.

Every date felt magical in its simplicity — late-night ramen runs, lazy car rides filled with laughter, his hand always finding yours under the table. But lately, the two of you had barely seen each other. The texts had grown shorter, the calls less frequent. 

You told yourself it was just work. Still, when he promised a movie night at his apartment this weekend, your heart had fluttered like it always did. You’d spent the whole week thinking about it — what snacks to bring, which movie he’d fall asleep halfway through, the way he’d mumble sleepily against your shoulder. You were just excited to be with him again. To have one night where it was just the two of you, the comfort of his arms and the quiet that always made sense between you.

You entered the passcode and stepped into the apartment, greeted by the faint scent of his cologne and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. The place felt like your second home already, because it was where you’d spent countless evenings before, curled up beside him on the couch, laughing at random stories and cooking together.

You padded towards the living room, setting down the snacks you’d brought. The lights were dim, the couch clean, and there was even a blanket folded neatly on the armrest. You smiled, imagining him doing that for you before heading to the studio. You checked the time, he’d said seven but it was already half past. You figured he was probably wrapping up something at the studio — maybe one last edit, one more mix before calling it a day.

You sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, smiling at old photos of the two of you. The last one was from a month ago — you leaning into him, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders, that bright grin on his face.

Minutes passed, then an hour.

You checked your phone — no texts, no calls. You tried again, typing “Still at the studio?” and then erasing it, afraid you’d sound needy. 

The sound of the doorknob turning pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up, half expecting it to be Chan — the familiar rhythm of his footsteps, the soft smile he always wore when he saw you waiting.

But instead, it was Jeongin, stepping inside with his backpack slung over one shoulder, exhaustion written all over his face. He blinked in surprise when he saw you on the couch.

“Oh— hey, noona!” he greeted, rubbing his eyes.

You smiled, relieved to see at least someone. “Hey,” you said softly, setting your phone down. “You just got back?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, slipping off his shoes. “Practice ran late.” He paused, frowning slightly as he looked at the snacks on the table. “You guys had a date planned?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah… I thought he’d be home by now.”

Jeongin hesitated, then sighed. “Ah— he’s still at the studio, noona. He said he might stay late to finish up some things.”

“Oh,” you murmured, your smile fading a little. “I see.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry, I thought he told you.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, forcing a small smile. “He’s busy. I understand.”

Jeongin gave you a sympathetic look, then quietly excused himself to his room, leaving you alone again in the quiet apartment.

You sat there for a while longer, eyes flicking to the clock — nine thirty, then ten. The popcorn you’d made had gone cold, the movie still sitting on the pause screen.

You checked your phone one more time, still no messages.

Maybe he was too caught up to look at it. Maybe he was tired. You tried to reason with yourself, but the tiny ache in your chest kept growing, a slow, dull heaviness that wouldn’t go away.

Eventually, you stood, grabbing your bag. Before leaving, you glanced around the apartment one last time — the blanket you’d both used last time still draped over the couch, the mug he always used sitting by the sink.

You smiled faintly, even through the disappointment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” you whispered to no one in particular, closing the door softly behind you.

*****************

The next day, you decided to visit the studio. You’d spent half the morning carefully picking a box of donuts for him and the boys. After that, you drove to a different bakery to grab Chan’s favorite pastry and coffee from the café he loved. You told yourself it wasn’t a big gesture, just something small to lift his mood. Maybe it’d make him smile and remind him that even when everything felt heavy, he was still cared for.

With the warm treats boxes resting on the seat beside you, you drove toward JYPE Studio, your stomach fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. God, you missed him so much. 

When you finally reached the studio building, you took a deep breath, balancing the donut box, coffee tray and pastry box in your hands before stepping inside. The familiar hum of music and laughter filled the air in the recording studio, Han was sprawled on the couch, Changbin hunched over his laptop, tapping at the keyboard in rhythm with the beat.

The moment they noticed you, Han jumped to his feet, his grin wide.

“Noona!” he called, rushing over to give you a quick, friendly hug. “You brought food?”

You laughed softly, holding out the box. “Donuts. I figured you guys haven’t eaten yet.”

“Bless you,” Han groaned dramatically, already reaching for the box. “I’m starving.”

Changbin stood, offering you a warm smile. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. We’ve been locked in here for hours.”

“It’s nothing,” you said shyly, setting the coffee tray down on the table.

Through the glass of the recording booth, you could see Chan. He was hunched over the desk, a pencil in hand, scribbling something on a sheet of paper — the crease between his brows deep and tense. His headphones rested around his neck, his lips moving soundlessly as he muttered to himself.

You watched him quietly for a moment. Even in his exhaustion, he looked so focused — so consumed by what he was doing. There was something about that side of him that always left you in awe.

When he finally noticed movement on the other side of the glass, he looked up. His eyes flickered toward you. For a second, they softened — that familiar warmth flashing through — but just as quickly, it faded.

He stepped out of the booth, setting the papers down on the table beside Han’s coffee. His shoulders were tight, jaw set, eyes rimmed with fatigue.

You smiled anyway, trying to lighten the air. “Hey. Brought you coffee and your favorite pastry.”

He blinked, surprised, then managed a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh. Thanks.”

You nodded, your heart sinking just a little at how distant he sounded.

He sank down onto the couch beside the table, rubbing the back of his neck. You could tell by the way his hand trembled slightly that he hadn’t slept properly in days.

“Sorry about last night,” Chan murmured finally, his voice low and rough. “Innie said you were over.”

You nodded, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “Yeah… I figured you were still working. It’s okay. I understand.”

He gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still… I should’ve texted.”

Before you could answer, Han clapped his hands together. “Alright, we’ll take these to the others before Seungmin starts complaining he didn’t get donuts.”

Changbin laughed, grabbing the box from the table. “Thanks again, noona. You’re the best.”

“Of course,” you said softly, smiling as they both headed out the door, leaving the two of you alone in the recording room.

Silence settled in their absence. The hum of the speakers and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights, even those sounds felt too loud now.

You shifted closer to him on the couch, your body brushing against his arm. “I missed you, baby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms gently around him.

He let out a quiet hum, one hand loosely finding your knee. But his touch felt… distant. Like he was there physically, but somewhere else entirely.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, eyes dropping to the floor.

Something in his tone made your chest tighten. He wasn’t fine. You could feel it. The walls around him were back up, high and cold. You hesitated, then tried to fill the silence with something normal, something familiar.

“Actually, something happened yesterday,” you started quietly. “A friend of mine— she said something that really hurt me. I know it’s silly, but I just… it’s been bothering me.”

Chan sighed, rubbing his temple. “What happened?”

“She basically said I was too clingy,” you said, forcing a little laugh, trying to brush it off. “That I make people uncomfortable because I care too much. And I don’t know— it just—”

“Well…” Chan interrupted, voice sharp. “Who would like a clingy friend like that?”

You froze. It was like your stomach dropped out from under you.

“Excuse me?” you asked quietly, blinking.

He looked up then, his jaw still tight. “I’m just saying— maybe she’s right. You… you tend to hold on too hard sometimes.”

The air in the room shifted.

Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out anyway. “That’s… really hurtful, Chan.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his tone. “I’m just— I don’t know, I’m tired, okay? Can we not do this right now?”

You swallowed hard, the sting in your chest growing. “No, you don’t get to call me clingy and then shut down like that. I was just trying to talk to you.”

He scoffed softly, leaning back. “God, why can’t you just chill sometimes? Why does everything have to turn into a deep talk?”

You stared at him, speechless. “I’m sorry for wanting to connect with my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but can’t you be… I don’t know, a little more like Akila?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “…Akila? Your friend?”

He hesitated, realizing what he’d said. “I just meant— she’s easy to talk to, that’s all.”

Your heart dropped, jealousy twisting in your stomach. “You mean the same Akila you’ve been texting every night lately?”

“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, but his eyes darted away.

“Really? Because apparently you ‘need space’ from me, but you don’t seem to need space from her.”

“Y/N, stop,” he warned, his tone rising slightly.

You shook your head, tears burning your eyes. “No, I won’t. Because every time I try to talk, you shut me out. You say you’re stressed, but then you open up to her? Why her, Chan?”

Something in him snapped. “Because she gets it!” he shouted, standing abruptly. “She’s an idol like me and she’s been there through everything! The late nights, the pressure, the breakdowns— she knows what this life is like. You don’t!”

You flinched at his words. “So what? You talk to her about things you can’t tell me? That’s what this is?”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing. “It’s not— it’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me,” you demanded, voice trembling.

“She’s just a friend,” he said quickly, too quickly.

“Right,” you whispered, the word hollow. “A friend you seem to tell everything to. A friend you’d rather talk to than me.”

“That’s not it!”

“Then what is it, Chan? What makes her so easy to talk to?”

He stopped pacing, his chest heaving. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, “she’s been here for me for years now, emotionally and in the past physically.”

The world stopped.

You just stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. “You… what?” you whispered.

He froze, eyes widening slightly. “Baby—”

“You were friends with benefits?” your voice cracked. 

Chan’s lips parted, but no sound came out. You took a shaky step forward.

“Chan. You slept with her?”

He hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “…Yes. But that was years ago—”

“Years ago?” you repeated, your laugh bitter, shaky. “And you still talk to her like she’s your safe place? You still trust her more than me?”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, voice desperate now. “I don’t think about her like that anymore, I swear—”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “No, you do. Deep down, you still want her. You can’t even see it, but you do.”

“Y/N, stop, please—”

“What am I even doing here then?” you whispered. “If she’s the one who understands you, who you run to, who you still can’t let go of… then what am I even doing here?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The realization of what he’d just said — what he’d revealed — hit him all at once. His face went pale, regret flooding his features.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean— I just—”

But you were already stepping back, your voice breaking. “I think you said enough.”

You turned toward the door, blinking back tears that wouldn’t stop.

“Wait—” Chan’s voice cracked, reaching for you. But you pulled away.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You wanted space, right? You’ve got it.”

You rushed out of the studio, the sound of his voice calling your name echoing behind you.

--------------

Permanent Taglist 1:

You were always a light sleeper. So when Changbin came to bed late, you’d stir. You never fully opened your eyes, but you always knew what to expect. He’d brush your hair back, press a kiss to your cheek or the top of your head, and whisper “I love you”, even after you’d spent the whole day together.

But those moments have died.

At first, you told yourself you were just in a deeper sleep. Maybe you were finally getting good rest, sleeping through the night. But now you know that’s not it. He just doesn’t do it anymore. It faded so slowly you didn’t notice until the silence felt like rejection.

Now, Changbin slips into bed, careful not to touch you, careful not to make a sound. He’s coming to bed later and later. It’s not even just late nights anymore, now it’s at sunrise. You watch the light creep in through the blinds as you hear the door open and feel the mattress dip beside you. You don’t say anything. You lie still, breathing like you’re asleep, hoping maybe he’ll think to reach for you this time. But the kiss, the touch, the whispered “I love you” never comes.

His excuses are always the same. “Late night with the group. Couldn’t beat one of the bosses.” But you’ve heard her. You’ve caught the end of her laugh, clear through his headset. You’ve heard her over everyone else. You’ve seen the game lobby with just two names, his and hers. He tells you she’s the only one who plays that game. That it’s nothing. That you’re just imagining things. But you’re not.

You know what it looks like when someone lights up for someone else. Changbin can’t stop talking about her, even to you, but he doesn’t even talk about you to his friends anymore. He used to smile at his phone when you texted. Now he barely looks up when you speak, and your texts go unanswered for hours.

Last week you caught a glimpse of his phone, just for a second, when it lit up on the counter. Two things caught your eye. One, a notification from her. Two, his new background photo. It used to be you. Now it’s replaced by a city skyline. Pretty, sure, but neutral. The kind of background you use when you don’t want anyone asking about your personal life.

You didn’t say anything then. You thought maybe you were overthinking, like he said. You trusted him. Maybe he just needed a change. But since the beginning, his background has always been you or the two of you.

Now Changbin lies there beside you, for the first time in a long time, scrolling through his phone like he's alone in the room. Like you're not inches away. Like he never used to trace circles on your arm just because he liked the way your skin felt.

You couldn’t take the silence anymore. You didn’t plan on saying anything, but the words tumbled out of your mouth, voice breaking.

“When did you stop loving me, Binnie?” It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a question, really. It’s a quiet plea for the truth you already know.

Changbin doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t reach for you. He just sighs, like your pain is an inconvenience. Like your heartbreak is just something he has to endure. Like he just wants everything to go back to normal.

You lay there, back to him, staring at the wall, waiting for him to say something, anything.

And then finally, he does, “I still love you.” You go limp. Not because it comforted you, but because the moment he said it, you felt like a cold hand was tightening around your ribcage.

It was a lie. You knew it. You could feel it in your bones.

You slowly turn to look at him and his eyes won’t meet yours. “Say it again” you whisper, your voice small, raw. He blinks, confused, “What?” he says. “Look at me and say it again, Changbin.” you demand.

When he finally forces his gaze to meet yours and says “I love you” again, it almost sounds normal, but there’s a hint of shame.

Your heart breaks so loud inside your chest it feels like it should have echoed in the room. Like he should flinch from the sound of what he’s done, but he just sits there, quiet. And the silence is worse than anything he could have said. Yelling at you would have hurt less.

You nod once and turn back around, pulling the blanket higher, not because you want to sleep, but because it’s the only way to hide how badly you’re shaking. He puts his phone away and stares at the ceiling. The bed feels wider now, like miles separating you.

And now that you know the truth, you finally allow yourself to break. Quietly. Face turned away so he won’t have to watch the damage he’s caused.

Your mind is racing, remembering all the little things. The subtle shifts. The things you ignored, or tried to ignore, because love is supposed to be patient. Love isn’t supposed to feel like you’re being slowly erased from someone’s world while they still keep you in it out of convenience.

You remember the nights when he laughed too hard at his headset, voice low and warm, like it used to be with you. The way he started bringing his phone everywhere, even to the bathroom. The way he turned the screen away from you so you wouldn’t see what he was doing. The way he stopped telling you about his day because he’d already told her.

Finally, you find the courage to speak. “You could’ve just told me you were done.”

Changbin turns to look at you, but you don’t face him. You don’t have it in you to meet his eyes.

“It’s not like that. She’s just a friend.” he says. “You care more about her than you do about me” you reply, blinking away the tears. He just sighs.

You start feeling your heart building walls around itself, because it knows it can’t survive another wound.

You whisper, more to yourself than to him, “I don’t think you even noticed the moment you left me.” It was true, he didn’t. It happened slowly, but he’d been gone for a while. He just didn’t have the courage to say goodbye.

You stare at the wall in silence until you fall asleep.

When you wake up, Changbin is already out of bed. Without a second thought, you pack a bag, just the essentials, for a few days. You need space. Time to think.

When you walk past him, he mutes his mic. You don’t have to wonder who’s on the other end. You already know. He says your name, soft, almost pleading, asking you not to leave.

You don’t turn around. You’ve spent too long waiting for the version of him who used to love you to come back. And he’s not coming back.

There was no storming out, no making a scene. You just walked out, door clicking behind you. You wish he’d fight for you, for the relationship you built together. But he already let it go a long time ago.

And for the first time in forever, you chose yourself.

Love was always there. It was in the ramen he cooked for you at three in the morning, apologizing for burning the eggs because he was too busy singing along to the radio. It was in the hoodie he draped over your shoulders when you were shivering, pretending not to notice that he’d be freezing on the walk home without it. It was in the way he listened when you ranted about your day, nodding solemnly before cracking a joke that made your anger collapse into reluctant laughter.

It was messy. Chaotic. Loud and tender all at once.

And somewhere along the way, you started believing in forever.

You didn’t know that night by the river would change everything.

The two of you had driven out in his beat-up car, the one that rattled every time he changed gears, the one that smelled faintly of pine air freshener and takeout containers. He claimed he wanted to show you the stars, even though the city lights drowned most of them out.

You lay side by side on the hood, your head tilted back, your hands brushing but not quite holding. The late-summer air was warm, the cicadas buzzing faintly in the distance. He was jittery in a way that was unlike him not playful, not restless, but anxious.

You noticed first in the rhythm of his breathing. Too shallow. Too fast.

“Are you okay?” you asked, turning your head to look at him.

He flinched at your voice, then gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Totally.”

You frowned. “Liar.”

He let out a shaky laugh, and for a moment, you thought that was the end of it. But then he shifted, sitting up abruptly, raking a hand through his hair. His leg bounced restlessly, his fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to rest.

“Jisung,” you said softly, reaching out to still his knee. “Talk to me.”

He inhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. And then he pulled something from his pocket small, velvet, trembling in his hands.

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t… I don’t have a big speech prepared,” he blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I was gonna, I swear, but every time I tried, I just… it felt wrong. Too polished. Too—too not me.”

You blinked at him, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“So, uh…” His voice cracked, his hands shaking so hard you thought he might drop the box entirely. “Here goes nothing.”

He flipped it open. A ring glinted under the dim glow of the streetlamp, simple and imperfect, just like him.

“Y/N,” he said, eyes wet, voice trembling. “I don’t know how to do life without you anymore. And I don’t want to. So… will you marry me?”

The world tilted.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t hesitate. You were already nodding, already laughing through the sudden sting of tears. “Yes,” you choked out. “Of course yes.”

The box fell somewhere between you as he fumbled to hold you, both of you half-laughing, half-crying. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and shaky.

“You—you didn’t even let me put it on you,” he teased, voice breaking.

So you held out your hand, fingers trembling. And with all the clumsy care in the world, he slid the ring onto your finger. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. It was you. It was everything.

And in that moment, under the stars neither of you could really see, you believed that forever was yours.

The weeks after the proposal were a blur of joy.

Your friends screamed when you told them, some of them crying harder than you did. Your family embraced him like he’d always been theirs. Everywhere you went, people seemed to glow with your happiness, as though it radiated out of you, impossible to ignore.

You and Jisung spent late nights sprawled across the couch, talking about the wedding. He wanted it small, intimate, with just the people who mattered. You wanted flowers, not roses, too cliché, but maybe lilies, maybe daisies. You argued over playlists, over food, over the color of tablecloths, but it was always with laughter in your voices.

Sometimes, you caught him staring at you. Just staring, like he couldn’t believe you were real. When you asked him what he was looking at, he only shook his head, grinning that boyish grin that had hooked you from the start.

“Forever,” he would whisper, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

And you would smile, because you believed it too.

You still remember the night you wrote your vows.

You sat at the tiny kitchen table, a cup of tea going cold beside you, pen hovering over paper. The words felt too big, too heavy, but too necessary to leave unsaid.

You wrote about the little things, the way he sang in the shower, the way he held you when nightmares woke you, the way he believed in you when you didn’t. You wrote about the hard days too, because there had been plenty, and because you wanted him to know you weren’t promising perfection. You were promising choice. To choose him, over and over, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

By the time you finished, your tears had smudged the ink, but you didn’t care. It was messy, like your love. And it was real.

When you slipped the notebook shut, pressing it to your chest, you felt light. Whole. Ready.

You thought he was too.

-

The morning of your wedding smells like lilies.

They fill the small room where you sit, tucked carefully into vases, their white petals bright against the pale sunlight streaming through the window. Your dress hangs from the door, a soft whisper of satin and lace, glowing faintly in the early light.

It doesn’t feel real yet.

Your best friend had texted you at dawn: Today is the day, Y/N. Today you get your forever.

And you’d smiled, your heart skipping at the thought. Forever. Jisung had promised it with trembling hands and teary eyes, and you had never doubted him. Not once.

You sip tea, your hands only slightly shaky. Nervousness bubbles in your chest, but it’s sweet, not sharp. Everyone says brides are supposed to be anxious on their wedding day, but you feel… ready.

Ready to walk toward him. Ready to hear his vows. Ready to build the life you’ve already been living, but with a ring and a promise and the certainty that nothing could undo it.

The hours blur into makeup brushes, laughter, clicking heels. Your dress slides over your skin like a sigh, heavy but perfect, every stitch a reminder of what today means.

When you catch your reflection in the mirror, your breath catches.

You look like someone who is about to be loved for the rest of her life.

Your mother squeezes your shoulders. Your friends squeal, snapping photos, telling you you’re glowing. And maybe you are.

Because you can already see it: Jisung waiting at the altar, nervous smile tugging at his lips, eyes shining the way they did that night by the river.

You hold onto that image as you step into the car, as the venue comes into view, as guests begin to gather in the small hall decorated with fairy lights and flowers.

You can already hear the music in your head.

You can already feel his hand in yours.

The ceremony is supposed to start at four.

At three forty-five, you stand in the small room behind the hall, your bouquet trembling slightly in your hands. Your best friend peeks through the door, checking if he’s there yet.

“Not yet,” she says, but her smile is easy, reassuring. “Don’t worry. You know Jisung. Probably freaking out about his tie.”

You laugh, even though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Probably.”

At four o’clock, the music starts. Guests shift in their seats. You breathe in, steadying yourself.

At four ten, the music falters, then fades. Someone whispers something to the officiant.

Your stomach twists.

At four thirty, your best friend comes back into the room, her smile too wide, too brittle. “He’s just… running late. Traffic, maybe. Don’t panic.”

But your bouquet is heavier now, your hands clammy.

At five, the guests are murmuring. The lilies smell too strong, cloying.

Your mother’s voice is soft, careful. “Maybe he’s—maybe something happened.”

Something happened.

Your heart knows it before your brain does. A hollow kind of knowing, the kind that sits heavy in your bones.

At six, the officiant clears his throat, apologetic. “Perhaps we should… reschedule.”

Reschedule. As if forever can be penciled in on another day.

You tear the veil from your head, your chest burning, your breaths too sharp. The dress feels like a cage, the room too small. You push past the whispers, past the pity in their eyes, past the heavy silence that follows you like a ghost.

By the time you reach the parking lot, your bouquet is on the ground, petals scattered.

By the time your best friend’s car door slams shut, you are shaking so hard you think you might break apart entirely.

You don’t cry. Not yet. The shock is too thick, like frost coating your insides. You stare out the window as the city blurs by, streetlights smearing into gold and white.

Jisung isn’t there.

Jisung isn’t coming.

Forever was supposed to start today.

Instead, it ends before it even begins.

The tears come in the middle of the night.

You wake up in the guest room at your best friend’s apartment, the unfamiliar ceiling swimming above you. For one blissful second, you forget. You reach out, searching for him in the dark for his warmth, his hand, the comfort of his breath beside you.

But your hand meets only cold sheets.

And then it crashes back. The dress. The flowers. The empty altar.

You choke on the sob before you can stop it. And then another. And another. Until you are curled on your side, fists clenched in the sheets, your chest aching with every broken sound that rips free.

No call. No message. Not even a goodbye.

You cry until your throat is raw, until your body is too heavy to move, until the darkness feels endless.

And when the sun rises, pale and merciless, the dress is still hanging in the corner. White. Untouched. Mocking.

You don’t throw it away.

You don’t even try.

Because it’s the only proof that it was real once, that Jisung loved you enough to promise forever, even if he couldn’t give it to you.

It becomes a monument. A scar. A reminder you can’t tear down, no matter how much it hurts.

The calls start the next day.

Friends. Family. People who don’t know what to say but say it anyway: He must have had a reason. You’ll be okay. Maybe he’ll come back.

You don’t answer most of them. You don’t want comfort, not from anyone who wasn’t standing at the altar, not from anyone who didn’t see how empty it was.

You stare at your phone until your eyes ache, waiting for his name to appear. For an explanation. For something.

But nothing comes.

Not that day. Not the next. Not ever.

And somewhere between the silence and the sleepless nights, you realize:

He’s gone.

And he took forever with him.

-

Grief doesn’t arrive all at once.

It comes in fragments. Small, jagged pieces that cut you when you least expect it.

The first week after the wedding, you barely leave your best friend’s couch. The world outside moves on, people commuting to work, children laughing on their way to school, the seasons shifting like they always do. But inside you, time has stopped.

Your body feels foreign, heavy. Food has no taste. The television flickers with colors you don’t register. When people speak, their words are muffled, like you’re listening from underwater.

Every morning you wake with the same thought: Maybe it was a dream. Maybe you’ll check your phone and see a message from Jisung, something silly and sweet like he used to send. On my way, love you more than ramen.

