re performing for them. Not for the strangers in the room. 

Once that clicks for you, all your anxiety melts away, freeing you to finally just… enjoy this. Why not? You deserve it. 

Plus, you’re quite eager to pick up right where you and San left off just moments ago – and it seems that San is too. 

His gaze becomes heavier, darker as he shifts into his on-screen persona. 

“C’mere, kitten, want you on my lap to start.” He says, moving back on the bed a little more and gently pulling you towards him. 

You straddle his legs, slow to sit down fully. Now slightly above and closer than before, you can’t look anywhere else but at him. His hands slowly trail up your thighs again, watching you the whole time. You stop breathing when his fingertips tease the hem of your skirt again. He can probably feel through those dress pants he’s in how wet you are. Equally though, you can feel how hard he’s getting. 

Subtly, you grind your hips down onto him. The immediate pleasure of the friction against your bare pussy makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands sneaks to your hip, gripping it tightly, and you meet his eyes again. 

“It’s just you and me,” he says quietly, breath fanning across your cheek. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed again as you grind into him once more. “Okay…” 

Through your pleasurable hazy fog, you faintly hear someone yell, ‘Action!’. 

And San stops holding back. 

The hand on your hip pushes you back and pulls you in, encouraging you to keep grinding on him – and to not stop anytime soon. His other hand moves to your hair, keeping your face close to his as he finally kisses you. His lips are pleasantly soft, and he tastes like peppermint. You hope you do too, you probably brushed your teeth at least four times before the driver showed up outside your apartment building. San seems to have no complaints as he moans quietly, his hand tightens in your hair. 

Your whole body feels electric, every touch amplified by a thousand. He makes out with you slow and deep, savouring the taste of you, and groans into your mouth with each roll of your hips. 

San tilts your chin up to kiss your neck, hiding his face from the camera. “Never answered my question,” he whispers, barely audible so his voice doesn’t get picked up by any of the overhead microphones. 

You disguise your response as a moan, “Hm?” 

He licks a small stripe up your neck, right up to your ear and looks down between you. You follow his gaze, only to find a wet patch staining his pants already. 

Ah. 

His question from mere minutes ago: What’s got you this wet already? 

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, a bit louder. It’s alright if the microphones pick that up. “Wonder why…” 

It’s the knowing smirk that does it. You move to undress him first, intriguing him. He didn’t expect you to be so bold right out of the gate. But, you have an on-screen persona of your own. Now both of your characters are out to play. 

In your dwindling patience, you come close to just ripping the shirt off when you fumble with one of the buttons. San finds your lips again as you push the offending fabric off of him, eager to explore his newly exposed body. But you’re next. 

Both of his hands lift up your shirt until it comes off over your head, forcing you two to break apart for a moment. Neither of you wait to make up for that lost time. You drape your arms around his shoulders, one of your hands lightly tugging at the roots of his hair. At first, your whole body erupts in goosebumps from the cold air now hitting your upper body as well, and not just your arms, but you can’t blame your reaction entirely on the temperature. 

San must notice how your shoulders hunch a little and how you press further into him, because he is quick to warm you up. 

One arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, chests touching. The first brush of your peaked nipples against his skin makes you gasp into his mouth. He nips at your bottom lip, distracting you while his hand moves from the back of your head, down to one of your breasts. His thumb flicks over the sensitive bud there and you have to duck your head down to catch your breath for a second. You grind down onto him again, adding to your arousal tenfold. 

Refusing to prolong this any longer, San suddenly flips you onto the bed, underneath him. His hand returns between your legs, fingers shallowly dipping into your entrance and circling your clit. He keeps just out of your reach, his lips so frustratingly close to yours. You glance down to watch him. The visual of his hand disappearing underneath your skirt, the veins in his arm beginning to rise and pop, and the heat of his body against yours is all starting to add up. 

You tug at your own skirt, looking up at him with doe eyes. He nods twice, understanding. In no time at all, your skirt is unzipped and pulled down your legs, discarded somewhere onto the floor. 

Now fully exposed, San pauses. 

The tempo of the scene slows abruptly as he takes his time to look at your body, laying so prettily beneath him. He looks at your body like he’s deciding where to start first, with too many enticing options. You drag your hands down his chest, lightly scratching him and making him shiver in the process. This, you realize, is how he makes every scene feel legit. He takes his time to admire his partner, make them feel admired and wanted. You have to admit, it does work its magic. Not just for the audience, but for you as well. 

He catches both of your wrists, bringing your hands together to kiss them both before guiding them down above your head. 

“Keep them here,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

You barely have time to enjoy or savor the taste of him again before he moves to kiss your neck. Eyes closing, you sigh into the feeling, wanting to commit this to memory. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, moving down to kiss your chest next. Soft, wet warmth once again wraps around your nipple and you arch your back to try and get more of it. You twist your hands in the sheets above you, keeping them anchored there just like he instructed. 

San then moves further down, ghosting his lips past your stomach. You part your legs to accommodate him, and he kneels on the floor, gently pushing your legs further apart. He drags this out, just to torture you, you think. His intentions and what he’s about to do are clear, but he’s a professional at driving his partners crazy. The kisses turn to licks, right next to your labia. So tantalizingly close. 

If your eyes were open, you’d see that he’s been watching you the entire time, trying to pace himself as best he can. You’re actually lucky there’s a job to do here because if it was just the two of you alone, he doesn’t think he’d be holding himself back from just taking what he wants. 

To him, this is all just a chance for him to prove himself to you. To him, you’re the star. And he’s going to make sure you leave this set more than satisfied. Wanting for nothing. 

But he’s not going to start until you beg him to. 

His breath fans across your wet lower lips and your hands find his hair again, trying to push his mouth where you need him. You hear him laugh, exhaling through his nose before moving your hands away. 

“Thought I told you to keep your hands up there, kitten,” he reminds you, with a slight warning edge to his voice. 

Oh, shit, you realize all too late. The last video flashes through your mind, and he feels you tense up. He kisses your hipbone to calm you down. 

“Be a good girl and keep them above your head,” he repeats his previous order. 

You nod quickly, “I’m sorry–” but he cuts you off by licking a thick wet stripe through your folds. Your breath hitches, and your hands stay cemented to the sheets, to hold on for dear life. 

When he repeats the action, the tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, making you see stars already. 

“Oh my god…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again. 

Your hands itch to move back down to his hair, wanting to pull him closer and to push him away. You want to touch him again, but the fear of him reenacting the ‘Fantasy’ video keeps you frozen. 

As expected, his mouth is just as perfect as the rest of him. The softness of his lips against your core only stokes the dull heat in your lower stomach. He alternates between focusing more on your clit, and dipping his tongue into your entrance. The most addicting part is that he’s moaning while he eats you out, like the taste of you is getting him off. You hope he lets you return the favor. 

He readjusts his hands on your thighs when they threaten to close around his head, opting to push them back towards your chest. Your toes curl as he sucks your clit hard, and you can’t help the high-pitched sound that escapes your mouth. He does it again, and again, getting you louder each time. 

“Look at me, baby,” he breathes, his nose brushing up against your sensitive clit as he speaks. 

You whimper as you lift your head up, resting on your elbows to not strain your neck. He meets your eyes for just a second before shoving his tongue into your hole, rubbing his nose against your clit again. You cry out, throwing your head back as the pleasure increases and squirm in his strong grip. Legs shaking and breath uneven, it’s clear that you’re close. Now you’ll get to see what he has planned for you. The two boxes you checked off, ‘Rough’, and ‘Gentle’ come back to haunt you. 

A moan cuts you off as you try to warn him that you’re close, but he can tell without needing to hear you say it. He’s been the cause of enough female orgasms to see the warning signs of one approaching. Two of his fingers suddenly dip into you as he sucks on your clit, hooking deep inside and prodding your g-spot over and over again. 

