♡° summary. . . just good ole fashion, desperate, needy post-concert sex with san because he was just too much while performing for you to keep it in your pants. fully intentional on his end.
♡° includes. . . bottom!reader, idol!san, public sex, grinding, finger sucking, slight orgasm prolonging, unprotected sex (dont irl!!)
♡° wc. . . 2.6k
°A/N. . . this really came out of no where,, i just saw so many more concert clips coming out and i just needed to so badly because he is frustratingly sexy. hope you enjoyyy
san was hot.
so fucking hot.
and you absolutely hated him for it.
from the way his gorgeous bronze skin radiated under the stage lights and his razor sharp jaw flexed as he danced, his perfectly styled hair never seen out of place, to his devilishly sexy grin and the newfound bulging biceps that were proudly on display in the slim fit tank top he was dedicated to wearing every show.
ateez was only 15 minutes into their setlist and you were already fighting every urge to palm your throbbing dick under your jeans in front of the busy staff.
you received a number of privileges as the boyfriend, as did all of ateez's partners, such as your backstage access and first hand look at how the idol life was ran behind the scenes.
as a collective, ateez tried to not let too many of their current significant others backstage at one time in order to not disrupt the staff, who were very obviously annoyed by your presence. but you'd be lying if you said that kept a handful of you from swarming together towards the end of each show, horny and ready to jump your mens' bones as soon as they finished their final bow.
but alas, it was just you today - san's ridiculously aroused boyfriend with no company to distract him from holding back moans every time san thrusted his hips towards the crowd.
you probably wouldn't have been so bothered already if san hadn't approached you right before taking the stage, dressed in his bomb-bag styled crop top, revealing just a teasing amount of his chiseled abs.
as expected, he refused to go on stage without his favorite pre-show make out tradition. however this time, it was something about the way he was wantonly moaning into your mouth that had a heat igniting your core faster than usual. the vibrations being sent through your body and into the cool steel beams you were pressed against had your pants tightening in no time. just when he had finally rocked his hips into yours, giving your hardened member pleasurable friction, it all to ended too soon as mingi interrupted to rush his bandmate on stage.
as he was being dragged away, san simply shrugged in your direction, smirking at your desperate expression. he flashed you a wink, along with his familiar i'll make it up to you look.
you were definitely gonna hold him to it.
and now here you were, pupils dilating with lust as you watched the monitor zoom in on san licking his teeth agonizingly slow while staring into the camera. he offered another one of his shit eating grins, and you almost came in your own pants untouched, disguising a breathy whimper with a cough.
you considered sneaking off to the restroom to rub one out so you could at least focus on the concert, but you felt paralyzed, unable to move or take your eyes off of the whorishly sexy choi san.
you needed him in a way that felt more torturous than ever before, but there was nothing you could do besides wait it out.
it was a grueling couple of hours - your cheeks so hot throughout the duration of the show that you actually thought you might melt. you could only handle one more of san's seductive eye rolls or the unbuttoning of his shirt before you finally gave in and went off to satisfy yourself.
but as all storms pass, you saw light at the end of the tunnel as you noticed the concert was finally ending. the boys offered the roaring crowd a bow and began to wave as they fled the stage.
you watched stagnantly as the guys ducked away into their dressing room, before bursting in there yourself.
immediately you spotted san, whose eyes were covered by his black cap as his head was thrown back - gulping down a bottle of water. his protruding adams apple teased you as it bobbed, covered in a reflective sheen of sweat that had you squirming in place. you cleared your throat at the door way, all eight of their heads turning towards you.
as soon as san saw you, he smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. he could instantly read your mood - knowing you all too well to miss how needy of a state you were in.
"hey baby," he spoke casually, nearly cut off as you rushed up to him and smashed your lips into his.
you sighed as you felt his plush lips envelope yours in a warm embrace, the need you felt causing him to taste even better than you remember. when he pulled back to disconnect your lips, your hands stopped him in place so you could continue laying a fury of kisses to his lips and honestly anything else your mouth could reach. you felt him smirking at the desperate act, along with the dramatic groans of his members behind him.
you could hear wooyoung grumbling something about how you two needed to get a room as san shuffled you back towards the door, holding you back by the shoulders to pause your insatiable actions. you couldn't even bring yourself to be embarrassed in front of the other members like you usually were. the only thoughts running through your head were the feeling of san finally touching your body, and his somehow still prominent cologne taking over your senses.
"relax babe," he cooed as he shut the dressing room door behind him when you both finally exited. "someone missed me, huh."
"oh my god, san. i need you, please." you shamelessly begged, knees feeling weak as his eyes bore down into yours. "somewhere, anywhere, just now. please."
he felt your hands shakily claw against his exposed, muscular collarbones, and you felt the vibration as he groaned. to no one's surprised, he was growing aroused at how pliant you were becoming for him.
before you knew it your back was pressed firmly to a different door, inside of a room you were too dizzy to even analyze as san's lips worked passionately against yours. his large hand laid flat next to your head against the door while you kissed him back with even more fervor, moaning when you let go of his neck to feel along the flexed muscles of his arm.
"so fucking needy for me, hm?" san mumbled against your lips as his free hand traveled up your shirt.
the coolness of his hand sent goosebumps along your body as he gripped your torso - both from the chill and from the excitement of his thumb grazing one of your nipples.
before you could respond, san dipped down to sink his teeth into the sensitive spot of your neck, causing you to moan loudly and nearly fall to your knees.
san immediately returned to your mouth, slipping his tongue inside to muffle your sounds while continuing to devour you whole.