But your phone stays dark.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Your apartment is worse.

You avoid it for as long as you can, but eventually you have to go back. The moment you open the door, it hits you, the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to the air, the shoes he left by the entrance, the sweater draped over the back of the chair.

It’s like he just stepped out for groceries.

Like he’ll be back any second, calling your name, complaining about the traffic, pulling you into his arms like nothing happened.

But the rooms stay empty.

The sweater stays where it is.

And you can’t bring yourself to move it.

Your apartment becomes a museum of him. Every corner carries his fingerprints: the chipped mug he insisted was his “lucky” one, the playlist he left queued on your laptop, the crumpled notes he used to stick on the fridge. Buy milk. Don’t forget your umbrella. P.S. I love you.

You touch them like they’re relics, fragile and sacred.

And when the weight is too much, you lock yourself in the bathroom, pressing your forehead against the cool tile, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest.

Friends try to help.

They invite you out for drinks, for dinners, for movie nights. They tell you jokes, send you memes, try to pull you back into the world.

Sometimes you go. You sit among them, nodding when they speak, forcing laughter when the silence becomes too heavy.

But it feels like you’re behind glass. Watching life happen without you.

Your family checks in too. Your mother brings food you can’t eat, your father lingers in the doorway like he wants to fix something but doesn’t know how.

You tell them you’re fine. You always say you’re fine.

But the truth is, you’re unraveling.

Months pass. The flowers from the wedding have long since wilted, but the dress still hangs in the closet, untouched. You’ve thought about throwing it away, but every time you open the door, your hands freeze.

You tell yourself it’s not because you’re waiting. It’s not because you still believe he’ll come back.

It’s because it’s the only proof that it was real.

That once, someone promised you forever.

Even if forever turned out to be a lie.

You drift.

Wake up. Work. Come home. Sleep. Repeat.

Some days you don’t even make it out of bed.

But then slowly, almost imperceptibly, something shifts.

It starts small. A morning when you open the curtains instead of keeping them drawn. An afternoon when you walk down to the market and buy fresh bread. An evening when you pick up a paintbrush and smear color across a blank canvas, not because you want to, but because the silence is unbearable.

You catch yourself breathing without thinking. Smiling at strangers. Humming along to a song on the radio.

And it feels like betrayal.

Like healing means erasing him.

But deep down, you know it isn’t erasure. It’s survival.

The idea of the café comes late one night.

You’re sitting at your kitchen table, staring at the chipped mug that was once his favorite. The apartment feels too empty, too heavy. You think about how you can’t stand the silence anymore, how you need something that feels alive, something that doesn’t just remind you of what you’ve lost.

You think about the little coffee shop the two of you used to visit after long days, how he always ordered the sweetest drink on the menu, how he’d make fun of your “boring” black coffee. How the barista knew your names, your orders, your story.

And suddenly you want that again.

Not the coffee, not the routine, but the belonging. The warmth.

So you start planning.

At first it’s only scribbles in a notebook, numbers that don’t quite add up, sketches of cozy corners and wooden shelves. But then it becomes meetings with landlords, endless paperwork, sleepless nights spent painting walls and choosing furniture.

Your hands ache, your back protests, but for the first time in months, your heart feels… something. Not joy, not yet, but momentum.

And when the little sign finally goes up, Open, you almost cry.

Because it feels like you’ve stitched together a piece of yourself again.

The café becomes your sanctuary.

The smell of coffee beans roasting in the morning. The hiss of milk steaming. The quiet murmur of customers settling into chairs, typing on laptops, laughing softly over shared pastries.

You learn the names of your regulars. The student who always orders iced americanos, even in winter. The elderly couple who split a muffin every Sunday. The young mother who comes in with her toddler, who loves the chocolate chip cookies.

You build a rhythm, a life.

And in that rhythm, you begin to breathe again.

But scars don’t fade easily.

Some nights, when the café is quiet and the city outside hums with neon light, you sit alone at one of the tables and let your mind wander. You think about the life you almost had. The vows you never spoke. The forever that slipped through your fingers like sand.

Sometimes you cry. Sometimes you don’t.

But always, always, the ache is there.

Like scar tissue healed, but tender.

And though you’ve built something whole again, some part of you knows:

You will always carry him with you.

Even if you never see him again.

-

Three years is a long time.

Long enough for seasons to cycle through over and over again, spring blossoms unfurling, summers blazing hot, autumn leaves falling, winters sharp with frost. Long enough for the whispers of pity surrounding your name to fade into background noise. Long enough for you to build something new, something that looks suspiciously like a life.

Your mornings begin the same way.

You arrive to the café before sunrise, when the city is still yawning awake, and unlock the door with a quiet creak. The air inside is cool, faintly smelling of yesterday’s coffee. You turn on the lights, flick the switch for the grinder, start a fresh pot brewing. The sound is comforting now, the low hum, the hiss, the steady drip.

Customers trickle in one by one.

Some days you laugh with your customers, hum to yourself as you wipe down the counters, feel a flicker of something close to happiness.

Other days, the weight presses back down.

It sneaks in through small cracks, a song on the radio you hadn’t heard in years, the sight of a couple sharing an umbrella outside your window, the faint reminder of laughter that doesn’t exist anymore.

There are nights you close the café early and sit alone at one of the tables, staring at the empty chairs across from you. You imagine him there sometimes, grinning over a caramel latte, teasing you about your taste in coffee.

And then you shake the thought away, angry at yourself for still letting him live in the corners of your mind.

You tell yourself you’ve moved on. You tell yourself the scars don’t ache anymore.

Most days, it’s even true.

But scars are funny like that. They fade, but they don’t disappear. Sometimes, in the right light, they shine brighter than ever.

Sometimes customers ask if you’re married. It always happens casually, in passing.

“Oh, do you and your husband run this place together?”

“Your boyfriend must love that you bring home pastries every night.”

You smile politely, laugh it off, change the subject. You’ve gotten good at dodging questions, at letting people assume whatever they want.

Because the truth is messy. The truth is complicated. The truth is a story no stranger deserves to carry.

So you tuck it away, along with the dress, along with the vows you never got to speak.

You serve another coffee. You wipe another counter. You breathe.

And most days, that’s enough.

But peace is fragile.

It holds, like glass, shimmering in the light. But one day, a rainy afternoon when the sky is heavy and the café is quiet, it will shatter.

The door will chime.

And the boy who once promised you forever will walk back into your life.

Rain is steady today.

It streaks down the café windows in silver lines, blurring the street outside into a watercolor of umbrellas and headlights. The air smells damp, earthy, like the world has slowed just a little.

Inside, the café is nearly empty. A couple huddles at a corner table, whispering over their drinks. A student types furiously on his laptop, earbuds in, mouthing silent words as he works.

You stand behind the counter, wiping down mugs, humming faintly under your breath. It’s one of those rare afternoons that feels soft, easy. You tell yourself you’ll close early if the rain keeps up.

The quiet is soothing. Safe.

And then the door chimes.

You look up, expecting another regular, maybe someone ducking in for shelter.

Instead, your heart stops.

He’s standing there.

Dripping wet, hood pulled low, water dripping from his sleeves onto the floor. His chest rises and falls too quickly, as if he’s been running. His eyes find yours immediately, like he knew you’d be here like he’s been searching.

For a moment, you can’t breathe.

Your body doesn’t move. Your hands grip the counter so tightly your knuckles ache. Your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out the soft café music, the patter of rain.

It’s been three years, but time hasn’t dulled the recognition.

Han Jisung.

Alive. Breathing. Looking right at you.

“Y/N.”

His voice is hoarse, ragged. It scrapes against the quiet like something broken.

The student at the back doesn’t notice. The couple barely looks up. But for you, the world has narrowed to this him, here, after years of silence.

Your mouth is dry. Words lodge in your throat, thick and useless.

So he speaks again.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see.” His voice shakes. His hands are fists at his sides. “But I need you to hear me.”

You want to scream.

You want to throw the rag in your hand at him, to demand where he was, how he could disappear, how he could leave you standing at an altar with forever burning in your chest.

You want to cry. To beg for answers. To demand why.

But you can’t do any of it.

Instead, you stand frozen, staring at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

He swallows, his throat bobbing. His eyes are wet whether from the rain or something else, you don’t know.

“I messed up,” he says, voice breaking. “I messed up so bad. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I need you to understand.”

The words scrape against you like glass.

Understand? How could you ever?

He steps closer, hesitates when you flinch. His shoulders slump.

“The night before the wedding,” he begins, and already you feel your stomach twist. “I couldn’t breathe. My chest—my head—everything felt like it was caving in. I kept thinking I was going to ruin you. That I was going to hold you back, drag you down with me.”

His hands tremble as he speaks. “I was having panic attacks every night. I barely ate. I couldn’t sleep. And that night, I—”

He stops. His lips press together, his jaw trembling. But you understand anyway. The meaning hangs heavy in the silence.

Your breath catches, sharp.

He almost didn’t survive that night.

And suddenly, the empty altar, the silence, the abandonment it all shifts, takes on a shape you hadn’t considered. Not cruelty. Not rejection.

Desperation. Darkness.

But that doesn’t erase the ache in your chest.

It doesn’t undo the years of silence.

It doesn’t unbreak you.

“I thought I was saving you,” he whispers, voice small. “If I left, you’d be free. You’d get the life you deserved without me weighing you down. I thought—” He cuts off with a bitter laugh. “I thought it was love. To disappear. To let you go.”

Your hands tremble. Anger and grief collide in your chest, choking you.

“Love?” Your voice finally breaks free, harsh and sharp. The couple in the corner glances over, startled. You lower your voice, but the fury doesn’t dim. “Love isn’t leaving me at the altar. Love isn’t silence for three years. Love isn’t letting me believe I wasn’t enough.”

His face crumples. “You were always enough. You were—” He grips the counter like he needs it to stay upright. “It was me. It was never you.”

Your eyes sting, but you refuse to let the tears fall.

Because what do you do with this? With the boy who promised you forever, who shattered you, who now stands here with apologies dripping from his lips like rainwater?

Part of you wants to reach across the counter and touch him, to believe him, to hold him the way you used to.

Part of you wants to push him back out into the storm, slam the door, lock it, never see him again.

Both parts ache. Both parts feel impossible.

So you do nothing.

You just stare, your silence louder than any scream.

And Jisung, the boy who once held your forever in his hands stares back, tears sliding down his rain-soaked cheeks, waiting for a forgiveness that may never come.

-

You don’t see him for a few days.

After the storm of his return, you half expect him to linger at the door every morning, dripping apologies across the café floor, begging for another chance. But he doesn’t. The café is quiet again, the routine steady. Customers come and go. The rain clears.

And for a moment, you almost convince yourself it was a hallucination. That your mind, cruel and restless, conjured him from thin air to test you.

But then you find the first note.

It’s written on one of your café napkins, folded neatly, tucked beneath the sugar jar at the corner table.

The handwriting is his. You recognize it instantly, the loop of his Y’s, the way he presses too hard with the pen, leaving faint indents on the paper.

You stare at it for a long time before unfolding.

“You looked beautiful in white.
I’m sorry I never got to tell you that.”

Your breath stutters. Your chest aches.

For a second, you consider crumpling it up, tossing it in the trash, pretending you never saw it. But your hands refuse. Instead, you fold it back up, slip it into your apron pocket, and try to forget.

You fail.

The second note comes two days later.

This time, it’s slipped under a saucer when you clear a table.

“The song we danced to?
I still can’t listen to it without crying.”

The words burn. That song, the one you practiced your first dance to in the cramped living room of your old apartment, laughing as you stepped on each other’s toes, swearing you’d get it perfect by the wedding.

You hadn’t heard it since. You’d avoided it at all costs.

And now, with just a few scrawled words, he drags it back into your chest, alive again, pulsing with memory.

You clench the note in your fist until the paper creases, until your nails leave marks in your palm.

Still, you don’t throw it away.

The third note is left on the counter itself, weighted down with a coin.

“I never stopped loving you.
I just stopped believing I deserved to.”

Your vision blurs.

Customers chatter around you, the milk steamer hisses, the register dings. But all you hear are those words, echoing, relentless.

You tuck the napkin away with the others. You don’t know why you’re keeping them. Maybe as evidence. Maybe as punishment.

Maybe because, deep down, part of you still wants proof that you weren’t just a chapter he closed and forgot.

And then comes the envelope.

It’s slipped under the café door one night. You find it the next morning when you arrive to open. Plain white, your name written in his messy scrawl.

Your hands shake as you pick it up. You sit at a table before unlocking the rest of the café, heart hammering, breath shallow.

Inside are folded sheets of paper, yellowed at the edges.

His vows.

The ones you never got to hear.

You force yourself to read them. Slowly. Carefully.

Every word cuts.

He had written of forever. Of faith in your love. Of building a life together that no storm could undo. He had promised to hold you when you fell, to laugh with you when you soared, to never let you doubt you were his home.

He had meant it, you realize. Every word.

And still, he hadn’t been able to stand beside you that day.

The contradiction carves into you, sharp and cruel.

By the end, your tears blot the ink, bleeding the words into shadows.

You fold the vows back up, press them into the envelope, and clutch it to your chest.

Not because you forgive him. Not because you want him back.

But because they’re proof, just like the dress that once, for a fleeting, fragile moment, forever was real.

Even if it didn’t last.

That night, alone in your apartment, you whisper into the silence:

“You promised me forever, Jisung. And now I’m left wondering what forever ever really meant to you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, unanswered.

But in your pocket, the notes remain.

And deep inside, something begins to stir — anger, grief, longing, love. A storm you thought you’d buried.

-

You don’t plan to see him.

For weeks, you’ve ignored the notes. You’ve tucked them into drawers, slid them between books, shoved them deep into the bottom of your bag. But no matter how far you hide them, they live in you. His handwriting, his words, his unfinished forever.

And then the vows.

Those you couldn’t tuck away. Those stayed on your nightstand, like a weight pressing against your ribs every time you glanced over. You’ve read them more times than you want to admit. Sometimes to punish yourself. Sometimes because you wanted to believe that, even if he left, he once meant it.

Tonight, you decide you can’t carry it anymore.

So you call him.

The number is the same. You hate that you know it by heart.

He answers on the first ring. His breath catches like he wasn’t expecting you, like he’d stopped hoping.

And all you say is: “Meet me.”

The park is quiet at night. The lamps throw pale circles onto the path, and the air carries the faint smell of rain, damp earth, wet leaves. You sit on a bench, hands folded in your lap, the envelope with your vows clutched between them.

It feels strange, almost cruel, to meet here. This was your place, once. Nights of laughter, cheap takeout eaten cross-legged on the grass, Jisung with his guitar in his lap strumming softly under the stars. It had been a place of beginnings.

Now it feels like an ending.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. Hesitant. Slow.

“Y/N,” he breathes when he finally steps into the light. His face is pale, his eyes swollen, like he hasn’t slept. He looks thinner than you remember, but his presence still knocks the air from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You just pat the bench beside you.

He sits. Not too close. Not too far.

The silence stretches, thick, heavy.

Finally, you pull the envelope into your lap and slide out your vows. The paper shakes in your hands.

“I never got to say them,” you murmur, staring down at the words you once believed in with your whole heart. “And maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. But I need you to hear them.”

He swallows hard, nods. “Okay.”

So you read.

Your voice trembles, but you push through each line. Promises of laughter, of loyalty, of choosing him in every messy, imperfect moment. Words you had written with trembling hands, imagining a future built on love and faith.

By the time you finish, your cheeks are wet. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying.

Jisung is crying too. Silent, wrecked. His shoulders shake, his hands digging into his knees like he’s trying to hold himself together.

When you lower the paper, his breath shudders out.

“I don’t deserve those words,” he whispers. His voice cracks. “I never did.”

You close your eyes. “Then why write yours? Why promise me forever if you couldn’t stay?”

His face crumples. He leans forward, burying his face in his hands. His words come out broken, raw.

“Because I loved you. Because I still love you. And that night, I almost—” He chokes. “I thought the kindest thing I could do was disappear. To let you have a life without my darkness swallowing it.”

The sound of his sobs cuts through you, jagged and sharp.

He doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t beg. He just breaks open, right there beside you, the boy who once swore he’d never let go.

“I don’t want another chance,” he finally says, voice hoarse, ruined. “I know I don’t deserve one. I just… I don’t want you to carry this alone anymore. Let me carry the weight, even if that means loving you from a distance. Please.”

The night is quiet around you. A breeze stirs the trees, scattering droplets from the leaves.

You stare at him. The boy who left you. The boy who’s still here.

Your chest aches, torn between every wound and every memory. Between love that never fully died and the scars it left behind.

Slowly, almost against your will, you reach for his hand. His fingers twitch before closing around yours, trembling, desperate, reverent.

“I don’t know if I believe in forever anymore,” you whisper.

His head bows. “I know.”

You take a shaky breath. “But we can start with coffee.”

He lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His hand squeezes yours like it’s the only tether he has left.

The night doesn’t heal you. It doesn’t erase the past.

But for the first time in years, it feels like maybe, just maybe, the future isn’t a closed door.

//

masterlist.

“y/n, i’m begging! you have to come with me!”

“why would i subject myself to being in a dingy garage with four men, three of which i don’t know?”

“it’s five, changbin-hyung has his boyfriend coming.”

“felix that doesn’t help!” you groan, throwing your head back to stare up at your dorm ceiling. felix matches your energy, groaning from his place with his head in your lap and your long nails running through his hair.

“please!” felix whines. if you were looking at him, you’re sure you would see a dramatic pout on his plush lips and his pretty eyes getting glassy. if there is one thing your best friend knows how to do, it’s get what he wants. lucky for you, he has turned his evil puppy dog eyes on you tonight.

felix has had a crush on his physics TA for two whole semesters. two semesters of watching your friend’s pining and yearning from afar, listening to him ramble on about how hot bang chan is and how he could get it any day, any time, anywhere.

whatever felix is doing seems to finally be paying off. chan invited him to watch his shitty garage band practice tonight, and felix had immediately called you squealing. you’re happy for him- really, felix deserves all the love this world has to offer- but that doesn’t change the fact that you do not want to do your duties of wingwoman tonight. the idea of pretending to like whatever noise hits your eardrums in chan’s garage makes you shiver.

“i can’t go alone,” felix huffs after deciding you had been silent too long. “i don’t want to show up and be the only person no one knows. besides, if it goes terribly i need you to pretend to be sick so we can leave.”

you give felix a deadpan look, knowing he’s full of shit. like anything could pry his little fingers away from chan’s muscular biceps. unfortunately, you do kind of owe him. after all, felix had been the one who pretended to be your boyfriend when your last torturous date had tried to come into your dorm. felix seems to realize this, but doesn’t say anything. he knows you better than anyone, and he knows you’re about to crack.

with a sigh, you mumble out, “fine. but i’m leaving after an hour and a half, maximum.”

the bright grin and tight hug you get in return almost makes your sacrifice worth it.

bang chan’s garage is dingy, as expected. but it isn’t quite as bad as you thought.

one lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, no cover over it, light softly flickering. pink and cerulean LEDs are the only other thing lighting the space, making it have a frat house air that leaves you feeling a little second hand embarrassment. but the humid air at least smells nice, like the bergamot diffuser in the corner, and the old, brown leather couch you are invited to sit on is comfortable enough to have you sinking into the cushions.

chan is the main vocalist, with his friend changbin on drums and some guy named jisung on guitar. jisung is running late, which seems to be a reoccurring theme considering no one bats an eye, so chan takes it upon himself to entertain the crowd of three on his sofa by telling jokes that sound like the opening of a stand-up comedy club.

“and don’t even get me started on airplane food-“ chan fakes a scoff, pausing for laughter. you manage to hide a grimace behind your hand, feeling a little bad because he seems genuinely nice, his jokes are just dad-tier. beside you, felix laughs wholeheartedly.

just as you check the time on your phone, ready to fake a stomach ache, the door that leads inside chan’s home whips open hard enough to bounce off the wall behind it. a flurry of movement, a baggy black hoodie and a red guitar swing into the room. a man adjusts his big black rimmed glasses on his face, pulling his bangs back into his backwards snapback, and takes position beside chan in the middle of the space. jisung, you presume.

“sorry i’m late,” you hear a low voice mumble. your ears ring in an attempt to pick up the exact pitch. chan shrugs the apology off, grinning and whispering something that has jisung huffing a short laugh through his nose. with startling clarity and clenched thighs you realize this is the hottest man you have ever seen in your life. like, ever.

jisung tilts his chin up to adjust the microphone in front of him and you have the chance to catch a good look at his face. sharp jawline, honey toned skin, heart-shaped lips and a heart-shaped adam’s apple to match. there’s a little bit of stubble on his jaw and upper lip if you squint your eyes. he raises a long, slender finger to adjust his thick frames on the bridge of his nose again and clears his throat. weirdly, you have no doubt in your mind that he has a lighter in his pocket- the room smells like a mix of bergamot and weed now.

you throw felix a side-eyed glance and realize he’s already looking back at you, smile innocent and lashes batting. you know each other better than anyone else in the entire world. felix has to know jisung is exactly your type.

chan’s voice, amplified by the cheap mic in front of him, cuts through your thoughts. “alright, you guys ready to rock?”

the music starts blaring, and your breath catches in your throat. honestly, they aren’t even bad. loud, a little abrasive, but the talent is there. chan’s raw vocals hit you like a truck, and jisung’s backup singing has your heart skipping a beat or two. by the time practice is finished all three of them are sweating, panting, and smiling at the loud hollers coming from your side. shellshocked, all you can do is clap softly.

practice comes to an end and felix is immediately off the couch, running to shower a blushing chan with praise much like changbin’s partner does. you stand slowly, tugging the sleeves on your thin shirt further down your arms as you glance around the room. the crooked posters that have been slapped onto the wall with clear tape are suddenly very interesting to look at.

you feel the heat of a body in front of you, and when you turn your head the hot guitarist is scratching the back of his neck. he grins at you, small and cocky to hide his nerves. but you see the twitch of his fingertips, and you can pick out the light flush on the apples of his cheeks.

with all the bravado of a man who fakes confidence quite often, he clears his throat. “haven’t seen you around before. you on campus?”

you don’t remember much of the conversation- jisung converses with you about the basics every college student talks about when meeting a peer for the first time. what’s your major? have you been to that popular coffee shop a block down from campus? god the dorms are terrible, aren’t they? your responses come on autopilot, thoughts free to run with the way jisung’s tongue flicks across his bottom lip before he changes subjects, the way his eyebrows raise when you say something mildly interesting. by the time felix pulls you out of the garage door, there’s a tiny baggie filled with green flower in your pocket. on the front, there’s a little green alien holding up a peace sign. on the back, a phone number is scrawled in silver sharpie.

you officially have a plug.

you don’t smoke often- usually it’s only in social settings, with felix and maybe seungmin by your side. when the question had been brought up, do you smoke, you had nodded without question. jisung had winked when he told you he knew a guy that could give you the good shit. a little ridiculous that it was himself he was talking about, but somehow you found it endearing. either way, you refuse to save the number in your phone. the same way you refuse to step foot back into chan’s dingy garage with his (not really) shitty band. people like jisung only ever lead to trouble, and you are smart enough to recognize a red flag when it winks at you.

“oh hey, y/n. nice to see you again!” chan grins, patting your arm once.

you cut felix a glare which he chooses to ignore in favor of hugging the man who greeted you. you step foot into chan’s dingy garage again.

it had been almost mortifyingly easy to convince you to come this time. felix didn’t have to pry, didn’t have to beg, only had to love-bomb you for a minute before you caved. this time chan’s band isn’t practicing, felix had said they were just hanging out tonight. somehow, that made the nerves in your stomach flare up worse.

your eyes immediately dart to the brown leather sofa that had been so comfortable last time you stepped into the space. the LEDs above you are red now, dimly flashing and lighting up the concrete walls. your spot on the couch has been stolen by han jisung.

when you step forward, uncertain if you should even say hi- uncertain if he even remembers your name- jisung’s head snaps up from where he had been staring at his phone. his face immediately splits into a grin, long hair falling into his eyes now that there is no snapback to hold the strands. his glasses are still on, still slightly askew, just as you remembered.

“hey! i didn’t realize you would be here. thank god it’s not just me and two couples,” he laughs, scooting over slightly to pat the spot between his body and the couch armrest. when you sit down in the small space you were given, your bodies don’t touch. but it’s a close thing.

