Masterlist(s)
BTS
BTS One Shots Kim Seokjin Jinnuendo - Smut + Fluff (NSFW 18+) Stormy Night - Fluff + Strangers to Lovers Min Yoongi The Ramen-Noodle I
ATEEZ
Oneshots Choi Jongho A Delicate Affair - f2l, light Smut (NSFW 18+)

romaâ
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Kaledo Art
cherry valley forever
Show & Tell
YOU ARE THE REASON
todays bird
occasionally subtle
sheepfilms

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation

Origami Around

Janaina Medeiros
đȘŒ

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
RMH
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Love Begins

PR's Tumblrdome
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Brazil

seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Jamaica
@itshardcandy
Masterlist(s)
BTS
BTS One Shots Kim Seokjin Jinnuendo - Smut + Fluff (NSFW 18+) Stormy Night - Fluff + Strangers to Lovers Min Yoongi The Ramen-Noodle I
ATEEZ
Oneshots Choi Jongho A Delicate Affair - f2l, light Smut (NSFW 18+)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
260517 ASEA
there are many, many things in life youâll never understand. but the things you're trying to figure out right now are choi yeonjun, why no one is smart enough to figure out that unscripted is you, and how the fuck jung wooyoung is always right.
đ€ïžïž wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 3/? 8k words đ€ïžïž 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, reader has a boyfriend who is choi yeonjun | smut minors dni
âHOW WAS THE PARTY ON TUESDAY?â Comes from Soobin, fully lounged out on the couch, his eyes on you the moment you step foot in his apartment.Â
You close the door behind you softly, even if your heart is already racing in your chest. You ask, âWhat party?âÂ
Soobin sits up, a lazy grin on his cheeks, showing off his dimples. Not like Sanâs dimples, his are different, somehow, not as prominent. Not as damning. Thereâs something playing on the TV across from him, a cooking show, you think.Â
His head tilts, eyes flaring like you both know what party heâs talking about. âI saw you there,â Soobin admits. âYou were zip-tied to Jeong Yunho.âÂ
Heat spreads from your chest outward. You laugh, or try to, it comes out like a nervous sound of forced air, if anything. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you wonder, âI thought you were busy studying on Tuesday night.â
âNot busy enough to miss a handcuff party.â He sits up fully, leaning his chin into his elbows, arms hooked over the back edge of the couch. You creep closer after kicking off your shoes.Â
âIs that what theyâre called?â you ask, letting your purse fall from your shoulder to your fingers. âIâve never been to one before.â
âTheyâre fun,â Soobin watches you carefully, like heâs reading your body language, or trying to. âIf youâre tied to the right person.âÂ
âI was not,â you admit, pinning your arms behind your back, clasping your hands together. âYunho made me shotgun, like, four beers. I donât even like beer.âÂ
âDirty martini, extra dirty, three olives,â Soobin recites from memory. âNo, youâve never been a Miller Lite kind of girl.âÂ
âIs Junie in his room?â You glance toward his closed bedroom door.
âHeâs in there,â Soobin uncurls from the back of the couch, sinking into the plush leather again, focusing back on the cooking show. âHe saw you with Yunho, too.âÂ
You took one step towards Yeonjunâs room before stopping in your tracks. Your neck snaps toward Soobin, âHe was there?âÂ
âWeird, how you guys donât talk when youâre in a relationship.âÂ
You donât answer, already at Yeonjunâs door, pushing it open to see him exactly where you knew heâd be. At his desk, laptop open, headphones in his ears. Like he did to you Tuesday morning, you walk over to him and pluck one out of his ear.Â
You skip greeting him. âSo, I couldnât come over Tuesday night because you were studying, but you could go to a frat party? That doesnât interfere with your studying schedule?âÂ
He pushes his desk chair backward, looking up at you with a face that doesnât read even the slightest bit of guilt. âI had been studying all day, I needed a break.âÂ
âAnd that involves frat parties, but not hanging out with your girlfriend?â You throw your purse onto his bed, hands landing on your hips. Anger brings your blood to a steady boil, skin steaming, a kettle ready to whistle. âJesus Christ Yeonjun, you want to marry me but you canât spend your Tuesday night with me?âÂ
âHey,â he tries to soothe, eyebrows bent up in concern. He shakes his head before words can spill, âIt was last minute, baby. I went with Soob and Gyu, I didnât even drink.âÂ
âDid you get tied to anyone?â
âDid you?â he counters, and your mouth runs dry. He smiles, a small, soft grin, âI saw, but Iâm not angry, am I?âÂ
Your lips bend downward in a frown, voice coming out quieter, like you didnât want the answer as you ask, âWhy didnât you tell me? Why didnât you talk to me at the party? We couldâve gone together, been tied together.â
âCome here,â he soothes, holding his arms out. You look at him for a second before moving an inch. Sweats on his legs, a loose tee on his torso, but his hair is still styled from class earlier today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Your Yeonjun.Â
You take a step toward him, and his hands land on your hips, giving you the okay to crawl onto his lap, feet dangling off the back of the chair as you settle over his thighs. Hands landing on his shoulders, you pout further, âThey made me drink beer.â
He moves your hair away from your face, pouting with you, âHow could they be so cruel?â
âYou really donât care that I went?â you ask, voice still small, partially guilty. âI didnât even tell you I was going.âÂ
âI figured you needed to blow off some steam,â Yeonjunâs hands land on your bare thighs, warm palms smearing smooth strokes across your skin. âI havenât been the most attentive lately.âÂ
âNo,â youâre quick to answer. âYou havenât.â
âMy pretty girl,â he reaches up for your cheeks, pulling you down to kiss him. A light peck, a greeting in the press of your lips. âStay over tonight.â
Youâre supposed to record tonight, an hour length episode on bondage. You should send Yunho a fruit basket for the idea.Â
You hum, keeping your lips close to his. âMaybe.â
He kisses you again, one of his hands falling to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. He parts with your lips with his tongue, and you moan an almost silent noise into his mouth, a soft plea.
âWhy maybe?â he whispers between kisses, teasing. âYouâve got a hot date? Choi San? Jeong Yunho?â
You smile, giggling into his mouth before pushing on his chest. âShut up,â you press your forehead against his. âYour exam is tomorrow and I have a lot of shit to get done.â
You do, other than the podcast. His hands find your waist, slipping under your tee, warm against your skin. A shiver racks up your spine anyway, body giving into his touch, craving more, needing more. You donât want to get your hopes up, even if heâs the one coming onto you.Â
âToo much that you canât make some time for me?â heâs smiling, voice too playful for the weight of his words. How did this get flipped on you?
Your response comes quickly. âThatâs funny, coming from you.â
He frowns, voice suddenly sharp. âDo you think itâs easy? My classes? My assignments?â
âNo,â you mumble, shameful. âI just think you can make more time than you let on.â
âSo you think Iâm a liar?â He sits back in the chair, leaving you with your hands on your thighs, disarmed. âYou think that I enjoy spending all my time sitting at this desk, not doing the things you want me to do?â
Your cheeks feel hot, nails catching onto the skin of your thighs. âThatâs not what I said, Junie.â
âYou donât have to say it,â he argues. âDo you think it felt good to see you tied to Jeong Yunho? Laughing with him? Smiling at him the way you smile at me?â
All the color drains from your face, leaving your skin feeling cold, your body stiff with discomfort and guilt. âIâ you said you didnât care that I went.â
âI donât care,â he reiterates, voice still ridged with frustration. âI canât care, because I know Iâm not taking care of you the way Iâm supposed to be. I was there to blow off steam, too, because all I can think about is cardiovascular hemodynamics when I should be thinking about you.â
Youâre shaking your head before he finishes his sentence. âYou donât need to be thinking about me, focus on studying. Iâm here, Iâll be here, Iâm not going anywhere. Iâm sorry.â
His lips bend in a small smile, hands landing on your thighs again, sliding his palms up and down reassuringly. âItâs okay, baby, I know, I justâŠâ He glances at his laptop. âI need to finish this section.â
You swallow down your unease, mind drifting back to the party, to Wooyoungâs advice that youâve refused to take for over a week now. Heat returns to your body, your hands landing over Yeonjunâs on your thighs. âFinish it in ten minutes.â
You can feel your heartbeat, moisture surfacing on your palms. You need this, you need him to lay you down, to remind you that he loves you. All of your questions from before the party have been answered: you clearly donât respect him enough as a med student, youâre a shitty girlfriend for not giving him space, and you do fucking suck because all you can think about is still fucking sex.Â
You pull your shirt over your head from the hem, throwing it to the floor beside you. Yeonjun watches, lips parting, eyes darkening to a moonless night.
âTen minutes,â you whisper, voice coming out sultry, like a glass of red wine. Your right hand slides down your stomach until it passes the hem of your shorts, the only layer separating you. You hear Yeonjunâs breath catch in his throat.Â
Two fingers find your clit, adding pressure, swirling a small, precise circle. You release a pleased sigh, head falling to the side, eyes locked on Yeonjun whose gaze is focused on between your legs.Â
âStudy me,â you whisper just as your hips rock into your own hand, fingers picking up speed between your legs. Yeonjunâs brows furrow, nails sinking into your thighs, body sinking into the chair, dazed.Â
âFuck,â he groans out, voice layered with arousal, deep and seductive.Â
âIâm so wet,â you whine, like itâs a complaint. But itâs not, the relief is immediate, body thrumming with pleasure as he watches your knuckles through your shorts. âDâyou wanna feel?â
Finally, he looks up, and you canât believe thereâs a full second of debate before heâs grabbing you by your thighs and standing on his feet. In one quick motion he has you on your back, on his bed, legs spread and back arched.Â
He tugs both his sweatpants and his briefs down his legs at once, crawling over you, helping you get your shorts down your calves, over the heels of your feet.
âFuck me,â you whisper as he settles between your legs, before his lips meet yours. Your tongue slides into his mouth as you reach for the hem of his tee, breaking the kiss only to pull it over his head. He presses his chest against yours, and you swear the feeling of his skin against yours brings you closer.Â
You can feel him sliding between your thighs, spreading the arousal youâve spent the last few minutes gathering, unsurprisingly slippery. âJunie,â you pant into his mouth, back arching up into him, âinside, please.âÂ
He grunts like heâs letting go of the last bit of his restraint. Looking between your bodies, he lines himself up, and you brace yourself for the stretch, sucking in a tight breath, limbs locking.Â
He groans as he pushes inside, savoring every inch of your heat, slowly filling you until he reaches the hilt. He's slow at first, like he always is, rocking into you softly, letting you feel every inch, every vein, every ridge.Â
âFeel so good,â your boyfriend grits out, chin tucked to his chest, watching himself pull out and fill you up over and over. You reach for his face, keeping your song of pleasure quiet, legs hooking around his back as you pull his lips to yours.Â
He picks up the pace, fucking into you steadily, making your lips go slack against his, the two of you breathing into each othersâ mouths, fighting to keep quiet.
âNot gonna last like this,â he mutters into your mouth, voice tight. You whimper, using your legs around his middle to lift your hips, angling him upward so his cock curves right into the spot you needed it to.Â
âFuck,â the curse is sharp, his hips stuttering. âSo tight, âh my godââ
âWait, wait,â you pant, nails clawing into his shoulders, ankles crossing over his back. Youâre not close, youâre barely dipping your toes into the pool of pleasure. You thought itâd be easier to reach the finish line, so wound-up, you assumed after a few measly touches youâd be coming undone.Â
âCanât,â he whines, voice strained, pitched and tight like he was two strokes away from finishing.Â
And he was, much to your dismay.Â
His pace quickens, staggered, rough, chasing his release until he pulls away, pulling out, he takes his length in his hand until heâs painting the expanse of your stomach white.Â
You lay there, catching your breath, hating yourself for being disappointed. Wooyoungâs voice rings in your mind as you watch Yeonjun run a hand through his hairâ three minutes of missionary. Was that even three minutes?
Yeonjun hops off the bed, no doubt in search of a towel to clean you up. You should just be happy he finally fucked you, you could work on the specifics later. That was progress. That was sound advice you received, used, and it fucking worked.Â
It worked.Â
âAre you okay?â Yeonjun asks, wiping your stomach with a warm, damp towel.Â
You nod, reminding yourself to smile, âYeah, âm fine. Happy.â He grins, so wide and full it makes the guilt weighing on your chest feel ten times heavier. âWill you be upset if I go? I still have to work on my multimedia report, itâs due tomorrow.âÂ
He crawls over you, then drops himself on the bed beside you, planting a kiss on your lips as soon as he lands. âI could never be upset with you, baby. Youâre gonna be a big-shot reporter one day, arenât you?âÂ
âA big-shot journalist,â you correct, smiling before you kiss him again.Â
âI couldnât take time away from you reaching your goal,â he presses another kiss to your forehead, voice soft, even if the wording makes it feel like a dig. âGo.âÂ
Go, Virgin.Â
You crawl off the bed quicker than you mean to, finding your tee, your shorts. Guilt, disappointment and despair are swimming in your gut, a cocktail for you losing your patience, your temper and your mind if you donât leave his condo now. You should be grateful. You should be happy youâve made progress.Â
But fuck, your insides feel hollow. You donât feel any better than you did before.Â
He mutters something about seeing you tomorrow, and you smile, kiss him once again, then sling your purse over your shoulder and get the fuck out of there. You donât speak to Soobin, you donât look at Beomgyu on the opposite side of the couch, you keep your gaze straight ahead as you make for the front door.Â
Once youâre outside under the sunset, you finally breathe, filling your diaphragm with air and hope. This canât be forever. You canât be one of those wives that men talk about under the AITA subreddit, the ones who wonât fuck their husband because he fucking sucks.Â
You canât be in a sexless marriage.Â
You canât marry him at all. Â
S&M by Rihanna is blasting in Wooyoungâs headphones, and only God and Unscripted could possibly answer why.Â
âGood morning, afternoon, or goodnight, whatever time youâre listening to this weekâs episode of Unscripted. Today, we have an exciting topic that I cannot wait to dive into. Bondage. And I know what youâre thinking: am I secretly really kinky? Well, I guess itâs not much of a secret after over fifty episodes, is it?âÂ
âIf you donât know what bondage is, then Iâll give you the Merriam-Webster definition. Bondage is a sadomasochistic practiceâhence S&M for the introâthat involves the physical restraint of your partner. Or of you, depending on what youâre into. Iâd like to start off with a story, if thatâs cool with you.âÂ
Wooyoung internally groans as he stares at the treadmill screen with a blank expression. He needs her to get to the juicy part and fast.Â
âThis weekend, I went to a frat party. I know, so sophisticated, but it was enlightening in a very physical way. My wrist was zip-tied to a random guy, someone I had barely even met, and it got me thinkingâ do we all have someone that we're zip-tied to, whether itâs a physical, or an emotional bond?â
Wooyoung almost trips over his feet. She was at his party this weekend? What other frat on campus could have had the same themed party on the same weekend?
âEven though I was physically tied to this beautiful, tall, random ass man Iâve never spoken a word to, there was someone else at the party who is tied to a vastly different part of me. By midnight, the alleged rules state that all couples are to finish a pack of alcohol together, and then you could get your zip-tie cut off your wrists, and enjoy the party. Six beers down, I was freed, and trust me, I enjoyed that tall man and the party. But now, a few days later, Iâve come to realize what was supposed to be such a simple party theme might have changed the trajectory of my life forever.âÂ
Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Boring. No one cares about hearing about her life if itâs not the sexy bits, especially him. He doesnât reach for his phone.
âI didnât even know he was there, the other guy, not the sexy one I was tied to with a strap of plastic. But now that I know, Iâm wondering, was I really ever tied to Mister Tall? Did I even consider the fact that I could be tied to Mister Tall? Or was I tied to someone else the whole time, and I couldnât even enjoy that I was physically attached to a tall, sexy ass man?âÂ
Wooyoung is confused. So many words, so many words repeated, he thinks he lost somewhere around strap of plastic.
âDo we all find ourselves, at some point in our lives, attached, bonded to someone we know we shouldnât be, but we canât do anything about it? We canât stop because weâre scared of what itâs like to not have them in our lives, weâre scared of what itâs like to feel fully alone again.â
Wooyoung has never disagreed with anything more.Â
âSex should be fun. It should be filled with curiosity, comfort, laughter, and pleasure. You should try new things, like bringing zip-ties to the bedroom or having a woman on your face while another is between your legs.â
That's something Wooyoung can agree with. He loves it when it feels personal.Â
âIt shouldnât be⊠it shouldnât feel like a chore. Or like youâre a hole or something, sorry, thatâs foul wording, but itâs the truth. Sex is between two people, and it should feel that way, whether youâre bonded to the person or not. If youâre a guy listening, please take everything I just said to heart, and if youâre thinking âis this about me?â then it is.â
Damn. This isnât the usual fun and flirty sex talk he usually hears from her podcast. He guesses women like Unscripted go through shit, too. And here he thought she was just as free-spirited as he was. Wooyoung guesses everyone goes through shitâ he wonders if heâll ever feel anything close to what sheâs going through, or something like what youâre going through.Â
He laughs under his breath at the idea. Or tries to, at least, his breath cleared from his goddamn chest thanks to the speed of the treadmill.Â
âMy bad, someone sent in a question asking if Iâd ever experienced a situationship and I needed to let everyone know that even I get lonely sometimes, and sleep with a man more than once. But anyways, letâs move on to the good shit, right?âÂ
Wooyoung peels his headphones off his ears and cringes when he realizes theyâre as sweaty as he is. Resting them around his neck, he turns the treadmill off, wipes it down, and throws his bag over his shoulder all while still trying to catch his breath.Â
It didnât feel like an hour running through podcast episodes, at the end of this one heâll be all caught up, and by this point he feels like he knows her a little better. He relates to her, in a weird, hatred-filled way, itâs like sheâs the female version of him, but heâd rather fall off the treadmill than admit that to someone else.Â
Especially San.Â
He feels even weirder now that heâs come to terms with relating to her, but knowing that even sheâs felt a level of romance before when heâs never felt it at all, makes him feel like an oddball. He leaves it up to a strong case of FOMO, but in his soul he knows he doesnât actually want to experience it.Â
Everyone he knows thatâs in a relationship hates it in one way or another. Or theyâre too stubborn to admit it, like you, very obviously just showing up for your shift behind the gym counter.Â
âVirgin,â Wooyoung says by way of greeting. Youâre shoving your bag under the counter when he says it, and when you look up, Wooyoung nearly jumps where he stands on the opposite side of the black acrylic. You look like shit.
âDamn,â Wooyoung mumbles, taking in your dark circles, your zombie-fied, lifeless looking skin. âWhat the hell happened to you?â
âI donât have the energy for you today,â you respond, voice curt. No playful tone, no sarcasm, just the honest-to-god truth. It kinda hurts his feelings.Â
âWhat happened?â Wooyoung asks, his tone concerned, and it surprises him that he cares. Instinct, not choice.Â
âNothing,â you mutter, throwing your phone onto the acrylic, a little hard for someone whoâs trying to play off their state as fine. âGo home, Wooyoung.â
Something tugs at his gut, telling him to go. Instinct tells him not to press, not to get involved, but by now heâs in too deep to not be intrigued.Â
âDoes it have to do with the husband?â He pries anyway, crossing his sweaty forearms over the counter. âYou look like shit.âÂ
You deadpan, eyes pointed, jaw locked. âOh, really?â you ask, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. Maybe the sarcastic part of you stays intact no matter what. âI had no idea, I guess running on no sleep and copious amounts of caffeine isnât good for oneâs appearance. Who woulda thought?â
âIâm serious,â he pushes, his front pressing up against the counter. He leans his cheek on his palm. âAre you sick or something? Why are you working?âÂ
âIâm not sick,â you mumble, changing directions, as if Wooyoung wouldnât follow you. You should know him better than that by now.Â
âThen whatâs your deal?â He meets you at the opposite side, his sweaty arms leaving another mark on the acrylic.Â
âGod, Wooyoung, what if Iâm just having a bad day?â Your voice is raised, basically shouting, sounding exasperated like heâs hit every single nerve he could reach. âAnd if something is wrong, maybe I donât want to fucking talk to you about it!âÂ
His brows raise. Maybe he should have listened to his gut. It's never steered him wrong before, listening to his gut is how he hit his last personal record, six women in one day.
He canât find it in himself to come up with a snarky response, so instead he taps the black acrylic twice in place of saying goodbye with his lips sealed tight, and carries himself back to his car like he never asked in the first place. He reminds himself he doesnât care, not about you, not about your love life, he wouldnât give a fuck if you never spoke to him again.Â
He will admit that he kind of wants to know if his advice worked, though. A creeping thought has been breaching the walls of his mind lately, if he could really be the male version of Unscripted, if he started posting podcast episodes of himself talking about sex. Would he become as popular? Would he get as many listeners? Would people take his word as seriously as they take Unscriptedâs?
The music playing from his speakers is a low hum all the way back to his house. His mind wanders, from you, the way you looked, to Unscripted, to himself. If sex is his singular, undeniable skill in this life, shouldnât he do something with it?
âWhatâs wrong with you?â San asks from the kitchen as soon as Wooyoung closes the door behind him. Damn, did your shitty mood rub off on him?
âNothing,â Wooyoung shrugs, crossing the living room. âI just left the gym. Did you know Virgin works there?â
âI feel like she appeared out of literally nowhere, and now sheâs everywhere,â San indulges the topic while making a sandwich, which was really stuffing different meats and cheeses between two burger buns. Wooyoung thinks itâs Jonghoâs turn to go to the grocery store.Â
Wooyoung jingles his lanyard at his side, mindlessly listening to the keys playing a small tune. âShe seemed weird,â Wooyoung mumbles, lost in thought again, staring at the makeshift sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the world.Â
Yunho walks in from the back door, eyes landing on Sanâs sandwich, too. âOoh,â he perks up at the sight. âCan you make me one, too?âÂ
âNot enough bread,â San holds up the plastic bag that once held the burger buns, now empty. âGo yell at Jongho to go to the store.â
Yunho dips his chin toward Wooyoung, âWanna go with me?âÂ
âHell no,â Wooyoung makes a why-would-you-even-ask face. âItâs Jonghoâs turn.âÂ
âHe doesnât follow the list,â Yunho walks to the fridge, peeling the blue sticky note from the stainless steel. Pinching it between two fingers, Yunho shows it to San and Wooyoung like it's a piece of treasure. âDo you see this list? We make this list for a reason.â
âWe see the list,â San and Wooyoung respond as one, voices flat and monotonous.Â
âYouâre coming with me,â Yunho points at Wooyoung with his other hand. âYouâre driving, letâs go.âÂ
He canât even shower first? He still smells like sweat and whatever funk is left from your bad mood raining all over him. He doesnât argue, though, Yunhoâs a high-spirited guy and if thereâs anyone who could fix Wooyoungâs attitude, itâs him.Â
In the car, Yunho rambles about Tuesdayâs party, the guy who warmed his bed that night. It's always been interesting to Wooyoung, how Yunho could play for both teams, how he never leaned toward one side over the other. If Wooyoung was honest with himself, he would have slept with a guy a long, long time ago. That day will come eventually.Â
Somehow even that reminds him of you. Well, your possibly gay boyfriend, which isnât doing great things for aforementioned eventually. He tips his head back until itâs leaning against the headrest, tuning Yunho out while he thinks about your sex life instead of his own. When he wonders if youâve gotten the balls to suck his dick yet, he shivers, and decides to start listening to Yunho again. He fears eventually is nearing closer than he thought.
âDo you ever feel like that?â Oh shit, he wasnât listening. âLike everything is already mapped out for you, but you donât know if youâre following the steps? Or the road?â
âLike the yellow brick road?â Wooyoung quips with a sly grin.Â
Yunho laughs, sinking further into the passenger seat, knees touching the glove compartment. Heâs in workout clothes, sweatshorts, a loose tee, the same headband on his head he always wears. Wooyoungâs dressed in the sameâ perfect grocery store attire.Â
âWhy is everyone so deep today?â Wooyoung wonders out loud, turning into the parking lot of the grocery store. He needs to stop thinking so hard while heâs driving, he doesnât remember getting here.Â
âWho else? And deep in who?â
Wooyoung snorts at his lame joke. âI was listening to Unscripted earlierââ
âYou hate Unscripted,â Yunho doesnât let him finish, snapping his body sideways to look at Wooyoung. âWhy the fuck were you listening to Unscripted?â
âI just was,â Wooyoung snaps. âAnd she was talking about the party on Tuesday, she was there.âÂ
âHow many people away from her do you think we are?â Yunho asks, suddenly excited. âDo you think we know her already? Or do you think sheâs a friend of a friend? Bro, youâve probably fucked her.âÂ
âI have not fucked her,â Wooyoung argues while swiftly backing into a parking spot. The lot wasnât too crowded for a Friday evening, everyone is probably out partying already.Â
âHow do you know?â Yunho unclips his seatbelt, folding his big ass to get out of Wooyoungâs low sports car. When theyâre both out of the car and the door is locked, Yunho continues, âShe doesnât have an identity. Sheâs faceless, identity-less, sheâs a sex ghost.â
âSex ghost,â Wooyoung mumbles under his breath, and heâs reminded why the fuck he hates Unscripted so much. âThat really bothers me, yâknow, that you all listen to her and believe every word she says just because sheâs a woman.â
âYeah, yeah, yeah,â Yunho drags out. âIâve heard it all already. You never mentioned how she got all deep.â
âShe was supposed to talk about bondage, like cuffs and rope and tape and shit, but she started talking about this situationship she has, and how he was at the party, too. She seemed pissed or something.âÂ
Yunho hums, surprised. âI would have thought she was just like you, allergic to relationships of any kind.âÂ
âI thought that too,â Wooyoung nods while getting slapped across the face by the grocery storeâs air conditioning. His nose crinkles, but maybe the air will wash off the rest of his Virgin funk.Â
âThat reminds me,â Yunho wonders out loud as he bee-lines toward the produce. Wooyoung grabs a basket and follows him. âThat girl that almost passed out at the Penny, she was at the party, too.âÂ
âI know, she interrupted my threesome,â Wooyoung says, holding out the basket for Yunho to throw whatever was on the list inside.Â
âSo youâre friends,â Yunho turns, brows furrowed like it was a question. âDid you know her boyfriend doesnât fuck her?â
âUnfortunately,â Wooyoung sighs. Is there no escaping you now?Â
âSheâs pretty,â Yunho turns again, holding up the blue sticky note, probably making sure he isnât missing anything. âIâll never understand staying in a relationship you arenât happy in.âÂ
âSheâs happy in her own strange way, I guess,â Wooyoung catches the vegetable Yunho throws into the basket. âI don't understand staying in a relationship, period. Could you imagine not having the opportunity to fuck two women at once, because you had a partner waiting for you at home?âÂ
âYouâre twisted,â Yunho shakes his head. âMaybe itâs a good thing youâre getting your whore-ism out now. When you find a partner, youâre going to be more loyal than anyone else on the fucking planet, I guarantee it.âÂ
Wooyoung laughs, âSure, and Virginâs gonna break up with her boyfriend and blow through the frat like a fucking freight train.âÂ
When Yunho turns to look at him, thereâs a twinkle in his eye, and Wooyoung swears itâs hope. Thereâs a part of him that doesnât like it, that look, that glimmer.Â
He doesnât know what that says about him.Â
You decided to put together a basket. A good job basket, or a be proud of your hard work basket, or a congratulations basket, even if you know Yeonjun doesnât have his exam results yet. Maybe youâll just call it an I love you basket. You raced to three different stores after your shift in a panic, worried about not only the episode you posted this morning, but also the fact that you kind of fucking hate your boyfriend.
Okay, you donât hate him literally at all, but having sex with him didnât feel right and itâs really freaking you the fuck out. So you need something to do, something tangible your hands can create, something that will help ease the tension in your spine because Yeonjun is supposed to be your forever and you donât know if you can handle anything other than that.
Were you being too direct on the podcast? What if he somehow ends up listening to it, recognizes your voice, and realizes all the things you said were about him? You suppose if Yeonjun ends up listening to Unscripted, hearing himself in your words is the least of your problems.
You stuffed colorful highlighters, his favorite gel pens, trail mix, protein bars, gum, a brain-shaped stress ball and a handwritten note you wrote about fifteen minutes ago into a wicker basket you got for four bucks at the convenience store. You shift each gift in the basket, making sure each one is visible, then make sure the basket as a whole is visually appealing in height and color.
Youâre stalling. Itâs past eleven at night and you have no reason to go to Yeonjunâs condo other than to drop off this basket in hopes that Yeonjun feels your appreciation for all his hard work. Youâre stalling because itâs not about the basket at all.Â
âThatâs cute.â You shriek, jumping off the carpeted floor youâre sitting on. Your roommate, Yunjin is standing in your doorway, staring at the basket you canât seem to finish putting together. âGift for Junie?â
Her hair, a pretty, chocolate brown, is curled up and pinned in different places, framing her face perfectly. Sheâs always so put together, even with a bare face, even in the middle of the night. You wish you could say the same, but you still havenât slept, so youâre pretty sure you still resemble death itself.
âYeah,â you smile, proud of your basket. You look up and over your shoulder at her, âThink heâll like it?â
In her matching pink pajama set, she walks into your bedroom and crouches down into her legs beside you, ignoring all the wrappers and price tags you cut off of each gift strewn across your floor. âWhatâs it for? Are you telling him youâre pregnant or something?â
You choke on your own spit. âYou think Iâd get him colorful highlighters and a brain-shaped stress ball if I was pregnant?â
âStress ball for him to use when he freaks out,â she points as she explains. âThen after heâs accepted it, highlighters to document each trimester and what symptoms youâre feeling.â
âThatâs actually pretty accurate,â you sigh. âHe had an exam today, this is congratulatory or something.â Then on a vulnerable note, you ask, âIf I was pregnant, would you be happy for me?â
âProbably not at first,â she shrugs like that was the obvious answer. âYouâre basically fresh out of the womb, your womb isnât ready to have anything in it yet.â
âStop saying womb,â you scrunch your face, amused. âHe told me the other day that he wants to marry me as soon as we graduate, then he wants to get me pregnant.â
âWho cares what he wants?â She sits back on her butt, elbows landing on her bent knees. âYouâre always worried about what he wants. What do you want?â
âCan I be honest?â you ask, then add, âcan I also be really vulgar for a sec?â She nods with a grin, eyes flaring interest. Vulgar is her favorite. âI want good sex. Like, really good, world-shattering, itâs insane that I just survived sex.â
She doesnât laugh. Her brows furrow, âYouâve been dating Yeonjun for over a year. Give a girl more context.â
You take your bottom lip between your teeth, unease and a little bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine. You donât know why it feels so hard to say the words to her, when you can tell Wooyoung and half his frat with ease.
âWe had sex last night,â youâre basically whispering, your voice is so low. âIâve been askingâ basically begging for⊠rougher sex, I donât know. Sex where I actually feel like he wants me. Last night we had sex and it felt like I accidentally got him hard and he just needed to get off or something. It's always like that.â
âHow long?â she asks, her face bent in concern, her already soft features somehow softer. You feel a weight lifted off your chest, maybe itâs because youâre finally confiding in one of your friends, maybe itâs because sheâs a woman. You donât know why you thought that sheâd make fun of you.
âA long time,â your lips flatten, scrunching to one side. Then your chest feels tight, and you can feel the tears forming, but you refuse to let them spill. âHe just told me he wants to marry me, to start a family with me, but I canât even get him to have sex with me half the time, and the other half heâs finishing after legitimately four strokes.â
She frowns, reaching a hand out to land on your arm. âIâm sorry,â her voice is filled with pity. âCan you see yourself marrying him?â
âI did,â you blurt, then correct yourself, âI do. I can, I mean. Or I did until last night, and now Iâm freaking out, so I made this basket.â
She glances at the basket again, everything inside it with cool, calculated eyes. âOne more question, and then Iâm done quizzing you, I swear. Is the basket for you, or is it for him?â
âFor him,â you answer, but your brows furrow. Why would it be for you?
She hums. âYouâre smart, babe. Youâre good at seeing people who arenât used to being seen, youâre good at making them feel special, because you have a big heart, and you care. Shitty sex aside, does he do that for you? Does he see you? Does he make you feel special?â
You swallow, face falling flat, eyes a little wider than they should be. You should be screaming yes, yes, yes at the top of your lungs, but he doesnât. He hasnât made you feel special since the six month mark, when the honeymoon phase was over and your relationship flipped overnight into seeing each other only when it was convenient, scheduled dates made weeks in advance, or the two of you coexisting in the same place but not together.