His voice is rough and gravelly against your pussy, “Cum for me, baby. Wanna taste it.” 

A bolt of electricity runs through you as you cum, shaking and moaning while it gradually subsides. The heat in your lower stomach cools off but stays simmering now, waiting to be rekindled again. You whimper, raising your head back up to look at him. He’s in his own world between your legs, gently licking your pussy and your inner thighs clean. Your core clenches around his fingers when he slowly starts to drag them out, and he smirks. He lowers your legs back down, kissing your knee and doing a quick check to make sure you’re okay to continue. 

You answer that check by sitting up and pulling him towards you, kissing him even more hungrily than before. He hasn’t even wiped his mouth yet, but you don’t care. Without breaking the kiss, he follows you back down onto the bed, sucking on your tongue and wrapping a hand around your throat. Not tight enough to restrict airflow, but just enough to make your head feel light. He grinds his still-clothed erection into you, and the friction makes your head spin. You don’t know if you’re allowed to move your hands or not, but you just want to touch him so badly. You want to grip his length, make him feel just as good, taste him too. 

For now, you just roll your hips up into his, moaning into his mouth. 

“Want it…want you,” you mumble, parting from his lips for just a second to tell him that. 

San hums, lazily kissing your jaw. “What do you want, kitten? Be specific.” 

You groan inwardly, but you know he has to prolong this a little. Damn… for a while, you forgot about the reason you’re currently underneath him. You sneak a glance over to your left, seeing where the set ceiling abruptly stops and opens up to the industrial interior of the Afterdark building. He notices your focus straying, and he’s quick to act. 

“Tell me,” San redirects you, blocking your view by kissing the left side of your neck and distracting you from everything else by keeping his hard-on pressed right up against your bare pussy. His voice is firmer. A small warning and reminder of rule number five. 

You take a deep breath before you voice what you want, “Wanna suck your cock… please, sir.” 

It’s the ‘sir’ that nearly kills him. You really have done your research, haven’t you? You know that’s what he likes to be called, especially when his scene partners are feeling extra submissive to him. Are you feeling that way already? Maybe you just really want to do this for him. San studies you for a second, confirming the latter. He can see how much you actually mean it by the way you look up at him, pleading with your eyes. 

And who is he to deny you? Especially when you ask so nicely. Plus, he’s been wanting to feel your mouth wrap around his cock since he watched your livestream. 

“Yeah?” He asks, biting the space where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing up against you again. 

You give him your best doe-eyed look, really tapping into your innocent act. “Yes, sir.” 

San helps you sit upright again and stands at the foot of the bed, starting to undo his belt. Wanting to be an active participant, you lean forward, dragging your lips down and across his abs, occasionally licking at his soft, honeyed skin. His belt hits the floor, and your hands are quick to do the rest. It’s a little hard to get the zipper down, but you manage it, successfully removing his pants. You’re just about to deal with his underwear next, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. You stumble a little as you find your footing on the floor, and let him lead you over to a chair against the set wall. It’s a better angle for the cameras, you assume. For him, he just wants to watch you do this properly. He wants nothing to obstruct his view, or the camera’s. 

San pushes his hair back as you drag the final piece of clothing away from his body. You avert your eyes until the very last second, tossing the garment off to the side to join the sad little pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Now you take your time, pressing a kiss to his knee, slowly rising up onto yours the further up you move. You hear his breath shift, and you finally glance up to face his cock. 

Somehow, it’s bigger than it looks on camera. 

You have no idea how that’s possible – you know about the fish eye lenses and tricks the porn industry will use to make someone’s dick look bigger than it is, but right now, you’re presented with the exact opposite. It’s larger in real life. This, you were not expecting, but it is such a pleasant and welcome surprise. And of course, it’s just as pretty as the rest of him.  

Both of these things combined only make you want to put your mouth on it even more. 

When you delicately wrap your hand around it, he hisses at the long-awaited contact. A hand tangles into your hair, not pulling you towards him, just resting there for now. San leans back against the chair, his toned body a feast for the cameras and for you. You remind yourself not to rush, and to savor this. 

Wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, you tease him a little by ghosting your lips up his length, watching him shiver and bite his lip. You kiss the tip, and linger there for a second, acting like you’re about to put him in your mouth, only to move away, kissing his hipbone next and stroking him with your hand. 

His grip tightens in your hair. Knowing he wants you to hurry up, you let go of him for a moment to spit in your hand before quickly returning to it. He groans a bit louder, head falling back a little as you gently twist your wrist, squeezing at the base of his cock. 

Finally, you lick him from the base to the head before wrapping your lips around him. His other hand balls up into a fist, but that’s the only reaction he gives away for now. You relax your jaw as much as you can, trying to accommodate his size before sinking down lower. You can taste his pre-cum in the back of your throat, coating your tongue. 

If you were annoyed with his apparent perfection before, you’re pissed now. How does he also taste good too? 

As if to get back at him somehow, you wrap your lips tighter around his cock and suck hard, which earns you a choked moan from him. You hum around him, amused and pleased with yourself. His hand shakes slightly as he pushes your hair back, the other one in your hair starting to guide you even further down. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag on it, forcing yourself to relax and remember to breathe through your nose. 

“Fuck, baby…so good,” He groans, starting to struggle to keep his eyes open. 

The visual of you choking on his cock is better than he could’ve ever imagined it to be. You don’t try to fight against him when he pushes you down or pulls you back up, simply letting him use your throat as he wishes. Even though you’re gagging and your eyes are watering, you don’t try to pull off. Not even when he shoves you down, making you fit his entire length into your throat, and holds you there for ten seconds. The longest ten seconds of your life. Your nails dig into your thighs, creating angry red crescent-shaped indents in your skin. His cock twitches in your throat and you whimper, keeping your gag reflex at bay. When the ten seconds are up, he lets you pull off of him completely to catch your breath. 

You cough into your shoulder, one of your hands wrapping around him again to make sure he still feels good. San can't help but praise you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, cupping your face with his hand to make you look at him. It’s a subtle check-in moment. Nothing between you is said out loud, but he searches your face for any signs of discomfort or stress of any kind. He’s rather relieved to find none, only your glossy eyes staring back at him, lips parted and breath heavier than before. Ready to go again or continue on. 

Whatever he wants. 

San shivers as you gently twist your wrist again, returning your lips to the head of his dick, kitten-licking the pre-cum that still leaks out there. You hope he’ll cum in your mouth. A rare hope, as you’ve never quite enjoyed the taste of it before, but with his track record so far, you’re willing to bet you’ll enjoy it this time. To encourage this dream to happen, you spit onto the head of his cock twice, collecting some of it with your hand already around his length, and the rest with your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. 

You hear soft footsteps behind you, and naturally, your first instinct is to whip around to see who it is. Luckily, your conscience kicks in, reminding you of where you are, and you’re able to stop yourself before you can even move an inch. It’s probably one of the crew leaving the set, you figure. But it sounds close by. 

As if to prove you right, soon there’s a figure or a shadow looming just out of your peripheral vision on your left, holding something. To combat every urge within you to turn around, you close your eyes and steal another kiss from San, who lazily kisses you back. He doesn’t seem to mind that your lips are covered in spit and pre-cum. Not one bit. His groans have increased the more you stroke his cock, one of his hands grips the arm of the chair in an attempt to ground himself. Harder, faster, your wrist begins to burn from exertion, but determination keeps it going. You’ll get a damn brace if you need to. 

“God–” he grunts, looking down at your hand. 

“Want you to cum too,” you say, looking up at him, almost pleading. 

San’s eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, a full body shudder wracking through him before he is able to compose himself again. 

“And where do you want me to cum, kitten?” He asks, his volume raising slightly, caressing your cheek. 