“i was told if i didn’t come felix would tell you i’m a STEM major,” you shudder playfully, hiding a small smile. “i can’t have my reputation ruined like that.”

jisung laughs softly, the sound making your chest feel warm. then he looks around, as if watching to see if anyone is paying attention, and reaches long fingers into his hoodie pocket. he produces a slightly misaligned, fully unsmoked joint and a garfield lighter.

jisung’s eyes are borderline sparkling when he looks back at you. mischievous, a little hesitant. he takes his plush bottom lip between two rows of sharp, white teeth. his glasses reflect red LEDs. “wanna smoke?”

you nod- because of course you do.

jisung lights the joint, holding the tip between his pretty rose colored lips and hollowing his cheeks to suck in thick smoke. you swallow around your dry mouth, watching the way he tilts his head back against the couch, chest expanding to accommodate the air, and exhales the heavy smoke through his parted lips and nose. the air around the two of you clouds over briefly before it evaporates. he turns his head to look at you, eyes already farther away from earth, and hands the joint over. your fingertips touch and electricity jolts down your spine.

the tip of the joint has tiny teeth marks. your teeth fit into them perfectly.

you spend an uncertain amount of time passing the joint back and forth, watching jisung’s bandmates and their partners fawn over each other. it’s sweet- changbin’s boyfriend is running a hand through his hair, making the older blush and stutter. felix is looking at chan like he hung the moon. and you don’t know when it happened, but jisung has turned his body so that he is facing you, one arm over the back of the couch and calloused fingers dangling an inch above your shoulder. the sweater you wear hangs off your arm enough to feel the throb of heat in the space between your bare skin and his.

someone speaks, and it takes a moment for you to realize it’s your voice. raw, quiet, smoke-clouded, but still you. “this is really good weed,” you laugh softly, and it feels like jisung grins in slow motion. “who grows your stash?”

jisung is close to preening, and you think maybe he would if he wasn’t weighed down by the green flowers. “i grow and sell my own shit, actually. that’s why it’s the best in the state.”

you hum, head tilting to stare at him while still resting on the back of the couch. his hand is close, you could reach out and bite into his thin wrist. the image of teeth marks on his honey skin flashes through your mind. “wow, best weed and best guitarist? your resume must be top tier.”

jisung huffs a laugh through his nose, blinking long lashes dazed and syrupy. his grin gets sharper at the edges, teasing in its tilt. “well, the resume must work. i just got a new customer, right?”

“do i at least get a discount?” you ask, batting your eyelashes as you take the little joint left from between his thumb and index finger. you bring it to your lips, unsure if you’re imagining the way his eyes track the movement.

“why would you?” he mutters, unfocused on your words, focusing instead on your mouth as it curls around the syllables. you breathe in, light and a little dizzy in the best way, then exhale slowly. the smoke wraps around jisung’s face, and he breathes it in like it’s oxygen.

“because i’m your biggest fan, duh,” you tease back. this snaps jisung out of his dream-like state, causing him to snort and cover his mouth with the back of his hand. his wrist bone is so prominent you could draw it from memory. his other hand moves down, lightly swatting at your bare shoulder, and you jump from the contact. then, he leans away all together. the stump of the joint you shared gets put out in the ashtray in front of him, and he’s still grinning when he removes his hand from his mouth.

jisung fixes you with a crooked smile, cheeks pink under his thick framed glasses, hand running through his soft hair. “anything for you, rockstar.” he whispers, like it’s a secret just for your ears. “text me and you can have whatever you want.”

somehow, you feel like jisung isn’t talking about the weed.

you don’t text jisung for four days.

you think about it every single hour- during class while you’re supposed to be working on your ceramic torso, during lunch while listening to seungmin drone on about why being a STEM major sucks ass, at your dorm when you get the little baggie with the alien on it out, tracing your nail over the silver sharpie on the back.

jisung’s number is saved in your phone now. you draft at least a dozen texts to him, but none of them seem… right.

hi jisung! it’s y/n. do you have any weed rn?

hii, it’s y/n :3 can i buy? discount included >:3

hey, it’s y/n!! do you want to hang out maybe?

stupid- everything sounds stupid and desperate and a little pitiful. you groan and whine and grow more and more irritated the longer you agonize over the texts. luckily for you, it seems your problems have been solved on day four.

hey y/n, it’s han jisung. felix gave me your number, hope you don’t mind. thought you might have lost mine lmao. you down to smoke tonight?

you stare at the text, ignoring the second notification that comes through from felix which is just a winking emoji. you stare at your screen so long you start getting tunnel vision, fingers hovering uselessly over your keyboard. you might as well just die.

you text back. one text turns into two, which turns into three, and suddenly you have plans with han jisung. at your dorm. tonight.

you call felix immediately.

“if you’re calling to thank me for setting up the loss of your virginity i will accept in the form of an ice cream cake-“

“felix!” you yelp, quickly standing up from your bed just to pace around your room. “why did i make plans with him? holy shit, he’s going to think i’m trying too hard- he probably has so many bitches! and i invited him to my dorm!”

felix’s maniacal laughter cuts through your speaker, and that’s when your brain catches up to what he initially said.

“oh my god,” you whisper, staring at your purple rug in horror. “i’m a virgin. felix, i essentially invited him over to smoke and fuck and i’m a virgin-“

it’s not like you’re a virgin on purpose. sure, the guys you’ve dated have offered, you’ve had people ask for one night stands. but none of them ever felt right; no one made you feel excited. and sure, you had made out with people, given head, whatever. but it all felt… obligatory. like maybe if you just got into it, you would be less bored. but then you got into it, and you ended it almost immediately. no one has ever made fire light up in your gut, no sparks flying up your spine, not even a single butterfly in your stomach.

han jisung makes you feel like you’re one step away from imploding.

“don’t worry,” felix tuts, bringing you out of your thoughts. “channie-hyung says jisung acts way cooler than he actually is. and besides that, being a virgin is hot.”

“felix!”

“i’m serious!” he cackles, calming down again to finish his thought. “if you tell him he’s the first person you’re letting hit it, he’s going to jizz his pants. i promise. when have i ever lied to you?”

you think back to all of the evil things your best friend has done… and even you can admit he has never lied.

you hang up.

you clean the entirety of your small, single person dorm in a frantic hour and a half. then you shower, complete with a good shave and exfoliation. you don’t want to assume jisung is thinking about getting in your pants, but it never hurts to be prepared- and if you put on lotion that makes your legs and arms look glittery when the light hits them, that’s no one else’s business. by the time you’ve fluffed your pillows and changed your matching pajama set three times, there’s a knock at your door.

han jisung is there, glasses and baggy hoodie and baggier jeans, he’s holding a half-drank cold brew in one large hand, his garfield lighter tucked between two fingers. you invite him in and he immediately grins, looking around your dorm.

“woah, the feng shui in here is crazy,” he whistles, eyeing the large bunny plush that’s taking up half your bed. he points at it with his thumb, turning back to you with raised brows. “is he smoking too? i only brought one joint.”

you laugh, ignoring the nerves in your gut when he says he brought one joint. you’re sharing again, even though you know he has more than enough bud for two. you try your best to be nonchalant, even as jisung takes a seat on your bed beside your bunny plush.

jisung pats the spot next to him, whistling to get your attention. like a dog, your ears perk up. “you gonna sit? standing while you smoke is probably kind of hard.”

you blink twice, sitting on the bed beside jisung. both of your backs are to the headboard, shoulders not touching but close to it. jisung hands you the joint, motioning for you to take the first hit this time, and your lips close around the end. instead of handing you the lighter though, jisung flicks the roller with his own thumb and holds the flame to your mouth.

there’s a brief moment where all you can see is jisung’s pretty brown doe eyes, wide and blinking behind his glasses, and the flare of orange heat. then, you inhale and smoke infiltrates your lungs. your cheeks hollow the slightest bit, and you move away to exhale out the cracked window beside you.

“thanks,” you murmur, passing the joint to the man at your side. your lips tingle as he puts the weed between his own. “i was feeling a little stressed earlier, probably needed this.”

jisung’s head tilts in your direction, smoke exhaling through his nose. “why were you stressed?”

you shrug, fighting a blush because really it was him coming over that had you stressed out. vaguely, you reply, “the only guy i usually let in my dorm is felix.”

jisung lets out a breathy laugh, and your own breath hitches. “c’mon, felix is the only one you’ve let see your bunny plush? does that make me special?”

“well, that makes you a man i can tolerate. so i guess you are kind of special, if that makes you feel better.” you tease, flicking the joint on your ceramic ashtray. you inhale again, brain a little fuzzier, and try to ignore the pink tinge of jisung’s cheeks.

the more you smoke, the more relaxed you get- meaning, the more you start yapping. it seems like jisung has the same affliction, rambling on about one thing that leads into another, and another. but when it’s your turn to speak, he listens. he doesn’t just wait for his turn to talk again, he nods along and asks you follow up questions and hangs onto your every word, eyes shifting between the way your lips move and the haze in your eyes. the attention makes you preen a little, and by the time the joint is almost finished your shoulder is touching his, bodies angled to point at each other.

“really though, my first crush was on the captain of the cheer team, senior year of high school. i’m just as surprised as you are that she wanted to hook up,” jisung chuckles, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his glasses. you giggle softly, hand running over the soft cotton of your sleep shorts just because the fabric feels nice between your fingers. the weed had fully hit you.

“alright. your turn,” jisung breaks the heady fog in your head, motioning for you to speak with a teasing, crooked grin. “virginity story now! i told you mine, it’s only fair.”

and your blood runs cold. holy shit, this is the part where everything unravels. you tell jisung you’re a virgin, and he laughs in your face and leaves, blocking your number and telling his bandmates you are an absolute loser. any reassurance felix had given you over the phone flies out the window.

jisung notices your hesitation, eyebrows furrowing slightly. he puts a hand on your bare knee, slowly, thumb running back and forth over the top of your thigh. his palm is warm. “hey- i was joking, i promise. i’m just stupid, you don’t have to tell me anything. do you like anime? we can watch-“

“no- it’s okay, really,” you mumble, blushing cheeks running hotter. his hand stays warm on your knee, radiating heat that slowly engulfs your whole body. “i just- i don’t really, like, have a story.”

jisung shrugs easily, squeezing your knee lightly. “that’s okay, too! at least you didn’t have an embarrassing experience like i did. boring sex is better than walking into her dad’s room half naked.”

you laugh slightly, shaking your head. the nerves in your stomach bubble up, ready to erupt. you have the urge to scream suddenly. “no, no. i mean like, i don’t have a story at all. like, i haven’t…”

jisung is silent for a moment, blankly staring at your face as you bite your lip and look away. the thumb on your leg has stopped its comforting circles, still like the rest of him. finally, after a too-long beat of silence, jisung deadpans.

“you’re fucking with me right now.”

“i’m not…?” you say, though it comes out as more of a question. when you look at him, jisung is blinking dumbly, mouth hanging slightly open. you shake your head and continue, trying to explain.

“i mean i’ve had the opportunity, or whatever. i just don’t really want my first time to be a bad experience, and everyone that’s offered has been kinda boring, i think. i don’t know, maybe im just too picky or something but-“

“i have a raging boner right now.”

you blink, head foggy and slow with processing. even with time to let that sink in, you still can’t wrap your head around it. jisung’s eyes are red rimmed and half lidded, lashes fluttering and cheeks turning scarlet as he realizes what he just blurted out.

“sorry- i missed something. what was that?” you ask, a little incredulous. jisung scratches the back of his neck, cocky facade gone, only the remnants of mumbled explanation and stuttered words being left behind.

“well- like, i know i probably sound like a freak, probably shouldn’t have led with the boner thing. but seriously, you’re like, jaw-dropping. mouthwatering. absolutely breathtaking, and you’re telling me i’m the first guy you’ve invited to sit in your bed and see you all high and blushing and wearing a matching set of pajamas? and i’m the first dude you’re- well, we haven’t gotten that far and i really don’t want to assume-“ jisung sucks in a quick inhale through clenched teeth, suddenly finding it hard to focus on one spot. his eyes keep flitting from your own, to your lips, to the joint pinched between your fingers, to the large hand engulfing your knee and still not moving an inch. finally, he breathes out.

“you’re just… so hot, baby.” jisung mumbles, head tilting to lean against the wall, staring at you with dilated pupils. “i can’t believe you don’t know what it’s like to be taken care of.”

the tips of your fingers tremble where they are pressed into the sheets, gripping tightly and turning your knuckles white. jisung’s speech had single-handedly made you feel more desperate than you have ever felt in your life, pussy clenching and feeling the fabric of your underwear dampen against your slit. jisung has made you a pitiful, needy mess, and he hasn’t done a single thing. you haven’t even kissed him.

you decide that needs to change- like, now. “why don’t you show me, then?” you whisper, breath hitching in tandem with jisung’s own. his hand moves, taking the stub of a joint from between your fingers. you watch as he tilts his head, paper hovering just above his lips as he wets them.

“wanna share this last hit?” he mumbles, voice smoke-heavy and raw, but also laced with a wanting that makes you shiver. you can’t find your voice, can only nod the tiniest bit as you watch the ashes of the joint spark red, jisung pulling smoke from the bud before drawing away. then, you watch as jisung tosses the butt into your ashtray and leans forward, large palm and slim fingers gripping the back of your neck under your hair.

you open your mouth to gasp, unable to get enough oxygen to your foggy brain. jisung’s eyes flit up to yours and he must find whatever answer he’s looking for, because soon after he is tilting his head and his pink lips are pressed to yours.

your parted lips part wider as jisung’s fingers gently squeeze the back of your neck. and suddenly, there’s smoke filling your mouth and a deft tongue swiping at your bottom lip in a teasing line. the smoke crawls down your throat, but you soon forget about the feeling when jisung’s tongue meets your own. jisung kisses in a way you couldn’t have imagined; it’s hot, heavy, his tongue pressing against every nook he can find as if he wants to map out the entirety of your anatomy. the kiss is a little dry at first, chapped lips and cotton tongues meeting, but it quickly becomes wet. jisung’s mouth moves against yours in messy little kisses, and when you rest your forehead against his you both pant for air.

the smoke that had been passed to you travels back up, barely there with how long it was trapped in your body. jisung grins in tandem with you, gripping your neck tighter to hold you in place while his sharp teeth nip at your lower lip.

“fuck, i want you so bad-“ he groans, lips trailing from your own, down to your cheek, down further until he can suck a purple bruise into the joint of your jaw. your eyes flutter shut, hands wrapping around his neck and nails dragging through thick hair. his hands travel lower, gripping you by the waist and dragging your top up so that his hands rest against the bare skin of your ribs.

“jisung, please. want you to fuck me,” you whimper quietly, the sound escaping without your permission, blushing and yelping a little when jisung pulls you over the sheets. he positions your body so you are lying down, hair haloed around your head, with his own body between your legs. on instinct, you squeeze them shut. jisung groans when your legs clench around his thighs, running calloused hands over soft skin to open your legs again.

“fuck, baby. stop talking or i’m gonna bust before i even touch you,” he laughs softly, hands massaging your thighs and lips pressed to your collarbone. “let me eat you out first, yeah? please?”

you nod quickly, gnawing at your lower lip hard enough to taste metal. jisung kisses down your body, wet and open mouthed and messy, leaving a chill in his wake. he pushes your shirt up until it’s just under your breasts, continuing to lick his way down until that wicked mouth is nipping at the skin above your waistband. he looks up at you then, hair mussed from your hands, cheeks flushed rose, and glasses askew on the bridge of his nose. his eyes are a little glassy now, needy and yearning for something only you can give. the thought makes your soaked cunt clench around nothing.

finally, jisung takes his lip between his teeth and slides his fingers into the top of your sleep shorts. his hands are hot, trailing fire over your legs as he pulls the fabric down, off your body all together. your legs have closed again, and jisung huffs through his nose like he finds the habit cute. his hands grab the meat of your inner thighs, spreading your legs and making room for his shoulders to rest between. you watch the sharp inhale he takes when your soaked panties are in front of him.

“all this for me?” he mumbles, unfocused on his words, laser-focused on your pink panties that have turned dark with your desperation. his hands move back to your hips, gripping tight. lightly, teasingly slow, one of his thumbs ghosts over the line of your pussy. you moan, hips kicking, but jisung’s hands keep you still. his thumb stops at your clenching hole, pushing against it through the thin, wet fabric.

“please, please- jisung, fuck me,” you whine, feeling jittery and restless from the pent up hunger in your veins. jisung’s thumb holds the same pressure he had applied to your hole, running back up your panties and stopping over your sensitive clit to rub achingly slow circles.

he blinks long lashes up at you, already panting softly. his brows are lightly furrowed, like he’s barely controlling himself, and after glancing at the mess he’s made out of you he stops teasing. he helps you kick your ruined underwear off, cursing softly when your legs part for him. he doesn’t waste any more time.

jisung uses his thumbs to spread your folds open, finally dipping down to lick a long, wet stripe over your pussy. you moan high in your throat, one hand locking onto his shoulder while the other threads through dark hair. and jisung moans right against you- as if this is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

jisung’s tongue is just as talented as his hands, slipping into your hole and fucking you, running over your soaked folds, then moving up to close his mouth around your clit and suck hard. you arch into him, head tilting back as pleasure overtakes your shaking frame, and jisung uses the opportunity to slip two long, thick fingers inside you.

“fuck!” you moan, feeling his fingers fuck you open, curling a little meanly against the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. you feel his mouth curve into a small smirk against your clit, but he doesn’t lose focus. his tongue flicks over the small, sensitive bud fast- fingers rubbing you from inside at the same pace. your body spasms, legs trying to close around jisung’s head as you feel your orgasm building deep in your gut.

you try to warn him, try to whine out a pitiful i’m close, but jisung ignores your words completely. you feel a small amount of panic, knowing you’re about to make a mess worse than you already have on his face, but when you look down at him your breath catches.

jisung’s pupils are dilated wide, almost no color left behind his hungry gaze. his eyes are still a little red, wet and layered with the same desperation you feel in your stomach. that’s what makes you snap- the thought that jisung wants this. not only does he want you to cum on his tongue, he’s practically begging for it.

you feel the band inside you break, eyes rolling back and hips rolling up to grind against jisung’s mouth and fingers. as the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you, jisung moans around your clit and makes you shake that much harder. his fingers slow down as you clench around them, and when you finally come down from your high, he pulls them out completely.

jisung’s chin is glistening with your cum when he pulls back an inch. his chest rises and falls just as fast as your does, pink tongue darting out to his soaked lips.

“you’re so fucking hot, rockstar.” he moans, voice raw and a little fried. “perfect little pussy, too. wanna keep you on my tongue forever.”

you barely have time to internalize the words before jisung’s head dips back down, wet fingers now holding your thigh so he can lick at your still-pulsing hole. you sob at the feeling, his tongue dipping back inside of you to lick at your walls, clean up the mess he made. your legs are shaking, and when you plead for mercy all you get in return is a low groan and doubled efforts.

“ji- sung, fuck-“ you moan, bordering on a scream, both hands gripping at his hoodie like your life depends on it. you hadn’t even fully came down from your orgasm, every pinpoint spike of pleasure heightened as jisung’s thumb comes back to rub at your swollen clit.

“one more, baby,” jisung pulls away to beg, glasses beginning to fog with the hot air he is panting. “one more, please. need to taste you again, want you to cum on my tongue.”

your body locks up, half panicked at the pleasure that only intensifies in your nervous system. you have never felt like this; never been able to bring yourself to more than one orgasm at a time, never had anyone else even bother trying. but jisung’s thumb is circling your clit with dizzying pressure, his tongue lapping at your messy hole with a fervor you’ve never even imagined- and fuck, you’re about to cum again. right on his tongue, just like he pleaded for.

“prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen,” jisung is mumbling, fingers dipping back into your entrance like he can’t keep them away. his tongue licks between them, around them, nose nudging your clit in a way that makes you twitch uncontrollably. and still, he’s speaking around the movement. “you’re gonna feel so good squeezing my cock, rockstar. gonna stretch you out- make you take it so well.”

jisung’s free hand travels up your body, crawling under your soft cotton shirt to grab a handful of your breast. you whimper loudly, feeling his thumb and index finger pinch your pert nipple and roll the bud between his fingers. the fingers inside you are pumping in and out instead of curling now, reminding you of the way he might fuck you- fast, hard enough to have you bouncing, precisely nailing your g-spot every time he thrusts deep. you feel a single tear slip down your cheek from the indescribable pleasure, entire body going still at the mental image. jisung moans against you again, and you are crashing into your second orgasm of the night.

your body feels electrified, every touch sending little shocks through the atoms inside you. when jisung pulls his fingers away again he lifts them up, spreading them apart and watching your cum web in the space between with a groan. you watch with half lidded eyes and fast breaths as he sucks his ring finger into his mouth, eyes rolling back and a filthy moan ringing through your ears.

“you taste so good, baby.” he whines, brows furrowed and hips stuttering into the bed. he looks up at you, sharp grin and white teeth and all. “wanna taste?”

you nod your head, half delirious, and accept the middle finger he brings to your lips with an open mouth. the digit slides against your tongue and you whimper, tongue swirling against rough callouses from his guitar. he watches your mouth, the peek of your pink tongue, and curses softly to himself. when he pulls his hand away he is immediately sitting up to take off the baggy hoodie he wears.

your shirt comes off next, raised off your shoulders and thrown on your purple rug. when you look back at jisung he is ridding himself of his jeans and briefs- your jaw might as well drop to the floor.

jisung is… fucking ripped. clearly, the baggy clothes he wears hides the defined muscles of his biceps, the lines in his abdomen from all of the hard practice in chan’s garage. he isn’t so muscular it’s off-putting; his stomach is still soft despite the clear muscle, and you can’t stop the way your nails trace the lines where his ribs rest. he has tattoos.

jisung is a little speechless now, bottom lip caught between his teeth and shivering at the ghost of scratches on his skin. he tries to tease you, make fun of you, but the words come out breathless.

“you just gonna stare at me, baby?” he asks, cheeks tinged red. he brings his middle finger, the one that had been in your mouth minutes ago, to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“or do you want me to fuck you?” jisung breathes out, one hand gripping the base of his cock. he’s long, head curved towards his stomach, and your eyes widen briefly. you’ve never taken anything that big- your fingers look tiny compared to it.

you want him so bad. even though there’s a tremble in your thighs, your pussy sensitive and dripping with a mixture of your release and jisung’s spit. you need this, need him, so bad it hurts.

“please ji, need you so bad.” you whimper, pouting your wobbly bottom lip. jisung’s thumb wipes at your cheek and you realize it’s damp with tears. jisung coos at you, shushing you and pressing his hips closer to tease your clit with the tip of his cock. he pumps himself, the movement rubbing his head back and forth against your sensitive bud. you cry harder- desperate beyond anything you have ever experienced.

“it’s okay, rockstar.” jisung is whispering, cock sliding down your slick folds to apply pressure to your hole. “i’ll give you what you need. i’m the only one who can, right?”

with that, he thrusts in. you scream.

jisung doesn’t stop the slow grind of his hips until he is fully nestled inside your wet cunt. you feel so full, so perfect, the idea that this is what you’ve been missing out on baffles you. then again, you can’t help but think it might just be jisung that you’ve been missing.

jisung, who is groaning and panting into your neck and twitching deep inside you like he is using every ounce of self control not to move. his hands are gripping your hips tight, knuckles pale, and you hope to find purple splotches in their shape tomorrow. you feel the way your pussy clenches around his cock, causing both of you to whine into each other’s skin.

“baby please, please tell me i can move,” jisung is moaning, rambling. “god, your pretty little pussy’s so tight- feels so good.”

your nails dig into jisung’s back, gripping harder when he groans and grinds his cock into your g-spot. you moan against his neck, nipping at the skin there.

“move, please-“ you whimper, and jisung does just that.

he draws his hips back, cock leaving you almost completely. then he’s thrusting forward in a filthy grind, hips meeting yours flush together. he moans, staring down at you with eyes glazed over, one hand coming up to grab your breast while the other moves down to rub his thumb over your sensitive clit again.

jisung’s thrusts pick up pace, and when you moan loudly he gets faster. now, your dual moans bounce off the walls of your dorm as his hips snap up, driving his cock to drag against your most sensitive spots over and over again.