You donât like how this feels. You donât like how every sign seems to be pointing in the same direction, you wonât accept it. You can fix this, you can make it feel like the first few months again, you can bring back the spark you lost.Â
You wonât give up on him.Â
âIâm gonna bring him the basket,â you avert, quickly standing on your feet, not meeting Yunjinâs gaze.Â
She doesnât move, you can feel her eyes on you from the floor. âWe could have a girlâs night instead, I have face masks in the fridge already. We can make popcorn and watch a movie, you donât have to go there.âÂ
âI want to go there.â You pick up the basket from the floor and grab your purse from your desk, throwing it over your shoulder.Â
Watching you cross the living room, she stays standing in your doorframe, arms crossed. When your fingers touch the door handle, she calls out, âYouâre too young to be this stressed out over a man.âÂ
âHeâs not just a man,â you look at her over your shoulder. âIâm committed to him.âÂ
You quickly turn away, you donât want to see the disappointment in her eyes. You donât know if this is the right choice, if your relationship is worth fighting for, if it should be this much of a battle. Yunjin seems to have the answer, and you donât want to see it spelled out on her face.Â
You keep your gaze straight ahead for the entire walk to Yeonjunâs condo, just in case the bushes along the sidewalk had some insight to add, too. It looks empty from the outside, all the lights are off, from where you stand itâs almost as if no one is home at all. Being a Friday night, three pre-med students should be home, asleep. You shouldnât expect that of Tuesdays, though, you guess. You fish for your keyring from your purse before pushing the key to Yeonjunâs into the lock, turning it, then let yourself inside.Â
The living room is dark. Eerily dark. The lights are off, even the corner lamp, the couch in pristine condition with the throw blanket folded perfectly over the back. You could see well enough from the moonlight pouring in through the windows, painting streaks of silver on the hardwood floor, on the furniture. The door beside Yeonjunâs opens, just enough for you to see Soobinâs dark eyes peeking through, then it opens halfway, and he leans up against the doorframe, his expression blank. No curiosity, no questions, as if he just wants to watch.Â
It makes you panic. Blood surges through your veins, your breath picking up, you rush across the living room and open Yeonjunâs door, expecting to see anything but what was behind it.Â
âNo,â you whisper, taking in the sight before you, even under the blanket of night you could still make out both figures on the bed. The contents of your stomach fall to the floor, blood pounding beneath your skin, âNo, no, this is a dream, Iâm dreaming.âÂ
Beomgyu picks his head up first. Your name tumbles out of his mouth once in confusion, twice in panic, then heâs smacking Yeonjunâs bare back, his bare arms, pushing your naked boyfriend off of his own naked body like itâd somehow hide what youâve already seen.Â
âIâm dreaming, right?â you ask Beomgyu, who stares at you with terrified, wide eyes as Yeonjun blinks his eyes open. A little louder, your voice cracking on the word, you ask again, âRight?!â
âYouâre cheating on me?â your voice cracks again on cheating. âYouâre cheating on me with Beomgyu?â
Yeonjun sits up, confusion still sprinkled across his features, âWho? What are you doing here? What?âÂ
âWake the fuck up,â youâre yelling now, and Beomgyu is scurrying off the sheets, trying to catch his footing on the floor. You point at him, âDonât fucking move.â
Beomgyu stills like you froze him. Yeonjun comes to, glancing at you, then Beomgyu, then his face contorts in panic. âBaby, I can explainââ
âYou can explain Beomgyu naked in your fucking bed?!â Youâve never yelled at him before. Heâs never seen you truly angry. âYou fucked me yesterday and Beomgyuâs naked in your fucking bed, Yeonjun?!âÂ
âYou had sex with her yesterday?â Beomgyu interrupts, voice sharp, hurt laced into the question.Â
Yeonjun sits up fully, pulling the sheets over his lap, and then he holds them over his obviously naked fucking body as he crawls toward the foot. âBaby, itâs not what it looks likeâ heâs just, we were studying, and then one thing led to anotherââ
You laugh, dropping the basket to the floor. Yeonjun stiffens, and you know itâs because heâs never heard that laugh before. âStudying for what? Did you even have an exam today?â You turn to Beomgyu whoâs already looking at you, features still blown out with terror. âAnswer me, you lying piece of shit.âÂ
Beomgyuâs head even stutters as he tries to shake it, âN-no.âÂ
âGyu!â Yeonjun grits out under his breath, then he turns to you. âItâs not what it looks like, just let me explain.âÂ
You take a step closer to Beomgyu whoâs hands are shaking as he covers his bare crotch. His chest is sinking and rising rapidly, you can smell the fear on him. âHow long?â Beomgyu blinks. âHow long have you been fucking my boyfriend, Beomgyu?!âÂ
âT-three months,â he stumbles over the words, taking a step away from you, his chest growing red in asymmetrical splotches.Â
âBeomgyu!â Yeonjun is yelling now, panic ebbed in his tone, like he could have lied his way out of this. You think he might still try. âHeâs lying, baby, listen to me. Listen to me, Iâm your boyfriend.âÂ
âIs this why you wonât have sex with me?â you finally ask, reality becoming crystal clear. âBe honest, Yeonjun, I already fucking caught you, thereâs no point in lying anymore. Is he why you wonât fuck me?â
Yeonjunâs face is beet red, color bleeding down onto his shoulders, his chest. Shame, panic, guilt, you couldnât pinpoint what emotion has his clamped fingers shaking on the sheet.Â
âYes,â Yeonjun whispers. âBut itâs just sex,â he defends, âthereâs no feelings involved. I love you, I want to marry you.âÂ
Beomgyuâs neck snaps, horror in his eyes, spilling from his dropped jaw. You would have already known he was lying even if you didnât get the confirmation from Beomgyu.Â
âI brought you this,â you pick up the basket from the floor, tossing it onto the bed, Yeonjun jumps backward as the contents spill across his baby blue sheets. His dark eyes turn glossy, a frown bending his lips as he glances at each gift. âYou donât deserve my effort or my kindness, you never deserved a second of the time Iâve wasted caring about you. Loving you.â
Your words come out even, almost practiced, as if youâve been waiting a long, long time to say the words. Your chest aches, of course, but thereâs a certain weightlessness to your body, something close to relief. You should be angrier. You should be tearing apart his bedroom, beating his ass and Beomgyuâs.
You canât bring yourself to move an inch.You turn to the younger man, âIâve known you since the day I met Yeonjun, youâve been my friend all this time, Beomgyu. Youâre just as guilty as he is.â
âIâm sorry,â Beomgyu squeaks out. âIâm sorry⊠Iâ I love him.âÂ
You give him a weak smile, âSo do I.â Turning to Yeonjun again, silent tears stream down his cheeks now, his upper body slouched over, defeated. You keep your shoulders back, steady. âDonât call me, donât text me, donât come to my apartment. Forget I ever existed.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â he croaks, his voice heavy from crying. He picks his head up, panic still webbed across his features, âIâm notâ Iâm not gay. It's just⊠Beomgyu. Itâs just Beomgyu.â
Anger strikes, but instead itâs because Wooyoung was fucking right. Again. Godâ how the fuck are you gonna tell him? After you flipped the fuck out on him earlier, you donât know if youâll ever get the chance to tell him. You wouldnât approach someone after they snapped at you, but it might be for the better, anyway.
âI donât fucking care what you are,â you blurt, harshly. âI care that you cheated on me, especially after I've spent weeks trying to figure out what's wrong with us. I hope you two are happy together.â
âIâm sorry,â Yeonjun yells out when you turn on your heel. âI love you, Iâll call youâ Iâm going to fix this, pleaseââÂ
You close the door behind you, pushing out a staggered, broken breath from between your lips. Soobin stands across from you, leaning against the back of the couch, body slouched casually like heâs been listening to the entire ordeal.Â
âHe really thinks he can fix it,â Soobin says first. You can hear Yeonjun yelling at Beomgyu behind the door. âHeâs been trying to stop sleeping with Gyu for the past month. Couldnât bring himself to.â
âYou knew,â you whisper your understanding, jaw locked. Thereâs venom on your tongue as you ask, âWas it entertaining for you, watching me try over and over?â
Soobin shakes his head. âNot necessarily,â he cranes his neck, sinking into his shoulders, fingers clamped over the back of the couch. âI didnât think itâd take so long for you to figure it out. It wasnât my place to say anything.âÂ
You push off the door, a laugh coated in sarcasm tumbling off your tongue. âRight,â you nod, âbecause your loyalty is to Yeonjun, not to me.âÂ
Soobin shrugs. âIf a guy stops fucking a girl like you, thereâs only one clear answer why.â
âYouâre just as fucking guilty as they are,â you spit out, striding past Soobin, towards the front door. âI hope I never see the three of you ever again.âÂ
âI wouldnât bet your money on it,â Soobin calls after you. âItâs a small campus.âÂ
masterlist đŹ
there are three things that are irritating you lately: choi yeonjun, choi san, and the fantasies in your head that you can't for the life of you make reality.
đ€ïžïž wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 2/? 7.5k words đ€ïžïž 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, reader has a boyfriend who is choi yeonjun | smut minors dni, threesome, drinking, banter, explicit content i can't tag for shit
âALSO, I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT: Iâve learned the ancient art of edging. Did anyone else know it was lowkey a religious-chastity thing in the Middle Ages? Or that it was mentioned in ancient, Hindu texts, the Kama Sutra, and Tantric scriptures? I was reading this essay about it, and they were even edging in the fucking Victorian era. We really havenât come up with anything original, have we?âÂ
âThis might seem tame for someone like me to have just discovered, but I swear Iâm seeing the world in a whole different light. Yes, walk âem like a dog, sisters, but holy shit, have we all heard the sound of a man whimpering? How about begging? Have you ever seen tears streaming down a grown manâs cheeks because you wonât let him cum? Iâm seeing the light, guys.âÂ
âIâve never really given a fuck about a manâs pleasure before, I wonât lie. Their pleasure is guaranteed while we have to focus for ours, we really have to work for it, yâknow? So why put that much effort into making a man finish, when he wonât do half as much for you? At least, if you asked me a week ago, that wouldâve been my honest answer. Today, I still feel that way, but Iâm a little more inclined to put in effort to make a man finish because a part of me is obsessed with seeing him suffer first.â
âAnd itâs not even just the edging. It's the persona, the character youâre letting yourself sink into before you even get started. Iâve been dominant in the bedroom before, and I know I was just telling you guys to not be afraid of itâ but I think, maybe, the times I thought I was being dominant, I was just ensuring I got the same out of sex that my partner did. Now, today, I understand dominance. I understand the responsibility, the effort, the fact that someone is literally putting themself and their pleasure in your hands, and honestly, I don't understand why some men donât solely get off on making their partner finish. What's hotter than that?âÂ
âHaving someone beg for you, wanting you so carnally, so shamelessly. Tears streaming down their fuckinâ cheeks, guys, it was serious, Iâm still recovering, if you canât tell. Hopefully next episode Iâll have an update with the reverse side of things, and weâll see if Iâm as excited about it. Right now Iâm fucking geeked. I hope you all enjoyed this week's episode, and now you know a little more about toys, for your pleasure, for his pleasure, for their pleasure. I hope your partner goes out and buys one just to use on you tonight. Catch you guys next week, unscripted, as always.âÂ
Damn, you hate hearing your voice recorded. You sound different than how your voice sounds in your head, somehow more nasally, annoying, even. You donât understand why people listen to you, and continue to listen to you week after week, episode after episode. Itâs not like you actually know what the fuck youâre talking about, even with the episode you uploaded last night, all of that information, stolen from a Reddit thread.Â
But yet, never once have you actually felt like a fraud. To you, youâre playing a character, an unscripted version of you, but in the way that someone else is playing the character of you. Or, actually, youâre playing the character of you in a different universe, with a different personality, different confidence level, different relationship status.Â
âWhat are you listening to, baby?â Yeonjun asks, climbing into his own bed behind you, stealing your headphone from your ear. Pressing his chest against your back, his head fits into the pocket between your neck and shoulder like it was meant to be.Â
You slide down on your screen, lower your brightness, pause the podcast, and turn off bluetooth. âNothing,â you murmur, backing into him, letting your body mold to his. âWhat were you doing?âÂ
âI went to the gym early,â he answers before planting a kiss on your cheek. âI have to study all day today, I have an exam on Friday.âÂ
You turn, throwing your arms over his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss you. Pink, plump and soft, your boyfriendâs lips, his kiss was your favorite, itâs comforting, home. But you donât want to feel like youâre home. You kick the sheets off of your lower half, hooking one leg over his hip, splitting his lips with your tongue. âI want you,â you whisper.
He kisses you again, shifting his hips between your legs, one hand trailing down your hip, your thigh, just to hold your knee still. âI have to study,â he reminds you. âI wasnât kidding. Thatâs why I got up so early, I need the day, baby.âÂ
âYou canât spare ten minutes?â you ask, but it comes out more like a whine. Your arms fall from his shoulders, landing on the sheets beneath you. âSkip the shower and fuck me instead. It wonât even take ten, Junie.âÂ
âI already showered,â he gives you an apologetic look, and then you smell his body wash, bright and citrus like lemon, herby like sage, hints of aloe. He places your headphone in the center of your chest before crawling off you, âIâm sorry.âÂ
You let out a sharp sigh, legs falling back down to the mattress, spread out like a shriveled fucking starfish. You stare at the ceiling while listening to him rummage around his bedroom, and after a minute or two, you sit up on your elbows, ready to argue.Â
âYou do understand that we have sex, like, once a week, right?â you ask, bitterness in your tone, clipping every word.Â
At his desk, already sitting before his open laptop, he doesnât even look at you as he responds, âI know, I look forward to it every week.â
Like itâs cheat day and youâre a fucking donut, as if he can only have you on the weekend or something. Anger bubbles up inside you, jaw locking, but instead of fighting for it, you climb off his bed.Â
Everything in Yeonjunâs room is pristine. Pictures on his dresser never have a spec of dust, the wood of his furniture always shining, his bed always made. Clothes are never strewn on the floor, always hung up, in his hamper, he doesnât even keep water on his nightstand. He will get up at two in the morning to fill up a glass for himself, then flip it over when he clears it, and let it dry on the rack in his sink.Â
Even your clothes were folded up on the opposite nightstand, even if you know you threw them on the floor last night. Not that you had sex last night, but because you slept naked. He doesnât even sleep naked. He must have folded them this morning, or maybe when he woke up at two for midnight hydration.Â
âWhere are you going?â he asks from the desk, brows in his hairline. You refuse to look at his feline features, the dark hair thatâs no doubt drying perfectly in place, or even at his desk that has two notebooks, different colors for different purposes, a textbook, and a set of multicolored pens perfectly in a line beside his laptop.Â
âOut,â you respond, tugging your jeans up your thighs. âHome, I donât know. Iâm leaving.âÂ
âBaby,â he tries, and his voice is soft, pleading. âDonât be mad, are you mad?âÂ
âNo,â you finally turn to him, your lips bent in a sad smile that takes every ounce of strength to force. âIâm not mad, I understand. I just want to give you space so you can study in a distraction-free environment.â
His lips spread in a smile, âThank you, baby, youâre so thoughtful. Câmere.â He turns in his chair, holding out his arms for you. Standing in jeans and a bra, you cross his room, running your hands through his hair when you land between his knees. âI love you,â he whispers, then leans forward to press a kiss to your stomach. âYouâre so good to me, donât deserve you.âÂ
Itâs you who doesnât deserve him. Your hands fall to his cheeks, lifting his head to look at you, and you bend down to kiss him. Just one, soft peck, a singular kiss that has no intention of asking for more. You werenât in the mood to get rejected twice before ten.Â
You throw your headphones in your bag after pulling your shirt over your head, and make your way out to the living room, where Beomgyu and Soobin were surprisingly awake, at the kitchen counter eating breakfast.Â
âHey,â you greet, eyes already on the food between them. âFeed me, Iâm starved.â In more ways than one. Beomgyuâs always been sexy.Â
Beomgyu slides his plate over, âYouâre leaving early.âÂ
Shaggy brown hair shooting in every direction sits atop his head, a short laugh tumbles through your lips at his disheveled appearance. âYouâre up early. Too early to brush your hair, I guess.âÂ
âI have to put it back for class anyway,â Beomgyu shrugs. âI like to let it do what it wants before I put it in ponytail jail.âÂ
âYou should just cut it like the rest of us do,â Soobin says like heâs said it a million times before.Â
âIâm allowed to keep it long,â Beomgyu argues, like heâs also said it a million times before. âI just have to keep it neat, which it always is, hence why it looks like this at home.â
Chewing, your eyes bounce back and forth between them. âI seem to have hit a soft spot,â you interject.Â
âJust cut it, and I wonât have to slick it back for you anymore,â Soobinâs hands land on the edge of the counter, his height looming over where Beomgyu sat across from him.Â
Beomgyu leans back at the display of dominance, but his eyes thin, his shoulders squaring. âI slick it back myself. I asked you to do it one time, Soob.âÂ
Grabbing a few more pieces of bacon from his plate, you slip away from the counter, leaving them to their own argument that you accidentally instigated. âIâll be leaving with this. Have fun studying today, boys.â
Soobin turns his head away from Beomgyu, landing on you, already halfway across the room. âStudying?âÂ
âJunie said you have an exam Friday,â your grip tightens on your bag, head nodding in the direction of Yeonjunâs bedroom. âSo study up.âÂ
Soobinâs brows furrow, lips parting to speak, but Beomgyu cuts him off. âThanks, girl,â heâs grinning ear to ear, gnawing on a piece of bacon. âWill you be back later?â
You shrug. âIf he wants me to. Weâll see.â You wave before slipping through their front door, letting a long breath you didnât know you were holding loose.Â
Your chest hurts. No, maybe itâs your heart that aches, a tiny part of it still beating with underlying fear at the idea of feeling like this forever. Itâs not even ten in the morning yet and youâve felt enough emotion to last you three days. You donât know why you didnât listen to Wooyoung, you had yet another opportunity last night to⊠edge him, or whatever. You had the opportunity to bridge the gap, to fill in the blanks, to make your relationship feel whole again, and you didnât take it.Â
Why not? Unscripted would have edged him until he was a whimpering, blabbering, crying mess. Why is she so different from you? Youâre still asking yourself the same question you asked yourself a thousand times while laying in Yeonjunâs bed last night. Starting your walk back into campus again, you curse yourself for promising Wooyoung an update.Â
You curse yourself for asking Wooyoungâs advice in the first place. You donât know what it is about him thatâs so intriguing, that makes you feel so ambitious, maybe itâs because Unscripted is basically the girl version of him. Maybe a part of you is jealous, wants his confidence, his shamelessness, maybe part of you wants to be him entirely. You shake off the thoughts, you do not want to be Jung Wooyoung. Heâs so careless that he caught an STDâ and what about all the women he supposedly got pregnant?
You hate that heâs even on your fucking mind. It was mortifying having him catch you in his bedroom the night of his own goddamn party, and yet you went back to that very bedroom to ask him advice. You have to be losing your mind, or maybe youâre so fucking pent up youâd do just about anything to get your boyfriend to fuck you.Â
Coming to the crosswalk that would bridge you over to your complex, you huff, waiting for the hand to turn into a little stick figure. Not anythingâ you wouldnât do anything, clearly, because if that was true, you would have gotten fucked the night Wooyoung gave you advice. You would have gotten fucked a thousand times since.Â
Instead of crossing over to your complex, you turn to the right, the crosswalk taking you to a strip mall that consists of a coffee shop, a hair salon, a nail salon, and the gym you work at. It was the perfect strip mall for college students, sitting just outside of campus, a quick walk no matter where you are. The coffee shop is bright; floor to ceiling windows, it somehow feels brighter than outside as you walk inside, bells over the glass doors chiming.Â
You have class in two hours, and you donât feel like napping beforehand, so coffee it is. A small shop, a coffee bar and a set of three different tables, all already occupied with students wearing headphones, laptops open in front of them.Â
âVirgin!â Your head picks up to the register, and your eyes thin at the person standing behind it. Smiling, dimpled and muscled.Â
âBiceps,â you respond, laced with annoyance at the newfound nickname now two people use. âDonât call me that.âÂ
âHonestly, I donât know your name,â he admits from behind the register. He wears an apron over his broad chest, a dark wine color against the black of his shirt, his name is printed on his right pec. San.Â
âGood,â your smile is nothing short of sarcastic as you look up at the menu. You hum, lips folding into your mouth before you decide, âMedium vanilla latte, please.âÂ
âGot it,â heâs still smiling, dimples showing as he types on his screen. Turning to show you the total, he tilts his head as he looks you over, âI would have taken you for a black coffee kind of girl. Youâre all hard and mad and serious and shit.âÂ
Your brows furrow as you tap your phone against the reader. âYou very clearly do not know me at all,â you mutter, shaking your head.
His palms find the counter, shoulders meeting his ears as he leans forward, smirk playing on his lips. âYou should let me get to know you, then.âÂ
âWhat?â Itâs a natural reaction. âIâ you were thereâ you know I have a boyfriend, Biceps.â
 âYou were about to vomit at the idea of marrying him at the Penny,â he counters, brows high. âI wouldnât say itâs all sunshine and rainbows in your relationship, would you?â
Your top lip lifts in pure disgust, and you guess itâs the straw that broke the camelâs back because immediately youâre blurting, âWhat are you proposing, then? Cheating on him? Leaving him, since thatâs what everyone else thinks I should fucking do?âÂ
San doesnât falter, everyone else means Wooyoung and you both know it. His smirk widens, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes, âNo one said anything about cheating, Virgin. What are you thinking about, huh?â
âAre you going to make my fucking coffee or am I going to be stuck here all day waiting for it?â you snap, and not a single word comes out kind. He deserves it, for insinuating cheating on Yeonjun, insinuating that you thought about it first.
San eyes you, then keeps his eye on you as he saunters over to the bar, he only pulls his gaze away when he grabs the top plastic cup off the stack of thirty. Youâre fuming, steam rising off your skin, fingertips clasped around your phone so hard you might crack the fucking screen.Â
You let it boil down to a simmer before your drink is ready, and San calls your name out, leaving you dumbfounded. You walk up to the pick-up section of the coffee bar with a quirk in your brow, âThought you didnât know my name?â
âI lied,â he answers simply, sliding your drink toward you. âWeâre throwing tonight, come.â
âYou throw a party every other night.â You grab a straw from the container beside you, plucking it into the hole of your lid. âIâm banning myself from your parties. And Wooyoungâs bedroom.â
That gets a laugh out of him. âYou know how many women are banned from Wooyoungâs bedroom? I think you might be first to ban yourself,â thereâs humor in his voice now, a different kind of humor from the flirty banter he tried earlier. âCome. Leave the boyfriend at home.âÂ
Your lips tighten, uneasy. Curious, though, you ask, âWhy should I leave him at home?âÂ
Biceps just smiles like a Cheshire fucking cat. âJust leave him at home, Virgin.âÂ
You canât believe youâre back here.
You can believe it, because what the fuck else were you going to do, sit at home and sulk over Yeonjun not fucking you? Reread the last text he sent you that said not to come over because heâs still studying?
The text pissed you off, then you went through every stage of grief wondering if you were the problem. Do you not respect him enough as a med student? Are you a shitty girlfriend for not giving him the time he needs to study, so he can succeed in his future? Do you fucking suck because all you can think about is sex?
All signs seemed to point toward yes, and then that pissed you off, too. Youâre no better than any of the frat guys inside the tall, two story house in front of you, all of which who will probably fuck the first person they lay eyes on tonight. Thatâs never been you. Serious boyfriend after serious boyfriend, since you were sixteen years old. Even in the short periods of time when youâve single you didnât do the casual sex thing, even though everyone around you seemed ecstatic to participate.
What if Yeonjun finds out youâre here? Will he be angry? Will he even care, or did it not matter because at least you werenât bothering him?
The last question seemed to answer itself, so you stare at the devilâs mouth from the lawn in an outfit you put too much effort into, the beige door bleeding bass and techno music, reminding you that Biceps is inside, and he actually wants you here. You scratch at your arm that isnât itchy, shifting your weight from foot to foot, watching as everyone else your age barrels through the front door like they owned the place.
Your feet want to move, but the thought of facing the horde of people inside alone, without a soul at your side, was starting to feel more mortifying than being caught trying to fuck your boyfriendâand failingâin someone elseâs bedroom. You could have texted any of your friends to join you, but you didnât want them to ask any questions, so you didnât. You didnât even tell your roommate you were going out, but Yunjin isnât stupid. She took one look at your outfit and popped a brow, then asked if there was a change in the status of your relationship. You ignored the part of you that wanted to say yes, and told her it was for Yeonjun.Â
For Yeonjun.Â
Your feet start moving.
Last week, it was packed like sardines, there wasnât room to do anything between sweaty bodies, and if you could move, you were slipping on the floor beneath you, the dark hardwood covered in a layer of beer, vodka and grime. This week, it was just as packed, the floor was just as slippery, but everyone seemed to be⊠tied up.Â
Is this some kind of sick joke? Did San ask you to come here, tonight, on purpose?
Every person inside the house was a couple, and each couple you saw had a black zip-tie holding their wrists together. Some were holding hands, others didnât look too happy about who they were tied to, you even spotted a girl making out with someone else, while zip-tied to another who did his best to look the other way. Witnessing that made you smile, just a little, because the lead in your stomach gets heavier when you realize that if you donât leave right fucking now, youâre going to get zip-tied to someone, too.
âVirgin!â
You havenât even made it past the fucking living room. You donât look up, because maybe thereâs an actual virgin here, and Biceps wasnât calling for you from the edge of the kitchen. A second of reprieve goes by before heâs calling out your name, so you curse under your breath, and follow the direction of his voice.
Shirtless. So shirtless. So⊠lacking clothes, but only clothes, clothes is the only department Biceps is lacking in. Maybe you should just call him Body instead of Biceps, because every single inch of his upper half is sculpted, golden, gleaming with sweat. He doesnât deserve a body so perfect. He calls you Virgin.
âLike what you see?â He wiggles his brows, a smirk already playing on his swollen, cherry-red lips. âOne night without the boyfriend and sheâs ready to risk it all.â
The girl heâs zip-tied to smacks her teeth. You didnât even notice he was tied to anyone. She leans into his side, a pout on her lips, whining, âSannie, when can we go upstairs? Iâm bored.â
âYeah, Sannie,â you canât help but tease. âTake the girl upstairs, Iâm leaving before anyone else sees me here.â
âWhy? What? Donât go,â San takes a step forward, dragging the girl with him. He transfers his beer to his tied hand before clamping his free one on your forearm, âYou didnât even get tied to anyone yet.â
You shake his hand off your forearm, âI donât want to be tied to anyone.â
He grabs onto your forearm again with a straight face and turns on his heel. Skipping over your own feet, alarm bells pound in your chest, âSan! I donât want to be tied to anyone, I donât even want to be here! Let me go.â
âNo,â San answers, and for a second you think there might be more. An explanation, at least. He pulls you toward the kitchen, your shoulder bumping the blonde beside you, the girl whose wrist is tied to his. You shoot her an apologetic look, but she doesnât seem to forgive you for the intrusion.Â
âHere,â San announces as he comes to a stop, setting your forearm free when he places you across from an unnervingly tall guy with beige, blonde hair. âVirgin, this is Yunho, he brought beer. Where did the zip-ties go?â
Your lips go flat, an embarrassed flush kissing your cheeks. San is already off searching, leaving you alone with this⊠guy. Tall guy. Cute tall guy.Â
âDo you like Miller?â Yunho asks, holding up the twelve pack in his other hand. He has a comforting look about him, hair softly unstyled, other than the nineties-style headband pushing his bangs back. His body language is nowhere near as uptight as your rigid spine, bent and relaxed, like the house was his. The tee hanging from his shoulders is loose, but leaves a sliver of skin between the hem and his jeans, sneakers on his feet dirtied and scuffed.Â
âUm,â you blink, and then keep blinking, trying your hardest not to look at the pocket of skin between his shirt and jeans. You donât know what to say. âNo, but I shouldnât be here, anyway. I should goââ
âI need a partner,â he offers. âWe just have to finish the twelve-pack by midnight. And itâs,â he looks down at the invisible watch on his wrist, âprobably really close to midnight. I already drank three, you drink five and Iâll drink four.â
San returns with a black zip-tie in hand, singing, âWrists, ladies.â
The girlâs wrist is limp, her arm following Sanâs like sheâs a puppet and heâs the puppeteer. You frown, âBiceps, I really donât want to do this.âÂ
âYouâre gonna leave Yunho hanging?â Sanâs body suddenly straightens out, brows tied together in a pout. âHe needs your help, Virgin, he has nine beers to finish on his own.âÂ
When you look at Yunho, heâs nodding his agreement, looking at you like it would be the end of the world if you said no. You know youâre not going to get away with saying no, so you loose a defeated sigh, look away, and hold up your wrist for San to tie.
Yunhoâs skin is soft against yours. His wrist is smaller than it seems, his arm smooth like heâs completely hairless. San ties the zip-tie just tight enough for you to be able to wiggle your wrist, like a bracelet thatâs big enough to fit two wrists.Â
âThe second issue is that I donât drink beer,â you muse after San drops your wrists, yours hanging, Yunhoâs arm bent ever so slightly. Damn heâs tall. âIâm a dirty martini kind of girl.â
Yunho laughs under his breath, âAre you thirty years old? Where the fuck are you going, drinking dirty martinis? Is that what you were drinking at the Penny?â
âYou were at Lucky Penny that night?â you ask before the memory resurfaces. He was at the Penny, sitting to your left, he was the one who asked Wooyoung what he did to you. As if youâd ever sleep withâ where is he, anyway?
âWatched your skin get some color back into it as soon as you were away from the guy whoâs trying to tradwife you,â Yunho responds, a glimmer in his chocolate brown eyes, a sly smirk on his lips. Your cheeks burn. âClearly, thatâs going well, since youâre here.â
âIâm only here because San told me to come.â
Yunho laughs to himself, âThatâs what they all say.â
âShut up and hand me a beer,â you gruff, holding your free palm out. Wordlessly, he reaches into the box of cans, using both of his hands and yours to crack open the beer.Â
He hands it to you with a proud grin, âOnly five more!â
âYou saidââ you stammer, âyou said I only had to drink five!â
âI pre-gamed,â he shrugs without a glimpse of remorse. âThe only way to get us untied is to finish all of them, so drink up, buttercup.â
At least itâs cold, you think as you bring the carbonated yeast up to your lips. Itâs a mild beer, compared to something heavier with more taste, like a Guinness or a Yuengling. Those you certainly canât get down, especially six of them, even if you were being forced to, like you were tonight.Â
Force is still up for debate. You could have put your foot down, and the sentiment sits with you as Yunho takes you for a lap around the frat. The last time you were here, you barely had the patience to look around, your agenda was to get Yeonjun inside the house, and then inside a random bedroom. You didnât miss much, as it seems, an old paint job on the flag-covered walls, a clearly thrifted, hand-me-down couch in the living room, the speaker system might be the only expensive thing in the house.
âSo, tell me,â Yunho finally says after showing you the dirty bathroom that was already out of toilet paper. He cracks open your second beer for you before asking, âWhere is your husband tonight?â
âAt home,â you admit, âhe has to study. Heâs pre-med.â Itâs easier to get the drink down now, easy enough that you suck down a gulp of it. âAll he does is study.â
Yunho sucks in a breath through his teeth, and you know what it means. He explains anyway, âSchool is his whole life now, then work will be his whole life when heâs in a hospital. If he goes that route.â
âTell me about it,â you find yourself agreeing. âI canât even get him to fuck me half the time.â You gasp after it leaves your lips, covering your mouth with your can instead of your palm. Wide-eyed, you look up at Yunho, âDonât repeat that.â
Yunho laughs, âI donât have anyone to repeat it to. Can I ask you a question that you donât have to answer?â Your nod is delayed. âWhy are you dating him? If thereâs no sex, and the future freaks you out?â
âThereâs sex,â you correct him, kicking a crushed beer can out of your way. âJust not as much of it as I want. And itâs not the future that freaks me out, itâs the speed of it all, the way heâs expediting our future, that freaks me out. He wants me to graduate and pop out a baby.â
Yunhoâs body shivers. He shivers. For you. âThatâs too soon.â
âThank you,â you nod along, taking another long sip of your beer. âI know itâs too soon, and Iâm scared to bring it up again. Wooyoung said he probably already has a ring.â
Yunhoâs brows furrow, âYou told Wooyoung?â
Your lips flatten, âIt was a series of unfortunate events that led me to telling Wooyoung. Is he here, by the way?â
You finally get back to the kitchen, the lights bright, a layer of smoke in the air, dimming them ever so slightly. âHeâs here,â Yunho looks over the crowd, and youâre sure at his height, he could see everything. âHeâs not big on themed parties. Knowing him, heâs probably already upstairs.â
âI would have thought being tied to a woman would be right up his alley.â
Yunho leans in close to say, âHowâs he supposed to fuck her if his wrist is tied to hers?â When you turn to him, clearly taken aback by the notion, he laughs. âI think heâd much rather have her wrists tied together, if you know what I mean.â
You do know what he means, and god, itâs gotta be the beer thatâs making your body heat like a fucking furnace. You wish Yeonjun would do something half as kinky as that. Thatâs a good idea for Unscripted. You laugh anyway, and even if itâs forced, it sounds breathy and natural.Â
Yunhoâs cool, probably the only normal one in the entire frat, if the other brothers are anything like Wooyoung or San. Itâs nice, comfortable talking to him, heâs someone you arenât scared to confide in, itâs easy to trust him, with his smooth words, playful demeanor, he seems like heâd be someone that everyone tells their secrets to because everyone knows he wonât share them. Thatâs your favorite kind of person.