"shhh, don't want everyone to know what i'm doing to you in here, right?" he warned. you could only whine in response, and he chuckled, the low sound causing your cock to harden beyond belief.
san continued to feed you sloppy, opened-mouth kisses, his tongue laving over yours only making you feel weaker. your ravaging hands hastily pushed the black cap off of his head to rake your fingers through his damp raven locks. he pushed his toned body fully against yours, and was most likely the only thing that kept you from dropping to the floor.
san seemed to pick up on the intensity of your erection as ground your hips forward, grazing his own bulge. he hissed at the pleasure, looking down before cocking an eyebrow up at you.
you usually loved san's smile, but you could only squirm whenever you saw it in this context, knowing damn well how much advantage he had over you.
"oh someone's really missed me."
he surged forward to place another searing kiss to your lips before gripping both of your cheeks between with his thumb and index finger, forcing your head to the side as he licked a slow stripe up your jaw while grinding his hardened cock over yours once more.
again, you almost spilled in your own jeans.
"san, san-" you could only repeat his name in a feeble tone.
your boyfriend knew you were begging for more without even needing to say much else, and it was boosting his ego through the roof. he must've also felt you shaking, your poor hands trembling as they needily roamed the patches of his sculpted body that his tank top allowed to be exposed.
your hands dipped underneath his shirt, not minding the sweat one bit as you felt the rippling of his muscles as you attached your mouth to san's neck, sucking salaciously on the thickness of his column as if he were the best thing you'd ever tasted - because he was.
the deep groan that he released in your ear only egged you on, taking the liberty to lick up his own neck before attacking his jaw, nipping to your heart's desires. you wondered how his skin could still be so supple after such a long concert, but he was constantly blowing your mind in all sorts of ways. this fucker really was perfect.
"prince, if you don't stop, i'm gonna have to fuck you right on that couch."
your dick twitched in your pants at his comment, hoping it was a promise rather than a threat. you had been so wrapped up in the phenomenon that was choi san that you hadn't even noticed there was a couch in the lowly dimmed room.
you lifted a leg to wrap around his waist, pressing your bulges together tighter, making you both dizzy. then, taking his earlobe inbetween your teeth, you suckled on it gently before releasing it with a pop.
"god, i don't think i want anything more than that."
the innocence, yet desperation in your feeble tone caused san to snap. within seconds his hands firmly grasped both of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up in his hold while attacking your mouth with his with much more intensity as he walked you over to the old leather couch and plopped you down on it.
san rose up to quickly strip himself of his tank top, hardly giving you time to ogle as his firm abs and chest before you teeth were clashing once more. you struggled to keep up with the overwhelming pace of his lips as he popped open your button-up shirt, yanking it off of your body.
without missing a beat, the black haired idol shimmied down your body, your loud pants turning to whimpers as he tugged one of your nipples between his teeth. he lathered your exposed nub with the warm wetness of his mouth, his cheeks dimpling at the action. he then tapped his fingers against your lips, you latching on to them without hesitation. obediently sucking his digits and swirling your pink muscle around them, you groaned at the slightly salty satisfaction.
san withdrew his fingers from your mouth once they were nice and coated, and began sucking on your other neglected nipple as his wet fingers went on to tweak the previous.
you were writhing underneath him, just like he liked it, not letting up on you until he found it necessary. when you finally felt him come to a stop, you almost whined out of discontent until you heard the sound of his belt buckle clicking.
shooting your eyes open, you observed as san swiftly removed his pants, aiding you in removing yours as well.
"oh my, look at all of this." san hummed once your jeans were discarded, eyes darkening upon seeing the wet patch of precum on your boxers. "did i do that, babe?"
"please san, just fuck me." was all you could manage, hands reaching out to grab him.
he lowered himself into your embrace happily, loving how your hands smoothed down his naked body while he rid you both of your underwear.
"you've been so patient, love. i'm so proud of you. turn around for me." your boyfriend spoke in a firm but sweet tone, hands helping you adjust yourself with your ass in the air.
thankfully, these little excursions of yours were nothing new, so you were practically already prepped for him. still, san didn't fail to knead both of your smooth ass cheeks in his hands, holding them steadily as he leaned down to lick a fat strip over your entrance for good measure.
you called out in pleasure, gripping the sofa arm for stability.
"mmm, taste extra good when needy for me," san groaned. "ready for me, baby?"
"yes, always ready."
when san bottomed out in you in one long, smooth stroke, you felt your soul practically project from your body.
it was like this everytime, without fail. the entirety of san's girth gliding inside of you, slowly working you open with languid, repetitive strokes was all you needed to tame the hormonal beast that raged inside you.
san's dancers hips never faltered once as he would rhythmically pull out and push into you, hitting that perfect spot in rapid succession. both of his hands held your hips as his strong thighs kept his solid rocking motions sailing.
throwing his head back, san lost his own motive of keeping quiet when he felt how tightly your hole sucked him in. it was hard for him to not lose his sanity with you, when your body consistently responded to him so beautifully.
he finally came back when he heard a meek "babe, i-i'm so close" from your tender lips. quickly, he pulled out of you. not out of punishment, but it didn't cease the frustrated whimpers from you any less. san readjusted hismelf to sit upright against the couch cushion, deliciously spreading his legs for just enough room for you to fit on his lap.
he helped you hover over him, a floodgate of arousal filling his eyes as he watched you bite your bottom lip while sinking back down on to him. you grabbed san's shoulders as you started to tremble once more, rocking back and forth on his lap before you begun to bounce, feeling the stretch at a new angle.
san returned to placing searing kisses on the center of your throat, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. you knew he was reaching his high as well when you felt his hips start stuttering.