“god- look at you,” jisung huffs, leaning down to mouth at your cheeks and lick into your mouth, wet and messy and almost possessive.

“jisung, please.” you beg, panting and feeling your cunt squeeze around his cock as he drives into you from the new angle, hitting deeper. “i need-“

you cut yourself off with a whine, unsure of what you need. all you know is you’re aching for it, desperate even though you can’t find the words. jisung kisses you once more, pulling away to pull your legs over his shoulders and slow his thrusts down to shallow little movements.

“fuck,” he whines, slack jawed and spreading your pussy open to watch the slide of his cock, thrusting deeper into you now. “i’m not gonna last, not with you milking me like this, baby.”

you feel so embarrassed being the sole recipient of his attention, eyes tracking the way your glistening pussy sucks him in. but more so you’re turned on, desperation clawing at your gut, and the match inside you is sparking to life. with each drag of jisung’s thick cock against your walls you get closer to the edge, and when he slams into you deep, groaning into your neck and grinding against that sensitive bundle of nerves, you cum with trembling fingers and a scream of his name.

jisung gasps at the feeling of your pussy clenching around his length. he shallowly pumps his hips, barely leaving your cunt at all now, and stills completely as he shudders through his own orgasm buried deep inside you.

jisung’s hips grind into you slowly, he whimpers like he can’t control the overstimulating movement. when you blink the stars from your vision and the fog in your brain away, jisung finally slows to a halt, lying his weight on your body and wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

for a moment, all you can hear is the thump of your own racing heart in your ears. slowly, jisung rolls off of you and pulls out with a drawn out groan. he stretches, back popping an obscene amount of times before tilting his head to lock eyes with you.

“how do you feel, rockstar?” he asks, voice raw and grin lazy. you huff a laugh, struggling to reboot your brain.

“sore, but in a deeply satisfied way,” you hum. jisung nods, one hand coming up to push damp hair off of your forehead.

jisung somehow keeps your feet steady as you move to the bathroom. you clean up, sighing when you realize you’ll need another shower eventually. but for now, the cool washcloth jisung runs over your aching limbs is good enough. when you’re back in bed, curled into a firm chest beneath soft blankets, jisung’s hand combing through your hair, you can’t help but smile into his chest.

“what’re you thinking about?” he asks softly, eyes half shut. you shrug lazily.

“i have a virginity story now,” you snort. the vibration from jisung’s laugh makes your head spin a little.

“you’re right,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “now you can tell everyone it was me.”

“the hot guitarist in a garage band?” you tease. jisung grins at you, sleepy and soft. his glasses are on your nightstand, and without them his eyes sparkle in the low light from the window.

“you could also call me your boyfriend,” he says, and if the light was a little brighter you have no doubt you could see a blush on his cheeks. your grin matches his, sleepy and satiated.

“my hot guitarist boyfriend,” you purse your lips, pretending to think. jisung’s hand squeezes the meat of your thigh, and butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“yeah. i like the sound of that.”

a/n: rip to my first draft that got deleted, you were so good and i’ll miss our time together dearly ):

as always, requests are open! next post will be another alien!skz introduction, bc i love those freaks ((,:

He was so hot like this… god, that shirt. It clung to him in all the right places, and she couldn’t even think straight anymore. Felix knew it too—of course he did. He felt her shifting restlessly on his lap, unable to sit still, her fingers toying with the zipper of his shirt.

“Baby, sit still,” Felix murmured low enough so only she could hear.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “Please, Felix… can we go?” she whispered, her voice almost breaking with need.

His hand slid firmly onto her thigh, grounding her. He prayed the others couldn’t hear a thing. “Just wait until Chan makes the announcement, then I’ll take you home. Okay?”

She nodded quickly, trying to behave, but he could see the impatience burning in her eyes. Felix smiled—half proud, half tortured. He couldn’t deny how hard he was getting just from how needy she was for him. His baby. Always so sweet, always so good to him. And god, she deserved it… especially when he knew how much that stupid shirt was driving her crazy.

While Chan spoke, Y/N didn’t hear a single word. Her attention was only on Felix. Her hands wandered over the tight fabric stretched across his chest, fingertips tracing the outline of his abs, the dip of his muscles. She brushed against his necklace, felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat—faster now, just like hers. She could feel him growing harder beneath her, and it made her cheeks burn as she admired her breathtaking boyfriend.

When the announcement finally ended, she lifted her gaze back to him. “Lixie,” she said softly, almost a plea.

Felix’s lips curved into a smirk, eyes darkening. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.”

She practically lit up, beaming, as she hopped off his lap. A quick, polite wave to the other members—and then she was tugging him toward the door, heart racing with anticipation.

────୨ৎ────

But oh, she couldn’t wait. The second Felix shut the dressing room door, she spun to face him, her back pressing against the vanity.

He only smiled, shaking his head softly, strands of pink hair falling over his eyes. “Be a bit more patient…” he teased.

Patience was the last thing on her mind. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, yanking him closer until his hips pressed against hers. “You look so sexy in this shirt,” she whispered, breathless, tilting her head up at him. “I’m so horny, Felix. I need you—right now.”

His lips parted, a low curse caught in his throat. He bit down on his bottom lip as her hands went for his zipper, tugging it down just enough to slip her fingers inside, over the heat of his chest. The fabric gave way beneath her touch as she pushed the shirt aside, palms roaming greedily over the planes of his muscles. She slid higher, circling her thumbs over his nipples, and smiled when his breath hitched. She knew exactly how sensitive he was there.

“Fuck…” Felix groaned, his hand clamping down on her waist, grinding his hard length against the thin fabric of her dress. The friction made her gasp, her nails pressing deeper into his skin as if she could hold him there forever.

Her hand trailed lower, tugging the zipper further open. God, the ridges of his stomach, every flex of his abs beneath her fingertips—it made her dizzy with want. Her beautiful, unfairly sexy boyfriend, standing there trembling because of her touch.

Felix’s hands gripped her thighs suddenly, lifting her with ease and setting her on the vanity. The cold surface under her thighs made her shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his eyes.

“I said we should go home…” he muttered darkly, standing between her spread legs, “…but you wanted it here, huh?”

Her chest rose and fell quickly, the half-open shirt framing his muscles like a goddamn tease. She could barely think, only nodding, drunk on the thought of him fucking her right against the mirror.

His pant zipper came undone in one swift motion. “Show me your tits, come on, baby.”

She didn’t hesitate for even a second, tugging the neckline of her dress down and letting her breasts spill free for him. The way his gaze dropped made her thighs clench around his waist.

Felix shoved his boxers down just far enough to free himself, stroking his cock slow, deliberate, right in front of her. She whimpered at the sight, voice breaking. “Don’t take the shirt off… leave it just like that, please.”

“Yeah, baby,” he rasped, a smirk tugging at his lips, “you get what you ask for.”

The second she spread her legs wider, he chuckled, shaking his head. Of course she wasn’t wearing panties. His little vixen—always doing this when she wanted him so badly she couldn’t wait until they got home.

He dragged his cock through her folds, groaning low when he felt just how soaked she was. “Baby… you’re dripping just from this shirt? Fuck, you’re so gone for me.” His eyes locked onto hers as he rubbed the tip teasingly at her entrance, not giving in just yet.

She leaned forward, desperate, her hands roaming his chest again, fingers clutching at the open fabric. Her lips brushed his ear, voice shaking with need. “Put it in… please fuck me. Fill me up so I can walk out with your cum on my thighs.”

Felix’s jaw flexed. He gave one last stroke over his cock, then pushed inside her with a groan, stretching her open. “Just how I like it,” he growled against her neck.

Her only answer was a broken moan, her back arching against his chest, completely undone already.

She couldn’t stop touching him—couldn’t let go. That half-open shirt, the necklace swinging against his skin, the way every muscle flexed under her palms as he thrust into her—it was all too much.

“Felix—god, you’re so fucking hot—” she gasped, fingers clutching the shirt as if she could tear it open. “Your chest—fuck—your abs, look at you—”

Felix gritted his teeth, grinding in deeper, his grip bruising her thighs where he held her spread on the vanity. Her babbling made his cock twitch inside her, made him pound harder, rougher, until the vanity rattled against the wall.

“Baby,” he groaned, breath ragged, “you’re not even listening to yourself.”

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Her hands slid greedily over his chest again and again, tracing his muscles, pinching at the open fabric. Her words tumbled out between moans, desperate and broken. “So fucking sexy—this shirt, oh my god—can’t stop touching you—fuck, I love your body—”

He let out a breathless laugh, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth while still slamming into her. “Yeah? You love it that much, baby? Can’t keep your hands off me?”

Her nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red lines. She was nearly sobbing with need, clinging to him like she’d fall apart otherwise. “Yes—yes, you’re so perfect, Felix—so hot—please, don’t stop—”

“Not stopping,” he growled, driving into her so hard she cried out, head thudding back against the glass. “Not when you’re this fucking wet for me. Not when you’re shaking just from touching me.”

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, dragging him impossibly closer, and still her hands wouldn’t let go of him. Clutching, roaming, worshipping every inch of him in that damn half-open shirt.

“Mine,” she babbled into his chest, kissing over his skin. “My sexy boy, my Felix—fuck, fuck—”

Felix’s smirk curved against her throat. He loved it—loved every messy, shameless word spilling from her lips. And he was going to fuck her until she was too wrecked to even speak.

Her words broke apart as he slammed into her harder, the vanity creaking beneath them. She opened her mouth, but all that came out were shattered moans, her voice too wrecked to form anything coherent.

“Y-You—ahh—” she tried. Her lips dragged across his skin, kissing, sucking, worshipping whatever part of him she could reach, but she couldn’t speak anymore. Just little cries and whimpers every time his cock hit deep.

Felix’s grip tightened on her thighs, holding her open, fucking her rough and fast. Sweat glistened along his chest, the chain around his neck swinging with every thrust, and she clung to him desperately, palms flat against his abs like she couldn’t survive without touching him.

“Baby…” he panted, voice wrecked, “you’re gone, huh? Can’t even talk—just drooling over my body while I fuck you.”

Her answer was a choked sob of pleasure, head falling forward against his collarbone. She couldn’t let go. Her hands traced every ridge of muscle, every line, trembling as her orgasm built like fire in her stomach.

Felix groaned low, feeling her tighten around him. “That’s it—fuck—squeeze me just like that, baby. Come for me. Make a mess all over my cock.”

Her cry was muffled against his chest. She was shaking, nails leaving faint scratches across his skin as wave after wave of release tore through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, just clung to him like she was drunk on him, gasping against his skin.

Felix kept thrusting through her orgasm, a feral smile curving his lips as he watched her unravel. “So beautiful like this… all mine.” He buried himself deep one last time, groaning as he spilled inside her, holding her there, pressed tight against his chest.

All she could do was whimper, dazed and trembling, her hands still glued to his abs like she couldn’t let him go even now.

She breathed him in, chest rising and falling with his, her ear pressed against his heartbeat.

“Lixie,” she whispered softly.

“Yes, baby,” he murmured back, kissing the top of her hair.

“Can you… wear more shirts like this?”

He chuckled, still catching his breath. “Of course.”

She let out a strange little noise, half-grin, half-whimper, and buried her face against his chest. “I can’t walk, Lixie…”

day two 🍣

day five 🩺

day six 🤒

day seven 🎒

day nine 📸

day ten ✈️

day thirteen 🐶

Your situation with Hyunjin has been going on for almost eight months now.

Some things have changed; he’s undoubtedly more clingy with you, and you started hanging out with no intentions of having sex. What remains unchanged, however, is the fact that he’s still the same old egotistical idiot.

The thing is, you somehow grew to like that about him. It’s amusing to you just how much he loves himself, gloating about his conquests at the club or bragging about maintaining his number-one spot on the camming website. Although this only makes you even more certain you would never entertain the idea of being with someone like him, having the man who makes you come so hard also make you laugh just as much is a nice bonus.

Hyunjin began coming over to your apartment around two months ago, gradually wearing down your resistance with a lot of pestering until you finally let him in. Your home was almost sacred to you. Hooking up in his apartment was one thing, doing that in the familiarity of your home made it feel almost too intimate. You’ve fucked on the couch, on the kitchen counter, in the shower, but you never allow him into your bedroom. You’re not entirely sure why, but it would feel as if you were tainting your favorite place if he were to fuck you in your bed.

You’re getting ready for a date in your bathroom with Hyunjin sitting on the floor behind you, claiming the view of your ass from that angle was optimal. He lets out a loud chuckle as he watches you dab yet another layer of concealer on the hickey he left on your collarbone earlier tonight.

“Fuck off,” you snap at him. “You think this is funny?”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it is,” he simply says, and you see him shrugging in the mirror, a grin tugging at one corner of his lip.

Hyunjin has the maddening habit of marking you. Although you told him numerous times how much you hate it, he conveniently ignores that when you have sex, and you’re always too clouded by lust to say anything about it.

“What are you doing on your livestream tonight?” You ask after finally making the small, red blotch on your skin imperceptible.

Watching Hyunjin cam has become your go-to de-stressing method after work. Sitting in a corner far away from the camera, you watch him do his job with ease, like it’s second nature to him. It’s almost intoxicating how he seems to always know what to say to get his viewers going, knowing exactly when to be mean and when to play the role of a caring boyfriend. It makes you clench around nothing, hungrily watching as he makes himself come all over his stomach so deliciously it has you eager to be fucked as soon as he’s done.

He hums. “Well, they really seemed to like the toys I tried last weekend, so I guess that’s what I’m doing for the next few weeks.”

“Ooh, so you’re sticking to the toys now,” you tease him with a grin.

Last Saturday, you watched as Hyunjin opened fan gifts he had received in his PO box during his livestream. Some were extremely questionable (if you had a nickel for every time he pulled out used panties from a box, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice), while some were exactly what you would expect to be sent to a camboy. A variety of BDSM gear, kinky costumes fans wanted him to wear, and of course, a lot of sex toys.

Hyunjin shrugs again, leaning on his left hand and staring up at you through the mirror. “I kinda have to do whatever my viewers want to keep my number one ranking.”

“And are you going to the club tonight?”

“Nah,” he yawns and rests his head against the wall. “Took the day off. My spot there is secured,” his lips upturn into a grin. “No other guy at that club can compete with me.”

That’s another thing you learned about Hyunjin these past months; his club and website rankings are extremely important to him. You also learned he has an Only Fans account on the side where he shares videos and pictures of himself, and he pesters you about making any type of content with him every couple of weeks. You were tempted after seeing the enticing amount of money that was in it for you, but your decision was unswayed.

Your confidence wasn’t like his. You’re sure having your performance and appearance scrutinized by strangers would make you go insane.

Nonetheless, you struggle to conceal your jealousy toward Hyunjin’s jobs, as they seem so damn perfect in your eyes. How great would it be if you could essentially work only when you felt like it? Not to mention the fact that both his jobs are basically having orgasms and looking pretty, which certainly seems heavenly when compared to your headache-inducing corporate job.

He even delayed the starting time of his livestream tonight for the sole purpose of tormenting you while you get ready.

Jihoon is your first proper date in almost a year, as you only allowed yourself the luxury of dating after getting the promotion you were working for. He’s in your company’s finance department, and you two have been casually flirting for three months. You tried your best to ignore him for a couple of weeks, but not only was he ridiculously good-looking, he was also the breathing definition of boyfriend material. He was kind, holding doors open and helping other workers carry heavy boxes with a smile on his face. He was caring, always arriving at the office with coffee for his coworkers, having memorized everyone’s order.

Not to mention the whispered rumors that echoed through the hallways of the ninth floor. Your friend, who had recently moved into the finance department, shared them with you after a drunken night out. Jihoon was apparently amazing in bed, all while being a perfect gentleman. The perfect blend of rough and sweet, and never one to kiss and tell — all these rumors apparently coming from women in his department who had dated him and couldn’t keep themselves from gushing about their unforgettable experience with him.

But it would be a lie to say you were excited about this date because of him.

It was the prospect of how much this could vex Hyunjin that really got you eager.

A couple of nights ago, you joked with Hyunjin about how Jihoon was the complete antithesis of him, hence why he was the ideal candidate for a boyfriend. Hyunjin’s reaction was exactly what you anticipated, with him becoming visibly annoyed and grumbling about how Jihoon probably talks a big game but does the bare minimum in bed.

You simply laughed because the mere thought that another man could be just as good, if not better, than him in bed was what ticked Hyunjin off. Never mind that you said Jihoon was perfect because he was everything he was not.

“You know,” Hyunjin suddenly says, “We should make a bet.”

And you hesitate for a beat and a half because you know Hyunjin.

Still, you sigh and answer, “Sure. What kind of bet?”

“If this guy is really that good in bed, then I’ll pay for your next date myself,” he vows, his smirk only growing as you turn to look at him through the mirror. “If he’s average, you go on a date with me.”

You silently look at him for a few seconds before laughter bursts out of you.

“Hyunjin, do you fucking hate me?” You ask, turning your body toward him. “I get shitty sex then have to endure a date with you?”

He shrugs, rising to stand in front of you. “This just proved to me how much faith you have in your date,” he calmly says. He then leans into you, caging you against the countertop, hands beside your body. Hyunjin bends his face to yours, his breath tickling your skin as he speaks, “Just admit you know no guy will ever be a better fuck than me.”

You scoff at his arrogance, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Hyunjin follows you when you leave the bathroom to grab your purse in the living room, loudly clicking his tongue behind you.

“Why’d you dress up for him?” He huffs, and you turn to look at him with a raised brow. “This fucking short dress and shit.” He rakes his eyes over your body from head to toe, tugging at his bottom lip. “I should make you dress up for me, too. You look hot.”

By now, you’ve learned that the best course of action to follow when dealing with Hyunjin’s monumental ego is to ignore it altogether. It’s also quite entertaining to purposefully give him answers you know will vex him, so you sweetly smile at him.

“Thank you,” you beam, your fingers toying with the hem of your short dress, pulling up the fabric. “Hopefully Jihoon thinks the same.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. He harshly presses his lips to yours, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His tongue pushes past your lips, brushing against your own. It’s almost like an act of possessiveness — leaving his taste on your tongue before you go off to your date with another man.

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer. But just as you’re getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the sound of your doorbell echoes through the room, and your eyes widen. Pulling away, you promptly push Hyunjin back and wipe the corners of your mouth. You stifle a chuckle when your eyes land on his face; red lipstick smudged all over his lips.

“Stay in the bathroom until I leave,” you tell him while grabbing your purse from the couch. He rolls his eyes again, this time with a scowl contorting his features.

You smile at Jihoon when you open your door. Barely giving him the chance to say hello, you hurry him toward the elevator, reminding him of your reservation. You know Hyunjin, and you wouldn’t put it past him to show up behind you simply to stir up some drama.

But that’s the thing; you know Hyunjin, yet you still choose to stay in this strange arrangement with him. Because it’s the fact that you know him, for some reason you’re unsure of yourself, that makes you actually like him a little bit.

Hyunjin ends his livestream as usual, saying goodnight with a promise of seeing his viewers again tomorrow night. He never acknowledges tips and addresses no one by their name or username. Some cammers wear masks to conceal their identities — this cavalier persona, uncaring and nonchalant, is Hyunjin’s mask.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he goes on to do the arduous task of cleaning up the fleshlight he used tonight. It was a gift from a viewer, who begged him — with quite a lot of tips — to use it for her. What was initially meant to be a one-time thing has now become his new routine, as his viewers couldn’t get enough of it.

Hyunjin hates this part of his camming job: the incessant need to please the people who watch him, lest they abandon him and move on to a new cammer. He doesn’t mind the sex toys — although cleaning them makes him want to throw his entire collection out the window — but he’s had to do a lot of shit he really didn’t want to, all in the name of maintaining his number one spot.

He was eighteen when he first started. In desperate need of money after moving out of home for college, one of his friends suggested he sell his nudes to people around campus. When Hyunjin scowled and asked why the fuck that was his first and only suggestion, the boy laughed. He remembers his words to this day:

“Hyunjin, you know you don’t really have anything else other than your looks. Your grades are shit, and you’re lazy as fuck. This is pretty much the only way you can ever make money.”

And by that age, that was nothing new to Hyunjin, as he had heard different variations of that same speech his entire life. When he was a child, his parents urged him to become an idol or a model, going so far as to motivate him to ignore his schoolwork to attend auditions (even when he whined about how much he hated them). 

His mother always said his face had the power to make people love him while studying would only lead to success.

“It’s much better to be loved, Hyunjin,” she told him when he was ten. “Anyone can reach success if they try hard enough, but being loved is a privilege only special people can have.”

By his late teens, when his reputation began to precede him after countless hookups during high school, his friends assured him he could make a lot of money off of sex.

Either way, the consensus was always that the only thing Hyunjin had to offer were his looks and body.

At first, he hated it. He wanted nothing more than to be appreciated for anything other than what his face looked like, or how good he was in bed. He got his grades up, excelled in hobbies he actually liked, and even set goals for himself after college. But Hyunjin never heard a word of praise from his parents, and his friends were always more interested in who he was hooking up with than how he got to the top of his class. After a while, he realized he was simply fighting a losing battle.

So he accepted that truth, because it couldn’t hurt him if he were the one to incentivize it.

That was why he decided to follow his friend’s asinine suggestion.

His first endeavor was with simple videos of himself jerking off in front of his mirror, the shitty camera of his phone certainly hindering his attempt at making the whole thing pleasing to the eyes. He would promote them through text messages to acquaintances he’d met at parties at first, later creating a Twitter account dedicated solely to selling these videos. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was certainly more than his friends made while working monotonous shifts at coffee shops.

Only four months later, he coincidentally entered the world of camming through a girl he had been hooking up with.

They were in her bedroom, just about to have sex, when she giggled against his lips and told him she could make a lot of money if he fucked her during one of her livestreams. He said he could make a lot of money if she let him record them fucking.

They ultimately reached an agreement, and Hyunjin appeared on his first-ever livestream that same night — a mask covering both their faces and the money made split evenly between them.

He recalls how his eyes were glued to her computer screen the entire time. He was used to praises and compliments, but there was something different about having a stranger openly say they’d do anything to be in that girl’s place, that they would pay to have him fuck them, or even something as simple as telling Hyunjin how good he was. It had a rush of euphoria cursing through his veins.

It was as if, for the first time in his life, he had found something he was truly good at, something that he was entirely in control of. He was a natural, and he enjoyed every moment of it, easily slipping into the persona he wears to this day.

He got drunk on that validation and was desperate to have it again.

After that night, he created his own account, with many of his hookup’s viewers following him immediately. He dropped out of college soon after he started, as the money he made from camming along with selling his content on Only Fans already exceeded the estimated salary in his field of study.

Hyunjin was good, and he loved being good. Most importantly, he loved knowing he was good.

That’s why he simply ignores the few times he’s had to do things he wasn’t all that keen on doing. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing he’s good at — pleasing people, no matter the cost.

After a long shower, Hyunjin walks back into his room and sinks into his bed. He’s glad he took the day off from his job at the club since a viewer tipped him $300 to edge himself for as long as he could tonight. After an hour of that, the only thing he wants is to curl up in bed and sleep for hours.

He buries himself under his blankets, but just as his eyes flutter closed, the sound of laughter echoes through his room. Your laughter.

He sits up in bed almost immediately, a grin etched onto his lips. He still remembers the day he found out his walls were paper thin; the day you touched yourself while he was streaming. He knew you were so sure you had been quiet — only letting out small whimpers and sighs — but he heard you regardless, and your pretty noises made it even easier for him to come that night. He initially assumed you were simply masturbating, but when you came knocking at his door the very next day to complain about how noisy he was, he knew you were touching yourself to the sound of his voice.

Hyunjin has fucked many women in his life, but for that silly fact alone, none piqued his interest quite like you did.

He rests his back against the headboard, ready to listen to you complain on the phone to some friend, grumbling about how fucking awful your date had been. But a masculine voice suddenly permeates through the wall, filling his room with the sound of your date’s obnoxious laughter.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” he slurs, clearly a bit tipsy.

“Me too,” you giggle, and Hyunjin’s face twists into a scowl. Since when do you giggle like that?