âHave you ever shotgunned a beer before?â
Your neck snaps. âDo I look like a teenage boy?â
Yunho grins, ushering to the crowd around you, the people who seemed to have quieted. You think you just got engrossed in the conversation with Yunho. But as you take notice, thereâs more and more people untied, drinking, moving freely.
âOh shit, weâre late, arenât we?â you ask, then turn to look up at him.Â
âWe can shotgun the rest back to back,â Yunho offers, nodding like youâll agree. Youâre sure he wants to be free of you, to go find someone to warm his own bed tonight.
âIâve never done it,â you admit. âBut I can definitely try.â
Yunho grins from ear to ear, âThatâs what I like to hear. Letâs go on the back porch.â
Itâs a quick walk through the kitchen, the crowd seemed to part for Yunho, heâs so tall that maybe the mass of people really are his red sea. The back door is already open, the wooden half pressed against what you can only assume is the pantry door, he pushes open the screen door and sets the box of beers down on a full, messy, glass table.
Ash trays filled with squished cigarette butts, the filters of joints, even a few airplane bottles of liquor have made their way into the glass trays. Thereâs less people on the porch, smokers, a few couples looking for a quieter place to talk. Deep wood, old and stained by sun, cracks in the floorboards, you have to assume their house is old. Really old.
Yunho doesnât seem bothered by it as he sets the box of beers down, then pulls out two. âIâm gonna poke a hole at the bottom,â he holds up a beer can, your wrist limply mimicking his as he explains. âYouâre gonna crack the can and chug it down as fast as you can. Okay?âÂ
You nod, too optimistic for the objective at hand, âOkay, I can do that, thatâs easy. This is easy, right?â
âSo easy,â he nods, clearly just as optimistic as you. You feel like heâs your coach right now, guiding you through gameplay or something. âCrack it, chug it, crush it.â
âCrack it, chug it, crush it,â you repeat under your breath as he grabs a set of keys from his back pocket. One silver and pointy, he uses it to poke a hole at the base of the beer can, then pushes it toward you.Â
You suck in a breath before taking the can from his hands, and holding the hole up to your mouth. Yunhoâs hand follows yours as you crack the lid, and then you start chugging. The carbonation makes it hard, heavy in your stomach, itâs still cold enough that it kinda hurts going down. Your brows furrow, but you keep going, you can hear him cheering for you or something, too focused on actually getting the bubbles down to listen.Â
When you finish, you throw the can to the ground, and crush it with your foot. Yunhoâs already clapping his (and your) hands, âYou did it! You fucking did it!â
âFuck, I have to do that three more times?â you ask, free hand flying to your stomach.
âYouâre gonna burp,â Yunhoâs lips tighten to the side in apology. âNo judgment, I will too. But yeah, three more.â
You chug another, then Yunho shotguns his last two while youâre releasing all the fucking air in your gut, then you can finish chugging your last two. When the box is empty, heâs immediately racing you both into the kitchen, looking for whoever has the responsibility of carrying around scissors tonight.
You already know youâre fucking drunk.Â
Wooyoung thinks he might have become one of Godâs favorites.
Threesomes were usually hard to come by, a few and far between godsent activity. To have two threesomes in the timespan of one week, with two different sets of women, was unheard of. Insane behavior. Even for him.
He thought himself clever, zip-tying his wrist to another womanâs, then zip-tying his other wrist to another womanâs. He spent all of thirty minutes letting them get to know each other while they took turns feeding him liquor until he was suggesting they go upstairs, instead.Â
He had a beautiful hour, a generous, orgasmic, sweat-filled hour of fucking until there were knocks at his door. Quick, hurried knocks, as if there were a fire outside and he needed to get the fuck out. Wooyoung quickly decided he would die there, with a redhead riding his face, and a pixie-cut bombshell between his legs, sucking the skin straight off his dick. The two women didnât seem to share the sentiment, both of them stopping, going rigid as the door that was still being fucking knocked on.
âTheyâll go away,â Wooyoung keeps his voice low, but assuring. His hands slide up the backs of the redheadâs thighs, squeezing her ass, he lands one encouraging smack before she lowers herself down again.
Bliss, pure fucking bliss. His eyes flutter closed, fingers sinking into her ass, moving her until sheâs grinding against his tongue. He moans, but heâs not sure what heâs moaning at, the taste of the woman on his face or the woman who just took his cock down her throat until he reached the hilt.
âHello?â is all he hears before thereâs a pitched shriek sounding through the entire second floor of his home. âOh my god!â He knows that voice. âFuck, I canât even get one and you get two? This is so unfair!â
Wooyoung genuinely canât believe this is happening. The redhead jumps off his face, landing beside him, doing her best to cover herself up with his sheets. The girl between his legs pops her lips off his cock with a verbal noise, then turns her head toward the intruder.
You. Drunk, in his fucking bedroom. Wooyoung immediately barks out, âAre you fucking kidding me?â
âIâm sorry!â you squeal, palms already over your eyes, backing yourself up into his wall. When you bump into it, one of your hands flies to catch yourself, and you shimmy to the side, clearly searching for your escape.Â
Wooyoung sits up on his elbows, unphased, watching you. âTo your right a little more.â You bump into his dresser. He snorts, âOh shit, my bad. Your left, my right.â
You laugh a little, a tiny giggle that lets Wooyoung know how much you drank tonight. You turn around to face away from him in the doorway, complaining, âI have to pee, all the other bathrooms are out of toilet paper.â
âWhat are you even doing here?â he asks, and the girl between his legs smacks his thigh. He hisses, looking at her, and her face has fallen flat, as if to say get her the fuck out of here.
âBiceps invited me,â you respond, hands on your hips now, tone light like Wooyoung didnât have two girls naked in his room right now. âCan I pee in your bathroom? I wonât look, you can continue.â
Wooyoungâs head tilts to the side. He notices your little skirt, short enough that it shows off the muscle in your legs, the tiny heels on your feet. The top youâre wearing doesnât quite reach your skirt, your hair flowing across the dark fabric, a little messy and unkempt at the ends. If you werenât drunk and your life wasnât such a mess he might have asked you to join them.
âAre you checking her out?â the redhead accuses from behind him in a whisper-yell.Â
Wooyoungâs head snaps, âNo, what are you talking about?â His voice is too high. Heâs a better liar than that. The redhead smacks her lips together, clearly offended, then rolls off his bed.Â
Wooyoung, disappointed, tries to save face. âNo, donât go, you were close. Sheâs leaving.â He turns his head toward you, whoâs stealing a glance over your shoulder. âYouâre leaving.â
âBut I have to pee,â you whine. Whine. You even tap your little fucking kitten heel against his floor.Â
Wooyoungâs back hits his mattress, both of his hands roughly rubbing at his face, pushing a muddled groan through his lips. âThis canât be happening to me right now.â
âIâm sorry!â you repeat, then scurry across his bedroom like a fucking rat in the subway. âIâll be quick!â you yell, closing his bathroom door behind you.Â
The girl between his legs sits back on her calves and whispers, âWho the fuck is that?â
Wooyoung canât believe sheâs still here, he certainly would have left if he was her. He doesnât even have an explanation. âSheâs someone who needs serious fucking help.â
âAnd youâre helping her?â The girl asks, as if Wooyoung being the one to help was inconceivable.Â
Wooyoung sits on his elbows again, and frowns at his cock thatâs already falling limp. He glances upward at the girl with just his eyes, âI guess.â
âShame,â the girl says, crawling off the bed. Wooyoung doesnât even have it in him to argue when she starts pulling her clothes on. âI could have gone all night.â
âYou and me both,â he mumbles, watching her leave. At least she closes the door behind her.
When you finally come out of his bathroom, youâre still pulling your shirt down. Or fixing it, Wooyoung thinks, because you lean your back into the doorframe of his bathroom, using it as leverage as you slide your top over, centering it over your torso.Â
âNeed help?â Wooyoung asks, and itâs genuine. Youâre the last person he expected to see tonight, and to see you this drunk, stumbling across his bedroom? In no way could this be a good sign.
âNo,â you mumble, chin tucked into your chest, still trying to slide your top over. Wooyoung watches you struggle with a flat, unimpressed face, the poster board for patience as your body slowly but surely starts sliding off the doorframe. At least you catch yourself with a, âWoah.â
When you finally get your top fixed, you look up at him, and thereâs not a thought behind your eyes until you notice heâs still laying there butt-ass naked. âWooyoung!â you screech, then turn around again, covering your eyes. âYou had time to put some fucking clothes on.â
Good to know your personality is still intact. âItâs my bedroom,â his tone is dripping in nonchalance as he stretches on his sheets, sighing in delight. âYouâre the one intruding.â
âI had to!â you shout, âthereâs no toilet paper, I had no choice.â
Wooyoung decides to show you mercy by pulling the sheets over his lower half. âIâm covered, Virgin Mary,â he muses, sitting up until his back is pressed against the headboard. âYou never updated me.â
âOh!â you say as you turn around, all your features blown out, your voice high. âIt went well, super well. It was a good idea, thank youââ
âYou didnât do it,â Wooyoung cuts you off.
Your face goes flat, âI didnât do it.â
He smacks his teeth, âWhy not, pussy? I gave you the step-by-step.â
You whine, walking around his bed, sitting at the foot like you did just a few days ago. âItâs hard,â your head tips back, âI donât know how you do it, how you do all of this.â
âItâs just sex,â Wooyoung argues. âItâs not that hard.â
âYou have enough sex for, like, fifty people,â you bite back. âOf course itâs not hard for you.â
âYouâve been dating him forever!â Wooyoung is amused now, because what the fuck is the point of a relationship if you arenât trying new shit all the time? âYouâre telling me you arenât comfortable enough to suck his dick?â
Wooyoung can see the flush on your cheeks as you shyly mumble, âI am.â
âWhy are you here, anyway? Other than San inviting you, there has to be another reason youâre here and not picking out wedding invitations or whatever the fuck.â
You whine again, a frustrated, dragged out annoying sound. âHe told me not to come over because heâs studying.â Wooyoung thins his eyes. âIâm serious!â You sound defensive. âI even tried to have sex with him this morning and he rejected me. He has an exam on Friday.â
Wooyoung shakes his head, disappointed. âYouâre gonna fuck the silicon off your dildo if you donât get him inside you soon.â
You gasp, jaw on the floor as you whip your head around to look at him. âI donât even own a dildo!â
âYou need one,â Wooyoung quips. âDo you at least masturbate with your hand?â
âWe should not be having this conversation,â you hiss. Quieter, almost under your breath, you answer, âYes.â
âYou should do that in front of him and see what happens,â Wooyoung is grinning now. âThat shit is so sexy, if he doesnât fuck you after that, then he plays for the other team.â
âCanât he just be, like, not a super sexual guy?â you ask, shrugging. âWhy is the immediate thought that heâs gay?â
âBecause, objectively, youâre hot,â Wooyoung says, and judging by how your face contorts, he assumes that was the wrong thing to say. âIâm sorry, but itâs true. Anyone whoâs into women would jump at the chance to fuck you.â
Your brows raise. âLike San?â
Wooyoungâs brows furrow. âSan? I mean, yeah, probably.â
âWhat about Yunho?â you try, head tilting. Curious.Â
âVirgin,â Wooyoung warns. âYouâre drunk. Go home and go to bed.â
You smack your teeth, standing up from his bed to plant your hands on your hips. âWho are you, my father?â
âNo, Iâm a guy who wants his bed to not be empty anymore.â His arms fly outward, emphasizing his very empty queen-size bed. âYou emptied it.â
âI had to pee!â you whine again, kitten heel tapping his floor again.
Wooyoung points to his bedroom door, âGo.â
âFine,â you stomp all the way to his door. Opening it, you turn your head, âFor the recordââ
âGo, Virgin.â
masterlist đŹ
private lessons | đ.đđ
âËâč CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ao3. masterlist. chapter twenty-two. chapter twenty-four (coming soon).
pairing(s): tutor!hongjoong x f!student!reader (ft. playboy!wooyoung x reader & tutor!hongjoong x reader x roommate!seonghwa)
genre: college au, slow burn, romance, fluff, angst, smut
summary: struggling in your korean class, you're assigned a tutorâbut there might be more than studying happening during your private lessons.
warnings: MDNI. 18+. cussing, explicit sexual content, heavy dom/sub dynamics, harddom!hongjoong, meandom!wooyoung, switch!seonghwa, sub!reader, threesome, degradation, humiliation, exhibitionism, bondage, sex toys, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v sex, voyeurism, cockwarming, impact play, spanking, pussy spanking, nipple play, spit kink, dacryphilia, oral sex, mirror sex, daddy kink, praise kink, knifeplay, biting/marking, overstimulation, dual stimulation, choking, finger sucking, sexual roleplay, punishment, pet names, derogatory names, hair pulling, rough sex, begging, throat fucking, creampie, fearplay, dubcon, mentions of blood/violence, derogatory language, jealous/possessive behavior, manipulative behavior. please tell me if i missed any!
word count: 8.6k
note: this is purely a work of fiction and does not accurately represent ateez in any way. enjoy...
"Come on, just one drink," Yunho pleads. He's looming over your spot on the couch, offering you a sweating can of cheap beer as he sways on his feet. "It's Saturday night, ____. And I promise, it won't even be crowded. Mingi said the house only gets crazy on Fridays."
You scoot further back into the cushions, leaning away from his arm. Raising your glass of plain tap water, you shake your head. "You all know I don't do frats. Or beer, for that matter." You take a sip, pointedly raising an eyebrow. "Not gonna happen."
Your living roomâusually at least somewhat presentable, despite sharing it with a gymrat like Sanâhas been trashed tonight. The coffee table is buried under cardboard pizza boxes full of greasy pepperoni and sausage slices, and the whole room is doused in the stale tang of the lukewarm beer Yunho picked up from a friend's dorm on his way over. Your three best friends had originally told you they were pregaming at Yunho and Yeosang's place, fully aware you'd opt out to study but extending the courtesy invite anyway. Apparently, those plans had changed without anyone bothering to inform you, because the trio is now sprawled out around your couch, getting progressively tipsier by the second.Â
Taking advantage of the short moment of distraction while Yunho doubles over laughing at something Yeosang yells from across the room, you quickly slide your phone out. You shoot off a lightning-fast text and bury it beneath your thigh before anyone notices.Â
"It won't be that bad this time, I swear," San grins from his spot on the floor, where he's resting his back against the couch. While everyone is dressed to go out, San clearly spent a little extra time in front of the mirror, as per usualâhe's wearing a fitted black tank top paired with matching jeans. His only apparent defense for the freezing temperature outside is an expensive leather jacket with a borderline ridiculous number of decorative zippers. Reaching up, he tosses a half-eaten pizza crust back into the open box beside you. "Tell her, Yeosang," he urges, jerking his chin toward you. "Didn't you say it sounded fun?"
You blink, your gaze shifting over the man quietly nursing his beer on the opposite end of the couch. "San, I really don't believe Yeosang would ever say that."
But Yeosang sighs, a defeated smile playing on his lips. "Look, Mingi swore tonight's going to be relaxed. The semester's almost over, so..." He shrugs. "I figured it wouldn't kill me to show face for a little while. But the second it gets crowded," he warns, shooting a pointed look down at San, "I have no shame in being the first to leave."
You snort, grabbing another slice out of the box by your side and handing it up to Yunho before he starts pacing around the coffee table again. "I hope that's true. Because I have a feeling Mingi is a liar."
"Hey! Don't call my boyfriend a liar!" Yunho laughs, throwing his head back as he tilts his can to drain the last stubborn drops. The moment he sets the empty aluminum down on the table, though, he freezes. You watch as a tipsy epiphany flashes across his face, your stomach sinking as he then points a finger right at your nose and snaps repeatedly, his buzzed brain scrambling to catch up with his mouth. "Waitâwhere's Hongjoong? He should be here!"
You choke on your water, sputtering a cough and wiping your chin with the back of your hand as Yunho whips around to face San and Yeosang with ecstatic eyes.
"I forgot to tell you guys!" he blurts. "She said yes! She's letting us hang out with him!"
Yeosang's eyes widen over the rim of his can. San's head snaps toward you so quickly you're surprised he doesn't accidentally give himself whiplash.
"No way, really?" he shouts, his zippers clinking as he nearly drops his drink onto the carpet.Â
"Yeah!" Yunho beams, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I met him on Thursday morning, and heâ"
"What? You met him before me?" San interrupts, looking betrayed. He scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over Yunho's discarded shoes, and jabs a finger at you. "____, what the hell?" he demands. "We live together! We share a bathroom! Why the fuck did Yunho get to meet him before I did?"
"Calm down, it wasn't like I planned it!" you shoot back, already feeling your cheeks burning. "Yunho trapped me! He cornered us on our way to lunch."
"Doesn't matter," San pouts, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "I'm your roommate. And the one who called it from day one. I knew this whole thing was gonna happen since Yunho's birthday."
"We all called it, San. You're not a psychic," Yeosang cuts in. He leans forward, setting his beer down on the cluttered table. "But seriously, ____. If you're finally ready for it, why isn't he here tonight? We're already pregaming. You should've invited him over."
"Because look at you guys!" you counter, throwing your hands up at the state of your living room. "Yunho can't even stand still for two seconds without drifting sideways. And weâwe have work to do. We need to study. I'm, um..." You clear your throat. "I'm going over to his place. In a little bit."
Yunho's eyes narrow. "Studying?" he repeats. "Again? Didn't you study all night on Thursday, too?"
"Yeah," San nods, tossing the pizza box to the floor so he can plop down onto the couch beside you, wedging himself in. "I didn't hear the door unlock until almost three in the morning."
At that, you feel the tips of your ears burn. "Well... there's a lot I need to catch up on before the final!"
"Uh-huh."
You roll your eyes at Yunho.
"Maybe you don't have to study, but I do! There's an insane amount of grammar to review," you stammer. "And there were a few... specific chapters we didn't get to finish."
The second the excuse leaves your mouth, you regret it. The three boys fall silent. Slowly, a grin spreads across Yunho's face. Yeosang bites his lip like he's trying his hardest to suppress a smirk. It only takes San a second before he snorts.
"Well," he grins, "maybe the chapters didn't get finished, but I have a pretty good idea of who didâ"
"San!" you shriek, lunging for a crumpled napkin abandoned on the couch and whacking him across the forehead with it. He ducks with a bark of laughter, throwing an arm up to shield himself. "This is why I'm scared of him meeting you!"
He only laughs harder, catching the napkin and teasingly waving it in front of your face while you try to swipe his hand away. "Weren't you two studying in the library?" he asks innocently. "Do flashcards make you guys horny or something?"
"No!"Â you shout far too quickly, cringing as you finally rip the napkin from his grasp and throw it to the floor.Â
"Okay, okay," Yeosang chuckles as you both settle down. "Listen, ____. Tomorrow night, we're staying in. Bring him over to our place."
"But tomorrow is Sunday," you argue. "We all have early classes on Monday morning."
"Exactly!" Yunho says, nodding his head so vigorously that a few drops of his freshly opened beer slosh over the rim and splash onto the floor. "Which means none of us will be tempted to drink, and we won't do anything stupid! I promise I'll be on my best behavior. And you already know Yeosang will be, too."
You let out a reluctant sigh, your gaze sliding over to the third man in question, the wild card sitting right next to you. He's grinning mischievously, chewing on a rogue piece of pepperoni he plucked off a slice.
"I'll be an angel, I swear," he promises, pressing a hand on the center of his chest, right over his heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
You shove his shoulder, huffing. "Why do you always get so corny when you drink?"
"Is that a yes?" Yunho bounces in place, his eyes practically sparkling. "Tomorrow night?"
You glance between the three of them, weighing it. As tempting as it may seem, you know you can't keep Hongjoong hidden forever. And despite all their teasing, deep down, you know they'll love himâand he'd probably know how to handle them better than you could, anyway. Letting out one last sigh, you run a defeated hand through your hair.
"I'll... I'll ask him if he's free."
"And if he is?" San presses.
You roll your eyes, though now, it's paired with the faintest hint of a smile you'd rather die than let them fully see.
"Then... fine," you say at last. "Sure. Whatever. He'll be there."
The room erupts. Yunho and San jump up, shouting in victory as they clink their cans together in a toast, sloshing more beer to the floor. From the other side of the couch, Yeosang chuckles, raising his own can toward you.Â
You stay seated, watching the tipsy trio with a resigned shake of your head.Â
As always, their departure is anything but quick. It takes another ten minutes of mirror-checking, shoe-tying, and last-minute cologne-spraying before the three of them finally bundle up and head toward the front door. They tumble out into the hallway amidst loud, overlapping goodbyes, leaving the dorm deafeningly silent as the door shuts behind them.
The moment they're gone, you immediately scramble to fish out your phone from beneath your thigh. Your fingers fly across the screen as you pull up your texts with Hongjoong.Â
You:Â Okay, they finally left. You can come up now.
You shove your phone in your pocket and immediately set to work cleaning up the mess your friends left behind. Within seconds, your arms are full of pizza boxes stuffed with abandoned crusts and a tower of empty beer cans. You're carrying the pile toward the kitchen, dumping everything into the trash whenânot even thirty seconds laterâa quiet knock rattles the front door.
Quickly shoving the last of the garbage into the bin, you pad across the hardwood in your socks and open the door.Â
Hongjoong is waiting in the hallway, greeting you with a soft, slightly nervous smile. He looks ridiculously cute, bundled up in a hoodie and gray sweatpants layered under a comically large winter coat. A dusting of white snow clings to his dark hair, and you notice his knuckles, gripping the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder, have turned a frostbitten shade of red from the walk over.
You look him up and down and have to clap a hand over your mouth to smother your laugh. "OhâIt's already snowing out there?"
He nods quickly, his shoulders shivering. "ItâIt doesn't get this cold in Korea," he mutters through chattering teeth.
Laughing softly, you step back and swing the door wide to let him inside. The second he catches sight of the living room, he makes a beeline for the couch, dropping his backpack onto the carpet beside the coffee table. He starts rubbing his hands together, blowing warm air into his cupped palms to thaw them out. Watching him with a smile, you cross the room to reach for the collar of his damp coat and help him shrug out of it. After sliding it off his shoulders, you carry it to the kitchen and drape it over the back of one of the barstools to dry.
Shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, Hongjoong follows after you as you head into the kitchen area, his eyes curiously scanning your dorm for the very first time.Â
"I like it here," he decides after a minute.
You scoff. "You don't have to lie, Joong."
"I'm not lying."
You shoot him a skeptical look over your shoulder as you pull open the pantry door, scanning the shelves for hot chocolate mix. "I know it's not as nice or modern as your big, fancy international dorm," you tease, "but it's cozy."
You shove aside a box of granola bars and locate two unopened packets tucked in the back. Grinning, you bump the pantry door shut with your hip and reach up to grab a small saucepan from the upper cabinet.
"Seriously, I mean it." He leans against the island with his hands still buried in his pockets, his gaze following you as you pull a carton of milk from the fridgeâthough you can't help but wrinkle your nose at the smell of leftover takeout San has probably left rotting in the back corner for at least three days. "See?" He chuckles at your reaction. "It's charming. But... where do you keep all your records?"
"I told you, I don't even have half as many as you do. You're gonna be disappointed." You pour the milk into the saucepan and turn the burner on. "Besides," you add, reaching into the cabinet for the bag of marshmallows, "they're in my room. Which you are not seeing today."
A little smirk spreads across his face. "Why not?"
"Because my tutor decided to keep 'rewarding' me instead of actually teaching me anything last time I tried to study," you say, emphasizing the word with air quotes. "So tonight, I need to take things seriously. And the couch is already bad enough. Studying on my bed would be the point of no return."
His eyes dance with amusement. "Don't blame me for that. It's not my fault you were being such a goodâ"
Ripping open the plastic bag, you pluck a marshmallow out and hurl it right at his head, hitting him squarely on the left lens of his glasses.
"No more talking about it!" you scold, though you can feel your own cheeks heating up. "I'm not failing my final, okay? We need to focus. Seriously."
Hongjoong just smiles, reaching to pick the marshmallow off the countertop and popping it into his mouth. "Okay," he hums, chewing happily. "Then we'll focus. Seriously."
You give him one last warning glare as you tear open the hot chocolate packets, emptying the powder into two ceramic mugs.
"How did you get up here so fast after I texted you, by the way?" you ask, keeping a watchful eye on the saucepan to make sure the milk doesn't scald. "They didn't see you, did they?"
"They didn't," he chuckles. "I was waiting outside the main entrance. When they left, I managed to catch the door before it locked behind them so you wouldn't have to come all the way down to buzz me in. Honestly, I think they were a little too tipsy to even register a stranger walking in."
You giggle, clicking the burner off and pouring the milk into the mugs. "They probably just thought you were any other student. San and Yeosang have no idea what you look like yet anyway."
Dropping a generous handful of marshmallows into each mug, you pick them up by the handles and walk over to him, holding one out. "Be careful, it's hot."
He takes it from you with a soft, grateful smile. His free hand naturally finds its way to your lower back, guiding you out of the kitchen and over to the couch where he'd dropped his backpack.
"I would like to meet them, though," he reminds you gently as the two of you settle down side-by-side, both blowing on the steaming hot chocolate.
"I know," you sigh, staring into the swirling marshmallows in your mug. "Actually... they brought it up before they left."
Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, silently prompting you to continue.Â
"Um... if you're free tomorrow night... they wanted to know if you'd want to come over to Yunho's dorm. We could just order some food and hang out. No drinking or anything crazy, just..."
"That's perfect," he interrupts softly.
"Are you sure? We can always push it to next weekend if you're busy. I really don't want to mess up your schedule." You remember him mentioning last week that his Sunday nights are usually reserved for preparing his demos for the upcoming week.
He smiles, sets his mug down on the coffee table, and turns to look at you fully. "I'm sure, ____. I'm always free for you."
You nearly inhale your hot chocolate, sputtering a cough as a laugh bubbles out of your chest. "Oh my god, why is everyone being so corny tonight? I expect it from San, but from you?"
Hongjoong laughs loudly at your reaction, though the tips of his ears immediately turn red. "I have to practice flirting in English! I can do it in Korean. I learned from all the movies and dramas I watched growing up. But English is still hard for me."
You can't help but smile. It's undeniably dorky, but seeing how hard he's trying to be a good boyfriend completely melts your heart. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, which only succeeds in turning his face an even deeper shade of pink.
To make him feel less embarrassed, you lean back and fix him with a playfully serious look. "Well, Mr. Kim... if you're always free for me, I guess I'll just have to keep your schedule fully booked for the rest of the semester."
He lets out a flustered huff of a laugh, reaching up to nervously adjust his glasses. "I told you that you're not allowed to call me that, didn't I?" he asks, attempting to summon an authoritative tone, though he looks way too flustered for it to land.
"Why not?" you ask, blinking innocently.
Hongjoong's gaze drops to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Because," he says, "I thought you said you wanted to focus tonight."
A nervous little giggle escapes you, your own face suddenly burning. You tear your eyes away from his lips, clearing your throat. "Right. You're right. I did," you manage, setting your mug down next to his. "Okay. Let's get to work. We still have two more sections to cover, don't we?"
Hongjoong nods, smiling fondly at you as he reaches down to unzip his backpack.
For the next half hour, true to your word, the two of you actually manage to stay on task. You fly through the remaining sections of the textbook with surprising speed, but despite your best efforts, neither of you can seem to fully shake the cheesy, flirty tension humming between you on the couch.
Every time you successfully conjugate a notoriously difficult verb, Hongjoong insists on leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek, murmuring that it's a "preview of your actual reward" and making your skin flare. And every time he gets a little too cocky, you sneak a "Mr. Kim" into your next question and watch him get just as flustered as you are. A few times, you catch his eyes dropping to watch the movement of your lips instead of actually listening to the vocabulary you're reciting. Whenever he realizes he was caught, his mouth curves into a shy, guilty smile before he clears his throat and tells you to start the sentence over.Â
As you work together, you find yourself unsure how much grammar is actually sticking in your brain versus how many times you come dangerously close to throwing the textbooks to the floor and pulling your tutor down on top of you for a kiss.
Suddenly, a loud knock rattles the front door.
Both of you freeze. Hongjoong's pen halts mid-stroke over the lined paper of his notebook, and your fingers lock around the corner of the textbook page you were just about to turn. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and unmoving in the silence of the dorm.Â
Are they already back? Did someone forget their wallet? Lose their ID? It hasn't even been an hour since they left.Â
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The second round is louder, more impatient.Â
You scramble to your feet, your stomach giving a sudden lurch. Hongjoong slowly unfreezes, setting his pen down onto the coffee table. He looks up at you from his spot on the cushions with a smile that is trying very hard to be reassuring but failing miserably.
"Well," he whispers as if the three men waiting outside might hear him through the door, "I guess I'm meeting the family a little sooner than expected."
Despite everything, you let out an anxious laugh as you glance toward the entryway. "Yeah... I guess you are." Taking a steadying breath, you look back at him. "Okay. Stay right here. Let me tell them you're inside before they come barging in and start yelling, okay? I don't want them to freak you out."
Hongjoong lets out a faint chuckle, but you don't miss the way he's subconsciously wiping his sweaty palms against the cotton of his sweatpants. He's nervous. And that only makes your pulse race faster.
Taking another deep breath, you force your legs to carry you toward the front door. With every step, the twisting sensation in your gut pulls even tighter.
Just as your fingers graze the handle, another loud, more aggressive knock bangs against the wood. You jump, tossing one last look over your shoulder at Hongjoong. He offers an encouraging smile, and you do your best to return one of your own before swinging the door open, plastering the most casual smile you can manage onto your face.
"Okay, before you guys come in, I really need to tell youâ"
The words die in your throat.
Your heart plummets past your stomach, crashing somewhere near your shoes as an icy, paralyzing wave of vertigo washes over you. The fake smile vanishes from your lips, the blood draining from your face.
Because instead of your three best friends stumbling drunkenly down the hallway, you're standing face-to-face with the most terrifying sight imaginable.
The cruel, wicked smirk of Jung Wooyoung.
"I knocked three times," he says lightly, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement as he looks down at you. "You busy or something? You know, most girls run to the door the second they hear my footsteps coming down the hall. But that's right..." He tilts his head. "You're different, aren't you?"
Your hands tremble as you grip the doorframe, your knuckles turning a bloodless white. "WooâWooyoung... what the hell...?" you manage to whisper, frozen in place.
He clicks his tongue, lazily shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. "Aw, nervous to see me again, baby? Don't worry, I'm only stopping by for a minute. Unless you want me to stay." A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. "I'm more than happy to cancel my plans tonight for a... third date."
Your breathing turns shallow as you stare at him, panic wiping your mind blank. "WhatâWhat are you doing here, Wooyoung?"Â
Your eyes sweep over him. He's dressed for a humid night out in late August, not a freezing December evening. Heâs wearing a black tee and jeansâthe same outfit you've seen him in every time you've been together. His hair is gelled and styled exactly the same as always. Nothing about Wooyoung has changed in the slightest.
He catches your gaze tracing over him, and his smirk deepens. "So you did miss me. I knew you would." But when his eyes lock onto yours, the teasing edge vanishes: he's dead, chillingly serious. "I'm here for my jacket."