"baby, come with me." he whispered, releasing a breathy moan as he thrusted his hips upwards to meet yours.
that was all you needed to hear before rolling your hips forward one more time, feeling the rigid pleasure of his abs as you released your milky liquids all over his chest. you felt him paint the inside of your walls shortly after, a synchronous moan emitting from the both of you.
plopping forward into his embrace, you shakily placed kisses along his shoulder and neck, running your hands through his hair once more as san wrapped his strong arms around you. too satisfied to worry about the stickiness between you too.
"shit, baby. i love you. you were so good, thanks for waiting." he panted, hints of his usual cheerful tone returning to his voice.
"anytime, babe. but god, never make me wait that long again." you replied, exchanging giggles between the two of you.
you suddenly heard a choir of foot steps quickly approaching the nearby door, both of you slightly tensing. neither of you had it in you to move, however, fully fucked and blissed out while enjoying each others embrace.
we think mark's goofy ass is #over bc he done fucked around one too many times and kpop fans can't even blame a company this time 😂
i used to love him badddd but i'm sorry he's spiritually a lil white boy from canada & it's time to hold these men accountable.
obvi american history is not the center of the world but ppl gotta stop pulling excuses out of they ass. if koreans can blackface and do parodies of slavery as entertainment u can bet their ass a boy who grew up in the americas can recognize such a controversial & hateful flags
you and jaehyun keep hooking up casually until one night finally forces both of you to admit you’re in love.
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 6.5k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, bottom!male reader, fwb to lovers, unprotected sex (p in a), rimming, praise kink, college!au, handjob, blowjob, double stimulation, begging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, body worship, big dick!jaehyun, creampie, manhandling, yearning, cum eating, accidental confession, aftercare.
it started, like most things between you and jaehyun, without a lot of talking.
that was kind of the point, actually.
the whole friends with benefits thing worked because you two had known each other long enough to skip the awkward parts. you'd been friends since freshman orientation, when jaehyun had sat next to you in intro to psych and asked to borrow a pen. three years later, and he was still borrowing your pens, still showing up at your door with takeout and that stupidly pretty smile, still falling into your space like he belonged there.
and he did belong there, as a friend.
that was the deal; no feelings, no strings, just two people who happened to be very good at making each other feel good.
it had started last semester, after a party where you'd both had too much to drink and jaehyun had kissed you in the hallway of his dorm building. you'd expected it to be awkward after that, but it wasn't; jaehyun had just looked at you the next morning with those big brown eyes and said, "that was nice. we should do that again. if you want."
it was casual, it was easy; exactly what you needed.
so that's what you did. you'd text jaehyun when you were stressed or lonely or just horny, and he'd show up, or he'd text you, and you'd show up. it was convenient, and it was good, and you never thought about it more than that.
you never really thought about the way jaehyun looked at you sometimes, so soft and so wondering, like he was trying to memorize your face. you never thought about how careful jaehyun was with you, how he always made sure you cum first, how he held you after even though you'd never asked him to. you never thought about the fact that jaehyun had stopped hooking up with anyone else entirely, even though you'd never discussed exclusivity.
you didn't really think about any of it, because thinking about it would mean acknowledging that something had shifted, and you weren't ready for that yet; you liked what you had, and you didn't want to lose it.
jaehyun felt the same way.
at least, that's what he told himself every single day.
because the truth was, jaehyun had been in love with you for months, maybe longer, maybe since that first day in psych when you'd handed him a pen and smiled at him like you'd known him forever. he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, only that somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being just his friend and started being everything.
the friends with benefits thing had seemed like a good idea at the time; a way to be close to you, to touch you, to have you in a way that felt intimate without having to say the words he was terrified to speak. he'd thought it would satisfy something in him, this arrangement.
oh, he'd been so wrong.
it only made it worse — every single time jaehyun had you underneath him, every single time you moaned his name, every single time you looked at him with that hazy pleasure in your eyes, jaehyun fell a little deeper. and he couldn't say anything, because saying anything would ruin it. you'd made it clear from the start that this was casual. you'd said the words yourself, that night after the first time;
"i'm not looking for a relationship, jaehyun. i just want this. just us, like this."
so he'd nodded and said okay, and he'd locked his feelings away in a box and pretended they didn't exist.
but the box was getting full, and tonight, it was about to burst.
it was a friday night in late october, the kind of night where the air was crisp and the leaves were falling and everything felt a little bit electric.
you'd texted jaehyun around nine, a simple "you busy?" followed by the eggplant emoji simply because you were mature like that. jaehyun’s response came less than a minute later; "never for you. come over."
so here you were, standing outside his dorm room in a hoodie and sweatpants, your heart beating a little faster than it should. you knocked twice, the way you always did, and the door opened almost immediately.
jaehyun stood in the doorway, and god, he was so pretty it actually hurt; he was wearing gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a simple white t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your mouth water. his hair was dark and slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and his skin had that warm glow it always got after a shower.
his eyes found yours immediately, soft and familiar, and he smiled that small smile that made his dimples appear.
"hey," jaehyun said, stepping aside to let you in.
"hey," you said back, and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when his hand brushed your lower back as you walked past him.
his dorm room was small and messy in the way all college dorms were messy; clothes draped over the desk chair, textbooks stacked on the floor, a half-empty cup of coffee on the nightstand. but it smelled like jaehyun — clean laundry and something woodsy, like strawberry or vanilla — and it felt safe in a way you couldn't explain.
jaehyun closed the door behind you and leaned against it, watching you with that quiet intensity he had.
he didn't say anything, just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. he always did that. it used to make you uncomfortable, but now you found it endearing.
"horrible week," you said by way of explanation, kicking off your shoes.
jaehyun nodded like he understood. he always understood.
"want to talk about it?"
you shook your head. "want to not think about it."
another nod, and then jaehyun pushed off the door and crossed the room toward you, and his hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. his touch was gentle, always gentle, like you were something so precious.