He hastily yanks the covers off his body, rushing to settle into his computer chair in a shameless effort to hear your conversation more clearly.

“Sorry I laughed when you spilled your drink on your dress,” the guy — whose name Hyunjin frankly didn’t care enough to memorize — apologizes before adding, “Do I make you that nervous?”

And it’s like Hyunjin can hear the smirk in the man’s voice. Why the fuck must this annoy him so much? Couldn’t you go back to his place to fuck? Maybe you’re pissed at him over the bet, and this is a desperate attempt to prove you’re right. He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before reclining on the chair.

Just means you’ll be having mediocre sex while he listens.

“Of course I was nervous,” you reply. “Look at you, this shirt’s been driving me crazy since you picked me up.”

The man snickers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you state matter-of-factly, “Kept looking at your arms the entire night. Couldn’t think straight,” your voice drops to a whisper, and Hyunjin could recognize the alluring lilt that envelops your voice from a mile away.

You use it with him almost every night.

Your date hums. “Oh, you like my arms?”

And Hyunjin can just picture the man flexing his muscles. What a fucking idiot.

His room is filled with the creaking sound of your bed, and he physically cringes. He can’t believe you’re really gonna make him listen to you fuck another guy. He especially can’t believe you so easily let this fucker into your bedroom. Hyunjin has known you for eight months, and you still adamantly insist that your bedroom is off-limits.

Maybe this is his long-overdue punishment for making you lose sleep for a month.

Your room suddenly falls into an odd stillness. All Hyunjin can do is sit in the dark, consumed by the incessant ticking of his clock, unable to tear his gaze away from the wall in front of him. His mind becomes his own worst enemy, flooding his imagination with vivid images of you laid out underneath this man, his arms you seemingly love so much caging you between the mattress and his body while his lips explore every inch of your skin. Or maybe you’re on top, rolling your hips in that slow, tantalizing rhythm that drives Hyunjin mad while looking at him with lust-clouded eyes.

The sound of you softly whimpering shakes him out of his thoughts, and Hyunjin subconsciously clenches his fists. Despite hearing the guy talk to you again, all he makes out is a jumble of garbled, muffled sounds.

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, eyes boring holes into the wall until his vision goes blurry and gnawing on his lips until he tears at the delicate skin. His ears sting with the sound of your bed frame hitting your shared wall, and your sighs and moans he loves so much only seem to mock him.

When the sardonic symphony eventually fades into silence, Hyunjin remains where he is. He feels powerless; he can’t stop how his heart weighs heavy in his chest or do anything but feel the scorching flame of anger searing his veins.

He’s memorized your date’s name by now — Jihoon, as your voice repeatedly called out.

For the first time in so long, Hyunjin was no longer in control.

Hyunjin struggles to conceal his annoyance when you show up at his door the next day as if nothing had happened. The hickey he gave you no longer being concealed by makeup and your ever-present grin only added to his aggravation, as if you were relishing in his agony. He wants nothing more than to fuck that smug grin off your pretty lips, but he can’t bring himself to touch you. Not when his ego is bruised by how easily another man could please you.

After all, that was all Hyunjin had to offer. Why were you even here in the first place? If you had already found someone else to fuck you, he had nothing more to give you.

Sitting on his couch, Hyunjin’s frustration gets the best of him, and he’s the first to break the silence.

“I don’t even gotta ask if you had a good time last night,” he sneers, and you stifle a chuckle, trying but ultimately failing to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, the restaurant was nice.”

Hyunjin can’t contain the scoff that escapes his lips, his mouth curling in disdain. “You know damn well I’m not talking about the restaurant.”

You cock your head to the side, brows knitting together as you put on your best act of naivety.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” You ask, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Hyunjin is pushing your body onto the couch before he realizes what he’s doing, the rage he felt last night no longer laying dormant in his bloodstream. He cages you against the cushions, his hands resting beside your body. You instinctively spread your thighs to accommodate him.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” He asks, bending his face to yours. You shrug with a contented sigh, lifting your arms to wrap around his back.

Hyunjin scoffs, and you let out a yelp as he abruptly hoists your legs over his shoulders, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs. He leans down to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth but pulls away before you can register to kiss him back, leaving you to chase after his touch.

“Is this how he fucked you?” He asks with a hum, his lips hovering mere inches above yours. His hold on your thighs becomes bruisingly tight as he waits for your answer. “Hm? Did he fuck you good?”

“We were both tipsy,” you murmur, breath hitching as he pushes his hardening member against your clothed core. “It was okay.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, and Hyunjin mockingly pouts. “So he wasn’t the sex god you were promised, baby?”

You roll your eyes. “I just said it was okay.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, his gaze transfixed by the way your eyes look up at him while you subtly roll your hips up into him. He’s not stupid, he knows the reason why you have such an infuriating effect on him. He’s never going to be good enough for you outside of being a good fuck, yet he feels a blooming yearning inside of his chest that makes him selfishly want to keep you to himself. Even if he has nothing else to offer you.

So he chooses to swallow his pride, just this once, to prove to you why you should choose to stay and stop searching for pleasure in other men — because Hyunjin knows you will find much more than that in them. Much more than what he has.

“‘Okay’ isn’t what you deserve,” He tuts, his mind slowly fogging over with desire as you roll your hips harder against his length. “Isn’t what you’re used to after all these months, is it? Hm?” He urges, raising a hand to lightly brush against your jaw before gripping it. “Answer me.”

Hyunjin knows you’re struggling not to give in; that’s one of his favorite things about having sex with you. The push and pull, how you try so hard to act tough and unbothered but ultimately melt under his touch every time. Even so, he was only able to truly break you for the first time a couple of months ago. You’re obstinate, he’ll give you that.

You shrug again, and he knows it’s the only answer he’ll get from you for now.

“Are you gonna see him again?” He asks instead.

You let out a quiet sigh as Hyunjin lazily grazes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t think so.”

“Yeah?” He asks, arching a brow almost knowingly. “I can’t help but think you only brought him home to make me listen to you.”

And you giggle at that. The same overly sweet, coy giggle Hyunjin heard through his wall last night.

“I guess you’ll never know,” you simply answer, running a hand through his hair and lightly gripping a fistful while your eyes flicker down to his lips.

Hyunjin wastes no more time talking to you — he knows your conversations usually lead nowhere. He crashes his lips into yours, fingers gripping your jaw once more and forcing your lips open, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. You whimper into the kiss, a sound he knows slipped past your lips unwittingly. Your tongue swirls against his, and he savors your taste with a low hum.

You tilt your hips up, chasing after him again and whining when Hyunjin moves out of reach. He smiles.

“You want me to give you what you’re used to?” He asks against your lips, and you’re quick to nod. “So fucking greedy, made me listen to you get fucked last night only to come running back to me.” He slides his hands under your ass and picks you up effortlessly, carrying you toward his bedroom with an exasperated sigh. “Would’ve been easier if you just admitted no guy will ever be as good as me, wouldn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl, but your words are cut short as Hyunjin throws you onto his bed and promptly walks to his wardrobe. “At least Jihoon got to it quick. I’m not one of your viewers, I don’t care much for your chatter.”

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, retrieving a small blue box from among his clothes and sitting at the edge of the bed. “He got to it quick? Is that your way of telling me your date was a one-minute man?”

You open your mouth as if you’re ready to refute him but ultimately close it and cross your arms over your chest, willing him to do something. Hyunjin stifles another laugh.

“Good thing you have me, then,” He mutters, the goading lilt to his voice impossible to disguise. Placing the box on his nightstand, he hovers over your body once again. “I got all these toys, and we never got around to playing with them together.”

You visibly shudder, nodding slowly as Hyunjin looms over you. He slots your lips together once more, this time much more softly. Your tongue lightly brushes against his bottom lip, licking into his mouth as your thighs wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles behind him and drawing his body flush against yours.

With each languid and deliberate stroke of his tongue, Hyunjin revels in the way he can feel you grow more impatient, tugging at the fabric of his shirt and rutting your hips against his. His hands slip under the hem of your shirt to grip your waist, easing your movements. The way his cock strains against his sweatpants becomes impossible to ignore as his hard length presses against your warm core harder and harder with each roll of your hips. 

Hyunjin’s hand glides from your waist to your stomach, caressing your skin before finding its way to your cunt, fingers harshly pressing against your clothed wetness. You whimper into the kiss as he lazily circles your clit over the fabric of your shorts.

“Let’s make a deal,” Hyunjin whispers as he pulls away. “You admit I’m the best fuck you’re ever gonna have, and I might let you come.”

He punctuates his words with a firm press of his fingers to your clit, and he can visibly see your resolve crumbling before him, but you still force out an indignant huff.

“In your dreams,” you shakily breathe out.

Hyunjin shrugs, his fingers leaving your core and traveling over the expanse of your stomach. He promptly rids you of your shirt, and you hiss as his hands brush against your sensitive nipples, Hyunjin watching as they immediately stiffen in response.

Your habit of not wearing a bra nearly drives Hyunjin insane — even on the first day you came knocking at his door, he remembers having to fight the urge to glance down at the way your nipples peaked beneath the fabric of your white shirt.

You’ve been driving him crazy since you walked into his line of sight.

Hyunjin lightly massages your breasts before grazing your hardened nipples with his thumbs, swiftly sucking one into his mouth, causing sighs to spill from your lips as your hand tangled in his hair. He flicks the stiff bud with his tongue before grazing his teeth over it, and you roughly tug at his roots. He smiles against your skin, nudging the peak of your nipples with his lips and sighing.

“Say it,” he calmly tells you, but your only response is tugging harder at his hair. “You’re so stubborn,” He chides, tugging his shirt over his head. “I told you, you’re only coming if you fucking admit it.”

He slowly moves onto the foot of the bed, his hands roaming along your legs with featherlight touches. He places wet kisses from your stomach to your inner thighs, sucking lightly at the skin until his lips hovered tantalizingly close to your still-clothed, aching cunt. And then he stops, instead pressing a kiss to your hips.

“Hyunjin,” his name falls from your lips as a breathy whine. He looks up to find your gaze already on him, eyes silently pleading. He grins, thumbs drawing circles on your inner thighs as you push your hips into his face, but he promptly pulls away. “Please,” you finally whisper, although barely audibly. 

Hyunjin hums, satisfied, pressing a wet kiss to your core through the fabric of your shorts before sliding them down your legs along with your panties. He hisses through his teeth at the sight of your wetness, thumbs gliding up and down your folds before spreading you before him. His tongue immediately pokes out to travel up your slit before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit, sucking harshly, and your hand soon flies to rest on his head.

He lifts his eyes once more, humming against your folds as he finds your head rolled back onto his pillows, lips falling open as you softly mewl. He could listen to your sweet sounds all night, reveling in the way every flick of his tongue made you become louder and louder until you were all but screaming his name.

But he has to teach you a lesson tonight.

His tongue delves deep into you, gliding against your slick inner walls, causing even more arousal to flood his lips. His eyes flutter closed with a pleased hum, lapping up every drop of your wetness.

“Fuck,” you rasp, and Hyunjin knows you’re close.

With a wicked grin, he slips two fingers into your warm cunt, curling them just the way you love while his tongue expertly circles your clit. When you roll your hips against his lips, yanking his head toward your body, Hyunjin pulls away.

He watches as your eyes shoot open and you frown at him, but he simply grins, thumb wiping at his glistening mouth before slipping the digit into your agape lips.

“Say it,” he repeats, unrelenting, and stifles a laugh when you groan loudly.

You hook a leg around his waist, bringing his body close to yours again, the heat of his thick cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Hyunjin sucks in a breath, focusing on reining in his emotions, determined not to let you win. His mind is already completely clouded with lust, desperate to fuck you into the mattress, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of watching him give in to you.

He bends his face to yours, gasping out a curse as he watches the way you swirl your tongue around his finger with a hum, lazily sucking it while maintaining your eyes locked onto his. He presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue, and your lips obediently fall open before upturning into a taunting smile.

You still think you’re in control.

Hyunjin shakes his head, his resolve coming back to him.

His fingers fall from your tongue, and he presses his lips against yours. You melt into the kiss, hands traveling down the expanse of Hyunjin’s abdomen, then back up to wrap around his broad shoulders. He lets you do as you please, rummaging through his box until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, ultimately distracting you, and you let out a small whimper, which grows into a loud groan as he presses the blunt tip of the massaging wand to your clit and switches it to the medium setting.

“What the fuck,” You all but growl into his lips, and Hyunjin hums.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

You let out a shuddering sigh. “T-Too much,” you whimper, hands scrambling for Hyunjin’s arms in an attempt to ground yourself, but ultimately clawing at his bedsheets.

He glides the wand along your drenched folds, moving up and down, eyes transfixed on the way your arousal drips out of you and coats the toy. Your entire body jolts when he harshly presses the vibrating tip directly onto your clit. He could come just by watching you squirm underneath him, loud groans falling from your lips. How he wished Jihoon could be in your room, listening to how beautiful you sound when you’re actually being taken care of properly.

Hyunjin feels his cock twitch every time your body shudders, trying to escape the relentless vibrations, sticky precum gathering in his sweatpants and increasing his discomfort. He desperately wants to fuck you.

With a low grunt, he leans in closer to you, pinning your arm to your side and flicking his wrist as he presses down harder on your swollen clit.

“Got no idea how pretty you sound, do you?” He hisses, “If only you weren’t such a fucking brat and just — fuck.”

His words dissipate when your free hand wiggles between your bodies and pulls down his sweatpants, freeing his cock. Your fingers immediately wrap around his length, squeezing him tightly before frantically stroking him. The sounds that echoed through the room were lewd, unmistakable evidences of both your arousals.

Hyunjin pulls the wand from your clit, turning down the vibrations and letting it rest against one of your peaked nipples while he grips his cock in his fist, the swollen tip prodding at your entrance, just barely pushing in. You whimper loudly, clutching his arm, fingernails digging crescent moons into his pale skin.

“Come on,” he growls, cock now gliding up and down your slit. “I know you wanna come, just fucking say it.”

But you’re unrelenting, staring into his eyes and weakly shaking your head.

Hyunjin stops his movements altogether, his shaft nestled against your soaking cunt, the head of his cock resting heavily on your clit. He presses the wand down onto his length, increasing the intensity to the highest setting. A loud, broken moan falls from your throat as your shaky hands grip his wrist, your back arching off the bed. You try to push the toy away, but Hyunjin’s free hand wraps around your neck, effortlessly pinning your pliant body down onto the mattress.

He presses his forehead to yours, his sweat dripping down onto your breasts as he fights off his orgasm.

“Fucking say it,” he hisses, tears gathering in your lashes. The unyielding vibrations from the wand traveling through his cock and going straight onto your clit, coupled with the way his hand tightens around your throat, finally have every bit of your resolve crumbling.

“You,” you choke out, “Best fuck I’ll ever fucking have, Hyunjin, god — I wanna come, please.”

Hyunjin feels satisfaction enveloping his entire being, and the pleasure intensifies tenfold, his cock twitching and a low groan reverberating from the depths of his chest.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathes out, giving your neck one last squeeze, and your climax erupts from you with a loud cry. As your entire body convulses and your head tilts back, Hyunjin can feel your release coating his cock before dripping onto the sheets below.

As you struggle to catch your breath, your grip on his wrist tightens and your body squirms away from the vibrations, but Hyunjin only presses down harder, seeking his own release. He soon comes with a sigh, eyebrows scrunching together, his cum landing all over your cunt.

He turns off the vibrator, labored breaths mixing with yours as you two come down from your highs.

“You’re fucking insane,” you chuckle after a beat.

And Hyunjin’s lips stretch into a lazy smile. “And you owe me a date.”

You were reluctant at first, having assumed it was simply Hyunjin’s ego talking that night, only teasing you because you were going on a date with someone else when he proposed that odd bet. However, you eventually found out he wasn’t at all joking and actually wanted his ‘prize’ — as he called it — for winning the bet.

Figuring out a date was an aggravating task, given that Hyunjin worked on weekends and you worked on weekdays. You told him numerous times to just let it go; you could simply hang out in his apartment like you usually did and call it a date. It wasn’t anything serious, just another one of his whims.

But Hyunjin’s persistence was unwavering, and he settled for taking yet another day off and canceling his livestream altogether so he could take you out on a Saturday.

Although you weren’t looking forward to it at first, you unknowingly smiled whenever you saw the day marked on your calendar alongside your endless work assignments. It was ridiculous, and you wouldn’t admit it to him, but deep down, you were actually excited about this date. You wanted to know what it’s like to have a conversation that doesn’t end in you two bickering, wanted to know what it feels like to hang out with him without the thought of fucking looming over your heads.

You were strangely excited to get to know Hyunjin outside the four walls of your apartments.

But the Sunday before your date, disappointment washed over you like a cold bucket of water when Hyunjin told you he had to cancel.

What did you expect? You knew Hyunjin. This should’ve been the obvious outcome from the start, but you were stupid and allowed yourself to be swept away by a hope that proved too good to be true.

He waited until he finished his livestream to tell you — as if canceling less than a week before wasn’t already bad enough. Your irritation reached its peak as you sat in his bed and listened to him insist it wasn’t his fault.

“One of the other hosts had a family emergency so he’ll be gone for two weekends,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. Family emergency. Of course.

“Hyunjin, you say that like you don’t take countless days off with no issues,” you refuted, and his frown deepened while he shook his head.

Just say you don’t wanna go on this stupid date.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not like that. We have rules to follow,” he insisted. “Only one host can be absent at a time. I don’t have a valid reason for bailing on Saturday, so I’m forced to go.”

“Or you’ll lose your precious number one spot?”

“Or I’ll lose my fucking job.”

And you simply shrugged as you ultimately realized that was yet another pointless conversation between you. You then went on to have sex, as you always did when confronted with the threat of a serious conversation, and the topic was forgotten.

At least by Hyunjin.

You spend the next days avoiding him to the best of your abilities. Deep down, you know you’re behaving like a child, but the way you allowed yourself to get excited over something as stupid as a date with him still makes you feel pathetic. It’s impossible not to feel like he raised your hopes only for the pleasure of shutting you down. All because you went out with someone else, and you know that was a blow to his ego.

You two have never been anything more than friends who hook up — and even using that term feels almost comical, seeing as you two can’t have a conversation without it turning into a petty argument or an ego battle — but his insistence on this date, and your own eagerness seemed to hint at something more.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

You brought Jihoon back to your apartment hoping to have mind-blowing sex after a nice date. Plus, you knew Hyunjin would hear you, and you terribly wanted to deflate his ego. A win-win situation in your book. Instead, you had mediocre sex at best. Jihoon skipped foreplay entirely, simply pounded into you, and finished far too quickly while leaving you hanging.

Maybe he was too tipsy to perform well, or maybe the women in your office are living in a depressing reality where a guy’s ability to find the clitoris means he’s a god among men. Either way, even after putting on your best performance, Hyunjin still saw right through you.

And the worst part is, even you can’t explain why you did that. Your mind argues it was all for the pleasure of vexing him; he’s been annoying you since he first moved in next door, after all. But your heart is quick to jump in with a list of facts and reasons why that can’t be the case — all while presenting some valid arguments that lead you to believe you might like Hyunjin more than originally planned.

But he was still Hyunjin at the end of the day. Your egotistical idiot neighbor whose fragile ego you hurt, so he’s retaliating.

After three days of successfully ignoring Hyunjin, one of your friends at work makes all your work crumble with a single phrase.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t gone back to The Siren,” she grumbled during lunch, and you stabbed an innocent piece of broccoli with your fork.

That was all it took to ignite your curiosity.

You sit at your desk later in the day and look up that damn club, telling yourself you simply want to find out why your friends are so desperate to go there. This has nothing to do with Hyunjin.

Upon entering their website, you realize The Siren wasn’t a nightclub as you had imagined; it’s an elegant lounge with a lavish-looking bar you’re sure charged $5 for a bottle of water. As you read the club’s About Us page, the entrance fee almost has you choking on your coffee, despite it being expected for such a place. Among several rules, one catches your eye:

The club allows a maximum of twenty attendees per night, offering a choice of twenty-five hosts.

You gnaw on your bottom lip at the realization that perhaps Hyunjin wasn’t lying, and that was the reason only one host could be absent at a time.

Eventually, you find your way to the Hosts section of the website. You’re a bit taken aback by how these men are presented as amenities, like products displayed at an online shop, with nothing but their names and a picture along with their price.

They’re divided into tiers: gold, emerald, and platinum. Hosts in the gold tier are younger, most likely having just started on the job, and their prices are the most affordable. The emerald tier is more expensive, with some hosts who look old enough to be your father. The disturbing realization dawns on you that these men’s values diminish as they age.

On the platinum tier, only five hosts are displayed, and you blanch at each of their unique prices. Hyunjin is the most expensive, at $500, excluding extra fees. You click on his black and white picture, and a myriad of photos of Hyunjin flood your screen. You’re struck by how different he looks in these shots; his styled hair and impeccably tailored suits look nothing like the man you see at your apartments every day, lounging around in sweatpants and loose t-shirts.

A description sits at the top of the page, short but still enough to make you grimace. 

Hyunjin has held our club’s esteemed number-one position for two consecutive years now, and rightfully so. Complementing his striking good looks is an alluring personality that will make you feel cherished throughout the evening. His undivided attention will undoubtedly meet your satisfaction, and his additional services will leave you breathless.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting — you were already aware of the nature of Hyunjin’s job as a host — but the club’s portrayal of these people as mere products leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your curiosity has morphed into frustration as you return to the homepage, but a message catches your eye just as you’re about to exit the website. Three spots are now available for Saturday night due to the absence of one of their hosts. And before you can even process your actions, you’ve already booked these spots for you and two friends.

Thank you for choosing to unwind at The Siren! We will contact you individually regarding further details, including host orders.

Host orders? That is enough to make you close the website.

You can’t believe you’re going to do this. You know for a fact Hyunjin will be upset, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he wants to toy with your emotions, you have every right to show up at this club.

You wait for Hyunjin to leave for work to get ready on Saturday. You weren’t able to avoid him this afternoon and spent the day lazying around in your apartment, binge-watching some new reality TV show he’s obsessed with.

You expected Hana and Naeun to eat you alive for buying tickets to this overpriced club without consulting them first, but their excitement overshadowed any anger they had. You also played up your excitement, although, by the time your shift had ended, you mostly felt regret for spending all that money purely out of spite.

The email you received explains The Siren has a strict dress code, not allowing any client in unless they’re dressed to their standards.

The patrons are required to match our club’s overall atmosphere.

You rolled your eyes. At least their arrogance fit their ostentatious price.

As you skim through their several other rules, you find out that booking a host isn’t mandatory, and often, hosts will seek out patrons themselves if they’re free for the night.

Be prepared to be approached by one of our available hosts at any given moment. Should you be fortunate enough to capture their attention, that is.

Among the rules, you’re also explicitly told that tipping the hosts anything beyond their set prices is strictly forbidden. The more you learned about this club, the more you struggled to understand why Hyunjin held it in such high esteem.

You bring out your best dress from the back of your closet, hoping you ‘matched the club’s overall atmosphere.’ You let out a heavy sigh as you make it past the What Not to Wear crew guarding the entrance alongside the bouncer, and you are officially in.

“This is your first time here, right?” Hana asks you, linking your arms together. You nod, and she grins before adding, “You’re in for a treat.”

The Siren is exactly what you saw in the pictures, only the dim glow of purple neon lights illuminating the extravagant chandeliers, corner sofas, and opulent decorations you know cost more than your month’s rent.

The owner herself personally escorts every single patron to their seats — a tradition spanning over a decade since the club was first inaugurated. Briefly introducing herself as Taeyeon, the beautiful woman leads you through a long corridor adorned with the hosts’ pictures on the walls. Finally, you arrive at a sofa, where a champagne bottle nestled in an ice bucket already waits for you. She informs Naeun that the host she ordered for the night will be a bit late due to personal reasons, before bidding you goodbye with a smile.

You awkwardly shift in your seat as Hana leaves to fetch you drinks from the bar, and your eyes scan the lounge as it slowly fills up with people. You notice a few of the men you saw on the website parading around the club, a grin etched onto their lips as they lock eyes with a few of the patrons. Other hosts are already tending to their ‘dates,’ sitting beside them on the sofas and attentively listening with warm smiles.