Your heart plummets into what feels like an endless freefall.
The jacket.
Your eyes flash to the kitchen barstool where that stupid leather jacket had rested like a cursed object for nearly a weekâa week where everyone in the dorm had been too afraid to even touch it. But it isn't there anymore. Hongjoong's winter coat is draped over that very stool instead.
The wind is knocked out of you as you realize that Hongjoong is here, sitting on the couch right behind you. With how you've barely cracked open the door, shielding the entryway with your body, Hongjoong probably still assumes you're talking to oneâor allâof your friends.
Terror grips your throat. You can't let them see each other. If Wooyoung sees Hongjoong, it's over. If Hongjoong finds out who is standing at this door, he'll discover everything. He'll know you lied to him about your past. Think, ____, think, you scream at yourself, your head spinning faster and dizzier by the second as you stare blankly at the man in the doorway.
Oblivious, Wooyoung laughs.Â
"You know, I thought I'd lost the damn thing," he continues, his voice dripping with condescension. "I searched my place for days. I must've been too drunk that night to realize I let you take it. I thought someone stole it at the bar or some shit. Even went out and bought myself a new one before I finally remembered." His eyes filthily trace your body, from the top of your head down to your socks and back up again, making your skin crawl. "Yeah. It was stolen. By you."
You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to breathe, but he keeps talking.
"You been wearing it? It's nice, right? I bet it looked so cute on you that night. If only I could remember anything that happened." The cruel curve of his lips returns. "I was just gonna forget about it. Let you keep it. A little souvenir to remember me by, yeah? To remind you of how much fun we had." He pauses, feeding off the way your stomach twists at his words. "But the new jacket's missing one thing. The inside pocket for my camera. And I plan on taking a lot of pictures tonight."
He suddenly takes a step forward, trying to peer over your shoulder and into the dorm.
"I need my jacket back, baby," he murmurs. "Let me in."
You remain rooted in the doorway, every muscle in your body locked as the panic finally spills over and chokes the breath out of your lungs.Â
"Wooyoung, I... I don't know where it is," you stammer.
He pauses. One eyebrow arches. "You don't?"
You shake your head, your terrified mind scrambling to construct any lie that'll keep him out of your dorm and clinging to it for dear life. "San took it," you blurt out. "He put it away somewhere, but I have no idea where. Justâjust come back later when he's here. He'll find it for you."
The lie sounds flimsy to even your own ears, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it too.
Desperate, you throw your weight forward and attempt to push the door shut, but Wooyoung is faster. His palm slams flat against the wood, stopping it dead in its tracks. Slowly, his eyes narrow.
"Well, if you don't know where it is..." His gaze snakes past your shoulder again, drinking in the narrow sliver of your living room visible from the hallway. "...maybe we should look for it together."
Wooyoung suddenly shoves the door inward. You stumble backward with a choked gasp, your socks slipping across the polished hardwood as he steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him.
"Wooyoungâ"
He ignores you, already turning down the hallway, heading straight in the direction of San's bedroom. But on only the second step, he freezes.
Your hands are still suspended uselessly in the air from where you'd triedâand failedâto block him from coming inside. Your stomach drops so hard and fast that you feel like you're about to faint.Â
Everything falls silent.
Wooyoung is standing in the center of your living room, staring straight at the couch. And standing perfectly still amid the messy notebooks and open textbooks, Hongjoong is staring right back.Â
At some point, Hongjoong rose to his feet. His posture is rigid, his shoulders squared as he stands between the coffee table and the cushions. His eyes sweep over Wooyoung with a piercing glare. It's almost as if, in a matter of seconds, he's already deciphered exactly what kind of person this intruder is, all without a single word being exchanged.
You open your mouth, desperately trying to force a sound outâHongjoong's name, Wooyoung's name, an explanation, an excuse, a plea, anythingâbut your vocal cords have been locked in place by the fear gripping your throat.
You can only watch, helplessly pinned in place, as Wooyoung's eyes drag over the man standing across the room. He takes his sweet time, lingering on Hongjoong's crooked glasses and tousled hair, before his gaze drops to the table. He stares at the scattered Korean textbooks, the vocabulary worksheets covered in red corrections, and finally, the two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sitting side by side in the center of it all.Â
As the reality of what he walked into dawns on him, a horrible, bitter smirk curls at the corners of Wooyoung's lips.
"Holy shit," he murmurs, a breath of malicious disbelief.
For a moment, the entire dorm goes quiet.
Then an ugly bark of laughter rips from his throat.
Wooyoung throws his head back and erupts into a fit of dark, hysterical laughter. "Holy shit! Holy fucking shit," he cackles, clutching his stomach as he spins to look at you, eyes glittering with vindictive delight. "You're kidding me, right? Tell me this is a fucking joke."
Still laughing, he turns his attention back to Hongjoong, openly raking his eyes up and down his body with blatant disrespect.
Hongjoong's expression hardens. His breathing grows shallow, mirroring the rise and fall of your own chest, as he slowly tears his gaze away from Wooyoung and looks at you instead.
"____." His voice is practically a growl. You watch the gears turning behind his eyes: he knows. He knows something is wrong. "Who is this?"
You can't speak.
You stare helplessly back at Hongjoong, your vision blurring as tears begin to well in your eyes, stinging your lash line.Â
It's over.Â
You should've just told him the truth.
Hongjoong sees the shiny glaze of tears brimming in your eyes, and his posture stiffens. His lips part in a quiet breath of disbelief, a devastating combination of confusion and betrayal already bleeding into his eyes before he even fully understands what he's looking at.Â
Wooyoung wheezes with laughter, bracing himself by slapping a hand down onto the nearest kitchen stoolâlanding right on top of Hongjoong's snow-dampened coat.
"Fuck, ____, this has to be the funniest thing I've ever seen," he gasps, shaking his head. "Seriously. Holy shit, you're actually with him? You're dating the fucking tutor?"
The first tear spills over, cutting a humiliating path down your cheek.
Seeing it fall, Hongjoong snaps his gaze away from you, his expression shattering. His eyes flick toward the wall, betrayal flashing across his features before he suddenly manages to bury it, squaring his jaw and turning back to Wooyoung.
"Who are you?" he demands when you can't work up the courage to give him the answer.
However, this only seems to amuse Wooyoung even more. "She didn't even tell you about me?" he laughs mockingly, pouting his bottom lip. "Damn. What a shame."
He closes the distance between them, swaggering over to the couch and extending a taunting hand for Hongjoong to shake. "Jung Wooyoung," he says, his grin widening. "Hongjoong, right? I can't believe I'm actually getting to meet you. I'm a big fan."
Hongjoong doesn't even glance at the outstretched hand, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone looks like it's ready to snap.Â
"Not kidding," Wooyoung continues without flinching, dropping his arm back to his side. "I've been dying to ask you what your secret is."
The two men stare each other down from opposite sides of the coffee table. Wooyoung is grinning; Hongjoong looks ready to kill.
"My secret?" Hongjoong repeats.
Wooyoung nods, leaning in closer with a wicked smirk. "Yeah," he sneers. "How the fuck did a guy like you get her into your bed?"
A deafening tension crashes over the room.Â
Hongjoong's eyes narrow as a furious, bewildered scoff escapes him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
A cold shudder crawls down your spine, pinning you in place against the front door. You've seen Hongjoong angry before, you've seen him frustrated, and you've heard him mutter Korean curses under his breath. But you've never heard him swear in English.Â
Wooyoung laughs again, cruel and bright. "Guess she really didn't tell you. Well, she's always been a little shy about these things. Haven't you, baby?" He flashes you another grin over his shoulder before turning his back on Hongjoong, sauntering toward San's room, still chuckling to himself.
You feel sick. The room is spinning so fast you have to press your hand against the doorframe just to stay on your feet. You need to get Wooyoung out of here. You have to stop him before he digs any deeper.Â
"Wooyoung," your shaky, fragile voice manages to force out just as his hand reaches for San's doorknob. He pauses, glancing back at you with an arched eyebrow. "It... it's in the bathroom," you whisper. "In the storage closet. San... San put it there."
His hand drops from the knob. Turning around, he looks you up and down, taking in your trembling state before scoffing. "Thought you didn't know where it was?" he asks. "What happened? Suddenly remembered?" His mouth curls. "Or are you leading me on again? Huh, I guess some things really never change."
You flinch. Your eyes remain glued to his back as he changes direction and disappears through the bathroom door.
You don't look at Hongjoong. You can't.
You don't want to see the impending heartbreak taking shape in his eyes, don't want to witness the moment he pieces the ugly puzzle together and realizes how much you've hidden from him. So, like a coward, you decide to delay the devastation, to avoid his gaze, for as long as you possibly can.
From down the short hallway, the loud and destructive sounds of Wooyoung's search begin. You can hear him rustling through the cramped storage closet, carelessly shoving boxes aside and tossing towels to the tile floor as he digs around for his jacket.
You keep your tear-filled eyes locked on the empty doorway, nails biting into your palms. If you stare hard enough, maybe Hongjoong will disappear. Maybe the consequences of your own lies will fall solely onto your shoulders, sparing the man you finally managed to start something real with.
Wooyoung emerges a minute later, shrugging the leather jacket over his shoulders. He smooths the collar into place with a grin.
"Well, I'm heading out. Got a party to get to," he announces cheerfully. "You two enjoy your little date night, yeah?"
He nods mockingly in Hongjoong's direction, smirking as he makes his way toward the front doorâthe door you're still weakly barricading with your body. Stopping mere inches in front of you, Wooyoung looks down with an amused raise of his eyebrow. His fingers slowly wrap around yours, peeling your trembling grip away from the doorframe.Â
A repulsive shiver rips through your body as he holds your gaze, his grin widening.Â
"She's a great student, isn't she?" he calls out over his shoulder, addressing Hongjoong even though his eyes never leave yours. "I taught her a few things myself last month. You should ask her about the knife. Or the fork." Your blood turns to ice as the smile on his face turns mocking. "She really has a thing for cutlery."
Dropping your hand, he gives you one final, bitter sneer before yanking the door open and stepping out into the hallway. The door slams shut behind him, and he's gone, sealing you inside the silence of your own destruction.
You stand paralyzed in the entryway for what feels like an eternity.
You've always known Hongjoong to be a brilliant manâhow could he not be, as someone who is quite literally paid to teach you? But the intelligence you're seeing now has nothing to do with grammar or vocabulary. From your spot against the door, you're forced to watch him click every single ugly, disjointed piece of the puzzle named Jung Wooyoung into place in his mind.
Slowly, as if he's fighting his way through water, Hongjoong lowers himself onto the couch. A stray pen falls off the cushion, onto the floor, without him even noticing. His previously rigid posture collapses in on itself as he sinks back into the cushions. The color drains from his face, leaving his skin an unrecognizable, sickly pale, and his hand trembles as he raises it to push his crooked glasses up the bridge of his nose.
You don't know what to do. You don't know what to say. You don't even know if there's anything you can say to make a difference. So you just stand there with a burning ache in your throat as shameful tears continue to well and threaten to spill over your lashes, watching your boyfriend sift through every last humiliating second he'd just been forced to witness.
After a long time, Hongjoong finally turns his head. When he speaks, his fragile voice breaks your heart in two.
"When we studied together for the first time... in the library," he begins shakily. "His name... Wooyoung... it came up on your phone. You told me he was just a friend. That... that was a lie, wasn't it?"
Your breath hitches in your chest as you stare at him. You try to explain, but your voice breaks on the way up. You can't answer him. You can't.
But your silence is answer enough.
Hongjoong inhales sharply. He rises to his feet, his entire body shaking as he takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between the couch and the entryway. The closer he gets, the clearer you can see the glossy sheen of unshed tears pooling behind his glasses.
"YâYou told me you've only ever slept with one person." His voice cracks as he stops just a few feet away from you. "You said you were seventeen. With your ex, back in high school." His eyes plead with yours to deny it, to give him the answer he wants. "Was that a lie, too?"
A single, damning tear slips down your cheek.Â
Hongjoong watches it fall. He stares at you for a long moment, the last trace of hope draining out of his face. He gives a faint, defeated nod, breaking eye contact just as his own tears finally begin to spill over.
"He said he... he taught you. Last month. Last month, ____," he breathes, looking back at you with so much betrayal in his eyes that it hurts to meet them. "But you told me you liked me since the first time you saw me. Since the beginning of the semester. Was... was that another lie? While I was... I... you were... with him...?"
You frantically shake your head, your chest caving in. "Joong, nâno, Iâ"
"He asked me how a guy like me got you into my bed," he continues, cutting you off as more tears track silently down his pale cheeks. "I know... I know I'm not experienced. I know I've never done this before. I know I'm not the kind of guy who... who you would normally look at twiceâ"
"Joong, that's not trueâ!"
"But," his voice cracks, ignoring your pleas. "I thought... I thought..."
He stops, unable to finish the sentence. He shakily reaches up, pulling his glasses off his face to roughly press the heels of his palms into his eyes, wiping away the falling tears. When he finally lowers his hands, he turns away from you and stares at the wall across the room.
You don't try to speak. You gulp down your tears, giving up on trying to defend yourself. There's nothing that feels capable of fixing this. Not words, not explanations, not anything you could possibly say.Â
"He said you led him on," Hongjoong says quietly. "Is that what you're doing to me? Am I just..."
A choked sob finally rips from your throat. Without thinking, you reach a hand out to grab his sleeve, to ask for forgiveness, to show him you care. But he flinches, jerking his arm away like your touch burns.
You freeze, your hand falling numbly to your side as the outline of his body becomes a blur.
"How many times, ____?" he asks, his voice cracking. He can't even bear to look at you anymore. "How many times did you sleep with him?"
Your heart stops. He stands there, holding his breath, waiting for the truth.Â
"It... it was twice," you whisper.
Hongjoong lets out a gut-wrenching, wounded sound, biting down on his trembling lower lip as he squeezes his eyes shut.
"But... but the second time wasn't... IâI stopped it, Joong," you plead, willing him to just open his eyes, to understand what happened. "I only went out with him to end it. To... to tell him that I didn't want him, that the whole thing was a mistakeâ"
"He was your first, wasnât he?"
The question is quiet.
You stop rambling. Hongjoong's eyes open, and when his gaze finds yours again, you watch the realization wash over his pale features.Â
"It wasn't your ex," he whispers, his throat bobbing. "It was him."
You go silent, tears falling down your cheeks, unable to deny it.Â
And for Hongjoong, that's all the answer he needs.
A strangled sob tears its way out of his throat. He abruptly turns away, hurrying back over to the couch, refusing to look at you again. Panic surges through you, and you hurry after him, your voice cracking as you beg him to listen.
"Please, just let me explain, Joong!"
Hongjoong grabs his backpack from the floor and starts shoving his textbooks inside, his eyes fixed blankly on the coffee table, avoiding your face at all costs.Â
"Explain what, ____?" he asks. His voice is flat, and that emptiness is somehow a million times worse than if he'd turned around and screamed at you. "Explain which version of you is the real one? The one I started falling in love with... or the one who looked me in the eye and lied to me about letting himâ"
He chokes on the words, his jaw clenching as he yanks the zipper of his backpack shut.
The one I started falling in love with.
The words shatter what little is left of your heart.
"I wanted to tell you!" you choke out, stepping closer, though you keep your hands glued to your sides, too afraid to try and touch him again. "I wanted to tell you the truth, but I was so scared! Joong, I... I liked you from the very first day we met. That was never, ever a lie. But... you were my tutor! I never in a million years thought you'd look at me as anything more than your dumb student who couldn't even pronounce her own name. I didn't think you'd ever look at me the way I looked at you."
Hongjoong stops moving. His hands clamp around the straps of his bag. He doesn't turn to face you, but you can see the tension snapping across his shoulders and can hear the uneven sound of his breathing. He's listening.
"I was so stupid," you confess, your voice cracking as you furiously wipe the tears from your cheeks. "I was... I was horrible. I tried to use him. Wooyoung. My friends told me he didn't do relationships, that... that hookups meant nothing to him. I thought... I thought maybe I could drown out my feelings for you by doing something reckless. Maybe doing something meaningless with him would make me forget about how badly I wanted to mean something to you."
You take a shaky breath, your tears blinding your vision. "But it didn't work. After that night... I felt terrible. About everything. I... I couldn't stop imagining what it would've been like if it were you instead. He told me he wanted more. I guess he actually liked me, or at least he thought he did, but... he couldn't give me a single, tiny fraction of what you already had, even back when we'd barely spoken outside of tutoring. I felt so much for you, Joong. So, so much. I always knew it, even if I was too scared to admit it to myself."
Hongjoong remains still, his back turned to you as he listens.
"That's why I went back the second time," you plead. "To end it. To tell him it was a stupid, one-time mistake because my heart belonged to someone else. But he... fuck, Joong, I was so stupid, and he was so manipulative. Yes, we did it again, but I... I cried. I pushed him away. I made him stop. And... and that's when he realized. He'd heard my friends teasing me about my crush on my tutor, and he... he realized they weren't joking. You saw it, just now: he's mad. His ego is destroyed. He thinks I chose you over him, but... it was never a choice in the first place. I was always yours. From the very beginning."
He doesn't move, his head bowed as he stares down at the bag crushed in his hands. You choke out another sob, desperate for something in your confession to break through to him.
"And then, in your bedroom..." you whisper, the memory tearing you apart. "When you said it was your first time... when you told me how scared you were of making a mistake... I panicked. How could I look at you, after everything you just confessed, and tell you that I let some asshole like him take my virginity only a few weeks ago? I wanted to be the perfect girl for you, just like how I tried so hard to be the perfect student. I was so ashamed of what I'd done, of how I'd been so reckless for the first time in my life! I was scared that if you knew that ugly, mindless side of me, you'd never look at me the same way again. That you'd hate me. So... I lied. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Joong. I... I wish I could change it. I wish I could take it back. I really, really do."
You wipe your face with the backs of your hands, but the tears refuse to stop falling as you stand there, staring at his back, waiting, praying he even has a response.Â
After a long moment, Hongjoong turns to face you again. His face has gone completely still except for the single tear that breaks free, trickling down his cheek.
"An exam," he whispers. "Is that what this whole thing was to you? You had to be perfect? You wanted to get an A... in what? In me? In us?"
He takes a hesitant step closer, looking at you with eyes full of heartbreak. "You know I've never cared about your mistakes, ____," he says, his voice cracking as he points a trembling finger at the coffee table, where your textbooks and vocabulary sheets used to lie scattered. "When you mess up a conjugation, we fix it. When you mispronounce a word, I help you say it right. That's what we do. That's what we've always done. I thought you knew... I thought you understood that I was the one place where you didn't have to be perfect right away. That I'd help you get there, no matter how hard it would be or how long it would take."
He looks down at his shaking hands, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the lump in his throat. When he finally looks back up, the disappointment in his eyes is almost unbearable. "You said we'd figure things out together. Those were your words," he continues. "But now I think you were so afraid of failing that you felt like you needed to hide the truth from me. What did you think? That if you hid all these parts of you, if you lied about your past, everything would just magically turn into reality? That you'd just get whatever grade you wanted without letting me help you get there?"
He shakes his head, taking a sharp breath in. "I don't care about him. I don't care that he was your first, or even that it happened so recently. Do you really think my feelings for you are so shallow that something like that is enough to make me walk away?" He drags the back of his hand across his face, but it's useless. His fingers are trembling so badly he can barely wipe away the tears before more take their place. "I care that you looked me in the eye, in my own bed, in my arms, and lied to me. You let me pour my heart out to you, ____! I told you my most pathetic insecurities, the most embarrassing secrets I've never said out loud to anyone, and you... you let me feel safe. You let me believe we were doing the same thing. That we were both being honest with each other, putting all our cards out on the table so we could start something real. How... how could you sit there, comforting me, telling me it was okay not to be perfect, all while knowing it was you who was hiding who you really were?" His voice finally shatters. "How am I supposed to trust anything you've ever said to me?"
"Joong, no, pleaseâ" Your voice breaks apart on his name.
You reach your hand out, but he pulls away again. Without another word, he turns his back on you and walks over to the kitchen island. He grabs his coat from the barstool, where you'd left it to dry barely a full hour ago, not even bothering to put it on. Your heart plummets as he swings his bag over his shoulder and stares blankly at the front door, refusing to cast a single glance back at where you're standing no matter how hard you're silently begging him to.
"I didn't ask about your past because I was looking for mistakes," he says quietly to the empty air. "I asked because I wanted to know the girl I was giving my heart to. The girl I wanted to create something real with... for the very first time in my life."
Another tear slides down his jawline as he shakes his head faintly, taking the last few steps toward the door. He doesn't speak again. When his hand wraps around the handle, your tears begin to fall harder.
"Joong, please, that's all I wanted tooâ" you choke out, your trembling legs moving on their own. You stumble after him, too terrified to touch him, but too desperate to let him walk away. "Please, Hongjoong, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry... I can fix this, I canâ"
He turns his head, but he isn't looking at your face. His deadened gaze fixes on the floorboards right next to your feet as his shoulders tremble with the effort to hold himself together.
"You can't fix a lie like this with an apology, ____," he whispers, and you can tell he's given up. "You know that. You fix it with the truth. But I had to get yours from him." He takes a final, shuddering breath. "I... I never would've found out about this if he hadn't shown up tonight, right?"
You take a horrified step back, biting your lip so hard the taste of blood floods your mouth.
He's right.
You would've let this remain a secret forever.Â
"Joong..."
But for the first time all night, you have nothing left to say.
Hongjoong shakes his head and pushes the door open. Without another glance back, he steps out into the hallway and gently pulls the door shut behind him, disappearing back into the cold.
@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33
taglist: @baw-sixteen @yunhospinkyring @icarusfallingdown @oddin4ry @stumbling-through-once-more @glowingsoup @mialinguini @jooholicx @shuggylaw @yu5qii @mindinmist @psychoflora @kyeos4ng @intergalacticscreams @frayaatiny @sooberryworld @reeszeos @raeslogbook

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
there are two things that are irritating wooyoung lately: people wonât stop bringing up the fact that he had chlamydia a year ago, and the podcaster that seems to know more about sex than he does.
đ€ïžïž wooyoung x fem!reader | college au, mini-series, part 1/? ~10k words đ€ïžïž 18+ reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore, reader has a boyfriend (who is choi yeonjun.) drinking, banter, explicit content, making fun of religion(?), i genuinely don't know what else to tag i just wrote all of this in one sitting and i can't think about it anymore
âMISSIONARY IS FOR PEOPLE IN LOVE, it is not for people who want their backs blown out until they canât fucking walk. To my men listening, which, Iâm sorry if you are, if your girl is asking you for missionary, sheâs in love with you. And to my ladies listening, which, I love you if you are, if your man is asking you for missionary, heâs in love with you.â
Wooyoung picks up his phone from the cupholder beside his gearstick and closes out of Spotify with a gruffled noise. âBullshit,â he mumbles under his breath. âThis girl has never had her knees above her head before.â
âWhyâd you turn it off?â San asks from Wooyoungâs passenger seat, his face knitted in frustration. âI was listening to that!â
âShe clearly doesnât know what sheâs talking about,â Wooyoung argues, sinking further into the leather bucket seats of his car, downshifting as he comes up to a red light. âI donât know why you insist on listening to it, sheâs not giving you any tips you donât already know.â
âSome of us arenât as experienced as you, Woo.â He turns his head to see San staring at him with pointed eyes, the older manâs frustration hasnât settled at all. âSheâs a window into the female mind. Girls donât talk about sex so openly.â
âThey do if you just ask,â Wooyoung counters. âThey say a lot if you just ask.âÂ
Unscripted. The podcast his entire campus is listening to, talking about, praising, worshiping, Wooyoung hates it down to his very fucking bones. The woman whose voice was just grating through his carâs incredible speaker system claims her pod is an open conversation, an outlet where viewers can send in their questions, topics, so that the âtabooâ topic of sex can be spoken about openly, shamelessly.
Wooyoung has no issue talking about sex. Itâs far from taboo for him, itâs talked about every day of his life, every hour, he thinks about it every minute. While he gets shit for it from just about everyone in his goddamn life, this woman who he cannot stand is treated like a deity for it. Usually a podcast is paired with a video, some kind of face to the name, something that viewers can fact-check. But this woman is a no-face, no-name ghost.Â
âYouâre telling me if I laid a woman down and asked her to teach me to make her squirt, sheâd do it?â San asks, back straightened, brows in his hairline.Â
Wooyoung turns his head with a dead stare, âYes, San. Itâs really that fucking easy.â
San huffs. âWell, imagine how much cooler it was when I already knew how to do it. You know the reaction I got, after learning step-by-step from Unscripted? My hips were sore the next day. My hips, Wooyoung.â
âYou would have gotten the same reaction if you just asked her.â Wooyoung upshifts, engine roaring as his frustration grows. âWomen like that shit, teaching, showing you exactly what to do. And when you succeed? God, none of you listen to me, you listen to the no-face, no-resume, self-appointed sex god.â
âNo resume?â San snorts. âMaybe weâd rather listen to a woman tell us what women want, and not the self-appointed campus whore.â
Wooyoung canât even be mad at the jab, because at a different time, he gave himself that exact title. It was like wearing a crown, having women flock to him, his bed filled with someone different every night, learning how to please others with his mind, two hands and his cock. He learned it all himself, by asking, by doing the work, and now his friends were getting a tutorial by some nobody named Unscripted? Itâs so corny it threatens to ruin the concept of sex for him.
âMaybe you should try actually asking a woman what she wants,â Wooyoung snaps back, pulling his car into the driveway of his frat. A long strip of blacktop big enough to hold six cars, he liked being parked at the back, not blocked in by anyone else. He could leave whenever he wanted, to fuck whoever he wanted. He throws his car in park and turns to San again. âMaybe you shouldnât assume what all women want just because a random one told you her tips are universal.â
âI really donât get why you hate her so much.â San is shaking his head as he reaches for the forty-rack from the backseat. âIf you donât need the tips, then you can simply not listen. Why shit on everyone who enjoys it?â
âIâm notâ why are you so offended?â Wooyoung asks before sliding out of the driverâs side, closing the door behind him. Locking the car, starting the trek up to the two story house, Wooyoung continues, âWho cares if I donât like it?â
âI care because I enjoy it and youâre shitting on my enjoyment.â San keeps Wooyoungâs pace as the sound of bass grows louder, cans of beer clinking together in the case hanging from Sanâs fingers. âMaybe I wanted to find out if someone is in love with me when they ask me for missionary tonight.â
Wooyoung stops in his tracks. âIf a girl wants missionary, she wants your dick so far inside her she canât breathe. Thatâs it. Sheâs not in love with you, she wants your dick to tear her apart. Thatâs Unscripted.â
San stares for a moment before bursting out in laughter. âMan,â he wheezes, âyou should be a guest star or something.â
Wooyoungâs face stays flat, unimpressed. âI would never want my name attached to that shit-show of a fucking podcast. Itâd tarnish my good name.â
âYour name has about four STDs and three pregnancy scares attached to it. I donât think the podcast would tarnish that.â
âI had chlamydia once, San,â Wooyoung bites, walking up the brick steps to the house, voice louder to travel over the sound of bass. âAnd I took the fucking medication. Drop it, no one talks about that anymore.â
San is smirking as he rips open the door, âEveryone talks about it, Woo. Just not to your face.â
Wooyoung doesnât even have a chance to respond before the music swallows their conversation whole. Inside the house was a mass of bodies, too many to count, too many to breathe between. But Wooyoung tries anyway, letting the bass cleanse him of his frustration, or maybe that was the brunette he caught out of the corner of his eye that made instinct grab the wheel.
He stores the information for later, when heâs ingested at least three beers and heâs ready to take the party to his bedroom. Her friend was cute, too, darker hair and a silver hoop in her nose, he wonders if theyâd both be down for taking the party upstairs.
âYouâre back!â Yunho beams from the kitchen, the older manâs head of blonde hair spotting him easily, his eye level above everyone elseâs. âWhereâs the beer?â
âSan has it,â Wooyoung throws a thumb behind him, beside him, he doesnât know where the hell San had gone. âHeâs around here somewhere.â
Yunho smacks his teeth as he looks as far as his brown eyes can see, âWhere the fuck else is there to go with a case of forty fucking beers other than the kitchen?â
Wooyoung eyes up the bottle of vodka standing tall on the counter. He wasnât planning to get drunk tonight, just tipsy enough for his orgasm(s) to feel that much better, but the clear liquid beckons to him. Dares him. And Wooyoung never, ever backs down from anything, let alone a dare.
He pours a shot, then another one, then the jacket clinging to his shoulders feels suffocating. Not the seventy-five people in his house, no, but the leather on his shoulders that hangs off his body enough to feel a summer breeze on the back of his neck. Itâs hot enough to swim outside, but Wooyoung was married to his leather jacket the way he was married to casual sex. Wooyoung, sex and leather go together hand-in-hand.
San finally barrels into the kitchen to pack the beers into the fridge, and Wooyoung grabs one before attempting to make his way to the stairs, up to his room where he could hang his precious baby in his closet. Heâs stopped twice, a third time in the middle of the staircase, all by women who were wondering why he was going upstairs so early, and why he had no one at his side. Their eyes told him they wanted to take the spot.
After assuring all three of them heâd be right back downstairs, and offering them all a dance and a drink, voices on the other side of his beige bedroom door stop him from going inside. His brows furrow, irritation blooming because why the fuck are there people in his room? He starts to make out words, and the conversation makes his palm hover over the door handle.
âWe shouldnât be doing this.â A guy. A voice he doesnât recognize.
A womanâs voice follows, âCome on, we never do anything like this, itâs risky. Isnât that fun?â
âWhat if someone walks in?â
âLet them see.â Her voice drops into something seductive, low and velvety, it makes Wooyoungâs already-warm insides ten times hotter. âDonât you want to fuck me? We donât even know whoâs room this is.â
âI⊠we should go back downstairs. Letâs get a drink, dance a little.â
Wooyoung can hear his own bed creak. âSo you donât want to fuck me?â
âThatâs not what I saidââ
âFine.â The word is sharp, angry.Â
The bed creaks again, and before Wooyoung can move, his own bedroom door is ripped open, and a new, beautiful face heâs never seen before is staring at him like heâs a fucking pervert.
âWho the fuck are you?â she asks, voice edged with anger. No, thatâs frustrationâ horny frustration.Â
Wooyoung canât help his grin. âWho are you?â
She cringesâ physically cringes before gritting her teeth, âWere you listening? Waiting to hear us fuck so you could jerk off or something, you fucking creep?â
Wooyoung doesnât let the cringe make him falter. His smirk grows, finally looking over her shoulder to see the pitiful, utterly boring man behind her. Tall, buff, but the face of a fucking baby. Someone who definitely wouldnât fuck her in a strangerâs bedroom, and even if it was Wooyoungâs bedroom, he kind of felt sorry for her.
âI was putting my jacket in my room, actually,â Wooyoung brings his eyes back to her just to watch all the color drain from her face. Before she can offer her apologies, he quips, âBut I would have stayed for the show. Itâs a shame you didnât put one on for me.â
Her face that had just read apologetic a second ago morphs into shame, embarrassment, then the sort of rage Wooyoung was expecting. But it wasnât directed at Wooyoung, it was directed at the man behind her, the one she had her back to, and kept it that way.
Without a word, she pushes past him to rush down the stairs, and Wooyoung steps to the side to let baby-face follow. But before heâs completely out of reach, Wooyoung stops him with, âHold on.â
The guy turns, hands folded together to hide the tent that Wooyoung couldnât comprehend why he wasnât acting on. Sharp jaw, full lips, hair shaggy and unkempt like she had just had her knuckles in it, he was an attractive guy. From looks alone, he seems like a keeper, a real score for the girl Wooyoung would have been trying to get balls deep inside of right now if he wasnât here.Â
He doesnât know why he offers his advice. âWhen you have a girl like that, you take the risk.â
âYou seem to take a lot of risks,â the man says coolly. âI know who you are, chlamydia.â
âOh my fucking god,â Wooyoung groans, then walks into his bedroom. Stopping in his doorway, he turns to watch baby-face laugh down the stairs, and yells behind him, âThat was a year ago, by the way!â
He can still hear the man laughing as he uses too much strength to hook his jacket onto a hanger, and then on the top rack of his closet. Frustration boils in his gut, and anger isnât a party favor, so he makes his way to his bathroom, washes his face with freezing cold water, and lets his emotions reset before he even thinks about going back downstairs.