"okay," he said softly. "i can help with that."
and then jaehyun kissed you.
it started slow, the way it always did with jaehyun; his lips were so warm and so soft, moving against yours with a patience that drove you crazy. he never rushed, never pushed, he just kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.
you let your hands find his waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, and you pulled him closer. jaehyun made a small sound against your mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
when he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and his lips were pink and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.
"bed," he said, and it wasn't a question.
you nodded, and jaehyun softly took your hand and led you across the room.
the dorm bed was pretty small, a standard twin xl that barely fit both of you, but you'd eventually made it work before and you'd make it work again.
jaehyun sat down first, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling his thighs. his hands settled on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants.
"you're so pretty," jaehyun murmured, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. "you know that? you're so fucking pretty."
you laughed, breathless, and tangled your fingers in jaehyun’s damp dark hair.
"you're biased."
"i'm not." jaehyun’s teeth grazed your collarbone, gentle but teasing. "i have eyes. i can see."
he kissed down your throat, his lips dragging over your skin in a way that made your toes curl. his hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, palms flat against your stomach, and his fingers were warm and calloused and perfect.
"off," he said against your chest, tugging at the fabric.
you rapidly pulled your hoodie over your head and tossed it somewhere on the floor, and then jaehyun was looking at you — deeply observing — and his breath caught in a way that made your chest feel tight.
"god," he whispered, almost to himself. "look at you."
jaehyun’s soft hands slowly traced up your sides, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing across your nipples in a way that made you gasp. he watched your face as he did it, cataloging every single reaction, and there was something so hungry in his eyes that made your skin heat.
"hyunie," you breathed, and his name in your pretty mouth made him shiver.
"i know," jaehyun said. "i've got you."
he flipped you over, a move that was easy for him because he was strong and you were pliant and willing; your back hit the mattress, and he was above you, caging you in with his arms, his body a warm weight that pressed you into the sheets.
jaehyun kissed you again, deeper this time, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that had you arching your back up into him. his hips rolled down against yours, and you could feel him — hard and thick through his sweatpants — and the friction made you moan into his mouth.
"fuck," jaehyun muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you. "want to take my time with you tonight. is that okay?"
you simply nodded, because your voice had apparently stopped working.
jaehyun smiled, that soft, pretty, dimpled smile that made your heart do such stupid things, and then he started kissing his way down your body.
he started at your jaw, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. jaehyun lingered at your pulse point, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and his teeth scraped gently over the spot before he sucked a mark there. it was not hard enough to bruise, just enough to feel, just enough to make you gasp.
"hyunie," you said, and your voice came out rough, broken.
"shh," he murmured against your collarbone. "let me."
jaehyun kissed across your chest, your sternum, your ribs. his lips found one of your nipples and he sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, and your hands flew to his hair, holding him there.
he chuckled, the vibration shooting straight to your dick, and he gave the other side the same attention, biting down just enough to make you whine.
"awh, so responsive," jaehyun said, pulling back to admire his work. your chest was completely flushed, your nipples wet and peaked, and the look in his eyes was pure reverence. "you always react so well for me."
you wanted to say something clever, something casual, but all that came out was a breathless;
"please."
"please what?" he asked, and he was already moving lower, dragging his lips down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button in a way that made you squirm.
"please touch me," you said. "i need—"
"i know what you need," jaehyun said, and his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweatpants. "lift up."
you did, and he pulled your pants and boxers down in one smooth movement, tossing them aside. the cool air hit your skin and you shivered, your dick twitching against your stomach, already leaking precum onto your skin.
jaehyun made a sound, low and appreciative, and his hand wrapped around the base of your cock. his fingers didn't quite touch — he was big, but you were also bigger than average — and the sight of his hand around you made your head spin.
"so pretty," jaehyun said again, and he meant your dick, which was a weird thing to say but it made you blush anyway. "all of you. every part."
he leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of your cock, from base to tip, and your hips jerked off the bed. his free hand pressed you back down, holding you in place, and he did it again, slower this time, his tongue flat and warm.
"jaehyun, please—"
"i said i want to take my time," he reminded you, and his breath was hot against your skin. "be patient."
he took the head of your cock into his mouth, just the head, and sucked gently. the sensation was electric, shooting up your spine and making your toes curl. his tongue swirled around the tip, cleaning up the precum, and he moaned like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.
then jaehyun sank down.
your brain short-circuited; jaehyun's mouth was so hot and so wet and so perfect, and he knew exactly what he was doing. he took you deeper than you thought possible, his throat contracting around the head of your cock, and he looked up at you through his lashes with those big brown eyes and you almost came right there.
"oh f-fuck," you gasped, fisting the sheets. "fuckfuckfuck, hyunie, your mouth—"
he pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, and smiled up at you. "you like that?"
"you know i do."
jaehyun laughed, soft and fond, and then his mouth was on you again, bobbing up and down in a rhythm that made your vision blur. his hand worked what his mouth couldn't reach, twisting and pumping in time with his sucks, and he was moaning around you like he was the one getting pleasured.
it was too much. it was exactly enough.
"hyunie, i'm gonna—" you warned, but he didn't pull off.
jaehyun just took you deeper, his nose pressing against your pelvis, and swallowed around you.
you cum with a cry, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to jaehyun’s hair to hold him in place. he took it all, swallowing every single drop, and he didn't stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders.
jaehyun pulled off you slowly, licking his lips in such a hot way, and crawled back up your body. he kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and bitter, and it should have been gross but it wasn't; it was jaehyun, and everything about him made you feel good.
"told you i wanted to take my time," jaehyun murmured against your lips. "we're not done yet."
you blinked up at him, still hazy from your orgasm.