Hyunjin wasn’t lying when he said his job was making lonely women feel wanted.

The club itself is rather boring without the satisfaction of a host pampering you. The slow jazz music playing softly in the background makes you feel almost drowsy, and the dim lighting does little to help. For an hour, you watch as hosts come and go. Some lead their clients toward the bar area, partaking in drinking games with other clients and hosts. Others guide women up the black, shimmering staircase at the back of the club, leaving you to wonder where they could possibly be off to. Thankfully, you’ll have Hana to keep you company when Naeun undoubtedly disappears off to somewhere with the host she ‘ordered.’

Your gaze falls on the sofa in front of you, where a host’s dimpled smile lights up his face as he playfully strokes a woman’s cheek, eliciting a shy giggle from her lips before she continues her story. His intense gaze remains fixed on her face, his hand soothingly trailing down her back while he nods, seemingly enthralled by their conversation. It would be a lie to say coming here after a tiring week at work wouldn’t seem like stepping into a dream. Even if it’s all a well-constructed lie, having a handsome guy cater to your every need and listen to you complain without uttering a word is almost fucking idyllic.

Your eyes then wander toward the back of the club, where a small group of hosts is huddled around a circular table, quietly laughing among themselves. Sitting at the center, Taeyeon’s intent gaze oversees her club’s activities while engaged in a heated phone conversation, her scowl deepening with each word she mutters.

You assume these hosts weren’t booked for the night or are still waiting for their clients to arrive. Just as you’re about to advert your gaze, Hyunjin emerges from a door on the left. His hair is meticulously styled, slicked back to reveal his gorgeous face, and his tall figure is dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked neatly under an expensive-looking black blazer.

Hyunjin has always been beautiful in your eyes, but seeing him exude so much confidence stirs up something inside of you.

His mere presence captivates you so strongly you find it impossible to look away, even as his gaze meets yours. A look of utter bewilderment washes over his face as he stills his movements, looking almost startled. You two fall into an impromptu staring contest as if you’re attempting to communicate with your eyes alone until Naeun taps your shoulder, snapping you out of your haze.

“He’s so fucking hot, isn’t he?”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“The host you’re ogling at,” Naeun giggles, “I saw him on their website the first time we came here, but I was too late so I couldn’t get him to myself. I’m so glad you asked us to come tonight ‘cause I got to order him before he was booked,” she explains, and you feel as if all the air has frozen in your lungs. Hyunjin is the host your friend ordered. “I’m fucking broke now, but I know it’ll be worth it.”

You inwardly grimace at how she talks about Hyunjin, almost like he’s only a shiny toy she couldn’t buy in the past. That, coupled with how booking a host is so casually referred to as ordering, makes you feel a bit nauseous.

Hyunjin eventually walks over to your table, as you knew he would. He’s Naeun’s host for the night, after all. As he slowly strides toward your sofa, his focus remains solely on you. For a split second, his eyes flicker with something akin to sadness before he quickly resumes his usual persona.

He immediately takes Naeun’s hand, kissing her knuckles with half-lidded eyes and a sultry grin. The way he looks at her has the knot in your stomach tightening, aching with the realization that it’s the same way he always looks at you. You were never anything special or significant to each other — you’re well aware of that — but the sting you feel is unbearable for some reason.

Hyunjin sits beside Naeun, and his focus shifts entirely to her. His wandering hands leave a trail of goosebumps from her arms to her bare legs, while his whispered words make her cheeks flush a rosy pink. And it feels as if he’s completely ignoring your presence, which is such a foolish thought you almost feel ashamed. This is his job, but reminding yourself of that every couple of minutes somehow only makes you feel worse.

Because this isn’t a one-time thing, this happens every single time he works.

At some point, while you were too busy engrossed in Hyunjin and Naeun, Hana got a host of her own. With his bleached blonde hair, a constellation of freckles on his cheeks, and a deep, gentle voice, it seems he’s done his job at captivating her. Each host seems to embody a specific persona. From his less-touchy demeanor to the softness in his eyes when he looks at Hana, it’s clear that this guy is going for the caring boyfriend type.

As you remember how available hosts sometimes approach clients themselves, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. If they’re available, no one has booked them for the night, meaning they won’t earn a single dollar. Their focus will undoubtedly be on finding the wealthiest available patron. Hana came from old money, only working at your company after falling out with her family, but her head-to-toe Chanel attire radiates wealth. It’s no wonder this host so graciously chose to sit beside her.

Eventually, Hana is led to the large bar by her host, and the atmosphere in your little space becomes increasingly uncomfortable for you. Your neglected drink is now lukewarm, leaving a damp spot on the hem of your dress as condensation seeps through from where you rested the glass on your thighs.

Hyunjin leaves a few minutes later, taking Naeun by the hand. He briefly turns to look at you, his gaze now nearly unreadable. Only disappointment — or was it hurt? — flashes in his brown eyes before he walks away to lead her up that stairwell.

You sit alone for what feels like an eternity, the once bustling lounge slowly falling into a deafening silence around you. Jealousy and hurt intertwine inside your brain, spinning around in an endless cycle and making your head throb.

You’re only waiting until you’ve finished your way too expensive Cosmopolitan — far too warm to be enjoyable now — when a figure suddenly sits beside you. To your surprise, it’s a host. His styled dark brown hair is messy as if he’s been running his hands through it, and his black button-up shirt has the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins running along his forearms. He’s hot, there’s no denying, but your sour mood won’t be solved by some eye candy.

“Seems we’re both alone tonight,” he starts, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

You simply hum, taking a final sip of your drink before placing the glass on the table. You’re not really in the mood to entertain this conversation, so you uncross your legs, ready to leave.

But your movements halt when his hand gently rests on your knee.

“You seem so lonely here all by yourself. Why don’t you come with me?” He offers, and your eyes narrow. He lets out a hearty laugh. “No need to act so suspicious, I’m just making an offer. We’re both alone. What’s the harm?”

To say you were skeptical would be an understatement. You clearly remember his face from the website as he was right beside Hyunjin, at the number two spot of the platinum tier, his price only slightly less offensively expensive.

“I’m Minho,” he offers his hand, which you reluctantly take after telling him your name. After your awkward handshake, you try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he places your clasped hands on your lap, his thumb drawing circular shapes on your skin as he continues, “I waited all night for my client to show up. I could really use a distraction.”

Of course.

You take a deep breath, and your gaze shifts towards his face.

“I don’t have money to order you, sorry.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Minho’s lips, his hand leaving yours and finding the skin of your thighs. “How about I make this my treat, then? My client has this habit of ordering me and then ghosting me,” he sighs, “Isn’t that cruel? Taeyeon said she won’t let it fly anymore and is refusing to give her a refund for tonight.”

As Minho’s soft touch glides along your skin, his fingers inching closer to the hem of your dress, your mind replays the scene of Hyunjin’s hand on Naeun’s legs. The way he touched her mirrored how he had touched you so many times, and it replayed in your mind like a flickering film. It ignites the flame of ugly jealousy inside of you once more.

“Your treat?” You whisper, and Minho’s face inches closer to yours, your noses brushing together.

“I’d hate for a pretty girl like you to go home unsatisfied,” he whispers.

You’re walking up the gleaming steps of that staircase before you can make sense of what you’re doing. Minho’s hand doesn’t leave your skin for a second, fingers now gliding across your arms as he leads you down a wide corridor. You eye the place curiously, taking in the row of closed, dark wooden doors lining both sides of the hallway.

Minho leads you toward the only door that has been left ajar, and it finally dawns on you what happens on the second floor of The Siren.

The room is not large; a round bed occupies most of the space between the small bar and the dark velvet couch. Following your initial conversation with Hyunjin about this job, he consistently evaded any further questions you asked until you eventually gave up. You always assumed he found the subject boring, much like you did when forced to talk about your own job.

You knew his job as a host meant pampering women, making them feel wanted and tending to their every need throughout the night. It seems your brain conveniently failed to remember that it also implied having sex with them.

“I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You feel a shudder run through your body as those words ring inside your mind. That’s what extra fees meant.

Hyunjin led Naeun up those stairs. It doesn’t take much imagination to know what they were doing at that exact moment.

Minho locks the door behind you, and his strong arms circle your waist, drawing you closer to his body. His gaze drops to your lips, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Is this okay?” His voice is gentle, with no pressure lingering in his words. You know you could say no, go back home, and wallow in your self-pity for the rest of the night.

But you don’t want to do that.

Because you know Hyunjin is currently fucking your friend. And, despite the rational side of your brain screaming that this is his job, it does little to extinguish the searing fire of jealousy that burns under your skin.

So, you allow yourself to fall into bed with Minho.

His touches are almost feather-light, his kisses gentle, and his movements deliberate as he fucks into you.

It feels good, but it’s not what you’re used to.

It’s not Hyunjin.

Hyunjin returned home as soon as he possibly could after his shift.

Any anger was dampened by the sadness and shame he felt because you had to see him at the club. It’s his job, but it’s a job he never truly loved. He feels vulnerable and powerless as a host, a stark contrast to what he feels when camming.

Taeyeon personally scouted him from his livestream. He was twenty and already making enough money to provide for himself. He didn’t need a new job, but the allure of the validation he knew it would provide him was enticing. Compliments and adoration fueled Hyunjin throughout his entire life. He knew it was a bit pathetic, but that was how he was taught to be.

During his training period, Taeyeon and the older hosts instructed him. They taught him how to erase his true self to fit into what would most appeal to clients. That was easy for Hyunjin. He’d already been doing that for most of his life.

He wasn’t tricked into anything. He was given a meticulous explanation of every minute detail of the job and was allowed to set hard limits for anything he wasn’t comfortable doing. Taeyeon treated the hosts like her family, like older and younger brothers she cared for. She provided apartments for those who came into the job with nothing, paid off student debts, and was always willing to listen to their problems.

She would be the perfect boss if not for her love of money.

Every host receives only 5% of any money they make for the club. Hyunjin, as the highest-paid host at The Siren, only makes around $100 per weekend — if he’s lucky enough to have clients booking him for extra services every night.

He knows he’s being exploited but can’t bring himself to quit.

When he first discovered the ranking system at the club, he turned to smoking because of pressure. Naturally, he started at the lowest tier but needed to climb as fast as possible. He was determined to do whatever it took to reach that number one spot. He bleached his hair, splashed out on clothes he didn’t like, and even took up groups of clients per night. Hyunjin had always found comfort in sex. He had complete control of the situation and the satisfaction of knowing he was the reason someone felt good was just another form of validation, like he was loved for as long as the sex lasted.

Sex at the club was never like that. It was a chore, something he did because he had to. It wasn’t anything like camming, and it wasn’t like having sex with someone he actually cared about.

It wasn’t anything like having sex with you.

Seeing you that night only made it harder for him to drag himself up those stairs and do what was expected of him.

Hyunjin got home that night and fell asleep on the couch. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything, especially shower, as the thought of facing his reflection in the mirror was unbearable. Different emotions swirled inside him like a tornado until they ultimately consumed him before he finally dozed off.

He thought he could trust you, thought you knew him well enough to understand why he wanted to keep this part of himself hidden from you. The night he first told you about this job, he put on a mask — like he always did — and put on his best act, playing up his arrogance despite how scared he felt. When you told him that same night he wasn’t anything worth falling for, and that you could be together only until you found something better, he felt as if his heart had shattered for the first time in his life.

That was the night he realized a mask couldn’t protect him from everything. Especially his own heart.

It wasn’t intentional — liking you this much hasn’t been exactly enjoyable. It simply happened. Because you were the only one who ever chipped away at his impenetrable wall and saw the closest thing to the real Hyunjin, yet still chose to stay.

You hadn’t stayed because of his looks; you two never cared about impressing each other.

You hadn’t stayed solely for the sex; you two often got together simply to enjoy each other’s company.

Hyunjin couldn’t be blamed for assuming you had stayed because you knew him. Not the mask he wore or the persona he showed to the world — the real him.

But tonight, even among all the designer clothes and expensive drinks, he felt as if you had just witnessed him at his lowest. And he could only hope you still chose to stay after that.

You’ve barely been awake for an hour when a knock echoes through your apartment. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, because there’s only one person who could be at the other side of the door.

After your jealousy-clouded brain made the asinine decision to sleep with Minho, you’ve locked away any and every thought into a pretty little box inside your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you had done because you knew the remorse would slowly erode your mind. You certainly didn’t want to think about Hyunjin, as even the faint memory of his eyes from the previous night would dig at your heart until it shattered.

But there was nowhere you could hide outside of your mind.

Hyunjin is quiet as you open the door, and he remains quiet as you two sit together on your couch. Your tea sits forgotten on your coffee table, and you focus on the swirls of steam rising from your mug as you endure his silence.

You force yourself to speak when your tea finally goes cold.

“I’m sorry,” you simply say.

Hyunjin’s hands tug at the sleeves of his sweater, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why did you come to the club without telling me?”

“I was angry at you,” You bite your lip, knowing your reasoning is ridiculous. “Because of the date…” you trail off, and Hyunjin turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he walked into your apartment.

“So you thought coming to my work would be a good idea?”

You shrug, instinctively looking away as you feel the intensity of his eyes on you. It was just like when you first met him, only it made you ashamed instead of flustered. You missed that initial lightness, but you knew that was long gone now. Sorting out your issues with Hyunjin was necessary if you ever hoped to have a healthy relationship. If every conversation turned into an argument that would only be avoided through sex, there was no point in dragging this on.

“I wasn’t thinking,” is all you can say.

Hyunjin scoffs. “That was kinda obvious.”

The biting tone in his voice makes you rise to your feet, shaking your head. You put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“What? You wanted me to be rational when I thought you were just playing with me?” You throw your hands up as you blurted out, exasperation consuming any remaining trace of pride within you. “When I thought you were having fun acting jealous and proposing dates only to come up with shitty excuses to shut it all down?”

“Playing with you?” Hyunjin mirrors your words, eyes narrowing as he closes the distance you had created. “I thought you knew me enough to know I mean it when I say something. I wanted to go on that date with you, and I was fucking jealous. That night you forced me to listen to you fuck another guy made me wanna punch my fucking wall.”

You open your lips, but no words come out.

You’re embarrassed. Going to The Siren wasn’t the first childish thing you had done out of spite because of Hyunjin. But your anger was never directed at him. It was always you; for allowing yourself to become so attached to him and like him so much that it drove you mad.

Going on that date simply to rile Hyunjin up, showing up at his job because you felt entitled to when your mind insisted you had been wronged — that was all you and your stupid mind being incapable of accepting the fact that you have fallen for the guy you swore would never be of any significance to you.

The guy you so proudly declared unworthy of falling for.

“Are you really not gonna say anything?” Hyunjin lets out a weak laugh, and when your eyes meet again, his expression leaves no room for doubt this time. Sadness swims freely in his eyes while they well up with tears that he vigorously fights to hold back. “I thought you knew me,” he reiterates. “Thought you stayed because you knew…” He trails off, shaking his head.

As he turns to leave, you instinctively reach out for him. After nine months of knowing each other, you hold his hand for the first time.

“I do know you, Hyunjin,” you blurt out, squeezing his hand when he refuses to look at you. “I stayed because I know you. Beyond your rankings, beyond that club, beyond this damn wall you built around yourself. At least a little bit, I know you.”

He takes a deep breath before his eyes lock on yours again. “I feel like you’ve been tearing down brick by brick of my wall.” He’s the one to squeeze your hand this time. “I kinda fucking hate that.”

You attempt to stifle a chuckle, but it escapes your lips nonetheless. Hyunjin smiles.

“I’d love to know you even more, beyond this mask you wear all the time,” you confess. And you’re tired of hiding behind your own mask, so you tell him, “It’s tiring feeling like I only know half of who you truly are when I already like you so fucking much as it is.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen, surprise eclipsing any trace of his initial sadness.

“What? You like me?” He sputters, and you bite your lips as a smile spreads on your lips.

You cannot believe this is the same Hyunjin whose ego made you want to punch his face.

“Well, no shit,” you chuckle. “Why do you think I put up with you for so long? Don’t you think if I was looking for something better, I would’ve found it already?”

Hyunjin’s lips crash into yours before you can say anything else, his fingertips barely brushing against your skin as he cupped your face.

Your lips part for him, and a low hum resonates from his chest. You wrap your free arm around his shoulder, your hands still tightly intertwined, and pull him closer to you. It’s an awkward position, but neither of you is willing to unclasp your hands.

Hyunjin’s tongue glides languidly into your open lips, making you clutch at his arm as your mind goes dizzy. You had never kissed like this — always too impatient and lust-drunk to savor the feeling of each other’s lips properly.

It sends your entire body ablaze.

He’s pulling away far too soon, tugging at your bottom lip with a small smile.

“I’m not something better, but I’m gonna be,” he mutters against your lips. “For you.”

But you shake your head. “Just let me in. You’re already more than enough.”

In order for your efforts to work, you and Hyunjin established three crucial rules: absolute honesty, open communication, and no fucking until significant progress is made.

You start slowly, with that unfulfilled date that had been the catalyst for you two finally confronting your feelings.

Hyunjin was nervous. The few times he’s gone on dates, his mind was set on wrapping it up as soon as possible to take the person home. It didn’t matter where they went or what they did; every date inevitably led to his bed.

This time was different.

You certainly weren’t expecting to have a picnic on a Saturday afternoon. Your surprise was evident as your eyes widened at the sight before you: Hyunjin, standing at your door with a picnic basket and a digital camera slung around his neck. When you jokingly commented on how that was the most un-Hyunjin thing you had ever seen him do, he nonchalantly shrugged.

As you two sat together under a tree, however, he told you he’s always loved picnics. Growing up near a park, picnics became a family tradition that started when he was just a kid and still happens whenever he visits his parents. The silly smile that was etched onto your lips lingered throughout the entire day. Hyunjin’s closed-off nature made that small piece of information feel like a precious gem you had just collected. It was far greater than any of the pointless conversations you two had in the last nine months.

It felt like watching another brick from his once towering wall shatter to the ground.

Hyunjin quit his job at the club a month after your first date.

He didn’t elaborate on it at first, simply telling you it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You had now learned it was best to give him space, as his tendency to shut himself off only worsened if he felt pressured. Deep inside, Hyunjin yearned to share every little detail about himself with you and hear your own stories in return. However, years of keeping everyone at a comfortable distance hindered his ability to open up without feeling vulnerable.

So you only pulled him into a hug, running your hands through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. You two then set off for your date at a bakery close to your apartments, with the subject seemingly forgotten.

Until Hyunjin suddenly told you the entire truth under a lamppost in front of your building. He whispered that he didn’t want to go home yet, and you found yourselves sitting on the sidewalk as you listened to his story. You weren’t exactly shocked at the information dumped on you, but it still made your heart sore. He was taken advantage of because he longed to feel accepted, to feel loved.

During the elevator ride, you could tell Hyunjin was struggling to hold back tears with every ounce of his strength. You know he was eager to be alone when he pressed a weak kiss to your forehead before heading towards his door. So you reached out for his hand once more and pulled him toward your apartment despite his protests.

That night, Hyunjin struggled to suppress his tears until they ultimately overflowed out of his eyes and down his cheeks as you held him on the couch. Before you knew it, tears unwittingly streamed down your face as well. It was as if your emotions were a mirror image of his.

Another brick down.

You discover Hyunjin’s love for photography by accident.

Everywhere you went together, his camera was draped around his neck. At first, you paid little attention to that detail. His job consisted of being in front of a camera; it wouldn’t be outrageous to surmise he simply enjoyed documenting his daily life. You teased him about it one day as he stopped in front of a flower shop to snap yet another picture. He shrugged, casually telling you he’d been taking pictures since his teenage years, later majoring in photography before dropping out of university.

Unable to tame your nagging curiosity, you urged him to show you his pictures. Nestled deep inside his wardrobe were several boxes filled with photographs he had taken over the years. Most captured the simple beauty of ordinary places and simple things, like the pretty flowers he saw at the shop you walked past, but some showed people candidly laughing while immersed in the happiness of their daily lives in parks or museums.

He wore an unabashed grin on his lips when he opened another box, this one containing around ten developed pictures of you. Among the small pile of photos, one catches your eye: your smiling side profile beaming at a group of kids, a hand shielding your eyes from the sun. You turn the picture around, and the words “First date. I was so nervous, and she was so pretty” are scribbled in black sharpie. Hyunjin groaned beside you, telling you he just jotted down something stupid without much thought. It made you smile like a kid.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a weak chuckle, “I never show them to anybody. None of them are really good, anyway.”

You furrowed your brows at his words, studying his face for any hint of sarcasm. His pictures were beautiful, perfectly depicting how happiness and mundanity often blended into one unbeknownst to people. But Hyunjin noticed, with his camera always ready at the right time for the perfect shot, even with things as small as a snapshot of your first date.

“They’re amazing, Hyunjin,” you told him matter-of-factly. “This is the kind of thing you’d find in art galleries. I can’t believe you keep this talent hidden.”

He shrugs your words off at first, taking a photo in his hand and studying it for a few seconds. His lips curve into a small smile, shyly at first, until his face is beaming as he looks down at his work. You can’t help but smile along, noticing how his cheeks blushed for the first time since you met him.

Another brick down.

In two months, you and Hyunjin went from meeting only at your apartments to going on weekly dates and from pointless bickering to actually understanding each other. The more he opened up, the more you found yourself being vulnerable around him as well.

You learned Hyunjin’s confidence was truthfully a part of him; he simply played it up to a maddening degree to protect himself. He is a confident man, but he’s certainly not the egotistical idiot you once believed him to be.

Your suspicions about him secretly being a softie were also confirmed as you witnessed him cry nearly every time you watched the romance movies he sheepishly confessed to loving. At first, he would sniffle, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat, before excusing himself to the bathroom. A few movies later, he allowed himself to openly cry in front of you for the second time. He’s proven to be a certified crier since then, often laying his head on your chest and silently shedding tears while you played with his hair.

At the end of the day, Hyunjin was a flawed, complex person like any other. He wasn’t always soft and sensitive, but he wasn’t only a cocky and smug little shit, either.

You found you loved both sides of him equally.

Your rules proved to be exactly what you needed, as you only felt closer to Hyunjin each passing day.

But a particular rule became your number one enemy after a month.

Your pent-up sexual frustration seemed to escalate with each passing day, fueling an increasing desire to just say fuck it and climb on top of Hyunjin. It certainly didn’t help that he was even clingier now, long limbs always tangling with yours when you lay on the couch, or his warm body pressing against you while you were cooking. Not to mention that you listened to him livestream every weekend. You opted to wait in his living room — because watching him would just be masochistic — but it felt like you had been transported back in time. Sitting alone for hours and listening to him moan was still as torturous as the first time it had happened. Even if you touched yourself to the sound of his voice, it was never enough.

You knew what you needed, but you have been essentially blueballing yourself for a month now.

As you two lie on your bed, watching another sappy romance movie, you can feel the heat rising inside your body, like a thermometer reaching its peak. You were fully expecting Hyunjin to cry, but this movie turned out to be far more erotic than romantic. His persistent need to have his lips on you — be it with a kiss or with lazy nibbles on your neck — also certainly doesn’t help your suffering.

You power through as you watch the love interests making out while Hyunjin lightly presses his lips to your neck, his body all but caging you against your bed. But the moment the couple heads to the bedroom, hastily undressing each other with heavy pants and sighs, you absentmindedly part your legs. Hyunjin is hovering above you before you can make sense of what’s happening, your laptop carelessly thrown to the side. His body pressed against yours, fitting perfectly between your thighs, as his darkening eyes bore into you.

“Hyunjin,” you have half a mind to say, “Our rule.”

He simply nods, and goosebumps ripple across your body when you feel his hardening member brush against you.

“We made progress,” he states with a grin. “You even let me into your room now.”

“It’s not enough to justify fucking again.”

As much as you were desperate for it.

He swallows slowly, nodding and bending his face to yours. “But our rule says no fucking,” he reasons. “If I make love to you, then it won’t even count.”

“Love?” You whisper, and the thermometer shatters as he presses a long kiss to your open lips.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin smiles between kisses, brushing his lips against yours. “Love.”