Wooyoung loves sex. He loves everything about sex, he loves giving, he loves receiving, he loves pleasure. Life is about enjoying, learning and changing and growing, and to Wooyoung, sex is the perfect blend of all life has to offer. He canât imagine himself getting into a relationship, a pitiful one like that girl has, and sex becoming⊠regular. Boring. Not full of fantasy and shamelessness, being so carnally human, giving into your desire, but instead an activity, a routine, something youâre supposed to do so you do it.
No, sex to Wooyoung isnât a routine, something to be fit into a schedule. Sex is fun, itâs about exploration, trusting someone else enough to be at your most vulnerable, and trusting them to carry you through it. Then trusting them to not call afterwards, or expect another night, or anything else from him at all, for that matter.
Maybe a skewed view on sex and relationships, but thatâs Wooyoungâs fantasy, his life, his bible.
Just as he finishes his beer, thereâs a knock at his door. He throws himself in-character, a lazy smirk on his lips, assuming itâs one of the girls he talked to on his way up here, in his heart he prays it's the best friends he spotted downstairs.
Much to his dismay, itâs neither. Itâs the girlfriend from five minutes ago, still raging, apparently. Her arms are crossed, foot tapping against the carpet, eyes darting everywhere but on Wooyoung like sheâs guilty. Already playing the part, Wooyoung leans into his doorframe as he asks, âBack to put on a one-woman show instead?â
She scoffs, âLike Iâd ever fuck you.â
Wooyoungâs brows furrow. Interesting reaction. âOkay,â he starts, standing up a little straighter. âThen did you need a place to get yourself off or something? My bed has seen plenty of orgasms, donât be shy.â
Her face morphs into pure disgust. âGod, youâre disgusting, is sex all you think about?â
Itâs a rhetorical question, but Wooyoung smiles anyway. âKinda.â
âIâm here because I know who you are. I have about six friends who have fucked you, and I need your advice,â she says quickly, shamelessly, each and every one of her features flat and serious. When Wooyoung motions for her to continue, intrigued, she asks, âYou would have done it, right?â
Wooyoungâs eyes thin, brows kissing. âDone what? Fucked you?â
âYeah,â she nods. Talking with her hands flying everywhere, she rages, âFucked me in a random room, in a random house, at a random party on a random Friday night.â
âIâm sensing thereâs more to unpack here,â Wooyoung says with growing boredom, shifting his weight on his other foot before leaning against the other side of his dooframe.
âJust answer the question,â she urges, hands landing on her hips.
Wooyoung lets out a short huff. âYour boyfriend is boring,â he says simply. âIf youâre already bored with your sex life, then the relationship isnât going to last. Go shopping, thereâs plenty of dudes downstairs that would slobber at the idea of fucking you in my room.â He holds up a finger. âDonât fuck in my room, though. My room is off-limits.â
Her lips scrunch to one side, a flush on her cheeks. âIs there any way to make him more⊠adventurous?â
âItâs a personality thing, baby. He doesnât have the fun-guy gene. Like I said, go shopping, thatâs what Iâm about to do.â Wooyoung takes a step forward, closing his door behind him. âShall we?â
âWhy do you say that like itâs easy?â she snaps, not moving an inch, leaving an awkwardly small amount of space between them. Usually, Wooyoung would be all over it, but he isnât in the mood to pick up the pieces of someone elseâs relationship tonight. But it seems sheâs insistent upon him putting it back together completely as she explains, âWeâve been together for over a year, I canât just break up with him because he wonât fuck me in a frat house.â
Wooyoung sighs, leaning his back against his closed door. âYouâre, what, twenty? Twenty-one? You have your entire life to have shitty, boring sex. Why are you rushing?â
âI refuse to believe that,â she crosses her arms. âThat the rest of my life will consist of shitty, boring sex.â
âI canât fix delusional,â Wooyoung mutters, and to him, that's the end of the conversation.
Heâs three steps away from her before she starts it again. âThatâs not delusion, thatâs optimism. Manifestation. I shouldnât expect someone like you to understand.â
He stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. He retorts, âSomeone like me?â
Her brows are high, hands on her hips, one leg bent. Full of attitude. âYou never called any of my friends back. Not one. Why would I expect someone like you to understand what a relationship would be like, what it takes to keep one, when you spend your free time sticking your dick in anything that has a hole?â
Wooyoung snorts, a little impressed by the jab, but heâs more irritated that everyone seems to be on his fucking ass tonight. What did he do? He even took San to the liquor store to buy more beer, he should be drowning in pussy by now.
âFair enough,â he shrugs, heâs more than bored of the conversation at this point. âEnjoy the three minutes of missionary tonight, or will it be forty-five seconds with you on top because heâs too drunk to fuck you properly?â
Her face blooms in Technicolor, and he knows heâs won. With a wide grin, he gives her a little wave over his shoulder, and makes his way down the stairs. He doesnât have it in him to go back to the kitchen for another drink, or to find any one of his friends and have a conversation, his patience is running thin and his dick is starting to ache from lack of use.
âHey, Wooyoung.â Heâs greeted at the base of the steps by a blonde, he thinks he fucked her last week. Maybe two weeks ago.Â
He gives her a smirk, âHey, baby, good to see you.â What was her name again?
He keeps it pushing, searching for the staircase girls, or the two from the entrance that together resemble a monarch butterfly. If he canât find any of them, maybe heâll come back to the blonde. If he can remember her name.
Another beer miraculously finds its way to his palm before he finds one half of the butterfly, the one with dark hair, silver through her nose. Heâs made out with her twice before the other half finds them, and to his satisfaction, it seems both halves of the butterfly had the plan to make it back to his bedroom tonight.
âOne last topic for today: a little birdie asked me about threesomes, and in my heart, I genuinely canât believe I havenât touched on this topic sooner. I have a story, I know, surprise surprise, but this one is recent, so Iâm excited to debrief it, because I think itâs too scandalous to even bring up to my friends.â
You throw your index cards on the bed. The rest would actually be unscripted, straight off the dome.
âThis past weekend I found myself in a⊠compromising position. Well, several compromising positions, if Iâm honest. Imagine youâre hooking up with a guy in a random bedroom of a house party, and the person whose bedroom it is walks inside and wants to join. Sorryâ I paused, I was waiting for a gasp or something, but then I remembered Iâm by myself.â
You laugh a little before continuing. âI was on my back, hooking up with this really sexy guy who I had met, maybe fifteen minutes prior. You know the house party deal, talk for ten minutes, the boring shit, but itâs the boring shit that gets you on the same page. Weâre making out all the way up the stairs, and he pushes me inside this bedroom, undresses me, lays me out on the bed, his head is in between my legs before the door opens.â
âThe second guy walks in, and thereâs no moment of, what the fuck? Or, oh my god, get out of my room. He smirks, a sexy smirk, the kind of smirk that doesnât need words, yâknow? The guy whoâs in between my legs doesnât stop. He sees the other one, he knows heâs there, but he doesnât even pause. The second guy takes my mouth, and then Iâm being fed while the other oneâs eating, andâ you know the drill. It was overstimulating, but also⊠liberating, to be worshiped, to be treated like something holy by two guys whose names I didnât even know.â
âI feel like MMF threesomes have become something for the male gaze, or maybe they always have beenâ actually, they always have been. In porn, the woman is treated like some kind of doll, thrown between two guys, used for their pleasure over and over, but what if itâs the opposite? What if itâs the woman whoâs using two men for her own pleasure? Double the orgasms, double the penetration, double the foreplay, double the pleasure, what if itâs the woman calling the shots, like some kind of super-straight power bottom action? And I know I shouldnât use gay terms for straight sex, but hear me out on thisâŠâ
âSome of us tend to fear taking control in the bedroom. With one man, with two men, itâs terrifying. But Iâve never been so satisfied or as confident as I felt in that bedroom, ordering pleasure and receiving it. Giving it because I wanted to, because sex is fun, and women are allowed to enjoy sex the way men do. If men can fetishize two women in the bedroom, why canât we do it back? The only thing I wished for was that they would fuck each other, too. They only kissed. Boring. Sorry if youâre listening, thereâs a reason Iâm not saying your names.â
Because there are no names to fucking say.
âI need to dedicate an entire episode to exploring threesomes, positions, dynamics, everything. Unforch, thereâs just not enough time today, but trust that I will come back to this topic and do a proper debrief of every single one of my thoughts, I just wanted to touch on the topic in case any of my listeners find themselves in the compromising position I was in mere days ago. Do it, enjoy it, and donât be afraid to walk âem like dogs, girls. On the plate for next week are toysâ for yourself, for your partner, the best ones for your partner to use on you, Iâm diving into all of it. Stay tuned, and Iâll catch you next week, unscripted, as always.â
You press stop on your laptop, cutting off the recording, and take a deep, relieving sigh. Eyes catching the top right corner, you gasp, panic shooting up your spine as you read seven-thirty-two on the clock. Fishing your phone out from the duvet beneath you, you check your notifications, the fourteen texts from your boyfriend, and six missed calls.
You donât even read them before pressing call on his contact.
âWhere the hell are you?â His voice is gruff, angry. Which is fair, because you were supposed to meet him for dinner thirty-two minutes ago.Â
You hop off the bed, grabbing your mic and shoving it into your closet. âI fell asleep!â you lie, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. âIâm so sorry, Jun, Iâll be there in fifteen minutes.â
âWe lost our reservation, Iâm at the bar next door.â
He hangs up. You curse, throwing your phone back onto your bed before scurrying to your closet to pick out something for drinks and dinner instead of dinner and drinks. You throw your hair up after turning your makeup from daytime to nighttime, and hop in the car with record time. Speeding through the city, thankfully finding quick parking, youâre late to your fifteen-minute promise by four minutes.
Your boyfriend of over a year doesnât even care that you took the barstool beside him. You barely take in your surroundings, your tunnel vision focused on Yeonjun and only Yeonjun, wondering how the hell youâll make it up to him.Â
Wordlessly, he slides you a drink, a martini, extra dirty. Three olives. Your heart aches.
âIâm sorry,â you mutter, eyes finding your lap. âI didnât mean to miss our reservation, but we can still have fun tonight, right?â You look around you, at the dimly lit bar that seemed to have lost all its patrons to the sardine-packed dance floor. âWe can go dance, you love to dance. Iâll get us a reservation for next week.â
His head snaps to yours, dark hair meticulously styled around his forehead, his eyes dark with irritation. âIt took me three weeks to get that reservation.â
âAm I going somewhere?â You tilt your head to the side. âAre you going somewhere? I think we have the time to wait another three weeks.â
âThatâs not the point,â he urges, watching as you grab the skewer of olives from your martini glass, biting one off the end. âThe point is that I did something nice for us, and you didnât show up.â
âIt was an accident,â you say, muffled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you reiterate, âIt was an accident, Yeonjun. Donât let it spoil date night.â His nose crinkles, mouth bending downward. You pop a brow, âWhat?â
âYou called me Yeonjun,â he says, so low it could be considered a whisper. His eyes are brighter when he looks back up at you, âMy name is Junie to you.â
It makes a smile break across your lips, a giggle falling past. âYouâre right, Iâm sorry, Junie. Iâll make it up to you tonight. OrâŠâ you look around, scanning the crowd of drunken people, all seeming in their own world. âI could make it up to you now.â
A deep blush paints his cheeks crimson. âDonât even start.â
âNo?â you tease, smirk on your lips, eyes sparkling as you take a sip of your martini. âYou donât wanna fuck me in the bathroom? So mad at me for missing our fancy, expensive date, you donât wanna take out all your frustrations on me?â
He shushes you, body turning toward you like he might clamp his hand over your mouth, his shoulders caving inward. âYou canât say shit like that in public, oh my godâ what if the bartender heard you, and kicked us out?â
âThe bartender is focused on drinks and tips,â you say simply before taking another gulp of your martini. âSheâs not worried about me taking my boyfriendâs cock down my throat in the bathroom.â His right hand covers his lap, and it makes you laugh, a snarky giggle. âLook at you, your body wants it, I want it. What are you so afraid of?â
He uses his other hand to count. âA public lewdness charge, or lewd conduct, or public indecency. Iâm gonna be a doctor, I will not catch a charge to do what I can do at home.â Your eyes roll without you giving them the okay to do so. He sees it, and immediately he presses, âWhy are you so obsessed with this? Why canât we have sex at your place, or at mine? Thatâs normal.â
âWhatâs wrong with trying to spice up our sex life?â Your martini glass hits the bar harder than intended. âI just want you to want me so bad you canât help yourself, Junie. I want you to fuck me, to really fuck me like itâs not even me youâre fucking.â
Your boyfriendâs ears go bright red, his eyes dancing all around you, and for a second you think he might really clamp his hand over your mouth. âCan you stop saying that shit in public?â
âWhatever,â you huff. âIâll stop. Iâm sorry.â
After a moment of silence, another sip taken from his glass of whiskey, he runs both hands through his hair. Keeping his voice low, he leans into you so you can hear him, âLast weekend, after the party⊠I fucked you after, didnât I? Like, really fucked you, like you werenât even you or whatever.â
No. No, you didnât.
âYeah,â you smile, tight-lipped. âYou did. Sorry. I must be ovulating or something.â
Youâre not ovulating, youâre just fucking bored. You spend your free time talking about sexcapades, basically making up stories, soft porn on a podcast, but in reality, your life doesnât even come close. The podcast is a dream, a fantasy, what sometimes you wish your life actually was. A sex life that was always new, changing, with one person who loves you as much as you love them, and wants to do new things just as much as you do. Someone who would never judge you for your wants, your needs, your fantasies that sometimes youâre embarrassed to think about, let alone bring up to someone else.
You want someone who you can tell all of them to. You need someone who wants to do them even more than you do, because they want to please you as much as you want to please them.Â
But thatâs not enough to break up with the man sitting beside you, the one who knows everything about you, the one who is the love of your life in so many different ways. How is it that such a huge part of you, such an important part of you, is the only part of him that isnât a mirror?
âIâve been thinking lately,â Yeonjun says, his voice uneven like heâs unsure of bringing it up. You raise your brows to let him know youâre listening. âAfter you graduate, we should get married.â
You blink. âM-Married?â
âI know we talk about it all the time,â he sits back in the stool, keeping his eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. âBut I think we should get married. Have a baby.â
You lean forward. âA baby?â
Being pre-med now, heâll be in school for a hell of a lot longer than you, and he knows it. He smiles to himself, like heâs leaning into his own fantasy as he says, âYou can stay home, take care of the baby and stuff until I graduate, start working.â
âIâll stay home⊠while youâre in school?â you ask, brows high. âWhoâs gonna pay for me and the baby?â
His eyes meet yours, brows knitted together in confusion. âMy parents?â
âDonât you think we should be, yâknow, financially secure before even thinking about marriage?â
âIâll be in my residency program by twenty-six,â he counters. âThatâs only four years that my parents will help us. I want to marry you, I want you to have my kids.â
âI donât want to be married at twenty-two,â you answer, too fast for Yeonjun, too fast for yourself. He winces like you punched him. âItâs not that I donât want to marry you, I just⊠I don't want to be a married twenty-two year old.â
âWhat does age have to do with it?â he asks, and youâre stunned that age is what heâs taking from this. âTwnety-two, twenty-six, Iâd marry you tomorrow, baby.â
Your head shakes before your mind can comprehend whatâs transpiring. âYeonjun, no. Absolutely not. Why are we talking about this now? Canât we drink and dance? Have a fun date night like we planned?â
âAbsolutely not?â he retorts, sitting straighter. âAs if itâs a death sentence to marry me. I thought youâd be jumping up and down right now.â
âYou think Iâm the type to pop out a baby at twenty-three years old?!â you ask, bewildered. âYeonjun, I⊠why would you think Iâd be happy?â
âHear me out,â he counters. âBy twenty-two, weâll have been together for over two years. We can have a long engagement, if you want, be married right before your twenty-third birthday. Technically, youâll have the baby closer to twenty-four, and my parents only have to help us for two years.â
Youâre horrified. Whatâs even more horrifying is that while youâve been fantasizing about him fucking you right, heâs been fantasizing about you pregnant. And apparently working out all the logistics for it, too. âYeonjun,â you whisper. âLetâs talk about this another time. Another day. In another year, or five.â
âThis is what any woman would want,â he turns toward you fully. You canât believe he thinks thatâs true. âThis is stability, a future. Why are you upset that I want a future with you?â
Your cheeks feel hot, the vodka in your stomach has long ago solidified. Itâs heavy, pushing on your bladder, your gut. âI need to go to the bathroom,â you blurt. âI need to pee, I need to think about⊠about all that.â
You donât give him time to react before youâre sliding off the stool. Your head feels fuzzy, and it could be from the vodka, from you literally eating zero calories today, but you know itâs from the bomb he just dropped. You know in your soul itâs because thatâs a future you cannot give himâ that you wonât give him. You didnât even eat today, and he wants you to be the mother of his child? Itâs almost comedic. Or at least it would be if you werenât stumbling across the bar in the direction of the bathroom, feeling nauseous enough that you might not even make it there.
You can see it, like the light at the end of the tunnel, the glowing, pink neon sign that reads Girls Room. But the walls are closing in, your chest feels heavy, your breaths even heavier, slower, and the sign dims like someone was turning down the brightness.Â
âWoah.â An arm around your back, strong and thick, scoops you straight up. Were you going down? âAre you okay? Holy shit, youâre gonna pass out. Donât pass out.â
Your eyes, half-open, can only see the man keeping you steady. Broad shoulders, absolutely insane biceps, slicked back, onyx locks, they show off his sculpted cheeks, his sharp jaw, his dimples. Heâs cute, and heâs holding you up like youâre a fucking doll.Â
âWater,â you croak. He slings your arm over his shoulder, and with his height heâs basically dragging you across the room until heâs sitting you down on a chair, crouching beside you, holding a glass of water up to your lips.Â
âSlow sips,â he coaxes, his voice soft, pleasant. âDonât chug it. Itâs only eight, how are you hammered at eight oâclock? Guys, we need to be on her time.â
ââm not hammered,â you mumble through sips. âIâm not even drunk, my boyfriend just told me he wants to tradwife me. I must be having an allergic reaction or something.â
Biceps snorts, you watch as his head tips back in laughter, his dimples showing. âYouâre allergic to what, marriage?â
âDo you have any food?â you ask, stomach still feeling wretchedly hollow. Biceps ushers his hand to the table in front of you, and at that moment, you realize nothing in your life could be more embarrassing than this. Thereâs a table full of men, all with food and drinks in front of them, and you just⊠you just interrupted. Talking about being allergic to Yeonjun wanting to marry you.Â
Directly across from you, with the most appetizing plate of chicken tenders and fries in front of him, sat Jung Wooyoung. With his eyes on yours, a humored twinkle swirling in shit brown, you start to stand. âFuck no,â you shake your head. âIâll be going now, thanks.â
âWoah, woah, woah,â the man who saved you from eating shit on the barâs floor stands with you, hands out, palms facing you. His face reads concern, scrunched up, clearly scared that youâll crumble to the floor again. âEat something, drink more water, then you can go. I donât want them to stop the music so they can put you on a gurney.â
You scowl. Even if he saved you, now Biceps is at the top of your shit list.Â
You redirect your scowl at Wooyoung. Before sitting back in the chair, silently you reach across the table to grab his plate of chicken tenders, and place it in front of yourself.Â
âJesus,â another one at the table mutters under his breath. Tall, blonde hair. âWhatâd you do to her?â
âI didnât do anything,â Wooyoung shrugs. You eat his chicken, satisfied. âIâve never even seen her before.â
You laugh, a punched sound of sarcasm. âRight,â you mutter.
âWooyoung, you asshole,â another one whisper-yells. Shorter than the blonde, golden skin, brown, wavy hair. âYou slept with her and forgot? Thatâs fucked up.â
âI never fucked him,â you seethe. âI donât want chlamydia.â
The table waits a second before roaring in laughter. Wooyoung thins his eyes, his gaze pointed from across the table. You canât help your growing, prideful smirk.Â
âI donât have chlamydia,â Wooyoung announces after a second, jaw set, eyes dark and pissed. âShe tried to fuck her boyfriend in my bedroom last weekend until I broke them up.â
You gasp, mortified. âYouâre a liar!â
âWere you not trying to have sex in my room last week?â
âOkay, yes, butââ
âExactly,â he smirks, satisfied. âSo did you get three minutes that night, or forty-five seconds?â
âWooyoung,â Biceps warns. âStop it.â
âI got more than you did, Iâm sure,â you counter. âEven if youâre disgusting and you.â
âWow,â his hands come together in a slow clap. âGood for you. Has he gotten any more adventurous? I assume not, since he wants you, three kids, and a white picket fence.â
Your cheeks burn. Biceps, again, warns, âWooyoung.â
You stand once more, and this time, Biceps doesnât stop you. The table watches as you stomp all the way back over to Yeonjun, body shaking with irritation, trading one poison for another. You almost forgot what you were coming back to.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, cheeks still pink, face bent in concern.Â
Sinking back into the stool, you reach for your martini, throwing the rest of it back. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you spit out, âFine.â
Wooyoung wouldnât be able to explain himself if someone were to walk into his bedroom right now. They would find him in his desk chair, listening to Unscripted, the podcast he hates, while staring out his window like he was debating the seven wonders of the world.
âEverybody loves a curved dick. Itâs like a walking, living, breathing toy, designed to make you cum a thousand times. If it curves upward, missionary, being on top, is your best friend. If it curves to the left, have him fuck you on your side. If it curves to the right, have him fuck you on your other side. If it curves down, youâre lucky if heâs ugly, because youâll never have to see his face while fucking him again.â
He laughs, then he catches himself laughing, and stops. God, he hates her with such an unimaginable passion, fuck her for making him laugh. His dick is curved, so maybe a part of him feels targeted, but how dare she put him, and what he can only assume is a million other men, into a box? A category? A you can only fuck this way bracket?
The part about ugly guys is funny, but only because heâs not targeted by that one, and he understands the joke. But whoâs to say the women heâs with canât enjoy backshots because his cock curves upward? Heâs never received a bad review for it.
He huffs, shutting his laptop, then he smiles when her voice goes silent. Then his stomach drops, because why was he listening to Unscripted past eight at night? And why was he letting her voice dictate his emotions?
He picks himself up, shaking off the thoughts. He needed to clear his mind, think about something else other than the shape of his cock⊠he needed to fuck. He texted Haewon, no response. Amara, busy. Nadia, working. Daeun apparently transferred schools. Mira didnât answer either. He had about twenty goddamn minutes before he lost his mind.Â
Hissing through his teeth, he grabs his gym bag from the corner of his room and leaves. The guys in the living room playing FIFA didnât ask any questions as Wooyoung basically sprinted through the front door. He always goes to the gym in the morning, at the brink of dawn, when the sun is spreading over the horizon, heâs never gone at night. He figures heâll do cardio, sprint off the thoughts, the feelings, the ache in his dick that he canât satisfy with his own hand.Â
He plugs his phone in after turning over the engine, and the moment his audio connects, it picks up right where she left off.
âI feel like men are insecure about it, and they shouldnât be. Itâs like circumcision, women donât give a fuck if you have foreskin, as long as you keep it clean. Please, for the love of god, keep it cleanââ
He curses as he rips the chord out of his phone. Fuck that. Heâll drive to the gym in fucking silence.
The gym is busy, as he knew it would be, he despises the gym when it's busy. Thatâs why he goes in the morning, when no one else on campus is awake, only the really smart types who have days jam packed full of shit that require brain energy. Thatâs what an ass crack of dawn workout is for.
He barely looks up as he scans his ID, but when he catches a glimpse of the face thatâs starting to bother him as much as Unscriptedâs voice, it catches his attention.Â
âOh, hell no,â he groans. This is exactly the opposite of what he needs right now. âWhy are you suddenly everywhere?â
You, behind the desk in your bright purple, collared shirt, scoff. âIâm everywhere? Youâre everywhere.â
âShouldnât you be off getting married?â He can feel his smirk growing. âPushing out babies and shit?â
âFuck you,â you grumble, leaning back into the opposite side of the desk. âShouldnât you be off giving someone chlamydia?â
âYou need to drop that now,â Wooyoung points at you. âI donât have chlamydia.â
âAw, is the big-shot whore bothered by my jokes?â you pout, using the worst case of baby-voice Wooyoungâs ever heard. His ears seem to frown, too.
âBig-shot whore?â Wooyoung repeats, face morphing into disappointment. âWe need to work on your insults if bantering is going to become our thing.â
âWe donât have a thing,â youâre quick to answer. âThere is no we, we does not exist. Go snort a line of pre-workout.â
Wooyoung grins, humored by your irritated expression. âDid he propose yet? Does he have a ring in his underwear drawer? Is he just dying to pop the question? Wait, let me guess: moissanite, set in sterling silver.â
âYouâre an asshole,â you gruff, turning away from him like you had work to do. Wooyoung knows youâre not even reading the words on the paper youâre staring at.
He canât help himself. He walks around the desk until heâs in front of you again and asks, âDoes your boyfriend know you almost passed out when he told you his idea of your future?â
âNo,â you respond without even looking up at him.
His grin widens. âIs it because heâs boring? Is that why you donât want to marry him?â
âI do want to marry him,â you finally look up, eyes pointed, gaze angry. Wooyoungâs grin only spreads. âI just donât want to marry him next fucking year. I think heâs insane for wanting to.â
Wooyoungâs lower lip folds over like he might start fake crying out of cuteness, âHow sweet. He wants to lock you down after graduation so he doesnât have to go wife-hunting while becoming an MD.â
Your face goes flat. âHow do you know heâs pre-med?â
âIâm well-connected,â he shrugs. He just has Instagram. âHave you proposed that he doesnât propose until heâs working?â
âYes,â you turn again, ignoring his comedic wording, crossing to the other side of the desk as another gym-goer walks inside. You watch as they scan in their ID, what information pops up on the screen. When they walk away, you turn to him again, âWhy are you so interested? Shouldnât you be lifting by now?â
âIâm just absolutely perplexed trying to figure out how youâre going to marry a guy who doesnât fuck you right.â Wooyoungâs leaning over the counter now, arms crossed, ankles crossed beneath it. Right at home. âIsnât that, like, a huge part of being with someone forever? Great sex?â
You throw your hands on your hips, âSex really is all you think about, isnât it?â
âHumor me,â Wooyoung replies.
You sigh. âIâm wondering how Iâm going to do it, too. You told me the night at the party that if Iâm already bored with my sex life, then my relationship isnât going to last. Thatâs kinda haunting me, even though youâre you, and a relationship is so much more than just sex.â
âHave you tried anything else, other than trying to fuck him in my bedroom?â
Wooyoung watches your cheeks flush in real time. You mutter, âI tried fucking him in the bathroom of Lucky Penny.â
Wooyoung laughs, genuine and true. âEveryoneâs fucked at Lucky Penny. He wouldnât do it?â You shake your head, and Wooyoung ties his lips to one side, shooting you an apologetic stare. âMan, I donât think heâs fixable.â
âHe doesnât need to be fixed, Wooyoung,â you scold, running a hand through your hair. âThere are so many other great, perfect things about him. Sex is the only area whereâ why am I even telling you this? I should not be confiding in you right now.â
Wooyoung stands, âWhat else are big-shot whores for, other than to fuck and give advice about fucking?â Heâs smiling, but you both know thereâs some truth to it.
âGo hit a PR or something,â you shoo him off with a dust of your fingers, turning around.
And surprisingly, he listens. He grabs his headphones from his bag, connecting his phone before putting them over his ears, walking towards the row of treadmills.
âI, personally, love a dick that curves upward. I know I said missionary is for lovers, but if a dick is curvedâand even though you donât love himâyouâre going to finish more times in that one session than with your vibrators, and thatâs my why.â
At the sound of her voice, he almost rips his headphones off and throws them in the trash. But now that heâs being spoken to personally, and being praised, he throws his bag against the wall, hops on the treadmill, and raises both the incline and speed.
âThe reason why thereâs different positions for curved dicks? Well, we never learned this in Sex Ed, and some of my listeners, Iâve come to find out, are seriously lacking in the female-genitalia knowledge department.â
Blah blah blah. Itâs like heâs watching a repeat episode from one of those nineties sitcoms, he knows all the words, he can follow along like heâs reading the script. But even though his phone is in front of him, resting on the little ledge below the screen of the treadmill, he doesnât reach for it to turn it off.Â
âThat little recap was for those who didnât listen to my squirting episode. And if you did, you get a recap anyways, because I think everyone should have it burned to memory where exactly you should stimulate to get your partner off. If youâve never had a penetrative orgasm, or your curved-dick partner has never given you one, have them listen to this, and youâll never wish for anything again.â
Heâs gotta give it to her, she does know her shit. Wooyoung wonders if heâs met her, if heâs ever fucked her before. He comes to the conclusion that he would know if he fucked her, heâs had some great lays before, even incredible ones, but she seems different. In the sense that it would be memorable, heâd come back to that night in his mind, those nights he only has his fist and his cock. Those nights would be dedicated to her, and her terrifyingly vast knowledge of human anatomy and orgasms.Â
He stays on the treadmill for an hour, burning through the soles of his sneakers and yet another podcast episode. The topic was making out, which felt really adolescent, but actually had some decent tips that even Wooyoung hasnât thought of before. Tucking the tips into his back pocket, he throws his headphones back into his bag, wipes down the treadmill, and chugs his water on his way back to the front.Â
Youâre still there, arms crossed, looking like you hate the world.
Wooyoung smiles as he leans over the counter. âI have an idea.â
You smack your teeth. âGreat, Iâm about to lose brain cells.â
âShut up,â he quips. âWhy donât you have your boyfriend listen to that podcast thatâs going around campus? Unscripted?âÂ
Your face falls impossibly further. âWhat? No, he doesnât even watch porn, he would never listen to a sex podcast.â
Wooyoung snorts. âA man in his twenties who doesnât watch porn? I canât tell if youâre stupid for believing that or if this guy is secretly super religious.â
âNeither,â you snap. âLeave. Your workout is over.â
âHow do you know?â He pops his brows, suddenly offended. âMaybe Iâm taking a quick break.â
âThen do it somewhere else,â you shoo him away again, fingers sweeping the air. âAnd never talk to me about that podcast again.â
âDamn, are you super religious or something?â he asks.
âWooyoung,â you warn.
âFine, damn, fine.â
Wooyoung is home for exactly two hours before his night goes to shit.
He showered immediately upon walking through the door, which was a relief, but after laying in his bed and realizing he was in fact not getting laid tonight, the voice in the back of his mind started reminding him of every devious, terrible thing heâs ever done.
That was a strong contender for ruining his night. Instead, he picked himself up, went downstairs to the kitchen, and cleaned up. He did the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned every surface, even organized the top shelf of the pantry. The other guys knew not to talk to himâ they knew when Wooyoung was in this mood, it was best to let him think on it, get it out of his system, rather than to bombard him with every question, every distraction they could think up.
He made himself food, allowed himself something comforting after all the extra cardio he did at the gym. That made it half better. But the real damning of his night happened about thirty minutes later, when he was in his bed, fist wrapped around his cock, fantasizing about the night he had a monarch butterfly in his bed, there were three knocks at his door.
âBusy!â Wooyoung called out, his voice shaky, so close to the edge he could taste it.
âItâs me.â You.
You.
He groans out his frustration, his orgasm that he could taste, now gone. Floating away in the wind, with the rest of his hopes and fucking dreams. Pulling up his sweats, sitting up in his bed, he calls out, âCome in.â
You spill into his room. Literally. You push the door open and it slams behind you, you waste no time throwing your bag to the floor and sitting on the foot of his bed. It takes you all of six seconds to put the pieces together.