"what?"
he smiled, that stupidly pretty smile, and rolled off the bed.
you watched as jaehyun dug through his nightstand drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. he tossed them onto the bed and then stripped off his shirt, and you forgot how to breathe for a second.
jaehyun was so beautiful. you'd known that since the day you met him, but seeing him like this — chest bare, skin golden in the lamplight, muscles moving under his skin — it never got old. jaehyun’s shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and there was a seductive light trail of hair leading from his navel down into his sweatpants.
he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow.
"what?"
"nothing," you said quickly. "you're just hot."
jaehyun’s cheeks flushed pink, which was ridiculous because he knew damn well he was hot. but jaehyun still ducked his head like he was shy, and the gesture made something warm bloom in your chest.
"shut up," he said, but he was smiling.
he stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers, and your mouth went dry. jaehyun's dick was big — long and thick, curving slightly upward, with a vein running along the side that you liked to trace with your tongue. it was already hard, flushed red at the tip, and it looked almost too big to fit inside you.
but it always fit, eventually.
jaehyun climbed back onto the bed, settling between your legs, and his hands naturally pushed your thighs apart. he looked at you — like he was memorizing every single inch of you for the first time — and his expression softened into something so tender it made your chest ache.
"you're sure?" jaehyun asked, because he always asked. "we don't have to—"
"jaehyun." you reached for him, pulling him down so his chest was pressed against yours. "i want this. i want you. okay?"
he nodded, his breath warm against your cheek.
"okay."
he kissed you again, softly and slowly, and you let yourself sink into it. jaehyun’s hands slid down your sides, over your hips, and one of them reached for the lube; you heard the click of the bottle opening, and then his long fingers were slick and cold against your inner thigh.
"warm it up first," you mumbled against jaehyun’s lips, and he softly laughed.
"bossy."
but he rubbed the lube between his fingers, warming it, and then his hand slipped between your legs.
jaehyun’s index finger circled your hole, teasing, not pushing in yet, but just getting you used to the sensation, the pressure. you breathed out slowly, relaxing into the mattress, and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.
"good?" he asked.
"good."
he pushed in.
just one finger, slow and careful, and you clenched around him instinctively. jaehyun waited patiently, not moving, letting you adjust, and his free hand was on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.
"breathe," he reminded you. "you're okay. i've got you."
you breathed. the tension in your body released, and he pushed deeper, his finger sliding all the way in. he crooked it, searching, and when he found your prostate you saw stars.
"there," you gasped. "right there."
jaehyun smiled and did it again, rubbing small circles against that sweet little spot, and your back arched off the bed again. he added a second finger, stretching you open, and the burn was good — so freaking good — and you couldn't stop the sounds falling from your lips.
"hyunie, please, i'm ready, i need—"
"mmh, not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was strained, like he was holding himself back. "i want to make sure you're stretched enough."
he added a third finger, and you cried out, your hands gripping jaehyun’s shoulders. the stretch was intense, almost too much, but he worked you open with patience and precision, his fingers curling and scissoring and pressing against your prostate every few strokes.
"so tight," he muttered, almost to himself. "so good for me. taking my fingers so well."
"hyunie," you whined, and you were past the point of shame now. "please fuck me. i need your cock. please."
something in his expression shifted, darkened. jaehyun’s eyes went hooded, his jaw tightened, and he pulled his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.
"since you asked so nicely," jaehyun said, and he reached for the condom.
but you stopped him, your hand closing around his wrist. he looked at you, confused.
"no condom," you said. "i want to feel you."
jaehyun’s eyes widened.
"are you sure? we've never—"
"i'm sure." you pulled him down, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i trust you, hyunie. i want all of you."
he stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, then he nodded, slow and serious, and set the condom aside.
"okay," jaehyun said softly. "okay."
he slicked himself up with lube, his hand pumping his cock a few times, and then he positioned himself at your entrance. the head of his dick pressed against your hole, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.
"tell me if it's too much," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "tap my shoulder and i'll stop."
"i know. i trust you."
he pushed in.
just the tip at first, and even that was a lot.
jaehyun was big, and no matter how many times you did this, the first stretch was always intense. you gritted your teeth, focusing on breathing, on relaxing, on letting him in.
"you're doing so good," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. "so good for me. just a little more."
he pushed deeper, inch by inch, and your body opened up for him. the burn was there, sharp and sweet, but underneath it was pleasure, deep and overwhelming, and when he bottomed out you both let out a moan.
"f-fuck," jaehyun breathed, his eyes squeezed shut. "fuck, you feel—you're so—"
jaehyun couldn't finish the sentence, and you didn't need him to. you felt it too — the way he filled you completely, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this, the way his heartbeat pounded against your chest.
"move," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please move."
he pulled out slowly, almost all the way, and then pushed back in. the drag of his cock against your walls was exquisite, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back.
jaehyun found a rhythm, slow and deep, and every thrust hit your prostate dead on; you were already sensitive from your first orgasm, and the pleasure was building fast, too fast, threatening to swallow you whole.
"hyunie," you gasped, your legs tightening even more around his waist. "h-hyunie, right there, don't stop—"
"i won't," he said, and his voice was wrecked. "i won't stop. i'll give you everything. anything you want."
jaehyun’s pace increased, his hips snapping against yours, and the sound of skin on skin filled the room. he was sweating now, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he was beautiful — he was so beautiful — and you couldn't look away from him.
he changed the angle slightly, and suddenly the pleasure was blinding. your second orgasm hit you without warning, your cock spurting cum onto your stomach, and you screamed his name as your body convulsed around him.