“In my mouth, sir.” You reply, also loud enough for the microphones to pick up. 

He all but shoves you down. You barely have time to make sure your teeth aren’t grazing his dick with every bob of your head as his hand returns to your hair, guiding your movements once again. This time, with just a fraction less of his notorious self control. You’re able to keep up easily, sucking harder whenever you’re closer to the head of it, and using your tongue as much as you can. 

San swears under his breath, hissing at your previously unknown skill level. It takes every ounce of composure to not fuck your throat the way he wants to. He’d be so mean to you if you’d let him. He wouldn’t have kept himself down your throat for ten measly seconds, it would’ve been until you tried to push yourself off, desperate to breathe again. That would’ve been heavenly, to feel your throat constrict around his cock, in search of air. But not for the first scene together. 

If there’s a next time, maybe that’s when he’ll let go just a little more. Show that side of him and see how you cope with it. For now though, he’s content to just enjoy the sight of you taking him in your mouth, wanting to make him cum. And you’re damn near close to achieving that. 

He ignores the cameraman standing barely two feet from you, and leans back again, relaxing his body as his dick twitches incessantly in your mouth. Every time his tip hits the back of your throat, sparks of electricity shoot up his spine. 

“Fuck… ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum… mmf–” San moans, head tilting back against the chair. 

You don’t change anything about what you’re doing, just continuing until finally, he releases into your mouth. Just like you wanted him to. And it’s just as you predicted. The taste of it makes you want him to cum in your mouth again and again, surprisingly pleasant. Slightly bitter, yes, but not overly so. You swallow around him, not pulling off just yet. You won’t until you suck him dry, until he pushes you off from overstimulation. Maybe subconsciously, it’s because you know he loves to overstimulate his scene partners – a subtle payback for all of them. You try to hide your grin as you finally release him. Not a single drop wasted. You swallowed everything. 

San looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, fighting to keep his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm. You lick your lips just for good measure, and he snaps. 

His hands return to your face and the back of your head, pulling you towards him to kiss you deeply. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips into yours, not caring in the slightest that can taste himself. As you straighten up on your knees, you can feel how wet you still are, and you can’t help but be a little surprised. You’ve never gotten wet from sucking dick before. If he finds out, it’ll go right to his ego, no doubt. 

But before he can, there’s an abrupt, loud clacking sound to your left, and at first, you think someone must have dropped something. San makes a quiet, irritated sound before pulling away, glancing towards the director. The cameraman right next to you moves away, going back over towards the others and adjusting something on his camera. You feel slow to catch up on what’s happening, looking back up at San for help. 

“We’re breaking for a second,” he explains, still out of breath. 

Ah. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, without thinking. You’re not even sure why you asked that. 

San blinks, processing your question as well before nodding once, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” 

There’s a fleeting moment between you that you can’t describe. Something deeper than the scene now that you’re out of it. It’s the way he’s looking at you, void of any facade or persona meant for the cameras. Almost like he’s curious about something. 

No one ever really asks him if he’s alright. 

Just as quickly as the moment appears, it’s gone. You hear a flurry of movement and murmured conversations on your left as you sink back onto your heels, processing everything. Your eyes close as you try to focus on your breathing now that nothing is blocking your throat, deep inhales and slow exhales.  

“You okay?” San asks as well, eyebrows furrowing in what appears to be genuine concern. 

“‘M okay… honest.” You nod as you speak to emphasize that you’re truly alright. One more prolonged exhale, and you roll your shoulders back, heart-rate decelerating back to its default speed. One of your hands reaches up to massage your aching jaw. 

Opening your eyes again, you accidentally make eye contact directly to his cock, still right in front of your face. It’s laying against his stomach, still slightly twitching, but… not softening. At least not as much as you’d expect it to. Surely, he can’t still be hard after coming. However, at this point, you wouldn’t put it past him to have a practically nonexistent refractory period. Might as well tack it onto the list of things he has been blessed with in life. 

San runs a hand through his hair, looking over towards someone who must be talking to him. You watch his eyes follow them until you see for yourself who it is – one of the assistants that had been in his little circle when he first walked out of his dressing room. He hands him a robe, and quickly walks off. You feel a small nudge at your shoulder and find one of the other assistants – the one that had handed you the blanket earlier – extending a robe towards you. You take it gladly, your body heat crashing down again now that nothing is happening, and the frigid air conditioning reminding you why you asked for a blanket in the first place. He also gives you a water bottle with a straw poked through the plastic cap, and you drink it down gratefully. 

Director Choi calls over Youngmi and Rina, and they’re quickly by your side, touching up your hair and makeup. You scoot back a little on the floor, giving San some space as his own team descends around him. Still, through the quiet rush of activity separating the two of you, your eyes stay glued to him. 

Once the four hair and makeup girls leave, you hear Hongjoong from somewhere behind you. You both look towards his voice, standing near the director. A young woman you haven’t seen milling around the set before stands right next to him, also in a short silk robe almost identical to yours from what you can see of it past the lights. Your chest burns. She’s gorgeous, and seems to only get prettier the more you look at her. She looks between Hongjoong and San expectantly, as if waiting for a regular cue. Totally relaxed. You look back down at your hands in your lap, toying with the hem of your robe. It’s obvious what she’s there for. You wonder if she’s been watching the whole time as well. 

But San is quick to rid you of any worries. 

Actually, he seems a little annoyed as he waves Hongjoong and the woman off, before turning his attention back to you. He helps you stand up, slowly to ensure you won’t get dizzy, and leads you back over to sit on the foot of the bed. Back where you started, in your own little bubble together in front of the lights and the cameras.  

Once settled again, San tilts your head up, his pointer finger under your chin, and holds it there, effectively disrupting your train of thought. He can almost see the self-doubt threatening to cloud your mind, even if you try to hide it behind your on-camera mask. He simply won’t have it. His other hand cups your cheek, making sure you don’t try to look anywhere but at him right now. 

“‘M still hard for you, kitten,” he says quietly, just for you. He moves closer, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “Made me feel so fucking good… doing so well…” 

You can’t help but blush at his praise. He’s so attentive, it’s a little shocking. You expected him to be, due to the videos you watched, but off-camera as well? 

To thank him, you wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it lightly, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. You want him to snap again. To just fuck you stupid already, to not wait for the production team to be ready. God, you just want to stop thinking and overthinking. You lean into the hand holding your cheek, humming at the comfort it provides. 

One of your hands wanders between you, trailing up his thigh. You want to feel it for yourself, even though the robe does little to conceal the truth in his statement. Nevertheless, your confidence is rekindled once more when you feel him through the silk, hard and ready for you. He hisses at the contact, resting his forehead against yours for a moment or two before straightening again. A low groan from him makes your thighs clench together. 

“Sorry, sir,” you whisper, grinning mischievously now that you’re the one teasing him.  

San laughs once, breathy and short. 

“You really have done your research on me, huh?” He smirks, watching you slowly move his robe aside to touch him properly. He tenses a little at the initial contact, but gradually relaxes again as his body gets used to it. 

You shrug, playing it cool. “Wanted to see what I was getting myself into,” the corners of your mouth twitch as you slowly stroke his cock, watching for his reactions. 

“And–” he clears his throat before continuing, “what do you think so far?” 

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you’re taken aback again by his genuineness. He’s not just asking to ask or to boost a sky-high ego, he really does want to know. Still, you want to keep him intrigued. Maybe you even want him to try and prove himself to you a bit.  

“Well… I’m still wet for you,” you admit, casting your eyes down towards your lap. “But I think I’ll give you a final verdict later.”  

San hums, remembering the taste of you, and how wet you were for him to start. His eyes trail downwards, towards your chest, which is slowly becoming more and more revealed as your robe loosens.     

“Deal,” he whispers, slowly leaning in to kiss you. 