âWhy are you sweaty?â you ask. Wooyoung doesnât answer, his face bored. âWhy donât you have a shirt on, and why are you sweaty?â
âIâm in my room, lights off, tissues on my nightstand,â he answers plainly. âWhat do you think I was doing?â
Like a skittish cat, you jump off his bed, yelping a disgusted noise. âAnd you just let me come in here? Oh my god, go wash your hands or something, thatâs gross, Wooyoung.â
âItâs natural,â he shrugs, leaning back into his pillows. âItâs probably what you do immediately after fucking your boyfriend.â He made himself laugh with that one. You stay silent. His face drops. âOh shit, am I right? I didnât mean to be right.â
âFuck you, whatever,â you snap. âIâm not here to bicker. I need your help.â
Wooyoung groans, head tipping back into his pillows, he already knows what that means. âGod, go to fucking counceling or something, stop involving me in your relationship bullshit.â
âYou were interested earlier,â you argue. âYou brought this upon yourself the night you listened to me in the hallway. You should have told me to fuck off.â
Mumbling to himself, he repeats, âI need to stop being nice. I need to stop being kind.â
âYou told me to listen to that podcast earlier, but she thinks like a woman, right? She is a woman, I mean. I need to think like a man,â youâre rambling, pacing at the foot of his bed. âYouâre a man, Yeonjunâs mind is closer to yours than mine, like, biologically. I need to think like you. Or I need you to tell me what heâs thinking. I donât know, but what I do know is that I canât live my life like this, and I canât be in a sexless marriage. You have to help me.â
âI am the last person on earth you want to help you,â Wooyoung announces. âI already told you to leave him, what the fuck else do you want me to say?â
âI donât want to leave him, asshole.â Youâre finally still at the center of the foot of his bed, arms wide on either side of you. âI said he doesnât need to be fixed, but maybe just a little⊠shaping.â
âTo the salon,â Wooyoung responds, in the same singsong tone from the Barbie movie. When your face bends in confusion, he asks, âOh, we werenât quoting that sound?â
âI need to fundamentally change my boyfriendâs brain,â you say matter-of-factly. âNo, Iâm not quoting a stupid video.â
Wooyoung sits up. âSo thereâs zero chance of you leaving the Jesus freak?â
âHeâs not a Jesus freak,â you bite back, but take a step closer to his bed. âBut no, thereâs not. I love him.â
Wooyoung groans his frustration in a short, harsh noise. âGod, fuck,â he runs his hands over his face roughly before they land on his bedspread again. âOkay, what do you want me to do? Whatâs the quickest way to get you out of my fucking bedroom, again?â
You grin, accomplished as you sit on the foot of his bed again. âI think my first order of business is making sex fun again, like how it was in the beginning. The marriage and baby shit I wonât make you deal with.â
âThanks,â he responds, tone dripping in sarcasm. âMaking sex fun⊠are you sure you canât ask any of the six girls I fucked to help you with this? Theyâre all your friends, right?â
âDo you know how embarrassing it is to tell your friends that your sex life sucks?â you ask, and itâs not rhetorical. You donât give him time to answer. âYou already know, you witnessed it first-hand. Just help me, Wooyoung, something simple, something I can do tonightââ
âEdge him or something,â Wooyoung answers like heâs shoving the words out of his mouth. âYou want him to act unlike himself, right? Push him to the limit? Then actually push him to the limit, and see what he does.â
Your face softens. Mumbling, almost under your breath, you wonder, âWhy didnât I think of that?â
âPut yourself in control,â Wooyoung continues. âMake him obey you. Is he usually the dominant one?â You nod, coy all of the sudden. âThen youâre going to act unlike yourself, too. Show him what you want. Make him work for it.â
He watches you swallow, he can see the flush on your cheeks even under the dim lighting of his bedroom. His head tilts, a smirk growing, âAre you shy right now? Shy like a fucking virgin.â
âShut up, Wooyoung,â you bark, but all the bite is gone into thin air, just like his lost orgasm. âI just⊠I donât act like this with him. Loud and rude and stuff, Iâm not like that with him. What if he doesnât like it?â
âLike you said, you need to think like a man,â he finds himself soothing you, maybe he can consider this his one good deed of the day. âIâm a man, and Iâm giving you sound advice. Try it. If he doesnât like it, he won't leave you. If he does like it, heâll probably grab the ring from his underwear drawer.â
You smile, the smallest laugh tumbling out of your lips. âI fucking hate you. If he proposes, youâre getting blamed for that, too.â
Wooyoung doesnât even realize heâs smiling, too. âYouâre really weird for coming to my house while Iâm jerking off, by the way.â
âI know where you live, just felt easier to come here. Biceps let me in,â you shrug. âAnd I didnât know youâd be jerking off.â
âBiceps?â Wooyoung pops a brow before realizing, âOh, San.â
âIâm gonna go edge my boyfriend,â you announce, standing from his bed. Grabbing your bag from the floor, you give him a wave, âIâll update you.â
âPlease donât,â Wooyoung calls after you. âItâs getting really fucking weird now, Virgin.â
âExpect an update!â you yell through his closed door, after youâve shut it behind you.
It takes a minute before Wooyoung realizes heâs smiling, and he quickly wipes it right off his face. Getting cozy under his covers again, he reaches for the lube on his nightstand, and picks back up right where he left off.
masterlist đŹ
synopsis: the art of undressing, slow hands, and sylus on his knees. cw/tw: sylus x f!reader. nsfw. mdni. soft dominance. throat holding. cunnilingus. a/n: since infolds in our walls, hiiii infold, and yes please!
âYou know you shouldn't be here.â
Sylus didn't raise his voice, he never had to. Authority, on him, had always looked less like volume and more like gravity. It gathered quietly, it bent the room around him.
âAnd yet,â he said, taking one step closer, âhere you are.â
The door remained open behind you. A small mercy perhaps, at least cruel one. His eyes flickered toward it once, then back to your mouth.
âRun, if you want to.â
You should have. You really should have. Perhaps some wiser version of you did, in another life. Perhaps she turned on her heel and left him with all his wealth, his danger, his impossible composure. Perhaps she lived gently after that.
This version of you however, stayed.
Amusement touched his mouth, a dangerous little curve, the one that made you feel as though he had already read the answer from your pulse and was only waiting for you to embarrass yourself by saying it aloud.
âThat's what I thought.â He came nearer with the patience of a man who had hunted things far more vicious than desire. His coat hung open, black shirt, pale throat, the faint metallic glint at his collar. Nothing about him begged to be looked at, which made looking feel worse.
When he stopped before you, he still didn't touch. The restraint of the man unsettled you more than his hands should've.
âYou've been avoiding me, sweetie.â
âI've been busy...â
âLying already?â his voice lowered. âCareful. I might start enjoying this.â
Heat climbed your neck. You hated that he saw it, hated more that his attention warmed with it, sharpened around it, as though your embarrassment were a candle he meant to cup in both hands.
One finger lifted your chin. He didn't force your face up, merely waited there until pride, poor starving thing, gave out beneath want. When you looked at him, his gaze moved over you with maddening discipline.
âTell me to stop,â he murmured, âand I will.â
Your breath caught.
âTell me to continue,â he added, thumb grazing the hinge of your jaw, âand I won't be kind about making you ask twice.â
There it was, the little ruin, the place where your dignity gave a beautiful, useless shoulder.
âSylus...â
âMm,â his thumb stilled. âThat sounded dagernously close to neither.â
The first button gave beneath his hand. There was no haste, no fumbling, he undid it as though he had all the hours in the world and had purchased each one with blood. The second followed, then the third. Fabric loosened over your chest, and the city's cold light slipped in to touch what his hand had yet to claim.
His eyes remained on yours.
âYou're trembling,â he said.
âI'm cold.â
âNot for long.â
The next button opened.
Your pulse leapt hard enough to hurt. Sylus leaned close, mouth near your ear, his breath warm against skin made traitorous by waiting.
âI like you brave,â he whispered. âI like you difficult. I even like this little performance where you pretend...â
His fingers brushed your shoulder, the fabric slipped, catching at your arm before falling lower. Air touched bare skin. Then his mouth, barely. A kiss placed at the slope between neck and shoulder with such controlled delicacy that your knees nearly weakened from insult alone.
He felt it. A quiet laugh moved through him.
âThat's it.â
âDon't sound so pleased with yourself.â
âI'm always pleased when proven right.â
Your answer fell apart as his teeth grazed your pulse, there was no bite yet, only the promise of one. Enough to make your fingers curl.
Slowly, he drew the garment down your other arm. It fell somewhere near your feet, forgotten before it settled. He looked at you then, and something altered in his expression. The playfulness remained, but beneath it came a darker reverence.
âBeautiful,â he whispered, as if the word displeased him by being insufficient.
You looked away, but his hand caught your chin at once.
âNo,â gentle, absolute. âDon't rob me after coming all this way.â
The fastening at your waist surrendered beneath a practiced tug. He held the fabric there rather than let it fall, knuckles resting against your hip, gaze fixed on your face.
âStill with me?â
Your throat worked around the answer. âYes.â
His mouth curved again, softer this time. âGood girl.â
The words struck low.
Sylus lowered the garment inch by infuriating inch, there was no cruelty in it, though the patience remained devastating. Cloth slid over your hips, cold air followed, his attention followed lower, then returned to your face with a discipline that bordered on obscene.
When only lace remained, his hands stilled. The room seemed to stop with him.
âLast chance,â
You could hear the city below, your own breathing, the faint shift of his shirt as his fingers flexed once at his side.
âIf you leave,â he continued, âI'll let you.â
âAnd if I stay?â
His gaze darkened.
âThen you stop pretending you don't know why you came.â
For one unbearable second, your pride made a final attempt at resurrection.
Then you whispered, âI want you.â
Sylus closed his eyes, only for a moment. Only long enough to make the confession feel like a blade that had entered him too. When he opened them again, the amusement had burned down to something hotter.
âThere,â he said, âwas that so hard?â
âYes...â
This time his laughter came low and real.
He moved behind you, heat gathering at your back. One hand settled at your waist, the other traced the line of your ribs, learning you through restraint. His mouth found the side of your neck. A kiss, another, then the slow drag of teeth, enough to make you gasp.
âStill so proud,â he murmured. âEven when you're shaking in my hands.â
Your head tipped back against his chest, the movement was small. Surrender often was. His palm slid lower, stopping just above the lace, and your whole body tightened around the absence of more.
âSylus...â
âMm.â
âPlease.â
His breath warmed your ear.
âBetter.â
The lace slipped beneath his fingers.
He turned you before it reached the floor, catching your waist as if he had felt the shape of your weakness before you did. The world shifted, the room behind him, glass behind you, Sylus everywhere else.
Then he kissed you.
His mouth took yours with a hunger made elegant by control, his hand cupping the back of your neck while the other pressed you close at the waist. He tasted faintly of wine and smoke, when your teeth caught his lower lip, he went still.
Slowly, he pulled back.
A bead of red shone where you had bitten him. His thumb touched it, his eyes lifted to yours.
âOh, how bold of you.â
Your breathing turned uneven. âYou like it.â
âI like correcting it.â
Before you could answer, he sank to his knees.
The sight ruined thought.
Sylus, lord of too many dangerous things, kneeling before you in the bloody spill of city light with one hand firm at your hip and his eyes raised like worship had always been a form of conquest. His mouth brushed the inside of your thigh, your fingers flew to his hair. He allowed it. Worse, he smiled against your skin.
âLook at me.â
You tried.
God help you, you tried.
His mouth moved higher, slow enough to be merciless. Every kiss landed with intent, every pause made you hear yourself breathe. When his lips finally touched the place that wanted him most, your body gave one helpless, shaking sound.
Sylus hummed.
âThat,â he murmured, âI'll accept.â
Then he answered you. With his mouth, with both hands steadying you as your balance failed, with the kind of attention that made pleasure feel less like indulgence and more like interrogation. He learned what made you quiet first, then what made quiet impossible. The flat of his tongue, the careful pressure, the maddening retreat just as your breath began to break.
âSylus,â you gasped.
He looked up without stopping, lashes lowered, eyes bright with the unbearable satisfaction of a man watching pride come apart exactly as promised.
Your fingers tightened in his hair. His grip flexed at your thigh in warning.
âCareful kitten,â he said against you. âOr I'll think you're trying to give me orders.â
âPlease...â
âThat one, you may keep using.â
The room tilted, your shoulders struck the glass, cold blooming along your spine. Sylus rose in a single smooth motion, catching you before you could feel the loss of him properly. His mouth covered yours again, and this kiss was crueler because you could taste yourself on him.
He lifted you with ridiculous ease. Your legs locked around his waist, his hands gripped beneath your thighs. The glass chilled your back while he burned through every point of contact, expensive shirt still between you, his composure fraying only at the edges. Enough to thrill. Enough to frighten.
âYou came here to tempt me,â he said.
âMaybe.â
His mouth brushed yours.
âOr maybe I came here because I missed you.â
There.
A different silence entered him.
It didn't soften his face, Sylus had never been a man who wore tenderness plainly. It moved through him like a shadow passing behind red glass, brief and devastating.
His forehead touched yours.
âThen say that first next time.â
Your chest tightened.
âWould you have let me in?â
âSweetie,â his smiled returned. âI knew you were outside before you knocked.â
Of course he did.
âBed,â you whispered.
Sylus tilted his head.
âAsking now?â
âDemanding.â
That pleased him. Too much.
In one breath, the city vanished from behind you. He carried you through the room while kissing you like patience had finally become inconvenient. The bed caught your back, black sheets, low light, his body above yours, one knee between your thighs, his shirt ruined by your grip.
You reached for the buttons. He caught both your wrists and pinned them above your head.
âA greedy little kitten,â
âYou're overdressed.â
âAnd you're impatient.â He leaned down, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. âWe'll work on that.â
âSylus.â His name came out ruined.
That did it.
Something in his restraint gave a quiet, beautiful crack.
He released your wrists only to strip off his shirt, skin revealed in lamplight, the hard lines of him, the scars, the body of a man who had survived violence and made an empire out of the aftermath. You reached up before you could stop yourself, palm settling over his heart.
Beneath your hand, it beat steadily.
Too steadily.
âDoes anything ever undo you?â you asked.
Sylus covered your hand with his, for once, he did not smile.
âYou have a talent for asking dangerous questions at dangerous times.â
âAnswer me.â
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
âYou do.â
Then he kissed you again, and this time there was no distance left for either of you to pretend into.
© 2026, xxsyluslittlecrowxx, do not feed, train, or analyze this work using AI systems of any kindâincluding scrapers, detectors, or large-language models. redistribution or machine processing of my writing is strictly prohibited.
wooyoung â courreges ss25
Friday nights for you were never about parties, nor about singing the lyrics to your favourite song so loud you'd wake up with a sore throat the next day. Friday nights, for you, were about laying face down in his bed, nose buried in his pillows, as you breathed in his scent. Friday nights, for you, were about moaning your childhood best friend's name so loud, that this would be the reason for your sore throat the next day.
Caleb was protective of you, that was no secret. He wanted to keep you away from every harm in this world, wanted to shield you from every danger and every wrong and every sin. Celeb wanted to keep you pure, delicate and fragile. So he never goes all the way in, even when you cry, even when you beg, even when you whine your âplease Caleb, pleaseâ in his pillows over and over again; his tip is all you're getting.
He first drags his cock against your soaked panties, the head catching against your sensitive nub purposefully âLook at how wet you are. All that because of a little kiss?â He was teasing, always. Then he'd slowly push the ruined lace down your legs, and instead of discarding them somewhere on the floor like a normal person would, he stealthily put them away in his bedside table for later use. âThe prettiestâ he'd breathe out, pressing a kiss along your spine, one hand keeping your face pressed firmly in the cushions, muffling out your whimpers, the other sliding down your body, long fingers finding your little bundle of nerves and drawing tight circles around it.
A few weeks ago, that would've been all, but somehow, someway, you convinced him to take it a step further, now he groaned when he slipped his tip in, far enough to feel your core tightening around him, shallow enough to make himself believe that he wasn't tainting you. And it always ends the same way, he overwhelms you; his hour long make out sessions, his fingers rubbing frantically at your clit, his tip stretching you out but never reaching deep enough; it's unfair, really. But maybe he likes spending his Friday nights watching you cry into his own pillows, looking at you while you choke out his name, even when you finally, finally cum after what feels like ages, frustrated. Maybe he likes spending his Friday nights pulling out of your wet and tight cunt at the very last second, spilling his seed onto your lower back instead of deep into your womb, because for Caleb you're still too good for this, an angel he doesn't want to drag down to hell with him just yet.
What Are We Made For?
Blaidd x Tarnished
Hereâs that unfinished and severely unpolished Blaidd fic I offered literally forever ago. Enjoy? I guess? Cringey as hell sorry.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
â caleb takes your virginity â
âCan I take these off, baby?â he whispered in your ear, immediately noticing how you tensed up when his thumb slid under the waistband of your panties.
âWe can stop if you want. I promise I wonât be upsetâIâd be happy just to keep kissing you all night, really,â he said before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You knew he meant it too. Heâd say it every time this happenedâwhen it seemed like it was about to happen only for it to end up not happening.
âItâs not that. I want to, really. Itâs justâŠâ you struggled to find the words. Caleb suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that he was still on top of you.
âFuckâIâm sorry. I really didnât mean to like put any pressure on you or anything.â He went to change positions, thinking that he was making you uncomfortable, but you grabbed his wrist to still him.
âYouâre not pressuring me. Iâm just uhh⊠nervous, I guess.â
âNervous about what? Are you afraid itâs gonna hurt or something? Iâd go as slow as you wanted me to. I would never want to hurt you.â He was speaking so earnestly, worried that you would ever think that he wouldnât do his best to take care of you.
âIâm worried that you wonât⊠you know," you whispered, still not finishing a complete though. That was when he saw the way your body was closing in on itself as he looked you up and down.
âDo you think I wonât like your body or something?â he was dumbfounded, truly confused by the notion. You were too nervous to even agree that he was right, the entire situation making you feel awkward. You were crawling in your skin.
âLook at me.â You were snapped out of your spiraling thoughts when he cupped your face, turning your head so your eyes locked on his. âYou are⊠perfectâthe most beautiful woman Iâve ever seen. How could I not be in love with your body?â
âItâs not that. Thinking Iâm beautiful, and likeâI donât know, being turned on by me arenât the same thing,â your eyes wandered away from his face as he spoke, your stomach in knots from the confession. The air in the room felt thick, like it was choking youâat least that was the case, until you heard Caleb burst out into a fit of laughter.
You were shocked at the reaction. You looked back at him to find him genuinely hysterical.
âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â he gasped out between cackles. You were in disbelief, pushing his chest back, which didnât move him at all.
âOh fuck youâget off of me at this point,â you groaned, rolling your eyes.
âNo no no wait, Iâm sorry. Iâm just so confused. Thatâs what this is about? I havenât been 'trying' to have sex with you because I didnât want to pressure you. I was trying to be a gentleman, but it damn sure wasnât because I didnât want to see you naked. Why wouldnât I be turned on by you?â
âI donât know itâs just like⊠seeing me naked is different. What ifâI donât know what if you think my vagina looks weird or something.â The use of the formal term almost made him start laughing again.
âBaby, it's not supposed to look one way or another. I'm not thinking about hair or what color it is or anything other than being inside of it, if I'm honest. Look, gimme your hand,â he said, pulling your fingers down between the two of your bodies, pressing your hand against his crotch. Even through his thick sweatpants, you could still feel how hard he was beneath your palm.
âThis is how much you turn me on, and you still have all your clothes on. Imagine how bad Iâll want you when I can finally see all of you.â He entangled your fingers with his. Seeing that you still weren't fully convinced, he continued.
âIf you donât want to have sex with me because youâre not ready, then thatâs one thing, and I understand, really, Iâll wait as long as you need me to. But if itâs just because youâre worried about what Iâll think about your body, then honestly, thatâs insane.â You nodded weakly.
âSo tell me... do you want me to take these panties off?â his finger slid under your waistband again. This time, though, you wanted him to keep going.
âYes,â you whispered. He nodded, moving from between your legs, slowly kissing his way down your body. Your chest was still covered by one of his big t-shirts, but he didnât try to take it off, only wanting to do what you asked. He just lifted it a little bit, pressing a kiss just below your belly button while his hands snaked down your body.
âLift up a little for me.â You lifted your butt off of the bed just enough for him to slide your panties all the way down, tossing them across the room. He noticed the way your thighs tensed up now that you were fully bare in front of him.
âYou gotta spread your legs for me a little bit. Please, let me see you,â he whispered, gently guiding your thighs apart. You could feel a cold gust of air brush against your pussy as he opened your legs.
âOh my god⊠look at you. Youâre already so wet, baby. Iâm just gonna spread your lips a littleâjust like this. Fuckkkâthis pussy is dripping for me. Sheâs so fucking pretty too, sweetheart. Canât believe you were hiding her from me all this time.â His words only made you ache even more, a soft whine escaping your mouth at the sight of him looking at you so directly like this. He thought it was so cute how he could see your little hole clench and open back up while he studied it.
âAw, I think she likes when I talk to her, huh? Sheâs begging me to put something insideâis that what you want, baby?â You nodded, a little more excitedly than you wanted to let on.
âOkay, Iâll help you out a little then. Let me just see if I can get you a little wetter first, yeah?â He leaned into you, thumbs holding your lips open, his mouth only an inch away from you before he spoke up again. âDonât look away.â
Thatâs when it happenedâCaleb licked your pussy. You had dreamed of this moment more times than you could count, but it was somehow better than you couldâve imagined. He moaned at the taste of your juices on his tongue.
âThis pussy is so fucking sweet too. You wanna do something for me, baby?â he asked, reaching one of his free hands up to your lips. âSuck on my fingers and get em wet for me. Gotta make sure everything is nice and slippery so my fingers slide in easy, yeah? Come onâopen up for me.â He moaned as he felt your lips wrap around two of his fingers, the feeling of your tongue swirling around them getting him painfully hard.
âFuckkk look at that. You look so sexy like thisâthe way your legs twitch when I kiss you righttt here.â You bucked against him as he pressed a soft kiss to your clit. âAw there it is. Is this the spot you want me to lick? Yeah? Right here, baby? What if I suck on it a little bit?â He pulled your clit into his mouth, gently sucking and licking on it as your whines were muffled by his fingers.
âOkay gimme my hand back, baby. I think youâre almost readyâfucking dripping all over the bed already.â He watched in awe as he slid his fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva keeping the two of you connected. âYou did such a good job for me. Got my fingers so wet. Iâm gonna try to put one in, okay?â He checked your face for any hesitation, but all he saw was you nodding, wide-eyed. You were one second away from flat-out begging him. He pressed a soft kiss on your thigh, reveling in the way you whined as his soaked fingers slid up and down your slit before pressing his middle finger against your entrance.
âOkay, take a deep breath in for me⊠good job. Now let it outââ he whispered, slowly inching the tip of his finger inside of you. He didnât get very far though, after only getting to his first knuckle, he noticed your thighs stiffening beneath him, your pussy clenching too tight for him to move. âDonât tense up on me, sweetheart. Youâve been doing so good letting me play with you. Try to relax a little bit, donât focus on my finger right now. Focus on my tongue, yeah?â Once he brought his mouth back down, suckling on your clit, it was indeed, impossible to focus on anything else. You couldnât help but push yourself against him, his finger now effortlessly sliding the rest of the way in.
âMmmhmmm shit, look at how my finger disappeared inside of you. This pussy is sucking me in so good. Iâm gonna keep sucking your clit, yeah? You wanna do something else for me?â You nodded fervently, eager to do anything else he asked if it meant his long finger would keep sliding in and out of your cunt like this. âYeah? Lift your shirt up. I wanna watch you play with those tits for me.â He used his free hand to push your shirt up a little further, slightly exposing your stomach. You grabbed it from him, pushing it all the way upâyour body now completely naked. Meanwhile, Caleb still had all of his clothes on, and if it hadnât been for the way he was fucking you with his fingers so slow and deep, that fact probably wouldâve bothered you.
âBaby, theyâre so fucking pretty. Theyâre perfectâŠeverything about you is just so damn perfect.â He spoke again, words making your eyes roll into the back of your head, his voice so deep and melodic that anything he said was getting you embarassingly wet. âPinch your nipples a littleâjust like that fuckkk, you grip me so tight when you do that.â He, too, was getting embarrassingly turned on, pre-cum soaking his pants just from the sight of watching you toy with your swollen nipples, your pussy fluttering around his finger whenever you gripped them a little too hard.
âI think I can get another finger inside now. You wanna try?â he asked, taking the opportunity to spit on your pussy, letting his saliva drip from your clit, lubing up your entrance just a little moreâas if you werenât wet enough already. In Calebâs mind, though, it was better safe than sorry. You agreed to his proposal, all of your earlier anxieties completely gone by now.
âYouâreâmmhâtighter than I thought. It doesnât hurt, does it?â He kept checking, noticing the way your face scrunched up a little as he stretched you open with his second finger. You werenât cringing in pain thoughâyou were getting so desperate to be filled now. Suddenly, the foreplay was becoming more aggravating that you thought it was worth. You needed to feel his cock inside of you now.
âPleaseeee pleaseâŠjust put it in already.â Your voice broke, the humiliation of having to beg making the words catch in your throat. He just shook his head, though, not even bothering to look away from your cunt to make eye contact anymore.
âMmmh I donât think Iâm gonna be able to fit, today. Youâre just so fucking tightâI can barely get my fingers in and out. Letâs just stay like this, yeah? I donât wanna hurt you, sweetheart,â he said, outright denying you. You couldnât even protest, the sensation of his fingers curling inside of you now, thrusting themselves against your g-spot making it hard to think straightâonly small whimpers leaving your lips.
âDonât whine, baby. Be good, just focus on this pussy for me. Youâre stretching open so well for me. I just gotta train you a little bit more, huh? Youâll be ready to take my dick in no time.â
âBut, I want to make you feel good too, Caleb.â
âDonât worry about meâI just want you to cum. Thatâll make me feel good, yeah?â He meant it too. You could tell just how focused he was. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he tried to study which ways he could move his fingers to make you moan the loudest. You were painfully close, but something was missing. Just as he was about to wrap his lips around your clit again, growing impatient to see you finish, you reached your hand out. Your fingers limply pushed against his forehead, which was slick with sweat.
âCome up here, pleaseâŠkiss me.â
âAw, you want a kiss, baby? Youâre so cute. You need me to kiss you so you can cum? I can do that for you, sweet girl.â It wasnât until he brought his face closer to yours, his hand still between your legs, that you noticed that he was even harder than before now. A damp spot on his pants brushed against your leg.
He grabbed your face, capturing your lips in a kiss. His tongue slid in and out of your mouth, with his fingers thrusting into your cunt. The faster he moved, the more he felt you moan into his mouth, your walls spasming against his fingers as he kept pressing against your spot.
âCome on, thatâs it. I can feel you clenching again. Think this pussyâs ready to cum for me. Yeah? You wanna cum on my fingers like a good girl?â Heâd finally found the rhythm that made your squeal against him. You were begging again now, pleading for him not to change his paceâhe didnât. Instead, he curled his fingers, as if he was actually trying to dig the cum out of you with his hand.
âGive it to me. Please cum for me, baby. I wanna know what you taste like when you cum. Let me have it. Yeah? Right here? Whatâs gonna happen if I keep finger-fucking this spot, huh?â
âFuckkkâIâm gonna cum, Caleb.â
âYou are? Well then do it for me. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers. Itâs okayâdonât think about it, just let go for me. Let me this pretty pussy cumâpretty fucking virgin pussy cumming for me for the first time. Sheâs doing such a good job taking my fingers. Just like thatâawww there it is, baby.â Your back arched off of the bed, as you came. His mouth moved to pop one of your nipples between his lips while you came around his fingers. He was moaning in time with you, noticing how you got tighter around him whenever you heard him whine into your ear.
âGooood girl, thatâs it. Keep cumming for me,â he whispered against your skin, as he slid his fingers out of you. Instead, using his palm to rub you through your orgasm, letting you soak his entire wrist. Your nipples were bucking against his tongue while you squirmed underneath him.
âItâs okay. I got you⊠shhh, youâre okay.â When it finally became too much, his touch now overstimulating you, you grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from your cunt.
âGood job, you came so pretty for me. I bet your cum tastes so sweet too.â As you gasped to catch your breath, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his lips, licking your juices off of his hand.
"I was right," he whispered.
âYou sure you donât want to try? Putting it in, I mean? I feel bad that you didnâtââ he cut you off, immediately seeing what you were worried about.
âDonât worry about me. Iâm just glad you trusted me to touch you. Thank you for letting me be with you like this.â His took his time feathering kisses across your skin, up your chest, across your collarbone, up your neck, until he reached your lips once againâgiving you another deep kiss before speaking up.
âGood things take time, yeah? Getting to the point where I can be inside of you, without hurting you, yâknow? That would be perfect. So⊠Iâm willing to take the time for that.â
đ'đđ đđ đđ âč đœđźđżđž đđČđŒđ»đŽđ”đđź
pairingïčąpark seonghwa x fem!reader genreïčąsmut. headcanon format. dilf!seonghwa, teacher & student, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, seonghwa in his mid 30s), uni!au + reader studies fashion. cheating (disclaimer: i do not condone such actions in real life. everything here is entirely fictional and for the sake of the plot), power imbalance, corruption kink, manipulation, unprotected sex, creampie, praise + slight degradation, pet names (angel, sweet thing) synopsisïčąin pursuit of being the perfect student, so close to fulfilling your goal, one of the professors did not give you the high grade you deserved. you wanted to be perfect, not a homewrecker. but if that's what he likes, whatever his type, you'll do it.
⊠RETURN TO THE EVENT
DILF!SEONGHWA is one of the best professors in south korea when it comes to fashion history. of course, first place technically belongs to your other professor, kim hongjoong, but thatâs hardly the point when the two of them run a fashion line together under the name matz despite their young age.
DILF!SEONGHWA is strict, but never to the point of being cruel. still, if you want to be a designer, a model, or work anywhere near the fashion world. perfection is expected, and as a model himself, he knows better than anyone what the industry demands.
DILF!SEONGHWA has helped you more than once. he sees it clearly: you are perfect for this field, born for it even. your ideas are striking, undeniably brilliant. youâre studying under the guidance of matz â not everyone is lucky enough to get into this university, let alone graduate with outstanding grades and a guarantee of achieving their dream.
DILF!SEONGHWA'S final exam in fashion history was supposed to be just that: final. the last test before graduation, the last secured A that would look immaculate on your diploma. you were the student with the highest grades, the recipient of the highest scholarship. one grade lower, literally just one, would be enough to ruin everything you worked for.
DILF!SEONGHWA had already entered the grades into the system. your friends all knew theirs by now; they even asked about yours. you didnât bother checking, didnât need to, you told them, confidently, that youâd passed with excellence again. until evening came, alone in your dorm room, refreshing the site out of idle curiosity, only to see a lower score staring back at you. shock settles first, then panic as you refresh the page once, twice, and nothing changes.
DILF!SEONGHWA expects you to show up the very next day. you donât even have class with him, but he lets you into his office. heâs seated behind his desk, attention fixed on his computer: so elegant and composed, that it makes your stomach twist at the thought that this same man graded your work so unfairly.
DILF!SEONGHWA gestures for you to sit in the chair across him. you donât; instead, you calmly tell him, despite the anxiety that rushes through, âmr. park, i think you made a mistake with my assessment."
he looks up then, finally pulling his attention away from the screen. his chair rolls back slightly as he rests his arms on the desk. lifting his glasses, pushing them up onto his head, and you canât help but take in his features ⊠so beautiful in a way that feels almost like he came out of a fairytale. âmiss (last name), please take a seat.â you obey this time, sitting while still staring at him, brows knitting together. âi understand your dissatisfaction. but if you received that assessment, then it was deserved.â
DILF!SEONGHWA watches you inhale slowly before speaking again, âiâm sorry,â you say carefully, âbut thereâs no way i earned that grade after knowing the material from start to finish. i couldnât have made that many mistakes, and even if i did, canât i at least see them?â
you expect a nod, professionalism and fairness. alas all you get is a big fat no.
DILF!SEONGHWA notices how your shoulders stiffen as you fight the urge to argue, or to beg. disappointment settles on you so quickly, and then his eyes drift to the matz skirt youâre wearing. your entire outfit is unmistakably from their spring collection. the white shirt and neatly tied necktie make it seem more sexual than academic.
DILF!SEONGHWA looks you in the eyes again, âmiss, i know you are one of our honorary students. youâre at the very top of your major,â he says calmly, âbut perfection doesnât mean youâre exempt from mistakes. and i can assure you that a B is still a good grade.â
good, not excellent, thatâs all you hear. resentment burns just beneath your ribs, tangled with the desperate need for his approval. you didnât come this far to be good; you came to be undeniable.
DILF!SEONGHWA watches you swallow as you clench your hands, âwhat can i do to change it?â asking quieter now. âi still have time, so iâll do anything. please, i can sew, i can design, or even model, if you need someone for that. just give me a chance, please mr. park, itâs important to me.â
DILF!SEONGHWA freezes when you mention modeling. âfinal grades arenât something i compromise on,â he exclaims as your heart sinks. âhoweverâŠâ his fingers tap the desk. matz has an upcoming show, and they need one female model. if youâre willing to learn how to walk properly in rather high heels and perform like a pro, he could reconsider. practice would require privacy; his personal studio would do.