"oh god," jaehyun groaned, and his rhythm stuttered. "you're—you just cum—"
"keep going," you said, even though you were oversensitive, even though every nerve was on fire. "don't stop, hyunie, i want you to cum inside me."
his eyes went dark, and he started moving again, faster now, chasing his own release. his thrusts were rougher, less controlled, and the overstimulation was a knife edge between pleasure and pain that made you see the stars.
"so good," he was mumbling, his voice broken and frantic. "so good, so good, you're so—i can't—"
jaehyun’s hips stuttered, and you knew he was close. you clenched around him intentionally, and he let out a sound that was almost a sob.
"fuck—i love you."
the words fell out of jaehyun like they'd been waiting for years to escape, and his eyes went wide the second he said them, and his hips stopped moving entirely.
the room went silent.
you stared at him, your chest heaving, your mind struggling to process what you'd just heard. jaehyun stared back, panic rising in his eyes, his face pale beneath the flush of arousal.
"i—" jaehyun started, and then stopped.
his jaw worked silently, like he was trying to find the words to take it back, to explain it away, but there was no taking it back now; the words hung in the air between you, heavy and real, and everything shifted.
jaehyun pulled out slowly, carefully, and the loss of him made you feel hollow in more ways than one. he sat back on his heels, still hard, still glistening with lube and your own release, and he wouldn't look at you.
"jaehyun," you said, and your voice came out raw.
"don't," he said, and his voice cracked. "please don't. i didn't mean—i mean, i did mean it, but i wasn't supposed to say it. i know we said no feelings, i know this was supposed to be casual, i know you don't—" jaehyun pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and his shoulders shook. "fuck. i ruined it. i ruined everything."
you sat up slowly, your body aching and oversensitive, and you reached for him. your hand found jaehyun’s wrist, tugging his hands away from his face, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"hyunie," you said softly. "how long?"
he blinked. "what?"
"how long have you felt this way?"
jaehyun was quiet for a long moment, and then, so quietly you almost didn't hear him;
"months. maybe longer. i don't know. it just—it happened. and i tried to ignore it, i really did, but every time we—" he gestured vaguely at the bed, at your bodies, at everything. "it just made it worse. being with you, touching you, having you like this and knowing i couldn't have you the way i really wanted—"
his voice broke, and he looked away again.
"i'm sorry," jaehyun whispered, and his voice was trembling. "i know this isn't what you signed up for. i know you don't feel the same way. and i swear, i never meant to make things weird. i just—i couldn't help it. i love you. and i hate that i love you because it hurts, but i can't stop."
your chest felt like it was caving in.
because here was the thing; you'd told yourself this was casual, you'd told yourself you didn't have feelings, that you just wanted sex, that jaehyun was a friend and nothing more. but somewhere along the way, maybe the same way it had happened for him, the lines had blurred.
you loved the way he smiled at you, soft and private, like you were the only person in the world. you loved the way he said your name, the way it sounded in his deep voice. you loved the way he held you after sex, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, even though you'd never asked him to. you loved the way he remembered things — your coffee order, the name of your childhood pet, the fact that you were scared of thunder.
you loved him. you'd been loving him for a while, probably, and you'd been too scared to admit it.
"jaehyun," you said again, and this time your voice was steady.
he flinched, bracing himself.
you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. his cheeks were wet now, tears spilling over despite his best efforts, and you wiped them away with your thumbs.
"i'm not mad," you said.
jaehyun froze. "what?"
"i'm not mad. i'm not weirded out. i'm not going anywhere."
his brow furrowed, confusion replacing the panic.
"but you said—we said—"
"i know what we said." you stroked his cheekbones, his jaw, the corners of his mouth. "and i meant it at the time. but things change, hyunie. people change. feelings change."
jaehyun’s breath caught. "are you saying—"
"i'm saying i love you too." the words felt terrifying and freeing all at once. "i don't know exactly when it happened, or how, but it did. and i was too scared to say anything because i didn't want to lose you either."
he stared at you, his eyes wide and disbelieving.
"you're not just saying that?"
"i'm not just saying that."
"you really—"
"yes, jaehyun. i really love you."
a sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob, and then he was kissing you.
it was desperate and messy and perfect, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you could barely breathe. you kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything you hadn't said into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue.
when you finally broke apart, both of you were crying a little, and it was ridiculous and sappy and you didn't care.
"i love you," jaehyun said again, like he was testing the words out loud, letting them be real.
"i love you too," you said back, and it felt like coming home.
jaehyun laughed, wet and shaky, and pressed his forehead against yours. "so what now?"
you thought about it; you thought about the mess of cum on your stomach, the lube on the sheets, the fact that jaehyun was still hard and pressing against your thigh. you thought about the way your heart was pounding, the way his hands were trembling on your hips.
"now," you said slowly with a smile, "i think you should finish what you started."
jaehyun’s eyebrows shot up.
"you want to—after everything—"
"jaehyun." you kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. "i just told you i love you. and you're still hard. and i'm still kind of stretched open from before. and i really, really want to feel you cum inside me."
he groaned, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily.
"you're going to kill me."
"is that a yes?"
jaehyun kissed you hard, his tongue sliding against yours, and then he was pushing you back down onto the mattress.
this time was different; you could feel it in the way he touched you, slower and more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. jaehyun kissed down your body again, but this time he lingered, pressing his lips to your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. he kissed the marks he'd left earlier, soothing them with his warm tongue, and a new one appeared below your navel — a gentle bite that made you gasp.
"i love you," he murmured against your skin, and the words sent shivers down your spine. "i love your shoulders. i love your collarbones. i love the way you smell, like soap and something sweet. i love the sounds you make when i touch you."