Before he can though, you squeeze his member a little harder, your thumb circling the tip, making his mind nearly go blank. San shudders and leans back on his hands, his robe also loosening little by little, revealing his chest and the top of his abs to your hungry eyes again. He steals a quick glance over to the crew, before just taking matters into his own hands. 

As soon as his robe comes off, he tosses it in the camera’s direction. A rather obvious way of telling everyone the break is over. Director Choi quickly stands from his chair, shooing away a production assistant and waving another one over to collect the robes. You take yours off as well, tossing it onto his, and San eases you down onto your back, kissing you just as deeply as before. 

You shiver, finally underneath him once more. The promise of what’s to come thunders through your mind. He slots his knee in between your legs, keeping you open for him. You whine into his mouth when that knee raises slightly, pressing against your pussy. You can almost hear his smirk, confirming that you are indeed still wet for him. 

Well, he won’t make you wait any longer. 

And just in time too, because someone over on the left shouts, ‘Action!’. You feel kind of bad for stressing out the crew this much, but you can’t dwell on those guilty feelings when San is rubbing your clit again.

“Fuck… please…” you whimper, hips grinding up in search of something else.  

San moans, working himself up as he feels your pussy slicking all over his knee.  

“Are they gonna stop us again?” You ask, whispering in his ear. 

“They better fucking not,” San breathes, pressing one more kiss to your cheek before pushing himself up, spreading your legs further apart so he can kneel between them. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows again, intent on watching. You clench around nothing as he grips himself, angling his dick down towards your pussy. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation and impatience. Your brain goes haywire just at the sight of his cock near where you need him most, knowing he’ll stretch you out, and knowing that you probably won’t last too long with his size. Hopefully, you won’t cum as soon as he bottoms out. 

San presses the tip to your hole, and you hold your breath. It’s so big, but you’re ready. You’re definitely wet enough to help get him inside without any help from spit or lube. Nevertheless, he spits right on your clit, pausing to make you feel it drip down through your folds. He taps the head of his cock against your clit a couple times, greedily watching your reactions. 

And much to your despair, he doesn’t push inside just yet. Instead, he drags his cock up and down your pussy. Slowly. Forcing you to feel every inch of it, just not where you need it. Your clit is so sensitive, every time he rubs up against it, you can’t help but whine pathetically. 

San hums, mocking you. “Hm? What’s wrong, kitten?” 

“Please fuck me already,” you exhale, whimpering at yet another tap of his cock against your clit. 

“Louder,” he instructs, not just to make you beg for it again, but also so the microphones pick it up. You’d forgotten all about them again, to be honest. “Ask me properly.” 

Another shiver runs through you, and you gasp when you feel the head of his cock return to your entrance. Just barely enough so you can feel it’s there. But it’s enough motivation. You spread your legs further apart to convince him, holding them up and back by hooking your arms around your knees. Fully exposed to his eyes, open and ready to be filled. 

“Please, sir, please fuck me. Want it so ba–” 

Your voice is cut off by a choked noise as he finally pushes into you. Quickly, you look down, watching him breach you. All of your air is punched out of you as he stretches you out, sinking deeper and deeper, inch by inch. He takes over the task of keeping your legs apart, and he stills for a second to give your body time to adjust to him. He’s just barely halfway in, and your brain already feels like mush. 

Maybe it’s a good thing because the same cameraman from before comes back, aiming the camera right at you two. Your body is so tense from the intrusion that you can’t look towards him, even by accident.

San swears under his breath, watching his cock disappearing into you as well. 

“So fucking tight… god, baby…” he grunts, adjusting his knees slightly closer to your ass so he can feed you more of his length. 

One of his hands tilts your chin up again, silently telling you to hold eye contact with him. His eyes flicker down only for a split second. 

Then he shoves the rest of his cock inside. 

A mix of a gasp and a yelp punches its way out of you. Your whole body is like a livewire. Alert, teetering on an electric edge. Your hands grip the sheets next to you, biting your lip. You can feel everything. Every inch, every vein dragging against your walls when he slowly pulls it back again. You both crave and dread the next time he pushes in, knowing it’s going to feel so overwhelmingly good. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re close to coming already. 

Wide-eyed, all you can do is stare up at him as he rolls his hips into yours. Your walls flutter around him, legs already beginning to shake. There’s no hiding it anymore. 

Amused, San leans down, pushing your legs back even more, deepening the stretch. He groans as your pussy contracts around him tight, wanting more. 

“What, kitten? Already?” San smirks, a windfall of pride rushing through him. As if he needed any more validation for how good at this he is.

Your face burns, having been found out. 

The next roll of his hips is sinfully languid, taking his time. Then, he really betrays you. One of his hands leaves the back of your thigh and he uses his thumb to rub your clit. You yelp, body buzzing from pleasure, and he takes this time to start fucking you properly, thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he says, twisting his wrist so he can rub your clit with two fingers instead. “Let me feel it.” 

You’re starting to think all you need in order to cum is for him to tell you to do it. Your second orgasm of the evening is a bit stronger than the first one because of the addition of penetration. It makes you feel very floaty once it hits, clenching around his cock in order to prolong it. 

Unlike last time, he gives you no recovery period. The second he sees your eyes refocus, he’s fucking into you again. Like he never stopped. Your hands grip his shoulders, knowing you’re in for it. The tags for this future video flash through your mind, overstimulation being one. You lay flat on your back now, unable to keep holding yourself up as another strong wave of pleasure crashes into you. A third orgasm building up again. 

His fingers on your clit press down harder, making tight circles over the sensitive bud. He only relents for a second, just to hook your legs over his shoulders, letting him get even deeper inside of you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, whining at the feeling. Your hands try to push at his chest, to make him stop, to make him straighten up, you’re not entirely sure yourself. 

There’s no energy behind your actions, but San still subtly checks in. “Feel good, kitten?” 

You choke on another moan, his cock getting dangerously close to hitting your g-spot. “Mm- I’m– good, feels s-so good.” 

“Yeah? You liked coming on my cock?” 

“Yes…” 

“Yes, what?” San punctuates his question by ramming into you hard, unexpectedly. 

You’re quick to correct yourself, “Y-yes, sir!”

“There you go,” he brushes some hair away from your face, “my good girl.” 

Your body melts at the praise, replaying it over and over again as the feeling builds up higher and higher. You don’t realize until San winces that your nails started to dig into his chest, leaving some red scratch marks in your wake. As soon as you see that, you instantly take your hands away, feeling so bad that you’ve hurt him unknowingly. 

But he puts them right back where they were. 

And he leans down to your neck to return the favor, biting and sucking the skin there to create dark red and purple bruises wherever he can. His thrusts become more powerful, angling down into you to make you see stars. The simmering heat in your stomach is stoked with each direct hit to your g-spot. It’s getting to be more of a challenge to breathe normally like this.

Especially as your third orgasm begins to crest. 

“‘M coming–” you warn him, but he knows already. He can feel it. 

He hovers over you, moving his hips precisely and slightly faster. He wants to watch you again. To see you fall apart for him again. Truthfully, he already feels a bit pussy-drunk. Starting to get addicted to the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him, coming for him so prettily. And you don’t disappoint him the third time either. 

You’re loud this time, unable to control your volume. The third orgasm hits you like a truck, and it only builds higher and higher instead of gradually diminishing. You cry out, halfway through it. Something feels unfinished about it, and you’re desperate to chase it. Luckily, San knows exactly what you need. 

He quickly lowers your legs from his shoulders, jumping right into action to catch this. Your legs are held back, like the previous position they were in, and he returns his other hand to your lower stomach, pressing down hard. You can feel him moving inside of you. Your head falls back and you moan loudly, suddenly feeling everything tenfold. 