âthe show is in a week and a half, if you would liââ
âyes,â you say immediately with no hesitation, or pride left to protect. âiâll do it.â
DILF!SEONGHWA tells you to see him tomorrow to talk the details out. you nod, heart racing as you leave his office. he doesnât clarify where to meet him, because he expects you to know exactly where to find him.
you arrive earlier than expected at DILF!SEONGHWA'S house. as you notice the signs of a family without them being present: small shoes by the door, a crayon drawing on the fridge, a bunch of make-up products that clearly aren't his.
he casually mentioned that his wife is still at work, his two kids wonât be back until the afternoon because of kindergarten and school. the sentence is innocent, the implication not so much.
DILF!SEONGHWA takes you to his studio, a building next to his house that feels more like a second home. he shows you the dress before you put it on, explaining how it embodies the showâs theme: angelic.
itâs a sheer ivory corset dress with visible boning that cinches the waist and sculpts an hourglass shape. the bodice hugs your torso perfectly, while the wrap-style skirt curves over your hips and opens into a high-thigh slit trimmed with soft feathers. sheer lace gloves are meant to match the delicate texture, completing the ethereal vision they aim for.
DILF!SEONGHWA guides you to the changing room, giving you privacy. when you emerge and step onto the small circular podium, he sees you fully for the first time, and is utterly speechless. glasses slipping slightly down his nose. the design fits you too perfectly; his gaze lingers, memorizing every line and curve.
he walks slowly around the podium, describing the theme: purity and light. his eyes never leave you as he quietly whispers, studying you like art. âit looks like it was made for you.â you donât thank him, just meeting his keen designer eyes. remember, youâre here for the grade.
DILF!SEONGHWA adjusts your posture under the excuse of professionalism. hands settle at your waist, fixing the fabric at your hip. you wobble slightly, because the heels are higher than expected, instinctively reaching for balance. he catches your arm instantly, doesnât let go until a few seconds have passed, correcting your walk by placing a hand at your lower back.
âcareful, you should be comfortable before taking a step.â
DILF!SEONGHWA offers you water, something sweet, and hospitality above everything. then he suggests one more walk, another twirl, posing again with his hand still resting on your waist. he looks at you in the mirror as you meet his gaze there, too.
thatâs when the realization hits. youâre not thinking about the grade anymore. youâre thinking about how you want his hands on you â you want your young, devastatingly hot professor to touch you, his fingers slipping beneath the skirt, feeling just how wet you are.
DILF!SEONGHWA steps up at the podium, his hand moves your hair over your left shoulder, exposing the right. he leans in, his head hovering close, and god, you look like an angel. a perfect, little pathetic angel willing to do anything to shine the brightest.
pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin to raise goosebumps, enough to steal your breath as he catches the hitch, and smirks. he notices how you donât hesitate, donât push him away or question him. if sleeping with your professor is what it takes to secure that grade, then sex is what youâll have. and itâs not like he isnât everyoneâs crush, in your major and well beyond it.
DILF!SEONGHWA chuckles softly, pulling back only after leaving a second kiss. his hand slides beneath your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror, at your own eyes staring back. âso obedient, arenât you, angel?â he murmurs. âwilling to beg on your knees just to be popular.â all you manage is a soft, broken whine.
DILF!SEONGHWA slowly turns you to face him. you wobble again in your heels, but he catches you easily by the waist, pulling you closer. that same devilish smirk never leaves his face. âyouâll do everything i ask for that grade⊠right?â
you gulp: baffled, shocked, and so painfully aroused. ây-yesâŠâ
itâs all he needs to have his mouth on yours, teeth catching your lower lip as you moan and gasp into the kiss. your hands fall uselessly to your sides because you donât know what else to do.
DILF!SEONGHWA hooks the skirt up carefully, as he doesnât want to ruin hongjoongâs hard work, but he wants to keep you in it. you look too beautiful like this, and seonghwa has always liked beautiful things. more than that, he likes getting his hands on them.
DILF!SEONGHWA sits back at the podium, jeans down, dressed only in his white tee and those glasses on top of his head. the surface beneath him is a little cold, but it wonât stay that way for long. youâre trying your hardest not to cry as you sink down on his length, and whether he helps you or you help yourself hardly matters, since you have to work hard for your grade. your hands grip his shoulders tightly because even if youâre wet and aching, itâs still too much: the pressure, not the size.
but once everything fits, you take him so well that you moan loudly. he breathes heavily, lets out a low grunt, then tells you to ride him. to show him how badly you want to graduate, how perfectly filthy a student you can be.
because the truth is, DILF!SEONGHWA has always liked you. but he liked you in ways that werenât meant for teacher-student relationships. maybe it was love, or maybe it was lust for something young, pretty, and naive.
over the years, as your professor, he developed a nasty obsession â a fixation. whatâs happening now is only one of many dreams heâs had about you. dreams where you wore something from matz, something made specifically for you. when he and hongjoong designed this angelic dress, you were his muse. he just lied and said he was thinking of his wife.
âcome on, sweet thing,â he murmurs. âfuck yourself on me, yeah?â
DILF!SEONGHWA is in pure ecstasy as you ride him, bouncing up and down on his cock. you moan, whine, whimper as it feels so good fucking your devastatingly handsome professor as he watches and does nothing. your walls clench around him, squeezing him tight, eyes rolling back as you stop thinking of him as mr. park, the professor who denied you the grade you deserved, and started thinking of him as just seonghwa. the superstar model, sharp features and big cock.
he leans back on his hands as you dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging them down to his biceps. âmmm⊠feels good, doesnât it?â whispering, and you canât even process the words. âyouâre always so⊠obedient. my perfect little doll.â
all you can do is mewl, hot tears spilling. even though youâre doing most of the work, his cock hits every perfect spot, and you feel like you might pass out. so he finally decided to fuck you.
DILF!SEONGHWA'S hands move to support you instead of himself as he slams into you, skin slapping loud enough to echo through the walls. you scream as the sudden intensity rips an orgasm out of you. you donât know why, but you cling to him, arms wrapping around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as you cry, moans muffled against his skin.Â
DILF!SEONGHWA chuckles softly. arenât you just magnificent? his hands slide up into your hair, stroking gently as he asks, âwhat was that, angel? hmm? can you repeat it for me?â
âm-moâŠâ you sniffle. âm-more, please⊠i want more.â
greedy angel. never knowing when to stop sinning.
DILF!SEONGHWA gives you more. he pulls three orgasms from you, one after another, the dress still intact because heâs careful like that. then he looks at your ruined face: tears spilling, mascara smudged, and it turns him on even more. slamming back into you harder, cock abusing your hole, kissing you when youâre about to scream as he finally comes, spilling himself inside you.
DILF!SEONGHWA wants to keep his cum buried deep, letting it leak out slowly, until you beg him not to pull out, having time before his family comes back. itâs disgusting, he knows, but at the end of the day, heâs just a man who appreciates beauty, inside and out.
DILF!SEONGHWA continues to fuck you on every surface of the studio, then throughout the house, until you end up in his bed â completely spent, his cum still inside you, some of it sticky on your thighs. eventually, he pulls you into the shower and sends you home, even paying for the taxi, telling you to text him when you arrive at your dorm.
DILF!SEONGHWA will keep you a secret as he later dines with his family. just as heâll keep one secret from you as well: the grade you received was never a B. it was always an A. he just needed a way to catch the attention of the little angel with devil wings.
taglist ( open )ïčą @strhwa @lillys-bakery @les4heeseung @yeehaw-odyssey @livonianmaia @estrnrea @chanscappuccino @lateez @cyberpxnks @zerowantstobattle @raicecakes-and-buldak @finewinesixtynine @jensdior  @hwavon @hwa2tiny @woosansbb @haleria @lol-imtrash2000 @haohaoshoe @iamagnesrrr @phesodain @chuuyaobsessed @niyareloadedd @enhacolor @atetheluck @eviemae5864 @booposaurusrex @belongjoong @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @urfavleobiscuit @way2jellyous @cultofsin @hearts4itoshi @matznana @eggielix @sangibaby @dovelydrz @tinyfixon @zayn-210 @seungminimpossible @pilmographyy @pinkyerkz @ophelie-dctl @minkisdoll
EVENT ONLY TAGLIST (comment or dm to be added) :: @matchahintonagar @pineapple-burgah @3nhyxx @zerefdragn33l @atz10248 @fixonjade @taytay-00 @kaleigh-2002 @spenceatiny18 @hellomynameis-jessica
© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.
new magic wand
ă pairing: best man! wooyoung x bride to be! reader
ă wc: 5.7k
ă plot: all his life, wooyoung chased after sanâs shadow. as much as he loved his best friend, he also resented him for what he had. the car. the promotion. the respect and adoration. the girl. could wooyoungâs desperate desire to be as loved risk losing his best friend?
ă content: san and wooyoung are childhood best friends, reader is engaged to san, jealousy, cheating, betrayal, smut with angst, finance bros woosan, choking, cum eating, toxic insecure woo but we understand him okay
ă playlist: make u mine- blood orchid, new magic wand- tyler the creator, are we still friends?- tyler the creator, house of balloons- the weekend, psychokiller- artemas, southbound- artemas
a/n: hi. i've been working on this since july and im honestly sick of looking at it lol. life kinda sucks right now so im distracting myself again. I want to thank everyone who left feedback on my last fic. I read every single one and I truly appreciate it. I miss a lot of you. im sorry i still don't want a big presence on here. even though im posting this now, i still condsider myself inactive. thank you in advance for reading.
Wooyoung woke up to a stiff neck. He always slept in strange positions, often resulting in some body pains, but this morning, he truly felt like he had been hit by a truck. Slowly, he arose, stirring over his messy sheets, rubbing his tired eyes awake. His head was pounding from all the drinking the night before. He reached his hand out to the nightstand, relieved to see a half-filled glass of water waiting for him to drink. His hand stopped briefly when he noticed the photo frame sitting right next to it. He frowned.Â
It was an old picture of him and San from their first day of high school. Sanâs eyes were scrunched up as he smiled, his arm hanging over Wooyoung loosely. Wooyoung had the same neutral look he always did, neither smiling nor frowning. He remembered that day. Their moms wanted a photo of them together to mark their big day. San was happy to comply, but Wooyoung was slightly annoyed. He hated taking pictures.Â
And there it was. That pinch of regret stirred in his stomach as pieces of last night came into focus. He started to wish he had left himself a bottle of whiskey instead.Â
San and Wooyoung had been best friends their entire lives. From elementary school classrooms to dorming at college together, they had been through it all. Everywhere San went, Wooyoung followed. They went to the same university, interned at the same firm, and received similar job offers upon graduation. On the outside, their friendship was admirable. But Wooyoung knew better. Something was rotting between them since the moment they met, something San was too naive to notice.
Wooyoung couldnât help but feel competitive around San. He had spent his whole life trying to surpass him in every category. When San joined the high school track team, Wooyoung followed and won a silver medal. When San decided he was going to major in finance, Wooyoung double majored in finance and economics. When San got an interview with one of the Big 4 companies, Wooyoung made the recruiter cum on his fingers until she reconsidered his application. And when San got a brand new BMW, Wooyoung got an Audi (used, though heâd never admit that to anyone).Â
Wooyoung never wanted to move so far away for college. He never wanted to study finance, nor did he ever picture himself slaving away for a private equity firm. The only thing heâd truly wanted, always, since the very beginning, was whatever San had.
San, who was always so beautiful without trying, so effortlessly charming and kind, and so disarmingly naive, walked through life with this radiant innocence that made people fall in love with him. The elders loved him. Professors adored him. Strangers trusted him. Lovers never forgot him.Â
Wooyoung, of course, loved him. He would do anything for San. Even kill for him. But he also resented him. It was a cruel contradiction. How could so much love be wrapped up in bitterness?Â
San had everything without trying. And Wooyoung, despite walking beside him every step of the way, always felt like he was falling behind. He could mimic Sanâs path, but he could never mimic Sanâs light. He questioned himself a lot about this. Was there a prize at the end of all this? Or was he just hopelessly chasing Sanâs shadow, ignoring the fact that he would never be as loved as him?
As the two grew into their late 20s, this silent competition of his had dwindled. Wooyoung didnât care anymore. He didnât care that San got a promotion or that he got the nice waterfront apartment lease everyone had been bidding on for the past 6 months. It seemed that the childish need to outdo him simply faded away.Â
That was, until he met her.Â
Y/N. Sanâs sweet, soft-spoken girlfriend who soon became his fiancĂ©e. She was one of the trusteeâs daughters, someone San had met at a company party. The young lady had a smile that could stop Wooyoung in his tracks and a laugh that made his heart flutter. He told himself it was just a harmless crush, something fleeting and insignificant. But if he was honest with himself, he wasnât sure whether he wanted her⊠Or if he just wanted to win.
Win over San? Win something that truly mattered? Something he wasnât supposed to have but always wanted?
He tried to ignore the feeling at first. He was good at playing the loyal friend. But she made it harder with every laugh, every look, every accidental brush of her hand against his. Sure, they would flirt a little, as a joke, and sometimes heâd brush his fingers over her thigh during group dinners, but Wooyoung was always flirty with everyone; it didnât mean anything. It was all just harmless fun.Â
But then, his gaze began to linger longer on her than it should have. Heâd stare at her glossy lips every time she talked about the wedding, wondering what flavor her lip balm would taste like on his lips. It got to the point where heâd think about her late at night, with his hand reaching down past his waistband, wishing it were her making him feel good.Â
He knew it wasnât all in his head. Sure, there were moments, quiet, almost too quick to notice, when she looked at him the same way he looked at her. Lips parted like she was on the edge of a confession, eyes pleading like she wanted more than a small conversation, as if there was something trapped behind them, something she wanted to say but couldnât. Something she chose, again and again, to swallow instead.
Wooyoungâs attraction to her had reached a breaking point. It wasnât a small crush. It was an obsession. It was about power. About proving to himself that he could take what San had and make it his own. Why did San get to have her anyway? He already had the apartment, the shiny new car, and the promotion. What else could he possibly need? The more he looked at them together, with her arms linked with his, lips curling up in soft laughter at his lame jokes, the more it enraged him. It just wasnât fair. The line between desire and resentment had blurred long ago, and he wasnât sure how much more of this he could take.
It all came to a head last night, after too many drinks at a friendâs dinner party and too little self-control. The jealousy, the longing, it all bubbled up inside him, and before he knew it, he was in the venueâs supply closet with his hard cock stuffed deep inside the bride-to-be.Â
He felt terrible. Not because he betrayed his best friendâs trust, but more so because he didnât feel bad about it. He could still feel her on him, her soft skin slapping against his, how her shaky moans made his cock twitch inside her, how she kissed him so deeply and passionately as he came. He had never felt something like that before. They just made sense together, and he knew she felt it too. She was perfect in every way, yet she didnât belong to him.Â
Wooyoung grabbed his phone, checking his notifications for any sign of her. But there was nothing. He opened the messenger app and tapped her contact name, staring at a conversation they had three weeks ago that he couldnât remember.Â
Should I say something? He wondered. What would I even say? Are you upset? Do you hate me? Did San find out? Can I see you again?
Just then, a message bubble lit up his screen.
sannie >.<: hey, you still coming over for the game later?
sannie >.<: or is your ass still hungover?
Wooyoung groaned, rolling onto his side.
Right. Tonight was the housewarming. San had turned it into a game night, something casual with beer, snacks, and background noise from the TV, but clearly it was an excuse to show off the apartment heâd spent months putting together piece by piece. The apartment he now shared with her.
His chest tightened. For a moment, he considered saying no. It was Sunday after all. He could blame the hangover or the long work week ahead. He started typing out an apology, promising to come over another time, and hovered his thumb over the send button.
Then it hit him.
Sheâll be there.
The thought cut clean through the nausea and the dull ache behind his eyes. He imagined her on that couch, walking barefoot across the floor, laughing at something stupid San said, trying her best to act like nothing had happened the night before. His thumb hesitated. Then he deleted the message.
Wooyoung typed a new reply.
me: yeah, yeah. Iâll be there.
me: give me a few
He stared at the screen after hitting send, his pulse picking up.Â
Wooyoung arrived just as the sun was dipping low, the hallway outside Sanâs apartment already smelling faintly of beer and wings. He paused before knocking, adjusting his jacket and brushing out his hair with his fingers, preparing himself. For a second, he considered turning around. Maybe sheâd find him shameless for showing up like this so soon after what happened between them. Maybe he is shameless.Â
Suddenly, the door swung open, interrupting his thoughts.
âWoo!â San grinned, already holding a drink. âYou made it!â
âHey!â Wooyoung said easily. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the ring camera installed next to the door. Shit, did he see him playing with his hair?
The apartment was warm and lived-in. Shoes by the door that werenât Sanâs. A throw blanket was folded neatly over the couch. Framed photos of people leaning against the wall, some of which he didnât recognize.Â
âCan I get you a drink?â San asked, already settling into his position as a good host. âThereâs beer and soda.âÂ
âIâm good with just water.âÂ
San disappeared into the pantry. Wooyoungâs eyes caught her immediately. She stood near the kitchen island, pouring drinks, her hair loose, sleeves pushed up her arms. She looked like she belonged here, the missing piece to the apartment that made it whole and complete. When her eyes met his, she froze for half a second too long before resuming with the appetizers. Wooyoung frowned.
San returned to the living room, tossing a water bottle to Wooyoung. âDrinks are there, foodâs on the counter, game starts in ten. Mingi and the rest should be here any minute.â
Wooyoung nodded, holding onto the bottle mostly to give his hands something to do. He stayed seated on the couch as San switched the channel. His eyes would drift to the side, curious to see if she was looking at him, but she stayed standing with her back to him, busying herself with snacks.
The TV filled the silence with noise. Loud commercial breaks, fake excitement from the sports commentator. None of them was really watching.
When Mingi, Jongho, and Seonghwa arrived, the apartment grew louder, which helped Wooyoung feel more at ease, like the attention could lay off him for a while. Jokes flew between the boys. Mingi complained about the team lineup. San resumed his role as host effortlessly, moving between rooms, opening bottles, and explaining where things were.
At some point, without anyone acknowledging it, she sat down, close enough that Wooyoung could feel the warmth of her leg burning through the sofa cushion. He so badly wanted to look over at her, see her red cheeks once more, but his eyes remained on the TV, nodding along as the boys talked over the commentator.Â
But he couldnât help it. Eventually, anytime San leaned over to shout at the TV, Wooyoungâs head tilted beside him just to spare a glance at her. He noticed the way she tucked her feet under herself, how her nose whistled with each inhale, the way she laughed quietly at Mingiâs dumb commentary, how she never once dared to even look at him.Â
He leaned back, arm stretched along the back of the couch, careful not to touch her, but close enough that sheâd notice. His head dipped towards her ear, voice low enough so only she could hear him.Â
âYou always this tense during games?âÂ
She stiffened slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. âIâm fine.âÂ
He leaned closer. âRelax. Iâm not gonna bite. Not here, at least.âÂ
For the first time that night, she shot him a look, a warning to stop before someone noticed how weird they were being. Wooyoung thought it was well worth it.Â
âChips are running low,â Jongho pouted at the nearly empty bowl. âGot any more?âÂ
Suddenly, she rose to her feet, as if she was waiting for an excuse to get away. âIn the pantry, Iâll go grab some.âÂ
âIâll help, think we need more drinks too,â Wooyoung said instantly, following her lead.Â
The pantry was small; there was barely enough space for two people. Wooyoung nudged the door closed behind them, not all the way, but just enough to carve out a pocket of quiet. He waited. She didnât look at him; instead, she focused on stacking bags of chips in her arms like they required full concentration.
âYou canât just ignore me,â he said softly.
She didnât miss a beat. âIâm not ignoring you.â
He huffed a quiet laugh. âYou didnât even say hi. Hurt my feelings a little.â
She shrugged and resumed her task.
He grew impatient. âCome on, Y/N. Just talk to me.â
âThereâs nothing to talk about.â
She kept shifting around him, navigating the narrow space with precision, always just out of reach, like he was lava she had to avoid touching. When she brushed past him again, he caught her shoulder.
âAbout last nightââ
She slammed him back against the shelves, her hand flying up to cover his mouth.
âDonât,â she whispered sharply. âNot here. Not in my house. My fiancĂ© is right outside. Are you insane?â
Right on cue, Sanâs shout echoed from the living room as their team scored. Wooyoung wrapped his fingers around her wrist and eased her hand away. Her skin was warm and soft. The kind of touch that lodged itself under his ribs.
âI doubt they can hear us,â he murmured.
She exhaled, visibly forcing herself to calm down. âLast nightâŠâ Her voice lowered. âIt shouldnât have happened. Everyone kept asking me about the wedding, the cake, the venue, the dress, and I was overwhelmed. San is overwhelming. I was drunk. I was alone. I was scared.â
She stopped and looked at him.
âAnd you were there,â she said quietly. âYou asked if I was okay. I donât know why I pulled you into that closet.â
Her gaze dropped down to her wrist. She noticed his hand still holding hers and pulled away as if burned, rubbing her knuckles, stepping back.
âIâm marrying San,â she said firmly. âWe donât need to talk about last night ever again. Itâs best to forget all about it. For our sakeâŠFor San.â She said, her voice shaking.Â
For a second, something bitter rose in Wooyoungâs chest. Being something she reached for in a moment of weakness, and then shoved away. It made him feel used. Like loving someone like him was something to be ashamed of. He didnât know what he was thinking when he stepped into the pantry with her. Maybe he was infatuated with the idea that he could be wanted so badly, against all odds, but he realized now he was only a fool for letting himself chase this fantasy. She needed him to think straight, and he could see it now. Engaging with this further could hurt the two people he loved most in this world. But then again, he remembered her breath hitching. The way she clung to him. How she didnât hesitate. There was something there, and she was too scared to admit it.Â
Her eyes lifted to his, pleading with him.
âRight?â she asked. âNothing happened?â
Wooyoung swallowed. He had a hundred things he wanted to say. But looking at her, cornered, terrified of her own honesty, he knew saying any of them would shatter her.
He cleared his throat.
âRight,â he said quietly. âNothing happened.â
The bar was loud. Music thumped through the floors, people cheered at some game playing on the TV, and San and their friends were already half-drunk, laughing about something stupid, but Wooyoung barely heard any of it. He nursed his whiskey at the edge of their table, pretending to be part of the celebration, nodding at the right moments, smiling when he thought he was supposed to.
San dropped into the seat beside him, grinning, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the attention.
âWoo,â he slung an arm around his shoulder, âTwo more days, man. Two days and Iâm a married man.â
âYeah,â Wooyoung forced a smile. âCrazy how fast itâs coming.â
San laughed, not noticing the way Wooyoungâs jaw clenched. âIâm honestly so excited to get it over with, you know? Sheâs been so stressed these past few days, and itâs been hard seeing her like that, worrying over every little thing. But itâll all be worth it. Youâll see, sheâs gonna look stunning. She had her dress custom-made.âÂ
Wooyoung nodded stiffly. âRight.â He took another sip of his whiskey, letting it burn down his throat. It had been over a month since he last spoke to her. A month since she stopped answering his messages, stopped reacting, stopped even pretending he existed. Every time his phone buzzed, his chest tightened before dropping again. He hated that he still checked. Hated how badly he wanted even one word from her. And now, he had to play the cheerful, supportive Best Man, and act like everything was okay, like his entire world wasnât falling apart.Â
San nudged him with his elbow. âYou good? You havenât talked much since you came.âÂ
Wooyoung set his glass down. âSorry, man. Iâm justâŠâ He thought for a moment about what to say that could ease his suspicions. Not that San was a suspicious person to begin with. âItâs just crazy, you know? We were little kids playing tag, and now Iâm the best man at your wedding. Time just really flies. Itâs a lot to take in.âÂ
San smiled at him, soft and nostalgic. âYeah, itâs wildâŠhey, you never really told me what you thought about her. So tell me. Is she best man approved?â He said with a wink.Â
Wooyoung wanted to gouge his own eyes out. âYeah, sheâs great. Youâre really lucky,â He said through gritted teeth.Â
San beamed. âI really am.â Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he added, âAnd I really want this for you too, you know? One day, youâll find someone. Someone who drives you crazy enough to marry them.â He chuckled. âMaybe weâll even have kids at the same time. They can grow up together as we did. Wouldnât that be nice?â
Something sharp twisted in Wooyoungâs chest. He felt heat crawl up his neck, embarrassment mixing with irritation. He hated the way San said it, so casual and hopeful, like Wooyoung was justâŠbehind. Like he needed reassurance that love would happen to him eventually. Like it hadnât already happened and been ripped away without explanation.
Did San think he hadnât tried? That he was incapable of being loved? That this was some missing piece he just hadnât figured out yet?
His fingers curled around his glass. He swallowed hard and chased the feeling down with another drink. âYeah,â he muttered, nodding like a good sport. âMaybe.â
San didnât notice the tension. He never did. Mingi called his name from across the bar, and Seonghwa was already dragging him toward the pool table. San waved back at Wooyoung, shouting something about beer pong as he disappeared into the crowd.
Wooyoung was alone again.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. His heart jumped before he could stop it. He pulled it out too quickly, thumb hovering over the screen, then his face fell. Another useless app notification. Nothing from her.
He opened their message thread anyway. The screen glowed back at him, painfully empty on one side. His texts stacked neatly, unanswered, like proof he didnât want but kept rereading. He scrolled, even though he already knew how it would end.
Sanâs laughter rang out somewhere behind him. Wooyoung clenched his jaw.
He chugged the rest of his whiskey, the alcohol doing nothing to stop the irritation buzzing under his skin. Couldnât she even send one message? Just one? Instead, he was here, listening to people talk about weddings and futures, about finding someone, as if it were that simple. Maybe it was easy for people like San. But he wasnât San. God, why did he have to fall for someone who wasnât his?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and pushed through the crowd toward the exit.
His thoughts were already racing. He didnât know what he was going to say to her, or if sheâd even open the door. He just knew he couldnât sit there anymore, pretending he was fine. He needed to know if he was just a moment of weakness or something more.
He was going to see her tonight.
Wooyoung stood in front of Sanâs flat, swaying slightly, breath fogging up the hallway air. He didnât remember the cab ride, or leaving the bar, or the last three blocks he mustâve walked.Â
His finger jabbed the buzzer again. And again, impatiently waiting for her to open the door. He knew she was home.Â
Finally, the door cracked open.
She appeared in the doorway, hair messy from being home all night, eyes widening the second she recognized him. She stepped out into the hall, checking both sides like she expected San to be behind him.
âWooyoung?â Her voice was soft and startled, as if she had just woken up. âWhat are you doing here?â
He swallowed hard, staring at her like heâd been underwater for hours and just found air.
âWhereâs San?â
âHeâs still at the bar with the others,â Wooyoung murmured, eyes never straying from hers. He took a step closer, the hallway light flickering above them.Â
âYou havenât answered any of my texts,â he said.
She crossed her arms, trying to look composed. âWell, Iâve been busy. Iâm getting married in two days.â
He nodded slowly, drunk but still focused. âYeah, yeah, the wedding, Iâve heardâŠyou donât look busy right now.â
She didnât respond. Wooyoung stepped closer again, enough so that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him.
âWooyoungâŠâ she warned quietly.
He leaned one hand against the doorframe beside her head, trapping her without touching her. His voice was low, rough from whiskey and need.
âI tried to forget,â he said. âI really didâŠBut I canât.â
âWooyoung,â she whispered, âyou shouldnât be here.â
âWhy do you keep lying to me?âÂ
She raised a brow. âWhat?âÂ
âWhat you said that day,â his voice slurred, âthat you didnât know why you pulled me into that closet. Thatâs not true. There was a reason you pulled me in there with you. Donât act like you donât feel it too. When weâre alone togetherâŠYou trust me. You trust me more than him.âÂ
Y/n took a step back. âYou really canât do this here.â She warned, but it didnât faze him.Â
âYou can marry him if thatâs what you want. Iâll watch you do it if I have to.â His voice broke. âJust donât...donât stand here and lie to me. Donât tell me you donât want meâŠnot when Iâve wanted you this much for so long.â
Her chest rose haphazardly as she stared up at him, dumbfounded. It pained her to say it, but he left her with no choice.Â
âOkay, fine! I admitâŠthere was a time when I maybe looked at you as something moreâŠright before San, and I got serious. But Wooyoung, this is crazy. You canât just show up at my doorstep like this. Iâm getting married, and thereâs nothing you can do to change that!âÂ
Wooyoung blinked, her confession hitting him like a heavy blow he wasnât expecting.
âI donât want to change anything, y/n,â he whispered.
Before she could react, he dropped to his knees in front of her.
âWooyoung, get up!â she hissed, glancing nervously toward the stairwell.
He looked up at her with glossy, pleading eyes. âIâm not asking you to leave him. Iâm not asking you to choose me. JustâŠâ His voice cracked. âJust give me one chance to show you what this could feel like if you didnât push it away.â
Wooyoung sat pathetically at her feet, with his deep, sunken eyes gazing up at her. It was strange to see him this way, so vulnerable, so destroyed; his usual confidence and cocky attitude evaporated. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his face against her crotch, the warmth of his breath seeping through the fabric of her sleep trousers.
âWh-what are you doing?â Her voice quivered. She could feel the wrongness of it all. Despite the feeling, her feet remained planted where they were.Â
Wooyoung's tongue flicked out, teasingly tracing over the cotton material, and a low, needy whine escaped his lips. He fluttered his eyes up at her, a blend of desperation and raw desire painting his features. "Please," he murmured, voice trembling. "I need it... Need to taste you, your sweet cum on my tongue."
All Wooyoung could feel was warmth. Warmth from her lips, warmth from her bare skin pressed up against his, warmth from being inside her all night. Just as heâd tire out, her legs would tighten around his hips and pull him in closer, encouraging him to keep going until he reached his peak. Then sheâd pull his face in and kiss him sloppily until he started thrusting into her again, hips moving more needy and desperate the next time than the last.
âFuck, Wooyoung!â She gasped, his cock milking out yet another orgasm from her. She had lost count of how many times sheâs came like this, sprawled out on her back over the kitchen island while Wooyoungâs cock massaged into her over and over again. âP-please, donât stop!â
Wooyoung chuckled into her neck, pressing soft kisses to her jaw. âYou like my cock that much, baby?âÂ
She moaned a weak yes, eyes following Wooyoung as he straightened his back and lined himself up with her once again. He rubbed his reddened tip against her swollen, wet cunt, the sudden taps to her clit making her jolt. Her eyes pressed shut, and her head tilted back, a silent plea for more.Â
For the first time in a while, she wasnât thinking about San anymore. Her world, which he had engulfed, the wedding, their family, and their reputation no longer mattered. She felt so good, too good, and all she cared about now was Wooyongâs long, hard dick fucking her dizzy.
â..please..please, harder this time,â she croaked, her voice hoarse from dehydration. âWanna cum on your cock.â She took his hand off her waist and guided it up to her neck, and Wooyoung immediately grasped around it, adding just enough pressure to make her lightheaded.
Wooyoung grinned. Heâd always thought about what she was like during sex, how she liked to be fucked, since their initial encounter had been brief, but he never expected this from her. This classy, sophisticated little corporate princess, who secretly liked getting choked while she got fucked on her kitchen island in her perfect little apartment. He always pictured her and San having boring, vanilla sex, something he was never really interested in. It seemed they both had the same preferences.
He pushed into her once more, snapping his hips hard, just as she requested. He watched her eyes roll back into her head, smirking when a moan caught in her throat, as he gripped her neck tighter.Â
âLook how good you take me, youâre so tightâŠI could have you like this every day, you know?â He said softly. Before she could react, his hand left her neck, and he dragged his fingers down between her breasts, over her stomach, to finally her wet center. His thumb toyed with her puffy clit, forcing her to arch her back.Â
âWooâŠdonât stopâŠIâm so close.â She huffed, her breathing growing more erratic the more he touched her.Â
His thumb tugged her clit around in hard circles. He could feel her walls tighten around him, pulling him in more. âCum, baby, I wanna feel you let go on me.âÂ
Sweat clung to her forehead, and strands of hair stuck to her damp skin. Her lips were parted as she caught her breath, chest rising and falling unevenly. There was a flushed warmth to her face that made her look almost feverish, worn out in the most beautiful way.