It’s not a clear confession, not a beautiful I love you whispered between kisses — but you know Hyunjin, and the sincerity in his voice says everything.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt as you pull him even closer to you, and he promptly presses his mouth against yours, his tongue teasingly gliding across your bottom lip. Each roll of your hips ignites the heat within you like scorching lava, your desire swallowing you entirely after so long of craving this.

His tongue presses against yours, effortlessly taking control of the kiss, capturing your bottom lip with his teeth before releasing it and traveling toward your jaw. He sucks the sensitive skin into his mouth with a hum, drawing out a whimper from your lips while he moves down the column of your neck. Smiling against your collarbone, Hyunjin alternates between harsh nibbles and soft kisses, leaving blooming rosy spots on every inch of your skin. He travels toward your chest, his hands slipping under your shirt and brushing your skin before tugging off the fabric.

Hyunjin’s hands cup your breasts, your nipples tightening under his attention, and his lips move down your body, placing kisses from your chest to your stomach. His hand eagerly kneads the soft skin of your chest while the other pinches your nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingertips.

“I missed this,” he whispers, voice muffled against your skin, and you let out a shaky breath as a response when his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweatpants. “That was a stupid rule.”

“Shut up.” You let out a breathy laugh. “It was a great rule, it helped us make progress.”

“Fuck progress,” Hyunjin groans, tugging your sweatpants off.

He wastes no time hoisting your legs over his shoulders, causing you to shudder and goosebumps to ripple through your body when his lips close around your clit without warning. His tongue licks long stripes up the length of your slit, his fingers spreading you open so he can lap at your arousal with a low hum. Hyunjin’s thumb rubs circles around your clit as his lips find your inner thighs, sucking and biting at the skin, leaving another blushing trail of his yearning for you.

His tongue delves into your wetness, savoring you with tantalizing, pleasure-filled groans that travel through your cunt. The insistent throb between your thighs intensifies, your hand tugging at his hair and your hips rolling into his touch as you arch your back. Hyunjin’s fingers dig into the skin of your thighs while you reach your peak, his teeth pulling your clit gently as you come with a broken cry.

Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are heavy with lust when he looks at you, his firm grip keeping your legs over his shoulders.

“You still think that rule was great?” Hyunjin gives you a lopsided grin that almost has you rolling your eyes, only he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, rending you unable to do anything but mewl and tug at his hair. He chuckles, pressing his lips to your inner thighs once more, his eyes still locked onto yours.

You needed him closer, his strong arms surrounding you and his scent enveloping your senses until you felt dizzy. The mere thought of his cock has you clenching, arousal trickling down your slit, and you tug at his hair harshly with a whine.

Hyunjin climbs over you again, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid movement and crashing his lips into yours, the taste of your release swirling in your mouth as your tongues meet.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he chides. You simply hum, his thick length brushing against your core as he leans down to kiss you again.

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk, breaking the kiss and rolling your hips up into his erection. Hyunjin scoffs, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them over your head, his eyes darkening as he looms over you.

There’s no more push and pull between you two during your daily lives, but it’s something you hope never fades away during sex. You’re sure Hyunjin’s need to have control, coupled with your taste for riling him up, will make sure that never happens.

But Hyunjin has no intentions of making you beg tonight — not after so many weeks of making himself cum to the thought of your pretty cunt, knowing that damn rule kept him from actually having you.

He tugs his sweatpants out of his way, one hand still pinning your wrists to the mattress. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock hanging heavily, tantalizingly close to your sopping cunt. Hyunjin strokes himself hastily, clearly having grown impatient, precum dribbling from the ruddy head of his cock and easing the glide of his fist.

The swollen tip slides against your wetness, and he lets out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours. The delicious stretch as he presses inside has your hands instinctively reaching out to him. But his grip on your wrists only tightens, keeping them in place as he leans into you, stretching you further with a hiss.

“Fuck, I missed being buried in your cunt,” Hyunjin mumbles, and you moan as his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Always so tight, like you were made for me.”

He sheaths himself inside of you completely, and you arch your back with a groan as his cock twitches inside your sensitive spot.

“Made just for you,” you choke out as Hyunjin slowly thrusts into you, agonizingly slow and deliberate movements making you dig your nails into your palms. “Hyunjin,” his name dissipates into a whine as he pushes his cock in and out of you languidly.

He chuckles against the shell of your ear, and you wrap your legs around his torso, rolling your hips faster against him. The drawn-out moan that escapes his lips has your cunt clenching and leaking more arousal around his length.

“D’you still like the sound of my voice that much?” He hums, and you nod with a sigh. His slender fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Yeah? Like it when I moan in your ear?”

He finally picks up the pace, pulling back before snapping his hips forward. His lips swallow your moans as he kisses you once, his hand finally releasing your wrists and digging into your hips as he pumps his cock into you. He leaves a trail of wet kisses along your sweaty skin, tracing his tongue along the marks he left earlier.

“You’re mine,” he groans against your skin. “Been dying to say this for so fucking long.”

You gasp at his words, your body jerking when he slips his hand down to circle around your swollen clit. “‘M yours,” you whine, “Fuck me like I’m yours. Please—”

Hyunjin groans, your words igniting a fire within him, and his hips fall into a ruthless pace, pistoning his cock into you while his fingertips expertly stroke your clit. The hot coil of desire in your stomach tightens, finally breaking as your climax surges through every fiber of your being, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, you always feel so good,” Hyunjin rasps out, his movements shifting into a messy tempo. “Gonna fill you up, okay?”

You nod with a whimper, your overstimulated cunt clenching around his cock as his thrusts remain unrelenting. With a low grunt that ripples through his chest, Hyunjin’s hips slam into yours, his cock twitching and his grip on your throat tightening. He paints your insides with a final testament that you were his.

He stills on top of you, pressing featherlight kisses to your cheeks and lips, his cock softening inside of you as you stay that way for a while. When he pulls out, his fingers promptly smear his cum over your cunt as it leaks out, two digits thrusting his release back into you with a contented hum.

“Can we still fuck now that I found something better?” You ask him with a grin, and he laughs, burying his head in your neck.

Your mind is wholly clouded with bliss — both from your orgasm and the feeling of love that courses through your veins. You inwardly laugh. Hyunjin fucking you in your bedroom had definitely not tainted it. He had basically transformed your bed into a sanctuary.

Hyunjin helps you shower, gentle hands wash and caress your body before coaxing your third orgasm out of you under the soothing cascading water. He makes you a cup of your favorite tea the way you love it — which he made sure to memorize — and insists you two finish watching the forgotten movie before going to bed. It feels awfully domestic, and it would be a lie to say you hated it.

That night, you fall asleep beside Hyunjin in your bed for the first time; inside a little sacred space you are slowly building with him.

It was never your intention to be his. You were certain Hyunjin was the type of man who would never allow himself to be vulnerable, to truly fall in love with someone without his ego getting in the way. By keeping him at arm’s length, you believed you were guarding yourself from inevitable heartache.

Behind his cocky smirks and self-assured words, an amazing man hid himself out of deep-seated fears of rejection, unworthiness, and not being loved for his true self. Each day, he allowed glimpses of himself to shine through the cracks in his fortress. He became an enigma you were dying to unravel because you knew he was worth it.

Because you knew him.

And unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin has been yours all along. From the moment you walked into his apartment with a scowl and frustration-filled words, it was as if his heart became wired to crave you. He was simply hoping and waiting for you to become his as well.

Yet another night, yet another two hours of hearing your next-door neighbor moaning like a porn star for anyone to hear. The thin walls of your apartment, coupled with the fact that your room shared a wall with his own bedroom, make it impossible for you not to hear everything that happens inside his bedroom. Earphones have proven futile in muffling his voice, and you can only distract yourself with mindless YouTube videos for so long before you give up and simply wait for him to finish. Quite literally.

You noticed it was his routine: Fridays and weekends — the nights when he would graciously give the entire building a free show.

But that wasn’t all he did. And that’s what stirs up curiosity inside of you.

An hour before the unholy sounds begin, he spends a significant amount of time simply speaking, laughing loudly, and throwing the occasional suggestive comment here and there. But only his voice can be heard, and considering how damn thin the walls are, you can’t help but wonder why that is. Maybe his hookups aren’t into his long, drawn-out conversations, only there to get fucked and dip as fast as possible. Or perhaps it’s a girlfriend, and he enjoys gagging her. Your mind has had plenty of time to run wild with theories, seeing as he moved about a month ago, starting your own personal version of hell on his very first day.

You complained to your landlord three times now. On the first time, you were dismissed as being too sensitive to noise. Maybe invest in some earplugs, she suggested. The second time, after explaining through gritted teeth that perhaps the entire building could also hear him and it would be wise to give him a warning, she assured you that only your apartment had such complaints — after all, it was only the two of you on that floor. And, on your last attempt before you ultimately gave up, your landlord all but berated you for meddling in your neighbor’s business. She argued he was inside his apartment and could do whatever he desired.

And so, you accepted your fate.

As you walk out of the shower, your bliss at the realization that tonight is a Friday dissipates as soon as it dawns on you that you are in for three days in a row of your neighbor and his antics. You groan, reluctantly making your way toward your bedroom, your body aching after sitting at your desk at work all day. So sleeping on the couch was not an option; your limbs only ached even more the day after you did that to try and escape the raucous noise.

Like clockwork, at exactly ten p.m., his loud voice fills the small space of your bedroom.

“I’m actually going out tonight again, so we have to be quick,” he explains. “But you like it when I’m quick, don’t you? Like when I make you cum so fast you barely have time to understand what’s happening.”

You grimace at his words, burying yourself under your blankets. God.

“I’m going clubbing with a couple of friends,” He continues. “Hopefully, I’ll find a nice girl to take home, hm?”

Crossing out the word Girlfriend on your mental notes, you scoff. What a gentleman he is, letting his hook-up know he’ll have to fuck her fast so he can leave to meet another woman to take home.

“Maybe I’ll record a video for you if she lets me. Would you like that, seeing me fuck another woman? I bet you would.”

What the fuck. The word Girlfriend is added back to your list. Maybe the girl is into that shit, and you’re not one to kink shame so long as everything’s consensual. But you surely didn’t consent to knowing that information. 

Soon enough, his voice drops to a sultry tone, and incessant hums spill from his lips. And the worst part of your night begins.

You hate to admit it — seeing as the guy makes you lose sleep and disturbs your peace since he’s graced the building with his presence — but his dirty talk, when coupled with his groans, becomes far less unpleasant and much more enticing. Every night, you struggle for an hour with the uncomfortable feeling of arousal between your legs, the way he alternates between praises and vulgar words causing a twinge inside of you. But you never dare to masturbate to the sound of his voice — that would be going too far. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you follow your rule of waiting for him to finish whatever it is that he’s doing to then finally touch yourself. As you tightly shut your eyes, you focus on your upcoming work assignments, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Maybe boring yourself to sleep is your only escape.

“Oh, I know how wet you are just watching me — fuck,” he groans, a breathy scoff leaving his lips. “Don’t even gotta tell me. Just touch yourself, it’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot open as it feels as if he’s fucking talking to you. You shake your head, the awful feeling of embarrassment engulfing you in the privacy of your own bedroom.

“I know you want to,” His voice is unrelenting, reverberating through your dark room, punctuated by heavy sighs. “Do it for me, will you? Touch your pretty cunt for me.”

You feel your clit begin to pulse, and a loud groan escapes from your lips. So loud, in fact, you wonder if he heard you through the thin walls as well.

Fuck it, you tell yourself inwardly, it’s not like the guy will ever know what you’re doing.

The sound of his voice was as silky and dark as velvet, covering you wholly and clouding your judgment with each word. You allow your hand to slip underneath your sleep shorts, gasping as you find the fabric of your panties already soaking simply from hearing his words — almost begging, guiding you to let go of your reservations and touch yourself.

“Just like that. D’you like the sound of my voice?” He asked, voice breathless, a deep groan echoing through the walls. “Like hearing me moan for you? Bet you’d like it even more if I was fucking you.”

Your fingers delicately flick back and forth, teasing your clit, your mind now shamelessly imagining his fingertips, his tongue, his cock, anything he was willing to give you. You’re quick to lose yourself in this imagination, despite not knowing what the man looked like — you soon realize that wasn’t at all important, a dark shadowy figure hovering over you proving to be more than enough for you as you felt a rush of wetness pooling between your thighs when your neighbor let out a louder, guttural noise.

“Fuck, I’d love to be stretching that pussy out,” He chokes out, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any noise. You’re now hyper-aware that if you can hear him this loudly, he’d be able to hear you with the same amount of clarity.

Your embarrassment only goes so far, though, as you slip a finger into your cunt, your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering closed to better conjure up the fantasy your mind had been creating. You imagine his long fingers inside you in place of your own, the words he spilled almost nonchalantly being whispered directly into your ears. One finger soon turned into two, then three, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit as you tilt your hips up. You throw away your last drop of inhibition as you indulge in vivid thoughts, imagining the shape and size of his cock and, most importantly, how it would feel as it filled you up. Your neighbor’s words almost faded into white noise, his grunting the only coherent sound in your ears.

Would he take his time with you, like he always did whenever you heard him? Teasing you for hours as he candidly talked about nothing in particular, rendering you unable to do anything but beg for him? Or would he be hasty, like tonight, his cock abruptly stretching you to the brim, making you feel every inch of his thick length? Would he rather finish on your breasts, your stomach, or maybe your face, taking a picture to keep as a souvenir he could show off to whoever he was with during these nights?

“Come with me,” His voice suddenly became clear once more, deep and hoarse as you imagine his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Think about how good it’d feel to have me come inside you, stuffing that little cunt while you milk me dry.”

You purse your lips as you feel your release approaching, coaxed purely by his words. The mental image of this stranger painting your insides with his release, all the while his intoxicating voice told you how good you were, how warm and tight you felt enough to have waves of pleasure wash over you, body tensing up as your orgasm surges through you.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel your consciousness come back to you. Your fingers leave your core as if you were just burned by fire, which is fitting as a feeling of burning embarrassment wraps around you tightly like a vice.

But the worst part is that the shame quickly ebbs away as you hear your neighbor’s chuckle, the laugh of a stranger you had come to almost memorize.

“You know I’m always glad to make you come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, everything around you falls into a quiet stillness. You faintly hear as he shuts his front door, presumably leaving for that club he had mentioned, and you’re left to lie with your regrets.

This has just crossed a line, and although you couldn’t bring yourself to feel all that guilty, you still knew it was wrong. You had no choice but to confront the cause of your troubles yourself.

Unfortunately, that cause was a person you had just shamelessly fantasized about as you fingered yourself.

The next afternoon, you stand at your neighbor’s door, hesitant to knock. Since he mentioned going clubbing last night, you knew coming by in the morning would be futile, but you also know — sadly, all too well — that Saturday nights are when he’s the loudest, and he only stops well past midnight. You settled for the afternoon, preparing lunch as you rehearsed your words in your head instead of enjoying your weekend.

You knock twice, and that familiar voice soon rings through the door, asking for a moment. A minute later, your neighbor is standing in front of you, holding the door open with sleepy eyes that focus on you. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but surely not a tired-looking tall man with messy black hair wearing a pout on his lips, as if you just rudely disturbed him from his sleep (how ironic). From what you heard during the last month, you were ready to have to face a shirtless fuckboy, a permanent smirk etched onto his lips as he eyed you indifferently. Instead, you’re greeted by soft cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?” Your neighbor croaks out, face still heavy with sleep.

You clear your throat, returning to the matter at hand. “I’m your next-door neighbor, I—”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before you can even finish your rehearsed opening sentence, his lips curling into a small smile. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Somehow, him being so soft is making you hate him even more.

“I wish I could say the same,” you mutter, “Y’know, you’ve been making my life a living hell since you moved in.”

He doesn’t answer, instead running a hand through his hair, the strands falling into place and away from his face. After a small nod, he opens the door all the way.

“Come on in,” he says, promptly walking inside and leaving you standing in the hallway all alone. You have no choice but to follow after him.

He snatches his cup of coffee from the counter, letting out a tired sigh as he collapses onto the couch and takes a big sip. You sit next to him and watch as he swallows slowly, humming contently, and only then speaking again.

“Why is that?”

You hold back another eye roll. “Well, you’re quite noisy at night,” you hesitantly begin, only now grasping just how awkward explaining this situation will be. “On Fridays and on the weekends, you’re… loud.”

And in an instant, you witness a complete shift in his entire demeanor right before your eyes. Like he’s possessed by something, his once sleepy eyes now bore into you with an intense gaze, and his lips curl into the smug grin you were expecting from the start.

“So you can hear me?” He asks as if you hadn’t just told him exactly that. You feel small under the weight of his darkened eyes, but you shrug, doing your best at feigning confidence.

“It’s pretty hard not to hear you,” you answer simply. “We share a wall, in case you didn’t know. I can hear everything you do in your bedroom.”

He raises a brow at your words as if they piqued his interest. But he doesn’t verbalize it; instead, he speaks in that same nonchalant tone you’re used to hearing through your bedroom wall, “You never told me your name. A bit rude, don’t you think?” He offers you his hand. “I’m Hyunjin.”

You scoff but shake his hand regardless, telling him your name with a sigh.

“You know what I think is rude?” You offer him a forced smile. “Keeping your next-door neighbor up all night with how fucking loud you are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. His gaze traces a path from your eyes to your lips before lingering on your thighs. You instinctively cross your legs, fingers smoothing down the fabric of your shorts. Locking his gaze with yours once more after a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side.

“So I’ve been keeping you up all night?” He muses, and you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks at the rough rasp in his voice.

It’s almost as if he knows what you did last night and is teasing you.

Although you know that’s impossible, your words still get choked up. Hyunjin was undeniably attractive — whether it was looking as soft as he did while answering the door or as if he could devour you with his gaze alone as he does now. You couldn’t be blamed for feeling flustered, especially after everything you heard this man saying and doing.

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Showing your outrage at this entire situation is your best bet, so you allow for the anger you felt during all those sleepless nights to seep through your veins. “It’s kinda hard to sleep when you’re moaning like a porn star.”

But Hyunjin fully chuckles at that. “So I sound like a porn star?” He nods with an amused hum. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Never mind anything you had thought upon seeing him open that door; Hyunjin is everything you thought he would be.

“Look, I didn’t come here to stroke your ego. You’re clearly doing just fine in that regard,” you grumble, and he scoffs beside you, leaning back on the couch with a smug expression you want to slap away from his pretty face. “I came here to ask if you could move whatever it is that you do to the living room, or maybe keep it down. I’m sure that’s not too much to ask.” 

Hyunjin clicks his tongue almost mockingly. “Oh, but it is too much to ask. I can’t really do any of those things. Sorry,” he shrugs, “The building has thin walls. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

You stagger at his words, his lack of common sense seemingly higher than you initially gave him credit for. You’re unsure whether to laugh in sheer disbelief or cuss him out as anger slowly bubbles up inside your chest. How unfairly attractive he looks at the moment isn’t helping your case — he spreads his legs further as he shifts on the couch, bringing his mug up to his full lips and watching you almost uninterestedly with half-lidded eyes.

Fuck this guy.

“What is it you do that’s so important that you can’t at least keep it down? Can’t your girlfriend get off without your obnoxious dirty talk? Is that it?”

Hyunjin shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Your dates, then. I honestly don’t care.” You roll your eyes, which elicits a small laugh from him. You have never wanted to punch someone so badly, all while also wanting them to rearrange your guts. “Whoever it is, whatever it is that you do, can’t we compromise and you be quiet, at least on Fridays? I get home from work exhausted and have to put up with your shit when all I wanna do is sleep.”

“Ah, but Fridays are the most important nights for me,” Hyunjin tells you with a condescending lilt in his voice. “That’s also not possible, I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” You suck in a deep breath, your eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists on your lap. “Then would it be possible for you to move your… activities to the living room?”

Hyunjin contorts his face, shaking his head while that grin is still etched onto his lips. “Yeah, no, that’s also not possible.”

“You’re extremely inflexible, do you know that?” You blurt out, “I’m not asking that you move out, I’m simply asking that you fuck whoever it is that you fuck every weekend somewhere else.”

His piercing gaze lingers on you briefly, as if he’s carefully considering his next words. Sighing, he sets his mug on the end table and sits up straight.

“Let’s make a deal,” he proposes, carelessly ripping a piece of paper from the open sketchbook that lay on the coffee table and jotting something down. “Tonight, you wait for me to start my activities,” he says with a poorly concealed chuckle. “And then you go on this website. Maybe it’ll clear up some things inside your pretty little head. Can you do that for me?”

He hands you the note, eyes darting down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze. The tone of his voice is the same that echoes through your bedroom during those nights — exactly like the one that coaxed an orgasm out of you just last night, and you absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together.

You need to get out of here.

With a small nod, you swiftly stand back on your feet and walk toward the door of his apartment that was left wide open. You quietly mutter a goodbye as Hyunjin says something about it being a pleasure meeting you, all while amusedly staring at you.

It’s only as you close your front door behind you that you look down at the piece of paper that you subconsciously crumpled up. Scrawled in a messy handwriting is simply a website address:

fivestarcam.com

You furrow your brows, walking toward your bedroom as you rack your brain for how a website could possibly give you answers. It dawns on you, then — all the trouble you went through, and yet, no solution to your problem.

Ultimately, you decide you’ve already wasted too much of your patience on this man today, throwing the piece of paper on your bedside table and going about your day, enjoying the tranquility of your apartment while you can.

Night comes too fast, the sun setting outside unbeknownst to you as you lie on the couch for nearly three hours, your focus solely on the plot of the movie playing on your phone. Soon enough, ten p.m. rolls around, and you drag your tired body toward your bathroom. You take a shower with no rush, knowing full well that by the time you walk into your bedroom, Hyunjin’s activities will already have started.

Sure enough, you’re greeted by a drawled-out groan as soon as you enter your room. With a heavy sigh, you throw yourself onto your bed. Your bedroom had always been comforting, your bed almost like a safe haven from all the stress life threw your way. Yet now it’s simply the place where you lie awake for hours, simultaneously vexed and uncomfortably turned on.

You lie still for a while, Hyunjin’s vulgar chatter like the background music to your spacing out, until you remember the piece of paper he gave you earlier. How would a website clear up any of your confusion? And, more importantly, why should you even care enough to find out? From the little interaction you had with the man, you know for a fact Hyunjin will remain unchanging in his obnoxious ways.

However, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, and the mere prospect of understanding this annoyingly enigmatic man even a tiny bit has you hurriedly picking your laptop off the floor and typing out the website address on your browser. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first thing that greets you is a message asking that you verify being over the age of eighteen. All you have to do is click a button, which seems counterintuitive, but you have little time to worry about that when your screen is filled with preview thumbnails of several live broadcasts.

You’ve heard of camming websites before, of course, but you didn’t know they were still a thing nowadays, what with the rise of Only Fans and other more independent ways to go about making money like this.

Your eyes scan the page with agape lips. Men and women — some in their underwear and some already naked, some showing their faces and some wearing masks. And then, your eyes land on a particular thumbnail. At the Top Cammers of The Month section, on the number one spot, is a fully clothed man with familiar long black hair. Only the bottom of his face can be seen due to his camera angle, but that is more than enough as your gaze fixes on his full lips.

That’s undeniably Hyunjin. Your neighbor, Hyunjin.

Before you can make sense of your actions, your fingers are already hovering above the touchpad as you watch the thumbnail image change into a new one. Curiosity is eating away at you, and you can’t deny that your nosy mind is eager to finally see Hyunjin rather than only hear him.

Ultimately, you decide this is ridiculous.

But your twitching fingers brush against the touchpad just as you move to close your laptop, promptly clicking the live video, your screen now filled with the image of Hyunjin in his bedroom. He’s shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants — the same ones he wore this afternoon.

“You wanna know how clubbing went last night?” He says with a grin, and you now understand his incessant talking is merely him answering comments from his viewers. Various different names fly through the right side of your screen, some with tips attached to their comments and some simply drooling over Hyunjin as he essentially sits in front of the camera doing nothing.

A cocky smile is spread on his lips once you shift your attention back to him.

“I guess you’re good at following orders,” he chuckles. You then realize your laptop’s volume is on high, and the speaker’s noise permeates through your wall and into Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, and you scramble to find your earphones in your bed.