The sound is obscene, definitely pornographic. Wet, sloshing sounds, accompanied by your loud cries and moans fill the warehouse-like room of the eighth floor. His cock prods your g-spot every single time, building something insanely powerful that you’ve never felt before. You grab his wrist, looking up at him with slight fear in your eyes, but he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s determined, if anything. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, so affectionately it makes your brain melt. 

He adjusts his hand on your stomach just a little further down. At the same time that you feel him rubbing your clit again, he ducks down to suck on one of your nipples, and fireworks explode behind your eyelids. The quadruple stimulation makes you scream. 

“Gonna make a mess for me, kitten? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock again?” 

You don’t even have time to nod or reply in any way. A strong surge of pleasure smashes into you from all sides, whiting out your vision. It’s a feeling of release unlike any other that you’ve felt before, much harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. He keeps fucking you through it until your pussy forces him out, watching your body shake uncontrollably underneath him, soaking the sheets below you, and his lower body. Now you know damn well what kind of ‘rough’ you’ll be getting from him: overstimulation. Making you cum until you beg him to stop. 

San growls at the sight. It burns into his brain, and he can already say for certain that he’ll be jerking off to the memory of this later tonight and for days to come. 

Just to prolong it, he taps his heavy cock against your pussy and clit again, enjoying how you try to squirm away from it. 

You’re so wet, it’s audible. Every tap is loud, and a thin, stringy mixture of his spit and your slick clings to him for as long as it can whenever he pulls away. You reach for him, not knowing exactly what you want, but knowing you want him closer to you, and he obliges. He leans down over you again, slowly sliding his length between your puffy, wet folds. 

A familiar, faint voice from the left is ignored totally by you and him, too busy coming down from the most intense high of your life, and him holding you through it.  

An aftershock rattles you from head to toe, and you gasp when you feel it. The intense pleasure you felt gives way to sudden emptiness, and you realize you do not have anything to clench down on anymore. Though his dick is right there, dragging up and down your outer lips, it feels so far away from where you actually want it. 

Thankfully, sensing your dilemma – and hearing you whine for it – he doesn’t make you wait any longer. In your post-orgasmic haze, he guides you over onto all fours, now facing the foot of the bed. Ever the gentleman, he moves your hair out of your face. However, you imagine it’s so the camera can see your fucked out, dazed expression. 

His cock slips back inside of you easily, without any resistance, and the two of you groan in unison. In both relief and pleasure.  

That familiar, faint voice comes back. Clearer this time, and closer as well. “San… San! We’re taking another break now.” 

San kisses your shoulder blade, barely paying attention. “Okay, have fun,” he brushes the voice off, impatiently. 

You’d laugh if you had any coherent thoughts or spare energy left. No, you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment, your body trembling around his cock, and so happy that he’s pushed back into you. Truthfully, you don’t even care if you’re stressing out the crew anymore. All of your thoughts are about San. 

San smooths a hand up your spine, slowly pushing inch by inch into your soaked hole. He shushes you gently when you whimper, interlacing his fingers with yours when you try to reach back to find his hand to hold.  

“I know, kitten, it’s okay. Just relax.”

Easier said than done. 

He lightly presses your lower back, signalling you to arch it for him a little more. You nearly regret it when you feel him deeper than before in this position. Your elbows threaten to buckle, body shaking like a leaf. Yet, you still want more. Even though you’re nearing a certain point, wavering between overexertion and exhaustion, you crave more. You want to chase that feeling with him again. Make him glad he asked you to come here. Make him come back for more. So, you grit your teeth and keep yourself from face-planting into the mattress. For now, at least.  

San’s powerful pace resumes in no time, stealing every breath from your lungs. Another vague, quiet plea falls from your lips, and in response, he squeezes your hips, pulling them back to meet every thrust. Your throat is raw from all the noise you’re making, and you know you’ll have to drink some tea or honey tonight to get your voice back to normal. Not this thin, broken voice you have now. Your lower back aches from staying in this position, but you do your best to ignore it. 

It helps that his cock is basically in your stomach, that does a lot to distract you from a mere ache in your back. It also helps that your pussy is extra sensitive, coming three times – twice in a row without a break – and squirting for the first time. On camera, no less. Your viewers are going to lose their fucking minds. The image of your donation box on your livestreams, and your Venmo accounts skyrocketing after this video releases is motivation enough for you to want him to make you do it again. 

Your back arches even more, hips grinding back against his to get more of him somehow. 

Such a little natural.     

“Mmm, there you go. That’s it. Keep fucking yourself on my cock, pretty girl.” 

You make a noise, halfway between a whine and a moan and do as he says. Your chest grazes the sheets below you, chin buried into the mattress and arms gripping the edge of the bed in front of you. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, a couple of stray tears threatening to fall. “You’re s-so fucking deep.” 

San groans, increasing the pace. You yelp when you feel him smack your ass, and again when he hits it a second and third time. By the time the third strike lands, he doesn’t even give you any time to process the stinging pain he’s left behind before there’s a new one on the back of your head. 

Slightly dizzy, it takes you a second to realize you’re upright, on your knees. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling at the roots, and the other rubbing incessant circles on your swollen clit. His chest presses into your back, and he moves your head to face him so he can kiss you again. Mind threatening to wipe completely, you can’t fight to hold back your tears anymore. You shudder violently, and he groans as he feels your body struggle to keep up with him. He knows you can take it, though. You’re a fighter, he can tell. 

“Doing so well,” he whispers in your ear, “such a good girl for me, baby. Knew you would be. Knew I’d get this pussy to fall apart on my dick. Thought about it so fucking much…”

You whine against his mouth, tears wetting his face now as well. The blatant admission that he had thought about you like this before today goes straight over your head. 

All you hear is his praise. You’re doing well. Good enough for him, like you were so stressed about being. Nothing else matters to you anymore, now that you’ve earned his approval. A proud smile creeps across your face, and he grins at the faraway look in your half-lidded eyes. You’re so far gone. Completely pleasure-drunk.  

The hand in your hair tightens again and loosens, like it’s an afterthought now. Just something for him to hold onto. To keep you steady, if anything. Warm pressure building and building again in your stomach, you round your back as another shiver wracks its way through your body, making your spine tingle. His hand moves down to hold you by the back of the neck, and he slows his pace just enough to guide you back down onto the bed. This time, totally flat. Your pussy forces him out at this new position, but his other hand is quick to spread one of your ass cheeks apart, cock sliding back inside of you. 

He doesn’t ease you into his pace anymore. The first brutal thrust makes your eyes roll back, and your jaw falls open. Your nails claw at the bedding, every muscle in your arms straining while you hold onto the fabric for dear life.   

He’s so fucking deep. Impossibly, almost. 

He may just make you cum like this, without even needing to touch your clit. He’s making you learn so much about what your body can do when in the right hands. No wonder people are so obsessed with him. He’s become so in tune with your body so quickly, just by paying explicit attention to you this whole time. It makes you really appreciate his expertise, because he could easily have just used what has worked for other girls in the past. He probably could’ve made you cum like that as well, but he tailors himself for each girl. Adapts for them. For you. 

And he’s learning you pretty well. Probably read you like a fucking book. 

Every precisely angled thrust punches a moan out from deep within your chest. Each sound is partly muffled by the bedding, and you try to keep quiet, not wanting to be annoying. You can’t help it, though. Not when it feels this good. Certainly not when another orgasm is building, more rapidly than the others. 

You squirm under him, toes curling and nails digging into the mattress. 

“I– mmf–! You’re… you’re gonna make me cum again,” you have to speak quickly before it hits you. 

San leans over you, hands planted right next to your shoulders, fucking you harder. “Give it to me, pretty girl. I want every fucking drop.” 