"hyunie," you breathed, and your voice was thick with emotion.
he looked up at you, his eyes soft and glowing, and smiled.
"let me worship you, baby. please. let me show you how much i love you."
you nodded, because, well… you couldn't speak, and jaehyun went back to work.
he took his time with your cock, licking and sucking and kissing until you were writhing and begging. he didn't let you cum, though — he pulled back every time you got close, leaving you teetering on the edge.
"not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "want you to cum when i'm inside you."
he flipped you over, onto your stomach, and you heard him slick himself up again. his hands spread your cheeks apart, and you felt his breath hot against your hole, and before you could process what was happening, his tongue was inside you.
"oh f-fuck," you loudly gasped, your face pressing into the pillow. "jaehyun—"
he hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his tongue worked you open, licking and sucking and teasing. his nose pressed against your skin, and he moaned like he was the one being pleasured.
"taste so good," he mumbled, and the words were muffled but you heard them anyway. "could do this forever."
he rimmed you until you were a trembling mess, your legs shaking, your hands fisting the sheets, then he pulled back, and you heard him spit — gross, but so hot — and then the head of his cock was pressing against your hole again.
"ready?" jaehyun asked.
"yes, god, yes, please—"
jaehyun pushed in, and this time there was no burn, and no resistance. your body welcomed him warmly, opened up for him, and jaehyun slid in all the way in one smooth movement that made you both cry out.
"fuck," jaehyun groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "you feel—i can't—"
"move," you begged. "please move, i need you to move."
and he did.
slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, and the drag of his huge cock against your walls was exquisite. jaehyun was hitting your prostate with every single thrust, and the pleasure was building, a slow burn that threatened to consume you entirely.
"harder," you said, pushing back against him. "please, harder."
jaehyun obliged, his pace increasing, his hips slapping against your ass. the sound was obscene, wet and loud, and you didn't care. you wanted more. you wanted everything.
"jaehyun," you moaned, and his name was a prayer on your lips. "right there, don't stop, i'm gonna—"
he reached around and wrapped his hand around your cock, pumping in time with his thrusts, and the double stimulation was too much. you cum with a scream, your body convulsing around him, and he swore loudly.
"so tight," jaehyun gasped, and his hips stuttered. "you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—"
"inside," you managed, your voice wrecked. "cum inside me. please, hyunie, i want to feel it."
jaehyun thrust into you three more times, deep and desperate, and then he was coming. you felt it — the pulse of jaehyun’s cock, the heat of his release filling you up — and he groaned your name like a benediction, collapsing onto your back.
you lay there for a long moment, both of you panting, sweaty, tangled together. his weight was heavy on top of you, but you didn't mind. you liked it. you liked the way he pressed you into the mattress, the way his breath was hot against your neck, the way his heart pounded against your spine.
"i love you," jaehyun whispered into your skin, and you felt the words more than you heard them.
"i love you too," you whispered back.
he pulled out slowly, and you both winced at the loss.
jaehyun rolled off you, onto his back, and he stared at the white ceiling. you turned your head to look at him, and he was smiling — a real smile, so wide and so bright and so full of joy it made your chest ache.
"that was—" he started.
"yeah," you agreed. "it was."
jaehyun laughed, soft and breathless, and turned onto his side to face you. his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, and his eyes traced your face like he was seeing it for the first time.
"i can't believe you love me back," he said quietly. "i thought—i was so sure you didn't. i was so scared of losing you."
"you're not going to lose me," you said, covering his hand with yours. "i'm not going anywhere."
his eyes glistened again, but this time the tears were happy. he leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow and full of promise.
a little moment after that, jaehyun disappeared into his dorm’s bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. he cleaned you up carefully, wiping the cum from your stomach and the lube from between your legs. his touch was so gentle, almost reverent, and jaehyun pressed kisses to your hip, your thigh, your knee as he worked.
"you did so good," jaehyun murmured softly. "you always do so good for me."
you were too tired to respond, floating in a haze of endorphins and contentment. he tossed the washcloth aside and pulled you into his arms, arranging you so your head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around you.
"stay," jaehyun said, and it wasn't really a question. "please. stay the night."
"wasn't planning on leaving," you mumbled against his skin.
he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and his fingers started tracing patterns on your back. you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the steady beat of jaehyun’s heart.
"hey," he said after a while, his voice soft.
"hmm?"
"i meant it. everything i said."
you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look at him. jaehyun’s face was fully open, vulnerable, all his walls down for the very first time.
"i know," you said. "me too."
he smiled, that small, dimpled smile that had made you fall for him in the first place, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"go to sleep," he said. "we can talk more in the morning."
"promise?"
"promise."
you closed your eyes again, and the last thing you felt before sleep took you was jaehyun's lips on your hair, soft and warm, and the quiet whisper of his voice in the dark.
"i love you. i love you. i love you."
you woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming through the blinds and jaehyun's arm draped across your waist.
for a small moment, you didn't remember.
you simply felt warm and comfortable and so safe, and you didn't want to move at all. but then the events of last night came flooding back — the sex, the confession, the crying, the sex again — and your eyes snapped open.
jaehyun was watching you.
his head was propped on his hand, elbow sunk into the pillow, and he was looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. there was hope there, and fear, and something soft and tender that made your heart skip.
"good morning," jaehyun said quietly.
"morning," you said back, your voice rough with sleep.
he was quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking back and forth across your hip. then he said, carefully;
"do you remember what you said last night?"
you did. of course you did. you remembered every single word, every single look, every single touch.
"i love you," you said, and the words came easier this time. "i love you, jaehyun. i meant it."
his whole body relaxed, like he'd been holding his breath and had finally been allowed to exhale. a smile spread across his pretty face, bright and relieved, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.