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as you plug them in, suddenly too aware of the fact that he can hear you just as well as you can hear him. Hyunjin’s smile shifts into a small laugh, his hand wrapping around his length through his sweatpants, the firm outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You feel a tingling sensation spread through your body, your inner muscles clenching as you watch the way his hand squeezes along the thick outline, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he lets out a broken sigh.

This feels wrong, as if you’re nothing more than a pervert watching Hyunjin for your own pleasure. But then again, it was he who gave you the website address in the first place. Why else would he have done that if not for you to watch him?

“I have a special someone watching tonight,” he murmurs, and you can just imagine his gaze right now — his eyes hooded and piercing, locked onto the camera with the same intensity as when he looked at you earlier today.

Hyunjin’s hand reaches inside his sweatpants, withdrawing his cock from the constraints of the dark fabric before you can make sense of what’s happening. Your gaze remains fixed, unable to look away from the red, swollen head that stands out against his pale skin. With lazy movements, he begins stroking himself, the precum dripping from the tip easing the glide of his hand. You bite the inside of your cheek as more arousal leaks from you, gathering in your panties.

“Hope she likes watching just as much as she liked listening to me last night,” Hyunjin rasps out, and you immediately close your laptop, throwing it to the side before burying your face in your pillow.

He knows you got off to his voice. He has to know.

And, unfortunately, your brain is currently too clouded by lust to function properly, and the only logical solution you can come up with is to go knocking at his door tomorrow.

You stand in front of Hyunjin’s door at the same time as yesterday, a strange blend of anger and curiosity making you knock frantically until he answers with that annoyingly alluring smirk on his lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Hyunjin asks before you can even utter a word, his voice filled with a goading tone.

You push past him, walking into his apartment with a scowl. “Why did you send me that?”

He only shrugs, closing the door behind him before stretching his arms above his head with a sigh. “Needed you to understand why I can’t just stop doing what I do. It’s my job,” he reasons, “I figured showing you was more effective than telling you.”

A scoff involuntarily falls from your lips, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “So you just sent me to a website full of porn without even asking me if that was okay? I don’t care if that’s your fucking job, I never asked you—”

“Did you stay till the end?” He asks, a lazy grin on his lips as his gaze wanders across your face. Clearly, he’d completely ignored every word that came out of your mouth.

“Hyunjin, are you even listening to me?”

“I was thinking about you, y’know?” He continues, taking a step toward you. “Was really easy to come when I knew you were watching me.” He cages your body against the door with his, both hands resting beside your head. His dark gaze locks onto you, causing your breath to hitch. “All I could think about was how you were secretly listening to me all this time. Such a dirty girl.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. You want to tell him you weren’t secretly listening to him; you were merely thrown into this situation against your will. But his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, lingering before roaming over the swell of your breasts, causing your thoughts to blur and your words to die in your throat.

“Kept thinking about how I never heard you,” he says, almost as if he’s wondering aloud. “When was the last time someone fucked you properly?”

His gaze finally travels back up to yours, and the fog of desire clouding his eyes is unmistakable. The moment you knocked on his door, you knew this would happen. You weren’t naïve, and Hyunjin wasn’t stupid; the moment you pushed past him and into his apartment, you both knew where this was going.

“Don’t have time to go on dates,” you murmur as Hyunjin leans down, humming low on his throat.

“Well,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “You got to listen to me, got to watch me… Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?”

You can only nod, and Hyunjin immediately presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, as if he’s silently demanding that you give in to him. Little does he know you’re already way past that point.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin studies your features for a beat, the pad of his thumb gliding across your bottom lip as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“You really want this?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel he does it simply for the pleasure of hearing you beg.

But you happily comply either way.

“Please,” you breathe out, and Hyunjin chuckles, firmly pressing his thumb into your mouth and watching as you wrap your lips around it with a contented hum. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Hyunjin pushes his thigh against your core, the seam of your shorts creating a delicious friction against your clit. You can feel the warmth of his body as he presses up against you, and a sigh falls from your lips, your hands gliding up around his shoulders. You have no reservations left in your body; the only thing replaying inside your mind at the moment is the image of Hyunjin’s cock on your laptop. He was right. You were dying to know what it would feel like.

His strong hands firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move against his thigh, each back-and-forth motion increasing the pressure on your aching clit. It felt too much, yet not enough at the same time. But just as you’re about to plead for more, Hyunjin’s pressing his lips to yours again and swallowing down your voice. His tongue slides against yours, the taste of coffee and smoke lingering in your mouth as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, pulling gently before letting go.

You feel your mind go fully hazy as Hyunjin lifts his thigh, bringing you up to your tiptoes, his muscles flexing and prompting you to roll your hips faster, harder.

“Who would’ve thought, huh? Just minutes ago you were acting like I was the worst person alive,” He lets out a low chuckle, amused, and your grip on his neck tightens as you feel the familiar vexation he brings out of you bubble up inside your chest. “Now you’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut up,” you choke out, your brain too lust-hazed to conjure up a better response. You don’t particularly care what he thinks of you so long as he keeps his bruising grip on your skin, guiding you to roll your hips against him.

Hyunjin trails kisses down the skin of your neck, settling at the dip of your collarbone and sucking on the skin while you eagerly quicken your speed. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, undoubtedly marking you, while his thigh begins to bounce against your cunt, and you can feel the familiar aching warmth of your orgasm beginning to tighten in your stomach. But just as you’re about to be hit by the release you’re so desperate for, Hyunjin’s hands leave your hips and slide down to your ass, any stimulation you had before coming to a halt as he picks you up and makes his way to the living room.

“What the fuck?” You all but yell, earning you a hearty laugh from Hyunjin. “I was close, you asshole.”

He roughly throws you onto the couch, a condescending pout etched onto his lips.

“But that’s no fun for me, is it, baby?” He hovers over you, spreading your thighs apart and slotting himself between them. In stark contrast to his words, he gently lifts your shirt over your head, feather-light touch sending shivers down your spine. “Greedy girls don’t get to come.”

You feel your insides clenching at his words, and although you despise the effect he has on you, you’re already here, laid out before him, so you might as well indulge him. You gently push Hyunjin back until he sinks into the sofa, legs lazily spread apart and half-lidded eyes fixated on you. As soon as you clutch at his shirt, he promptly tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, and you attach your lips to the bare skin of his stomach, trailing kisses down the expanse of his torso.

You waste no time tugging his sweatpants down and out of your way, his cock now hanging heavily before you, just as pretty as it had seemed on that little screen. Hyunjin’s hand soon wraps around himself, stroking lazily while you watch the precum dribble from his tip. Tentatively, you grab the base of his cock, bringing your tongue to the head and tantalizingly lapping at it. Hyunjin lets out a quiet gasp, his own hand leaving his length and tangling in your hair, guiding you forward toward his cock. You part your lips and suck the head into your waiting mouth, hands now stroking his length at a slow pace while you lick up his slit, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You hold back a chuckle when you feel him twitch under your touch, a soft whimper falling from his throat.

Hyunjin’s hips buck up into your lips, and you promptly open your jaw wider and slide his whole length down your throat slowly. You weren’t lying when you said you had no time for dates, which is why you find yourself struggling a bit. It truly had been a while since you had a proper fuck, but you would never give Hyunjin the pleasure of hearing you admit it. Breathing through your nose, you’re finally able to move up and down his cock, swallowing all of him. Your eyes well up as his fingers tug harshly at your hair, shoving your mouth back down the entirety of his thick length. A choked-out whimper falls from your throat, and you instinctively move your gaze toward his.

“God,” he rasps out, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and eyebrows knitting together. “You take me so well.”

You promptly remove your lips from him with a loud pop, precum and saliva dribbling down your chin as you struggle to suppress a laugh at the utter indignation on his face.

“I doubt you could fuck me if I let you come,” you shrug, and Hyunjin’s expression softens, a scoff falling from his lips.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already pushed you back onto the couch, easily flipping you over so your face is pressed into the cushion. He snakes a hand under your stomach and lifts your hips, quickly working to rid you of your shorts before pressing his cock against your clothed ass.

He leans down, lips pressed against your ear — much like it was in your fantasy back in your bedroom — and whispers, “You need me that badly? I can feel how soaked you are, and all you did was hump my leg.”

You grumble under your breath, but it goes ignored by Hyunjin as he grips your hips and slides his cock under the fabric of your panties, stroking himself along your soaking slit with a low groan. You can feel your underwear gradually dampen more as his precum mixes with your own arousal, the sheer cloth clinging to his cock with each thrust.

Hyunjin’s hand splayed across your lower back, causing you to arch your body and press your hips back instinctively. He chuckles, hand coming down onto the supper flesh of your ass with no warning, a sharp whimper falling from your lips.

“I told you greedy girls don’t get to come,” He reiterates, clicking his tongue and grabbing a large handful of your ass before tugging your panties down your legs. You quietly hoped the trees outside obscured enough of his window, otherwise you’d be in for some interesting elevator rides with your other neighbors. With a hiss, Hyunjin’s thumb presses against your clit before gliding along your wet folds. “Soaking wet,” he mutters, eyes glazed over while he watches your slick coat his finger.

You simply hum, not wanting to stroke his ego any more than you already had by begging him earlier. But you’re unable to contain the gasp that leaves your lips as he pushes his hips forward, the swollen tip of his cock gliding against your warm core once, twice, all while Hyunjin’s hands travel across your ass and thighs. You’re sure he’ll tease you until you give in and beg, but it seems his facade is quick to crumble. He impatiently wraps a hand around his length, finally guiding himself toward your entrance, seamlessly gliding into you with a heavy sigh.

He stills for a second, gaze transfixed by the way your cunt stretches around his thick cock. Until he suddenly pulls out of you before snapping his hips forward again, then again, until he sets a rhythm of deep, fast strokes that have you rocking back and forth on the couch. Pulling yourself up to rest on your forearms, you choke out a loud moan, Hyunjin’s cock twitching inside you at the sound. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, strong arms encircling your body once more, this time pulling you close to him until your back presses against his chest. Hyunjin’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through his small living room as he relentlessly pumped himself into you. His hand wraps in your hair, yanking your head back and humming against your ear, “Go on, you can moan for me,” he hisses, “I know how good it feels.”

Fuck. His ego is surely something you would never get used to.

But you let go, freely groaning at the feeling of his cock pistoning into you. You can feel the curve of his grin against your cheek.

“Like that, I know how much you like it,” he rasps out, “Just as much as you liked touching yourself to my voice like a little slut.”

“Fuck off, you—” you huff, your words cut off by a drawn-out mewl as Hyunjin’s fingers firmly pressed down on your clit, flattening the swollen bud. You couldn’t control yourself after that, desperate whimpers and choked-out moans falling from your lips with each harsh thrust of his hips.

Your sounds seem to stir something inside of him, and his movements grow more erratic, his fingers circling your clit hastily. A crescendo of arousal and pleasure envelops you as more curses tumble from Hyunjin’s lips against your ear, his hand gripping your cheek and pulling you into a messy kiss.

You clench around him, body shaking with the force of your climax as you seek Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around your body for purchase. He continues pounding into you, and you feel yourself squirm, your vision going blurry from the stimulation.

“Gonna come,” he hisses against your lips, “Where do you want it?”

And you’re too far gone at this point, whimpering, “Anywhere you want.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath, pulling out while his hand finds your lower back once more, pushing you onto the couch before flipping your pliant body over so you’re facing him. You watch with hazy eyes as he strokes himself feverishly over your body, his cum soon shooting onto your breasts.

His unreadable gaze lingers on you for a beat and a half before he nonchalantly tucks himself back into his sweatpants and heads toward the hallway. You sit up on the couch, limbs aching, and chuckle to yourself. This was not your proudest moment, but you surely didn’t regret it.

You don’t expect aftercare from someone like him, so you resign yourself to searching for your discarded shirt. But Hyunjin’s tall frame appears before you, towel in hand before you can even stand up. His touch is gentle as he cleans your chest, and although the gesture is somewhat sweet, it feels extremely awkward.

“Really liked fucking you,” he tells you with a grin, “But you gotta leave now. I’m going live later, and I also gotta go to the club tonight, so I have to rest. But it was fun.”

And you simply scoff at his words, rising to your feet to dress yourself as quickly as possible. It was a bit baffling how he could fuck you the way he did, then tell you he’s off to pick up more girls at a club immediately after. But what did you expect? Hyunjin’s ego and arrogance were clear to you from day one.

“Why the fuck do you go clubbing so much, anyway?” You question as you head toward the front door, and Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “Is that your hunting ground or something?”

“You could say that,” he simply says.

As you unlock his door and step out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s voice calls out to you. Turning to look at him, you’re met with that familiar smirk adorning his lips.

“We can do this again anytime you want,” he assures, and the mere thought of letting him touch you again makes you roll your eyes in disdain.

“Yeah right.”

If only you knew then just how awfully torturous it would be to listen to him, knowing what he was doing — most importantly, knowing what it felt like to have him.

Lust completely clouds your judgment when it comes to Hyunjin, and you soon find yourself coming back to his apartment until it becomes an annoyingly pleasurable habit.

Every day, when he hears you get home from work, your phone buzzes with a text asking that you come over and help him ‘warm up for his job.’ The nights of suffering in your bedroom have transformed into watching him from the corner of his room, enthralled with the way he can make himself come on camera so eagerly and later fuck you with just as much vigor.

It’s a nice arrangement, but definitely not one you see yourself in for the long run. Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but you’re not foolish enough to anchor your feelings to someone like him. It’s not his job that’s the problem, but mostly his attitude toward life. He belongs to nobody, while you yearn to belong to someone. Routine is the last thing on his mind, while you revel in its comfort. You could never be with someone like him.

But it is a nice arrangement.

So you find yourself back in his bed again today, his heavy cock in your mouth as he tugs harshly on your hair, painting the back of your throat with his cum. Except this time, he doesn’t immediately ask you to leave.

“What?” You ask, “Don’t you have to go clubbing or something?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugs, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close and falls back into bed. You furrow your brows, detangling yourself from him.

“Day off? From what, picking up girls?”

Hyunjin chuckles, eyes sleepy. “I work at the club,” he simply says. “I’m a host, I just act like I go clubbing when I talk about it during my lives ‘cause my viewers can be a bit stalkery.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of The Siren?” He asks, and you hum, recalling a faint memory of some of your co-workers mentioning the club in passing. “That’s where I work.”

You nod slowly, still confused. “What exactly does a host do?”

“Well, basically, I get to make money just by making lonely women feel wanted.”

You can’t help but scoff at his crude description. “And do you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers like it’s obvious. “It’s part of the job.”

“Fucking hell,” You let out a hearty laugh, to which Hyunjin shoots you a questioning look. “Your sex drive really should be studied.”

His lips upturn into a smirk, and his arms reach for you again, beckoning you back into his embrace. “No need to be jealous, baby. I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you into his chest. He threads his fingers through your hair, and you can’t help but feel… awkward.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Hyunjin.”

He hums. “Sure, but you still let me fuck you.”

You two stay that way for a while, his fingers massaging your scalp as he presses a kiss to your head now and then. It feels disorienting, like a sudden shift from everything Hyunjin had been until now. He was never caring or sweet, he never kissed you if you weren’t fucking, and he surely never cuddled you. Your face involuntarily contorts into a grimace.

You detach yourself from him, getting up from the bed and telling him you’ll see him later. But Hyunjin is grabbing at your arm with a smile.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he giggles as you try to free yourself from his grip. “I’m really not the type of guy you should have fallen for, anyway.”

You still at his words, face contorting into pure befuddlement. “Fallen for? Who the fuck says I’ve fallen for you?”

And Hyunjin simply scoffs, letting go of your arm as his smile shifts into his characteristic grin. “Well, there’s a reason I’m number one among the hosts at The Siren.”

“Hyunjin, those girls aren’t exactly after you for your personality,” you deadpan. “You’re really nothing worth falling for.”

His grin slowly fades, and it’s his turn to have confusion take hold in his eyes. “What?”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting this. Almost as if he was expecting you to have truly fallen for him simply because he… is him. And you can’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“Hyunjin,” you call out to him sweetly, and his gaze is back on you immediately. “You’re a nice fuck, but that’s really it. Don’t worry about me falling for you.”

You can swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s likely only your imagination. He opens his lips to speak but promptly closes them again. He simply stares up at you from where he’s sat on the bed and almost looks sweet. If you didn’t know him, you would undoubtedly be charmed by this convincing facade. You have to give it to him; you do understand why he’s number one at his job.

“But…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But I’ll see you again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “We can keep fucking until I find something better.”

You run your fingers through his long hair and make your way to the door, leaving him with an expression frozen in bewilderment.

Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but he’ll never be yours.

But that’s not a problem, as you surely will never be his as well.

Grinding on his thighs during a Tottenham game

He’s leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, eyes on the tv, pretending the soccer match is the only thing that matters. Meanwhile, you’re on top of his toned thigh, grinding until you become a moaning mess.

Every now and then he tilts his head to your direction and murmurs without looking away from the screen, “You’re doing great, princess”,  like it’s just another normal sunday afternoon. 

You grip his shoulders for balance as you get closer to the edge, “Not even gonna watch me cumming, Bin?”.

He smirks, placing a hand on your low back,  “I don’t have to watch you to drive you insane”. Then he tenses his leg on the spot you were needing, proving himself right. 

Biting his tummy while he’s still trembling

He’s still catching his breath after you give him some head. Of course, you take advantage of it to bite his abs. “Shit! Fuck…”, he groans, trying to swallow down how much he liked it.

“Feeling sensitive, huh?”, you tease.

He looks down at you and smirks, “You wish”. But his hand betrays him, finding your hair without pulling it, thumb stroking your nape as he secretly lets you know he is loving it. 

Sucking his biceps

He’s just casually sitting on the couch, arm stretched over the armrest when you wrap your mouth around his thick bicep before sucking it hard enough to leave a mark.

He chuckles, pretending he’s unbothered until you find a spot that makes his whole body twitch.

 “Gonna leave your mark there, princess?”, he asks trying to pretend he felt nothing “Why not? It’s already all mine” His smirk falters when your tongue explores that same spot of before, “Shit…”

Trying to behave at the gym (but it’s impossible when your man is Seo Changbin)

You go with him to the gym thinking you’ll be able to behave. Until you see Changbin squatting with heavy weights on his shoulders, grunting along the repetitions.

The moment he places the bar on the rack, you grab his hand and pull him toward the locker rooms, kissing him before he starts asking questions. He smirks against your mouth when your hands slide down his back and squeeze his ass.  Suddenly he pushes you against the stall door.

“What’s going on with you?”, he laughs.  “You”, you reply dead serious “Well… lucky me, then”, he says before you shut him up with another kiss

Wanting wall sex

You ask him to fuck you against the wall, and it’s not about the position— not at all. What you are actually interested in, is to watch his muscles flex as he holds you up. He acts like it’s no big deal, like you weigh nothing, but the way his face winces as his forearms burn shoulders tense, only making him look even more attractive. 

He catches you staring and smirks, “Enjoying the show?”, he teases before thrusting harder just to make his muscles pump more.

“God, you’re strong”, you pant, “Thought you knew that already, princess”

Things Changbin would do with his muscles just to make you beg:

Asking you to take pictures of him (but it’s a trap):

You agree to take pictures for his insta account, expecting something normal and aesthetic. But instead, he starts flexing his muscles like he’s a participant of a  bodybuilding championship.

He smirks at you as his arms bulge and veins pop up. And when you’re done, your grip on the  phone is way too tight

“Did they come out good?”, he asks, rolling his shoulders as he joins you

“Let me squeeze your arms first”

“You will need to beg, princess”

“Innocently” asking you to help with his apron:

He asks you to help tie his apron “just for cooking”. What he doesn’t mention is that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a tight pair of white boxers that leave way too little to imagination.

You try to focus on the strings, but his skin is warm and the muscles of his back flex with every movement of yours. “You better not be making dessert”, you grumble, knotting the strap.

“Why would why if you already are the dessert?”, he smirks, pulling you closer

Pulling you to be on top just to torture you with the view:

 Mid sex, he flips you to be on top, tangling his hands behind his head so his abs and chest stay fully visible. His muscles flex and tense with every roll of your hips, making it impossible not to grind down harder.

“Bin, please… Let me come…”

He just smiles, satisfied, “Not yet, princess. Enjoy the view first”

Going down on you:

 He loves reminding you that the tongue is technically a muscle— and that he trains all of his muscles.  Whether it’s in the studio or at home, he moves his tongue faster than when he’s rapping. The muscle control is out of this planet and he knows exactly how to use it

“How… how did you learn how to do that?”, you gasp, tugging his hair.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, “Ynnie… this is my best muscle”. And then he’s back on you until you’re begging without shame.

Jeongin's version Hyunjin's version

Chan's version Ateez's version

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jeongin had no reason being into you; not only were you just 19 years old — he was your senior. seven years into his career while you’re a freshly debut rookie , ready to take on the idol world .. and that’s what he hated the most.

people loved you; your cute and bubbly personality made everyone swoon over you. variety shows wanted you, making many appearances on different shows , showing your cute charms — jeongin hated it so much , he loved that your group and yourself were gaining popularity and accomplishing your dreams ; but deep in the back of his twisted mind he couldn’t help but think ‘what if her career was ruined , then she’d only depend on me’

“sunbae!” you ran into him in the hall , shouting his name , running down the hall. “hi baby.” he looked around to see if anyone was looking , you smiled standing in front of him. “did you see me on tv this morning?” he chuckled nodding , loving how you always looked for his approval. “i did , but i can’t say i’m too happy about it.” he tutted , you frowned. “that skirt was entirely too small , i could see your safety shorts while you danced , those mcs were staring at you.”

“i can’t help it , i didn’t pick the skirt.” you said , looking down in shame , he grabbed your cheeks forcing you to look at him. “i know baby , but that doesn’t make it any less your fault does it? you got up and danced for them didn’t you?” your lip poked out. “ye-yeah.” stuttering over your words. “exactly.” he let your face go , just a staff member walked by , he bowed politely as they walked past , turning back to you. “you’re too cute to be mad at , but that doesn’t mean you’re free of punishment , you know that right?” he said , you nodded. “good girl , i’ll see you later then.”

“you have to understand i’m like this because of the people in this industry.” his hands creeping up to your legs , ready to strike your thighs for the 10th time. “you’re so innocent and they’re so evil.” he held you down against the bed of his apartment. “they don’t have your best interest at heart.” you tried to close your legs , but he caught on , slapping your legs forcing them open.. “keep them open.” his eyes darkened. “are you not gonna apologize?” he asked. “i-im sorry jeongin.” he kissed his teeth , his fingers grazing your clothed cunt , pulling away leaving you breathless. “pl-please.”

“such a pretty little girl , so innocent.” he pulled your shorts down. “you love me don’t you?” he asked , you nodded , he slapped your sensitive cunt. “use your words.” he ordered. “ye-yes i do.” you breathed. “say it then.” he said , rubbing your clit. “i-i love you.” he smiled. “good you should.”

he undressed himself , climbing back into the bed , dragging you down the bed , you squealed. “jeong— ah!” you screamed as he slid fully inside of you. “fuck!” he hissed , his grip on your waist dizzying. “yo-you’re fucking mine understood?” grabbing your cheeks , squeezing , you moaned out his name. “fuck you’re so sweet for me , listening to my every word , you’d do whatever i said would you.” he hit that spot inside that made you see stars. “ye-yeah.”

“wh-what if i breed you? ruin your career forever? fill you with my seed?” he groaned. “you’d let me, wouldn't you? fuck you full of my seed?” he groaned , his cock kissing your cervix. “yes , please!” you legs wrapping around his waist. “i-innie im gonna cum.” he hissed , slapping your cunt. “you cum when i fucking tell you to.” he groaned , speeding up his pace , watching your eyes roll to back of your head. “such a slut for me -fuck- go-going dumb on my cock , gonna cum inside you.” he pressed himself against you.

your nails scratched at his back , he hissed. “in-innie can’t — shhh , just take it.” he groaned , grinding his hips against yours. “fu-fuck i’m cumming , be a good slut and cum for me.” he groaned , you finally let go , moaning out his name , legs shaking as you came. “ah fuck.” feeling his cock twitch inside you as he released his load inside you. “take my cum like a good girl.” he whispered in your ear , slowly pulling out , kissing your forehead tenderly.

“remember baby , i’m in control here… not you.”