Someone dressed in all black stands right in front of you, pointing something towards you. It doesn’t register that it’s the camera guy with the handheld camera for a couple seconds. You imagine he’s zooming in, capturing everything. He must know the future audience does not want to miss a single second of how you react to coming again, and how San won’t let up on you once you do… again. 

Your eyes shut tight once your fourth climax thunders through you. Pure ecstasy erupts in every vein. Euphoria clouds your brain. The sheets beneath you two become even more soaked, and you can feel your release dripping down your thighs. You must’ve been loud because your throat feels scratchy and rough all of a sudden, but your head is in such a rush that you don’t even hear anything. 

San holds you by your throat now, making you keep your face up. 

Just as you predicted, San doesn’t stop or slow his pace whatsoever. True to his promise that he’s ‘gonna make you feel so good’. Well, that promise is currently turning you into a limp, fucked out mess. You’ve never had this many orgasms so quick in succession before. It’s making your hormones go absolutely wild, and you cry harder, wetting San’s hand with your tears. The camera loves it. 

There are some sounds near you that you can’t be bothered to discern, and you just lean into San’s hand on your throat. Fully intent on just letting him do whatever he wants to you at this point. He pretty much already is. Although, you’re not entirely sure how many more times you can cum without passing out. You hope he’ll stop before that happens. You don’t want to embarrass yourself like that. 

San subtly taps your throat, getting your attention, before raising your head a little higher by the throat. 

You blink stupidly up at the cameraman in front of you, eyes half-lidded and heavy, struggling to keep them open. You flinch a little when you see that there are two more people in front of you, the director included. When did everyone get so much closer to the bed? All of them, you notice, are at least semi-hard. Director Choi nods behind the camera, muttering inaudible praises. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles turning white, and pull them up towards your mouth to muffle your screams. Out of frame, Director Choi motions for an assistant to pull the sheets down, ripping your comfort away, exposing how loud you’re being. Tears sting your eyes, both from exertion and from the intense pleasure San is giving you. 

“Pussy’s so good… so tight and wet… could fuck you forever.” 

Director Choi silently motions for San to keep talking like that. 

San grunts, fighting to catch his breath enough to speak again. “Such a good girl… gonna make you cum again.” 

And he does. 

Before you even realize that it’s been simmering and building, it knocks into you sideways. This time, you can’t even scream. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out due to your body locking up. San releases your throat, worried that you’re not breathing – and he’s right. He slows down considerably, moving your hair away from your face to check on you. Your body slowly relaxes again underneath him, one muscle at a time, and a low, guttural groan tears itself from your throat. 

You can feel every inch of him dragging past your inner walls, and every slightest movement makes your pussy clench, trying to simultaneously push him out and suck him in further. Instead of continuing again, though, he pushes all the way into you one more time, and then stops. 

It’s somehow both torture and a relief. You feel so fucking full, but he isn’t doing anything to continue the dull flames that engulf your lower stomach, and yet you know it’s better than being empty. He could pull out, leave you to deal with that emptiness before you felt ready. He doesn’t. Appreciative thoughts swirl around your head and you cry harder, trying to hide your tears in the sheets. 

When the camera crew and director see that he’s not continuing, they call for another break. Everyone moves away, and there’s no longer a black cloud in front of you. 

San doesn’t move an inch, though.  

He brushes through your hair with his fingers, comforting you. He’s intent on waiting until you calm down, not wanting to push you too far before you’re ready. He knows he went a little crazy, instantly getting addicted to the feeling of you coming around his dick, and you deserve a break. As long as you need. 

But you’re addicted yourself. A real glutton for the pleasure he’s given you thus far. You push back and wiggle against him, trying to get him to move again. His hands push you down by your hips, keeping them still. You whine at the denial, looking over your shoulder at him with teary, red eyes. He almost gives in. 

“I know, baby. Just relax with me for a moment.” 

You pout, another tear roaming down your cheek. Deep down, you know he’s right. Your body has been pleading for a break two orgasms ago. It’s high time you listen to it. You collapse, finally letting yourself relax, solely focusing on the quiet murmur of the crew off to the side, and San’s fingers running through your hair. 

It’s a nice moment.  

Nicer still when San litters your shoulders and back with gentle kisses, helping you calm down. Clearer thoughts slowly begin to reenter your mind, and your breaths even out, relatively back to normal. Better than the mixture of shallow inhales, long periods of holding your breath, and gasps for air. Because of the improved air intake, your head finally feels like it’s stopped swimming. Little by little, your energy comes back. 

You take a deep inhale, sighing contently as you exhale it back out. Looking behind you again, you catch him already watching you. 

“Hi,” you mumble, half-smiling.

San smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. “Hey, pretty girl. Feel okay?” 

You nod, humming, and you subtly push back against him. The feeling of his cock pressing into you doesn’t shock your body as much as it did before. Now it’s a welcome, familiar feeling. Sought after. You really are addicted. Maybe even insatiable when it comes to how well he fucks you. 

With the other hand, he places a water bottle in front of your face, the same one with a straw poked through the cap from before. You don’t bother wondering where he got it from. You have a pretty good idea. They’re always everywhere during a break. 

Once you’re done with the bottle, he places it against one of the pillows, where it will no doubt be collected by a production assistant within seconds. 

You push back again, trying to get him to move. You hear him chuckle behind you. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” 

Instead of contradicting his statement, you just nod. Why lie? 

“Wanna make you cum too,” 

San hums, just barely rolling his hips into yours. “How do you wanna do that, kitten?” 

You steel yourself for what you’re about to do. Hoping he will let you go through with your plan, you pull yourself away from him, and he slips out of you. The emptiness hits just as hard as you thought it would, and you whimper at the initial feeling. If all goes to plan, you won't be for long. 

San watches you carefully as you turn to face him on the bed, gently pushing him back against the pillows. His hands instinctually rest on your hips as you straddle him, and he looks up at you, patiently waiting for your next move. At least, coming across as patient externally. You don’t miss how his dick twitches, eager to be engulfed by your warmth again. He must feel something equivalent to the emptiness you felt when you pulled away. 

You’ll fix that gladly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the crew start to come back to their spots – lights, camera, microphones. They must have learned not to stay too far away when it comes to filming you two. You do your best to hide your grin. 

San helps you line up the head of his cock to your entrance, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders as you slowly sink down. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows furrowing as he exhales shakily. Following his lead, you don’t give him much time to adjust before you start moving. 

You swear you hear him whimper. Just once, but you catch it nevertheless. 

He keeps his eyes down, locked between you, watching your cunt swallow his dick over and over again. You bite your lip, nails digging into his shoulders as his hands become more firm on your hips. The next time you sink down, he pulls you down hard. You gasp, not expecting it, and he attacks your lips once again. 

You kiss him back just as eagerly, increasing your pace. Your thighs already start to protest from the strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care or stop. Not when he’s moaning into your mouth like this. Every noise you pull out of him is pure music to your ears. A rhapsody you could hear a thousand times and not get bored of. You pull away from his lips just to hear him clearer, and he chases you. He nips your bottom lip, one of his hands slowly travelling up to knead one of your boobs again. 

Breaths mingling, you shiver in his hold. His other hand dips down to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh there as you bounce on his cock. 

The heat of it all consumes you, drives you to get him to cum. You want to hear him. You want to repay him for making you cum four times, and put in just as much effort. 

It’s a battle to try and ignore your own pleasure, building up for a fifth time. You’re not convinced you can cum again. However, now you’re willing to see what happens. If you faint, you faint. 

You clench around him on purpose, grinding into him and rolling your hips, your gummy walls massaging his length and successfully driving him crazy. His head falls back against the headboard, and his fingers begin to leave bruises on your skin. 

“So fucking good,” he hisses, “such a good girl… gonna make me cum so hard.” 

The thought and image that accompanies it gives you a second wind of energy. Your hands move to his chest, and you press down as you continue to fuck him. 