"i love you too," jaehyun said, his voice muffled. "i love you so much it scares me sometimes."
"i know," you said, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on tight. "me too."
you lay there for a long time, just holding each other, not talking. the morning light shifted across the room, and somewhere outside, someone was playing music too loud. it was ordinary and perfect and exactly what you needed.
finally, jaehyun pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and there were pillow creases on his cheek, and he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen in your entire life.
"sooo," jaehyun said, and there was a hint of his usual playfulness in his voice, "does this mean we're not friends with benefits anymore?"
you laughed, the sound surprising you.
"i think we graduated to something else, yeah."
"boyfriends?" he asked, and his eyes were hopeful.
"boyfriends," you agreed.
jaehyun kissed you, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back his smile was so wide it made his eyes crinkle.
"boyfriends," jaehyun said again, like he was trying it on for size. "yeah, i like that."
"me too."
he kissed you again, and then again, and then his hand started wandering south, and you raised an eyebrow at him.
"already?" you asked.
"i've been in love with you for months," jaehyun said, grinning against your neck. "i have a lot of time to make up for."
it's always us man... if it's not a direct insult to us, it's an off handed slur or comment that can & has been used against us.
yes i understand he was talking about himself and korean is a contextual language and all that - but i've had korean friends and their parents in my real life talk about how outdated that term eunseok used is and how they avoid it because of how misconstrued it can get.
no i don't think eunseok is a raging racist, however having that word in his vocabulary does indeed show that his thought process is not much different from your average colorist in that country. it sucks, but hey there's so much history and societal norms over there that honestly theee isn't much we can do, especially as black people, but shake our heads.
eunseok was my bias for 2 years, and has always been one of my favorite members from debut. i've interacted with him (idol-to fan ofc, and once even as 'staff', lol) plenty of times irl, and i've never felt like he looked at or treated me or other black fans differently, but that lowkey just makes it worse bc bro did not care / was not thinking about what the rest of us would think reading that message 😭😭
that being said, i'm totally fine guys LMAO, thank you so much for reaching out and your sweet messages :( 💕 thankfully, i have NEVER put my own self worth or image into what these random korean strangers think or say. no matter how much i may love and support an idol, i will always love myself more. i hope the same goes for everyone reading this. but if you are hurt by this scenario, it's fully valid. i am so sorry and i'm here for u !!
i'm not gonna lie i do feel like eunseok is apologetic and meant no initial harm (knowing stupid straight men, he probably thought he could get away with it since he was only referring to himself 😐) but just because someone doesn't intend to harm, doesn't mean harm can't be done. like i'm just irritated atp.
dw i'm not going anywhere, and i will still write for riize (eunseok in jail indefinitely ofc), and i don't hate you if you accept or don't accept his apology. he NEEDS to get whooped a bit scrually lmaooo. just dont go defending colorism bc he's ur fav or whatever... we don't do all that glazing around here.
but anyways i just wanted to get all that off my chest lol love u guys !!
sim jaeyun, park sunghoon, park jongseong x male reader.
The concept arrives with moodboards of motels, guns, and neon, turning their debut into a visual fever dream. Jay sees confusion. Jake fights the feelings. Sunghoon waits in the dark. When Y/n slips out of his room past midnight, he finds Sunghoon in a compromised moment and does the only thing he knows how: he helps. Y/n doesn’t pull away.
warnings: idol!reader, objectification, noncon(?), voyeurism, possessiveness, psychological tension, industry power dynamics, masturbation, emotional manipulation, subtle gaslighting, obsessive behavior, celebrity exploitation, toxic dorm dynamics, dark themes of identity loss, performance vs. reality, aestheticization of grief and desire, morally gray characters, elitism within the industry, unresolved jealousy, subtle yandere behavior, inspired by The Idol and Anora.
By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.
The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.
The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.
The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.
Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”
She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”
No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”
She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”
When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”
She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”
The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”
The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”
She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”
The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.
The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.
Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.
"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."
He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.
Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.
When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."
But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.
Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.
"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.
The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.
When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.
It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."
He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."
The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.
The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building."
The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.
It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.
The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.
Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.
"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."
No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.
Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."
Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."
The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.
"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."
Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."
"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."
Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."
"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"
Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."
"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."
"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.
"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."
Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."
The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.
And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.
He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.
"I like it."
The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.
"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."
He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.
"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."
Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"
Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."
The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.
Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.
And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.
Not because Y/n was the most talented.
Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.
But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.
That was the product.
That was what they were selling.
Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.
And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too.
The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.
Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light.
Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.
Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.
He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.
"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."
Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.
"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.
Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.
The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.
He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.
He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.
Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.
"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."
Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.
"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."
Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."
Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.
"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay.
Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."
He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.
"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.
"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.
Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.
Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.
Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.
The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.
Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.
He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.
The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.
Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.
"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.
Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.
"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."
"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.
"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."
Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.
"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."
He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.
"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.
Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.
"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."
With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.
The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.
The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.
Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.
“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”
Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.
Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.
“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”
Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.
Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.
When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.
“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”
He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.
By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.
“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”
Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined.
The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.
"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.
The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.
Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.
He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.
It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.
"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."
He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.
"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."
Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.
"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.
Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.
The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.
Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.
The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.
author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you.
i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless!
it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you!
— luke
this work was originally written in portuguese and manually translated into english.
mhmhmhmmmm i know what u mean, anton looks crazy i feel crazy 🩷__🩷 but i am doing well!!! missed u, rereading ur page everyday and kicking my legs hehehehfh. also dipped bc i think ur cool n got nervous to talk to u.. nmhdm ok baiii — 🍊
awhhh don't ever be nervous lol i love hearing u guys!!
sorry if you've gotten bored reading the same stuff over and over i still write a little here and there! trying to get better at consistency 😵💫
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