“Want you to cum inside me,” you beg him, hot breath hitting his neck. You feel him shudder underneath you. 

San only nods, unable to speak. You lick a stripe up his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his sweat and kissing the hinge of his jaw. Right next to his ear, you moan again, enjoying how he tenses up. 

Suddenly, both of his arms are wrapped around your waist, and he sits up a little more. One of his hands presses into your upper back, supporting you as he starts fucking up into you, seamlessly matching your rhythm. 

He lets out a choked moan, cutting it off by kissing you one more time before his eyes shut tight. 

“Gonna cum…fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, kitten. Gonna feel me for days.” 

You whine at his words, and he seems to have worked himself up further by saying it as well. 

“Please, sir, need your cum inside of me. Please give it to me–” 

San pushes you down onto your back before you can blink. Your legs wrap around him, and the pleasure increases for you almost instantaneously. When you look down, you swear you can see a slight bulge in your stomach. His lips attach to your neck, sucking and biting to muffle his moans as much as possible. Every sound he makes is so pretty. 

He pounds into you without any more room for mercy, concentrating on coming again. And he can feel that you’re close again too. 

“Cum with me,” he pants against your neck, “give me one more. Let me feel your pretty cunt cum on my cock one more time, baby.”          

One more. You nod, eyelids growing heavy again. Everything is perfect in this moment. The feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the head of it pressing against your g-spot and fanning the flames of your arousal until it engulfs you like wildfire; his soft, plush lips on your neck, his words in your ear, and his warm, firm skin under your hands. 

As if that all wasn’t enough, San spits on his fingers and starts to rub your clit again. 

Everything adds up to push you over the edge. 

You cry out, body completely spent as you weakly squirt for him again. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, adrenaline and euphoria taking turns to run through your bloodstream. The sheets beneath you are completely soaked through. Every sense is both heightened and dulled. Exhaustion pulls itself over you like a weighted blanket. 

And your climax triggers his.

True to his word, he comes deep inside of you, filling you up until it’s leaking. The additional warmth is comforting for a second, until your stomach begins to cramp a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but just enough for you to notice. You’re definitely not used to coming this much. 

San shudders violently before dropping to his elbows, careful not to crush you under his weight. Both of you catch your breaths, chests heaving as you coax air back into your lungs. You tangle one of your hands in his hair, holding him close to you as you take this moment to settle down. He buries his face in your neck, small, audible sighs occasionally escaping him. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s never cum that hard before. Years of experience behind him, sure, he’s gotten close to this level, but never was able to reach it until now. 

Reluctantly, he slowly drags himself out of your pussy, eyes immediately glancing down to see his cum leaking out. He smirks as he watches you fight to keep it inside, not wanting to let it go yet. 

Then, like he does every single time, he ducks down to lick one more long, slow path up your pussy. Entrance to clit. A silent ‘thank you’. You whimper, legs closing when he pulls away. 

“Cut! Print it.” 

And he’s gone. 

You feel you just got a violent slap back into reality. 

What…just happened? You slowly push yourself up, with admittedly great difficulty. 

Half of the staff flutter around you, while the others flock to San’s side, covering him up in his robe and starting to lead him towards his dressing room. The production assistants assigned to you don’t say much, handing you the same water bottle as before and urging you to drink it all. You watch the cameraman and the director talk, leisurely packing everything up. Just another day at the office. It’s all over just like that. 

Meanwhile, you feel… stunned. Maybe even a little empty, and not just physically this time. You never thought about how aftercare is pretty much nonexistent in shoots like this. Everything is strictly business. Professional. Void of any emotion for the other ‘actor’. Still, as someone runs a brush through your messy hair, and someone else wraps a silk robe over your shoulders, you find that you cannot tear your gaze away from the direction of San’s dressing room door. Your eyes threaten to tear up, a dull yet powerful feeling of rejection blooming in your chest. 

Maybe you aren’t cut out for this type of thing, no matter how many offers you receive. Not if this is how it ends, as if nothing happened. Like none of it mattered. Another notch in Choi San’s belt. 

Director Choi suddenly appears in front of you, and you’re quick to act like nothing is wrong. “You did great,” he says, “thank you for your time today.” 

You manage a fake smile and thank him as well, apologizing for any issues you may have caused by being impatient or loud. 

He simply waves it off, “Happens more than you think. Have a good rest of your night, Miss Y/L/N. Maybe we’ll work together again in the future.” 

‘Maybe’. 

His words stick to you, gnawing at your skin like leeches. He truly didn’t mean to make you feel worse, you know that, and yet he really drove home just how… common you feel. Not special whatsoever after all. 

You imagine going back home and going live again. The notorious four exclusive viewers will want to know how it went, and you’re going to have to tell them something. You doubt you’ll be able to lie. Woo will probably be able to tell something’s wrong. 

Maybe, once this check hits, you can just disappear for the foreseeable future. If you’re astronomically lucky, everyone will forget it happened so you won’t have to relive the very tail end of it. You run a hand through your hair. You’re so fucking dramatic.

It hurts a little extra when even Hongjoong doesn't stick around to check in on you, tending to his star first and foremost. You can’t say you really blame him, though – that is his job. San should be his priority. 

It’s just that you desperately wish for a friendly face, or someone to genuinely check in with you. Comfort you. 

Not to be surrounded by strangers who won’t look you in the eye.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You’re not sure what the plan is. 

You don’t even know if he’s still here. But here you are, standing in front of his dressing room door like a fucking idiot. Another girl obsessed with him. Nothing new, just another number they’ll have to delete. 

Even so, you want to try and talk to him. Ask him why the fuck he left in such a hurry. Your hands readjust their grip on your purse, with half a mind to swing it at whoever opens the door. 

Gathering up all the courage imaginable, your hand raises in a fist, and you softly knock on the door three times. 

To be honest, you’re not really expecting a response. Half of the staff are gone already, it’s unlikely that he’d want to stick around here any longer than he has to. When you checked the time on your phone in your dressing room, you were surprised to see that it’s already nearing nine o’clock. Your stomach had growled almost immediately upon seeing it. You look over your shoulder, watching the rest of the staff still here turning off some of the lights and gathering wires.    

Distracted, you jump about a mile in the air when the door opens, revealing San, now also dressed and looking like he’s ready to leave. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” he says, so casually. “What’re you still doing here?” 

Embarrassment hits you like a brick wall. Yep, just another girl on the callsheet that stuck around to beg him for more. Ugh. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” you say, already giving up on the whole idea of confronting him. Britney can’t help you now. 

You start to turn on your heel, but he opens the door wider, stepping aside as if to invite you in. “No, no. Not bothering me. What’s up?” 

Your mouth dries. Okay, now you got to follow through. But god… does he really not know? You wonder if this has never come up before. If all of the girls before you are just collectively tougher than you emotionally and can handle no aftercare, no follow up, nothing. You should be, too, honestly. You know what porn is and what it isn’t. It’s not exactly a dating service. Two hot people fuck each other and go their separate ways, money wired to them before their heads hit the pillow at night. 

Still… you and Yeosang aren’t dating, and after your collab with him, he redressed you and cuddled you for an hour straight. He made sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that the friendship is still intact. You weren’t being used. 

You hesitate to step into his dressing room, and ultimately decide to just stay put. Stand your ground. You don’t want to take too long, you just need an answer. 

Out with it. 

“I was just wondering why you left so quickly? Did I do something to offend you in any way?”  

San blinks, slight confusion clouding his face. “Oh, no, I just– I saw your form. Didn’t want to hang around and make you uncomfortable.” 

Now you stare at him, just as confused. “Wait, what? What about my form?” 

“You checked off ‘Hard No’ to aftercare.”  

…Pardon? 

No way. 

He must see the bewilderment in your face because he fishes his phone out of his pocket to show you. 

“Yeah, Hongjoong said…” he trails off, the light of his phone screen reflecting in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah, look.” 

He holds his phone up to show you, and you step closer to it, squinting to see for yourself. Sure enough, amidst all of the other dozens of checkmarks, you accidentally fucked yourself over and selected ‘Hard No’ for aftercare. Luckily, you didn’t select one of the bodily fluid options as a ‘Hard Yes’ in your evident past confusion. You bury your face in your hands. 

“Oh my god. That was meant to be a ‘Hard Yes’.” You groan. Guilt threatens to eat you alive for all your negative thoughts towards him, and the texts you sent Yeosang while in your dressing room after the fact. You’re going to have to do some serious damage control to get Yeosang to not hate him forever. It’ll surely start with a screenshot of the form you fucked up, followed by a dramatic statement of your stupidity. 

San pockets his phone again, almost sheepish. He hesitantly steps closer to you, unsure of how to fix this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, “I should’ve double checked with you.” 

“No, no, please don’t blame yourself when it’s my own mistake.” 

“Still…” he trails off, looking down at the floor. 

It hits you that he’s really hurt by this. Hurt for you. 

“San…” you tilt your head to try and meet his eye. “It’s alright, really. I feel much better now that I know it wasn’t on purpose or because I did something wrong.” 

“I’d never do that to you, or anybody. I always stress how important aftercare is to the directors I work with so they don’t try to rush through it.” San runs a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he speaks, exasperated. You vaguely remember him saying something akin to that in one of the interviews that you watched. 

Damn, he really is nice. Here you were at the start of this, thinking he’d be a cocky son of a bitch who has the world at his feet, and anything he wants within arms reach. The last two parts of that description may be right, but your assumed attitude is definitely not. Well… maybe not entirely. The cockiness isn’t used to make anyone feel small, that’s the important difference. It’s confidence, more than anything. 

“I know,” you smile, trying to make him feel better. “Really, it’s okay.” 

He seems unconvinced. “Can I make it up to you in some way?” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. If you wouldn’t immediately cringe at yourself for doing so, you’d maybe ask for a hug or something. Physical contact in any way to comfort you, make you believe it. But the guilt he obviously feels is enough. The knowledge that he truly thought it’s something you were so against, and he respected it anyway, is more than enough. 

“You don’t have to, San.” 

“I want to, Y/N.” 

Your pulse skips a beat, wondering what he has in mind. The way he said it was so final, like he made up his mind already. His phone reappears in his hand, texting someone quickly and sending it off. He then reaches into his dressing room, turning off the light after doing a quick scan of it and closing the door behind him. 

“Can I walk you out?” 

That, you’ll allow. 

“Sure. Are you going home?” You ask, changing the subject as the two of you start walking towards the exit doors. 

“Nah, not yet. There’s a gym on this floor I’m gonna go to first.” 

You just nod in response, wondering how on earth he has the energy to go to the gym right now. You have a very special date with your bed for the foreseeable future. It’s highly doubtful that you’ll wake up before three in the afternoon. Truthfully, you can’t wait. Maybe you’ll sleep off some of the soreness you’re sure to have tomorrow. 

“Oh, by the way, do you have an agent?” San asks you out of nowhere, right before you get to the doors. 

You blink once. Twice, processing. “No…?” 

Yeosang’s the only one who may even come close. He’s the one you ask before doing anything, wanting his opinion and blessing. But technically and professionally, no, you’re an independent artist as far as you’re concerned. 

“I’d find one soon,” San says, glancing towards the bed, soaked through. “You’re about to get a lot of offers.” 

You blush furiously, reminded of everything that transpired between you barely an hour ago. “Maybe I should just take yours.” 

San groans, “Honestly, do it. I’m sure Joong could use a break from my bullshit.” 

You laugh, trying to hide it with your hand. San pretends to be offended that you agree, clutching his heart in betrayal, which makes you laugh harder. The doors push open, the white fluorescent lights blinding both of you after being so used to the golden studio lights on set. 

“Maybe I will let you have him,” he says, a smirk growing across his face. “It’s good manners.” 

He looks at you like he knows something you don’t, and it bothers you. The word choice sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Before you can ask, he steps closer to you, invading your personal space for the first time since being intimate with each other. You hold your breath. 

“Goodnight, baby.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking down towards the opposite end of the hallway, where you can only assume is the direction of the gym. 

Fuckin’ hell… 

You stand there like an idiot for another couple of seconds, still processing what just happened in the span of five minutes. You also try to figure out the implication behind his word choice. ‘Manners’. It bugs you so much, you know you heard something about it recently, but can’t pinpoint where or when. 

The question of what he meant follows you all the way to the lobby. You press the down button on autopilot, just now remembering to text the driver to tell him that you’re ready to be picked up downstairs and taken home. From down the hallway, you hear the door to the studio swing open again – probably some of the crew heading home as well. You glance towards the stairs, not exactly jumping at the chance to be stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers who watched you have sex an hour ago. 

But the footsteps that follow the sound of the door closing are what gives you pause. They’re hurried, and headed towards the lobby. The elevator dings behind you. You turn around just as the mystery runner comes around the corner. 

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Kim–”  

Hongjoong jogs over to you, catching you before the elevator doors open. 

“Sorry if I startled you. San is wondering if we can arrange another collab, but this time on your livestream.” He speaks quickly, like time is of the essence.  

You stutter, brain trying to connect with your vocal cords. 

“What?” You ask, even though you heard and processed everything Hongjoong said just fine. You’re just wondering if you actually heard him right. Today just keeps getting stranger and stranger. More interesting, definitely. 

He’s quick to repeat himself, almost pleading with his eyes for you to say ‘yes’. 

At least with the emails you had some time to think everything over. Now Hongjoong is staring dead at you, waiting for the response he hopes to hear. 

You can’t help it. You want to make him chase you again. 

“Tell him I’ll think about it,” you say as sweetly as possible, stepping into the elevator. 

You try not to enjoy the perplexed look on Hongjoong’s face until the doors close completely. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You have no idea how he does it, truly. 

Everything in his world is immediate. You’re not used to it whatsoever. 

Those are the thoughts you have as you step out of the elevator in your apartment building, walking up to your door. You're more than ready to throw your shit down in the kitchen and go the fuck to bed. Your phone is in the process of being fished out of your pocket, intent on texting Yeosang to ask if he's around for a debrief.

You stop dead in your tracks when you look up, about to unlock the front door. Perched tall and proud, is a beautiful bouquet of purple flowers in a glass vase right outside your door. A card is placed in between the overlapping petals, and you can’t help but gawk at the sight of it. 

How the hell did he find your address? 

Oh– Hongjoong, probably. Your initial creeped-out feeling vanishes. Hongjoong can just find anything for San, you’re sure. 

Punching in the keycode to your door, and switching the kitchen lights on, you place the flowers on the counter, taking a second to admire them. Purple, you note. Your favorite. Again, Hongjoong must have told him, but you can’t help but smile – he really did want to make it up to you. 

You pluck the small card from the flowers and read it, sitting down at your kitchen island. 

Hope you had a good time today. 

Sorry for being such a stupid slut </3

-San

Your smile widens, laughing and rereading it. You flip it over, and on the back is a phone number, scrawled in blue ink. 

Perhaps you missed a hidden clause in the forms that makes you promise to not fall in love with him. 

You hope not. 

[end of part one].

[prettywoogi]

my shinsegye you will forever be very very dear to me ☹️💗

[prettywoogi]

oh cha segye you will forever be my number one favorite down bad yearner <3

[dingyuxi]

MY ROYAL NEMESIS 멋진신세계 (2026)

[prettywoogi]

my royal nemesis was so PEAKKKKK. peak romcom peak cinema peak everything. ugh im going to miss it so bad