Wooyoung watched her for a moment, the sight pulling a quiet smile from him.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he murmured.
He leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to her lips, but she didnât let him pull away. Her hand slid behind his head, fingers curling into his hair as she drew him back in. This time, the kiss lingered, deepening slowly as if neither of them was ready to part.
They shifted together on top of the island, bumping lightly against its edge as they moved, laughing between kisses. Their hands roamed each otherâs bodies, holding onto each other like they had all the time in the world. Wooyoung was so happy in this moment.
Eventually, Wooyoung broke the kiss, his lips drifting from her mouth to her jaw, then lower. He left a slow trail of warm kisses across her collarbone and down her chest, taking his time until he reached the curve of her hip, where he paused for a moment, lingering there as his hand traced gently along her side.
âWoo,â She called.Â
âIâm right here,â He spoke softly. âI want to taste you.âÂ
She pulled herself upright, staring down longingly at him as he brushed his lips against her inner thigh. She combed her fingers through his blonde hair, breath hitching once she felt the warmth of his mouth. His tongue separated her folds, and he explored her soft center with a groan.Â
âYouâre so sweet,â he cooed, lapping at her wet, silky juices. It felt like a fitting reward, finally getting to taste the fruits of his labor. âI could spend all day between your thighs like this, if youâd let me.â As he sucked on her clit, he let her hold onto his hand tightly, helping to ground her.
The way he spoke to her made her feel butterflies in her stomach. She wanted to say that sheâd like that, but the way his tongue danced around her sensitive clit made her a babbling mess, and instead, all she could think about was cumming on his hot tongue.Â
Wooyoung loved the sound of her soft moans. They had always gone straight to his head, making everything else fade away. That was why he noticed the moment they stopped. The change was immediate, like someone had cut the sound from a speaker.
Her hand slipped out of his at the same time.
âWhyâd you stopââ
He lifted his head, expecting to see her looking down at him with that same dazed expression sheâd had moments ago, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Instead, her entire body had gone rigid. Her gaze wasnât on him anymore. It was fixed on something in front of her.
Slowly, Wooyoung followed the direction of her eyes. The moment he saw him, something deep in his stomach dropped.
San stood in the doorway.
For a second, Wooyoung didnât even recognize him. Sanâs face, usually so open, so bright, lookedâŠwrong. Twisted with something unfamiliar on him. It was a mix of terror, disgust, and disbelief. And underneath all of it, something far worse.
Disappointment.
Their eyes met. Wooyoung froze. His mind went completely blank, like someone had wiped every thought from his head. He couldnât move nor speak. He could hardly breathe.
Sanâs eyes lingered on him, taking in the sight of his fiancĂ©eâs cum smeared all over his best friend's lips.
Wooyoungâs heart started pounding in his ears. He waited for the explosion. For San to storm across the room and drag him up by the collar and punch him, scream at him. To call him every name he deserved. But San didnât move. He just stood there, staring at him. And somehow that was worse. The look in his eyes didnât hold any real anger. It held hurt. The kind of hurt that ran too deep for shouting.
Sanâs gaze shifted slowly from Wooyoung to his fiancĂ©e. Then back at him again. Like he was trying to make sense of something that didnât make sense at all. Like he was asking himself if this was real, if his best friend could really betray him like this.
Fifteen years of friendship. And this was the moment it ended. San looked at them one last time before turning around and walking back out the door.
The quiet that followed was deafening. Y/N scrambled to pull her clothes back on, hands shaking as she cursed under her breath. A moment later, she rushed out after him, the door slamming behind her.
Wooyoung didnât move. He was still on his knees, staring at the empty doorway like his brain hadnât caught up to what had just happened.
His entire world had just detonated in front of him. Sanâs face kept flashing through his mind. That expression. The one he had never seen before, never in fifteen years. Not through the fights, breakups, stupid drunken arguments, or any of the messes theyâd gotten into growing up.
Wooyoung had seen San angry before. But never like this. And the worst part was knowing he had put that look on his face.
Memories of their friendship started crashing into him one after another. San waiting for him outside their school when they were kids. San dragging him out for late-night ramen in college. San laughing so hard at his dumb jokes that he could barely breathe. San patting him on the shoulder earlier that night, talking about their kids growing up together as they had.
He had shattered the only real, meaningful connection he had in this life. All over his frail ego.
Wooyoung dragged a hand down his face, his stomach twisting in knots.
God. What have I done?
đđđđ âč đ°đ”đŒđ¶ đđźđ»
pairingïčąchoi san x fem!reader genreïčąsmut. headcanon format. dilf!san, best friend's dad, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, san in his late 40s), original characters for narrative purposes (choi sarang), consensual, unprotected sex, backshots, soft to rough, slight overstimulation, creampie, praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty). synopsisïčąyou never meant to fall for someone so much older, let alone your best friendâs dad. desire doesnât stay one-sided forever, and heâs far from innocent. because some rules are meant to be broken, some things are better left unsaid and kept secret, so hush and accept everything he offers you.
⊠RETURN TO THE EVENT
DILF!SAN is the kind of man who doesnât try to be intimidating; he just is. quite charming on top of that. pretty bare face, calm voice, broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves when heâs fixing something in the house. always polite and attentive around you, his daughterâs best friend.
DILF!SAN is respectful to the core by keeping his distance. calls you by your name, never a nickname⊠okay, maybe the occasional âsweetheartâ slipping past his lips once or twice when he greets you or asks if you have eaten yet.
DILF!SAN makes sure youâre comfortable. he offers rides when itâs late, cooks too much food, asks about your day, and how is going on with your studies: nothing strange or inappropriate, just another adult who happens to be kind.
DILF!SAN to you is just sarangâs dad, a well-manered (and extremely handsome) man who always buys your favorite snacks when you come over and will always thank you for keeping his beloved daughter company. he listens when you speak, you think heâs thoughtful and caring, like any other parent, and thatâs it.
DILF!SAN remembers small details you mention once â how you like your ramen, the vegetable you always avoid, your favorite drink, the exam you were stressed about, but never comments on why he remembers.
DILF!SAN is protective, not possessive. if someone talks over you, he gently redirects the conversation back to you. if someoneâs rude, he steps in without raising his voice. you feel safe around him in an almost unsettling way, a warm spreading through your chest and butterflies emerging from their cocoons, like nothing bad could happen as long as heâs nearby.
DILF!SAN never crosses a line, ever, and thatâs exactly what makes this whole situation so tempting⊠because the restraint is intentional.
DILF!SAN sometimes asks his daughter about you, casually checking up on her, curious about her life and friendships, is all.
âoh⊠i thought (name) was coming with you?â he lets his daughter yap, nods along, pretends he doesnât feel the quiet disappointment when she says youâre busy, or worse: âsheâs hanging out with someone else.â
DILF!SAN never questions why you are here half of the week, but any friend of his daughter is always welcome, anytime, any day. you start coming over more often, and you tell yourself itâs nothing at first. just convenience, since their place is closer to campus. sarang always insists, and of course, you stay for dinner, and chuckle at her dadâs dry jokes.
you think about DILF!SAN more than you should. one evening, when he comes back from the gym, all sweaty with his muscles on full display, you find yourself watching the veins in his biceps instead of the movie sarang put on. you donât realize when it stops being a crush.
you only realize when you start craving moments that donât exist. imagining his hand on your body, howâd it feel to dig your nails on his back and biceps, howâd he feel. god this is so... wrong, but why does it feel so right? he really is a man, the perfect man, not like all those losers who try to get you by flirting and using awful pick-up lines, sending you three winking emojis in a row when texting.
DILF!SAN agrees immediately when one friday night, his daughter asks if you can stay over for the weekend, again. and when you are finally here for the girlsâ sleepover, heâs looking at you instead of her:
âdo you want takeout⊠or should i cook?â he masks it as just hospitality, pretending his heart isnât going to burst at the thought of you staying.
DILF!SAN notices how you linger in the kitchen when sarang runs upstairs to prepare her room. you offer to help clean the dishes even when he insists heâs got it. notices how your laugh softens when itâs just the two of you in the room. he doesnât say anything, but his eyes follow you longer than they should, memorizing every curve of your body and that pretty face of yours. you catch him looking at you sometimes, as if you donât eye him in the same way.
DILF!SAN is again just sarangâs dad. telling yourself itâs stupid and harmless crush, embarrassing admiration, even. you love your best friend; however, just because her dad is broad-shouldered and looks unfairly good in a black compressed t-shirt doesnât mean anything. and just because his voice drops when he says your name doesnât mean anything either.
you donât know when it stopped being nothing, but you only know it hasnât become something yet. when his restraint feels less like courtesy and more like a choice he has to make every time to maintain composure and self-control, becauseâŠ
DILF!SAN falls in love with you against every ounce of common sense he has.
DILF!SAN never touches you unless thereâs a reason â and how those reasons seem to be happening more often.Â
DILF!SAN looks at you like you are no longer just âsarangâs friend,â but a grown woman standing in his space. so beautiful and smart, well-mannered too, your parents must be proud of who you have become. however, he doubts that they will be proud of the fact that you left a pair of your panties in his room, tucked nicely under his shirts. safe to say, you are not getting them back or clean at all.
DILF!SAN pauses when he sees you in the kitchen in the middle of the night. hair loose, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, bare feet against the cold floor.Â
âcouldnât sleep?â he asks quietly, and you shrug, embarrassed to be caught rummaging through like a thief, but you know this house like the palm of your hand.Â
âyeahâŠdidnât want to wake sarang just for one tea.â
everything should end there, but it doesnât.Â
âwhat about you, mr. choi?â you ask, voice softer than intended. âwhy are you up?â
âcouldnât sleep either.â
DILF!SAN steps closer, instinctively lowering his voice, the kitchen suddenly feeling too small. you turn to put your mug down and realize heâs right behind you now, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. so when you try to move past him, he places a hand on the counter beside you, unintentionally trapping you between his arm and the cabinet. he doesnât touch you, at least not yet.
your swallow hard, painfully aware of how close his chest is to your back, how easy it would be to lean into him.
DILF!SAN wouldnât make the first move. but if you did, heâd stop you â only to ask if youâre absolutely sure about this, since heâs someone who shouldnât ever cross your mind like that.Â
DILF!SAN hesitates, and you feel it with the way he inhales slowly, warm breath hitting your hair. âyou should go back to bed,â his voice is somehow deeper than before, like itâs a warning more than advice.
the silence stretches, and it kills you because you are standing on thin ice. you can either run back to the more stumble ground, keep your morals, and forget about it, or deep dive into the unholiness and set this man on fire.
his gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, asking without asking by giving you time, most importantly, giving you a way out⊠you donât take the chance to escape.
DILF!SAN settles his hands at your waist, giving your skin a light squeeze, as he presses himself fully to your back and you feel the throb in his pants. "this isn'tââ you start, but he cuts you off with another gentle squeeze.
âi know, sweetheart,â he whispers, and thatâs all it takes, already turning you to face him, âi know.â
pressing his lips to yours like a law heâs already broken, and doesnât regret for a second. you are so incredibly sweet. the herbs from the tea add even more flavor to it. gasping into his mouth as his hands move to cup your face, keeping you steady. and yours stay still until they go to his chest and grip his shirt, pulling him closer.
you think about not making a noise, even if sarang was sleeping, knocked out cold, because of the tiring day she had, and playing games and gossiping until 3 am with you, made her take a massive k.o.
DILF!SAN bends you over the kitchen counter, your stomach pressed on the cold quartz, pants down on the floor, and his cock stretching you deliciously, as his hands muffles your moans and whines, "keep it down, pretty... we don't want another family drama."Â
family drama⊠you remember the story of sarang's mother, and how she left them when your best friend was just four years old, making san a hot single dad in your area.
DILF!SAN, who has a big cock, big in width, and gosh ... he feels his palm getting wet from your saliva, as he slowly starts to thrust himself into you, doesnât say sorry, just for you to be quiet⊠because he himself is trying his absolute best not to drown in the pleasure, and growl like a wild animal.
DILF!SAN is feral when heâs inside you. hitting every spot harder and deeper, like he canât get enough. he fucks you with this overwhelming force that makes your vision blur, tears spilling down on your cheeks, his hand getting wet again. yet not wetter than your pussy that takes him so well. he liked the view: you on your stomach, back arched, your ass bouncing when his other free hand is gripping the soft skin to keep you steady, might have bruises the next day, because you sure do move a lot. must feel good, yeah?
DILF!SAN feels the way your walls are fluttering around him because of something so wide, his fat dick is stretching you in ways youâve never imagined were possible. no boy, perhaps no man ever made you feel like this. youâre arching for him completely, feeling like you're going to break your back anytime soon. behind you, heâs panting and groaning, quietly, as if the sounds of skin slapping arenât alarming enough.Â
he leans down until his lips brush against your shoulder, leaving a sloppy kiss, before he whispers, âif itâs too much⊠show me to stop, and i stop.â and the problem is that you donât want him to stop. nodding your head, eyes full of tears, back arching for him again, and your thighs are trembling when he thrusts deep and doesnât pull out, he just continues to hit that spot that makes your stomach twist.
âgreedy little thing, youâre taking me so damn well⊠so perfect, dripping all over me, fuckââ
heâs fucking you rough now, a little mean, and you didnât expect him to do that, just like you didnât expect to receive backshots from your best friendâs dad on a random saturday night. you are drooling, wetting his palm even more, wanting to scream so bad, and thatâs why you are putting your hands that were gripping the counter over his hand, to muffle everything.
DILF!SAN can feel that you are so close, and when you orgasm, itâs so sudden that it catches you off guard, squeezing your eyes shut, pressing your hands over his even harder. legs shaking, as you sob when your pussy clamps down around him, juices spilling everywhere, down to your legs, making a mess on the floor too.
âshhh, baby⊠iâm here,â he fucks you through it, slow thrust this time, pulls you tight against his chest as he leaves kisses on your hair, âthatâs it, doing so good for me, yeah? you are such a good girl.â
praise after a praise, burying himself too deep one last time, easing his final thrusts as he chases his own release, when hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, flooding your gummy walls with thin ropes of white. it's warm, so incredibly warm that you feel it dripping down your thighs.Â
DILF!SAN stays pressed close, his hand still warm over your mouth until your breathing evens out, until the shaking fades. only then does he make you finally take a breath, slowly giving you time to come back to yourself, but he still fucks his cum into you, doesn't want anything to go to waste.
you wait for the shame to hit, the guilt and the fear, but nothing. you feel good about crossing a line you know you shouldnât even be standing near. you crave more of him, biting down on the urge to cry out loud and scream his name. he makes you lose interest in guys your age, because being wanted like that, and claimed without any hesitation, is something only a real man can do.
DILF!SAN leans in, lips brushing your ear, âso,â quietly he asks, a faint smirk painted in his face, already imagining things he shouldn't, but being inside your tight pussy that is still squeezing and milking him dry, doesn't exactly help. âyouâre staying over next weekend again⊠right?â
taglist ( open )ïčą @strhwa @lillys-bakery @les4heeseung @yeehaw-odyssey @livonianmaia @estrnrea @chanscappuccino @lateez @cyberpxnks @zerowantstobattle @raicecakes-and-buldak @finewinesixtynine @jensdior  @hwavon @hwa2tiny @woosansbb @haleria @lol-imtrash2000 @haohaoshoe @iamagnesrrr @phesodain @chuuyaobsessed @niyareloadedd @enhacolor @atetheluck @eviemae5864 @booposaurusrex @belongjoong @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @urfavleobiscuit @way2jellyous @cultofsin @hearts4itoshi @matznana @eggielix @sangibaby @dovelydrz @dovelydrz @tinyfixon @zayn-210 @seungminimpossible @pilmographyy @pinkyerkz @ophelie-dctl @minkisdoll
EVENT ONLY TAGLIST (comment or dm to be added) :: @matchahintonagar @pineapple-burgah @jankayuri @zerefdragn33l @atz10248 @fixonjade @taytay-00 @kaleigh-2002 @spenceatiny18 @hellomynameis-jessica @demonlineswhore
© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.
Note: Thank you, my cuties, for 5K FOLLOWERS?!?!? LIKE HOLY SHIT!?!? I don't even know how we got here, but I am so happy, so so sooo grateful, and I hope that I continue to give you all the beautiful fics you know and love đ„č This is the one that won the poll, so my fingers are crossed that you like it! I luv you all so much!! đ«§
Content: Camboy!Caleb/Roomate!Reader, porn w/ some plot, mutual masturbation, smut
Word Count: 4.2K
Started With A Glance
Youâve never been the kind of person who cared much for social media. It wasnât something that necessarily made you unique, rather a simple preference you had unlike almost everyone else you know.
Youâd never say that youâre completely removed from it though, seeing as you still have your respective accounts on different platforms where you followed a handful of friends, family members, and a few profiles of interest. But when it came to creating false aesthetics, keeping strangers updated on your whereabouts, and scrolling through miscellaneous posts for hours upon hours until you got bored and browsed a different appâthatâs where you differed.
Most people who discovered the little factoid have reduced you to a sea star living under a rock, and almost all seemed to sarcastically admire your ability to be so âdisconnectedâ. It bothered you at times, how often some made you feel uncomfortably odd when they learned such a thing for the first time.
But it was a breath of the freshest air when Calebâs response was so normal as you humbly expressed your disinterest in his online-centered career.
Meeting him after you finally decided to list the spare bedroom in your apartment up for rent was like dominoes falling into perfect place, but it wasnât of any surprise that the few you told thought your plan to be a bad ideaâterrible, in fact.
âI just donât want you getting scammed, you know? Are you sure you should do that?â
âWhy would you want to share your place with some⊠stranger? A man at that? Just doesnât seem smart, honestly.â
âI thought your job paid well? You sure youâre not just being⊠overly picky?â
You couldnât blame them for their ignorance if you never bothered to keep them informed. It is true that your job does pay you somewhat of a decent check, but decent wasnât enough.
You had credit cards to pay off, a few meddlesome bills that took you longer to pay on than others, and things you wanted that you had to wait to purchase for longer than youâd like.
Helpâwhile you tended to take awhile to recognize that you needed itâwasnât something you were too proud to ask for, and where all other options and possibilities failed you, it was a miracle that a man youâve never met before had yet to do so.
You instantly knew he would be the one as he walked in fifteen minutes early to the cafe where you both agreed to meet, sliding into the booth across from you with this air of a boyish charm about him and a warming smile. Not only had he brought you all the things you asked for to ensure him to be a dependable candidate, but he even made it a point to preemptively bring in a check that covered the first month of what his portion for rent and utilities would be with a substantial amount of persuading interest.
âCalebâŠâ you chuckled in amused bewilderment as you looked between the tempting number and his hopeful violet eyes. âYou didnâtâI mean I am more than grateful, but you donât have to tack on this much to secure anything. Are.. are you sure..?â
He nodded and grinned, sipping his steaming lemon & herb tea. You only remembered such a trivial detail because of how he looked at you over the rim of the cream porcelainâalmost as if he wanted to take those few seconds to really gauge your kind of personality uninterrupted and get a good look at what heâd be getting into. To this day, you never truly knew what it meant, but youâd never forget it.
âI am, I promise. I just wanted to show you how serious I am about being the one you pick. Deal fell through with the place I thought Iâd be movinâ into and I needed something fast before my current lease was up. Sooo, when I saw your listing only twenty minutes away, I just couldnât let it slip, yâknow?â
âThat sucks⊠Iâm really sorry about that. I mean, everything looks like it checks out and you seem really nice. And you said that youâd be working from home, right? Is it okay for me to ask what you do?â
âOh, yeah of course.â You had to stop yourself from staring at how he licked his lips and pursed them in thought for a brief moment. Besides him being so likable, you werenât blind to the fact that he was the most attractive man youâve ever met.
But business was meant to remain respectable and keeping it cordial mattered more above all else. âIâm a content creator. Itâs uh⊠it pays really well even though it can kinda fluctuate sometimes, but itâs still pretty consistent. And I swear that I wonât be a bother whenever youâre home. I can⊠show you what I do, if you want?â
But you didnât want to see, you didnât care to. You just werenât curious enough. And Caleb didnât know if he shouldâve been relieved or disappointed at the time when you politely waved off his albeit hesitant offer while telling him that it didnât matter to you as long as it let him pay his part on time. What he did know though, was that he more than understood your stance and didnât make it a point to pry further than what you were willing to give.
Itâs been a few months since you promptly made the decision to select him out of the surprising many as your makeshift tenant. In that time, you both finalized the roomate agreement and spent a weekend together making sure he and his belongings moved in just fine.
The positive differences you began to notice in your finances as well as your everyday was relatively immediate too, and it was a change that you hoped to keep around for longer than either of you anticipated.
Ever since Caleb settled in, he took it upon himself to take over many of the roles you once handled on your own, admittedly doing them infinitely better than any effort youâve ever given them.
Breakfast and dinner? Always made and consistently delicious.
Your lunch for work? Packed everyday and ready to go.
Groceries got low? He went out of his own pocket to get them for the both of you.
Your car needed gas before the work week? He went out that Sunday evening to make sure you were fueled up.
Small repairs needed? With a man like him around, the landlord hadnât heard from you since.
His care was intentional, a kind of friendly that showed you what genuine appreciation for the person they did it for looked like. He did it all with an eagerness to please and a smile on his face, both things that youâd never admit to looking forward to.
You were bummed though as you unlock the front door and step into your quiet apartment at twelve in the morning, chastising yourself for not staying home after somewhat convincing yourself that you wouldnât mind a sleepover at your best friendâs house when you knew you preferred your own bed when it was time to climb into one.
Leaving Taraâs place was a last minute decision, one you almost regretted when you were driving down the highway at such a tiring hour. But the immediate relief of being back in your space rivaled all the prior grievances.
The sleepiness settling in your bones was heavy, almost oppressive. But despite the fatigue, you were still liable to drool from the smell of whatever delicious remnants were lingering in the air from what Caleb cooked for dinner. Even smelled like a new recipe.
It was almost enough to sadden you completely to have missed out on it for the first time since his integration into your life.
âNever doing anything spontaneous ever again,â you grumble to yourself, flicking on the kitchen light to find something quick to eat before exhaustion deemed itself more important than your appetite.
But to your surprise, instead of being forced to scan options you knew you wouldnât be in the mood for, youâre greeted with a bright orange sticky note on top of a container filled with the most delicious looking dish your hungry eyes has ever witnessed. It was like trumpets started blaring victoriously and angels sang in harmonious unison.
You slid the glass out, careful not to be too loud and beamed at your name in Calebâs handwriting with a little smiley face next to it.
Being so overcame with this irrepressible gratefulness to have a roommate who went above and beyond what it meant to be thoughtful, there was no way you intended on indulging without thanking him first.
On your brisk walk down the hall, you could hear the faintest sound of slow music and his softened voice coming from the other side of his closed bedroom door. It actually surprised you that he was still up, but you were glad for it nonetheless.
Knocking before you turned the knob suddenly became a courtesy you unintentionally forgot as you pushed the door open.
All that giddiness that brought you here in the first place? Gone and replaced with something else the second you saw the scene unfolded in front of you.
You wanted to move. You needed to. Desperately.
But your flight, fight, or freeze would decide to make the wrong choice in this pivotal moment as you stood there helplessly frozen and stared completely baffled at your roommate sitting in front of his computer monitors, sweatpants just barely lowered with a hand wrapped firmly around his stiff cock. He was illuminated by the dim blue light emitting from the screens that seemed to showcase him⊠live streaming?
It was unmistakably him on that computer with what seemed like a chat flying fast in the top corner with comments moving too quick for one to read when theyâre as preoccupied as he is. And if this was live, then that meantâŠ
Caleb was already scrambling to cover himself up once your sharp gasp interrupted his pleasure, cursing under his breath with all kinds of distress knitting in his brows. That and the frantic clicks from his mouse is what took you out of it and catapulted you back into the unfortunate reality.
âIâShit, I am s-so sorry! I didnât meanâI was justâŠâ You had nothing to say, nothing that could possibly ease this level of embarrassment for either of you. So instead of looking for a way to try, your body finally released you from the shackles of stupefaction and allowed you to flee in the midst of him haphazardly fixing his pants.
âFuuuck, fuckfuckfuck,â Caleb muttered, closing out all web browsers with a shaky breath and leaning back into his chair with an irresolute sigh. The sound of your door slamming was louder than the silence consuming him now, and it was with loaded indecision that he soon found himself standing outside of your bedroom.
Three careful knocks rapt against the wood and he called your name gently. âHey⊠You okay? Can I come in?â
Relief washes over him when you faintly granted him permission. He finds you sitting in your bed, knee bouncing with anxiety and your gaze fixed on your lap instead of him.
âIâm really, really sorryâŠâ you start, jaw opening and closing in your hapless struggle to find the right words. âF-for just barging in like that. I shouldâve knocked. I didnât even think. I promise I didnât mean to interrupt whatever⊠that was. I only wanted to say thank you for the leftovers you left me, but it all happened so fast. Then I just stood there while you⊠while you were trying toââ
âWooaaah, woah, relax,â he soothes, walking up and sitting on the edge to converse with you at eye level. âEaaasy, okay? Sânot your fault. I shouldâve locked the door, but I thought youâd be gone âtil tomorrow. Didnât even know you came home.â
Facing him head on felt impossible. He was right there, taking up space and still shirtless with his uniquely fresh scent permeating the room in a way you secretly liked.
âIâm sorry you walked in on me like that.â
âYou donât need to apologize for me invading your privacy, Caleb.â
âBut I do. I donât live alone anymore, and you were kind enough to let me stay in your home. Even if itâs for work, Iâve gotta put in more of an effort to be more conscious about what Iâm doinâ and when I do it.â
âWork?â For the first time since this morning, you give him your eyes. âThatâs the content you create?â
He tilts his head slightly with a smug smirk on his face. âYou sound surprised. What? Think Iâm too ugly for it or somethinâ?â
âNo!â you rush out in defense, gnawing anxiously at your bottom lip. âItâs nothing to do with that. JustâŠâ
âJuuust?â he urges with playful encouragement.
âI didnât think⊠Like okay, I know people do what you do. I know people watch it. And I promise Iâm not judging! Itâs just sort of crazy to think that people actually pay to see someone in real time do those⊠things. And that someone is willing to do said things. Iâm not making any senseâjust forget it!â
You cover your face with your hands like thatâll suddenly render you invisible, but Calebâs not allowing for disappearance to be a consideration. One of his own wraps around your wrist to remove the barrier youâve put in place.
âItâs not hard to understand. Ever thought of the people who love the idea of beinâ seen? And the ones who love to watch them? Both parties get something good out of it.â
Your lack of an answer is enough to have him chuckling.
He analyzes your eyes first, then trails down to your chest. âCan I see somethinâ?â
He hums in satisfaction with how swiftly you agree. Itâs sudden when he rests his large palm to your chest above your shirt, grinning at his expected discovery.
âFeel how fast your heartâs racinâ in there? I think you like to watch, too. You just didnât know until now.â
âI do not! I barely even⊠watchââ
âI always kind of wondered what sorta porn someone like you would enjoy,â he interrupts. âThat weird?â
Every part of you should be mortified, absolutely disgusted with the things heâs saying and the husky tone heâs using to do it. But lying to him would be infinitely more complicated than surrendering yourself.
But see, Caleb? Heâs living for this. That doe-like expression that you canât disguise, that hitch in your breath thatâs secretly hoping heâll go further.
He never wanted to cross a boundary, didnât care to risk your steady building dynamic for the sake of believing he was right. But you wanting him became a very obvious thing and although he wished you had it in you to tell him, taking the liberty of silent observation proved to be a patient game well played.
Being taken care of made your body hot and seeing him be the one to do it set you ablaze. Catching him how you did was truly unintentional, but getting you like this, getting you to admit, was a goal post he could only have hoped to reach.
âCan I show you somethinâ else? If you donât like it, just tell me to stop. No harm, no foul. Yeah?â
You nod again, slowly this time, and watch as he tugs on his pants to give himself enough room and reaches into them to pull out his still hardened cock. A stimulating buzz surges in your gut when he hisses from the cool air that hits him, bucking his hips and rubbing his flushed tip teasingly with his thumb.
Youâre too busy staring at his girth with this much clarity and imagining what it felt like to notice him fixated on you.
âSee?â His muscles flex and his abs tighten with each tense inhale. The way he moaned, the way he would lose himself a little bit and let his head fall back between his shoulder blades from the sensitivity before reeling back. âItâs okay if yâlike to watch. Everyone does. Even the innocent ones.â
Heâs baiting you. Itâs scary to feel how effortlessly it works.
âWant me to stop?â he whispers breathlessly, stroking himself with an agonizing slowness until a small bead or precum began to seep out and spill down the side of his shaft. Thereâs a pulse thumping in between your legs from what youâre witnessing, and you push out a broken half-embarrassed plea for him to keep going.
Instead, he does the opposite and stops, his hooded gaze piercing your dazed one. âIsnât fair that Iâm doinâ this by myself, donât ya think?â
âY-you⊠you want me to..?â Stuttering wasnât what you were aiming for, but youâve never been this turned on or been the center of someoneâs attention this intensely.
âSâfine to be nervous, baby. I was too when I had eyes on me for the first time. But if it helps, Iâd really, reaaally like to watch you, too.â
âYou would?â
âIâd beg you to let me if you wanted me to.â
Whatever possessed you to stand and start pulling down your leggings wasnât something you were willing to question. Not when he groaned and stared at the reveal of your plush thighs and simple black panties with unalloyed desire.
Perhaps it was the encouragement in his words and the lust written all over his face. But when you hooked your thumbs into the waistband, slid the thin material down, and stepped out of the small heap, watching Calebâs dick twitch for you is the motivation you were fine with settling for.
âLet me see,â he coos sweetly. âSit down and spread âem fâme.â
He followed your movements until you positioned yourself and opened your legs just like he told you to. You took your time to ease into obeying his firm commands and he let you until the pink of your pussy was looking back at him.
âFuck, youâre so pretty. So much prettier than I imagined. And youâre fuckinâ dripping baby, god.â
Heat rushes to your face and down the entire expanse of your body. He's imagined this?
âWhat do you want me to⊠to do..?â
âLike to watch and being told what to do. Mm⊠Iâve been missin' out on a good thing, havenât I?â
Your whimper with simmering sexual frustration as he reaches over to rub on your inner thigh, suddenly running a thumb down your wet slit to inadvertently cause you to jolt.
âShow me how you take care of her.â He gathers some of your slick on his fingers and savors the flavor of you on his tongue, sucking them clean until every ounce of your essence has graced his tastebuds. âWanna see it for myself. And I want you to watch me, too.â
With your back braced against your pillows, you bring your hand down in between your legs and twitch when your chilled fingertips graze your clit. He wasnât lying, you really were soaked.
âCayâŠâ you whimper, spreading your pussy lips and measuredly rubbing your swollen nub while he continues to pump himself in rhythm with your movements.
He pictures you beneath these same covers, silently playing with yourself while he was just one room away doing the same exact thing.
ââM right here with you⊠So good, pretty girl. Just like that, let me see what feels good.â As he keeps the steady pace, liberated that you never once look away from him, all that fills the charged air is your soft mewls, his erotic whines, and the stickiness coming from your bodies still aching for so much more.
Caleb can see how your hole contracts uncontrollably, begging to be stuffed full with whatâs right in front of you.
âYouâd be so perfect for the camera,â he praises sincerely. âEven your sounds, just a sweet little wet dream that could drain anybodyâs pockets. Bet youâd make more than me. Theyâd love you, babyâŠâ
âI only l-like when you watch me,â you shyly confess with a shake of your head. âJust youâŠâ
There definitely wasnât any such thing as going back to normal now. You werenât going to tell him this was some kind of fluke or that itâs best if you act like this never happened after the dust settles. You couldnât say something like that to him and expect him to treat you like you never did.
âTell me I can,â he implores vaguely at first, applying pressure to his base until the sensation shoots down to his balls. âTell me I can fuck you. Please tell me."
Immediately you want to say yes. Instead you hesitate. âBut we donât have a conââ
âIâll pull out,â he rushes eagerlyâimpatient. He's already proceeding to climb over top of you with the clink of the silver necklace you gave him as a housewarming gift echoing in your ears. âLet me feel how much you like it when I watch you.â
Your hands glide up his arms and slide into the hair at his nape as he waits for your approval. You were admiring him, mapping him out with every detail being memorized against your palms. They then rest on his broad shoulders before you hastily nod against your better judgment, moaning into his mouth from the welcomed caress of his lips.
Somehow with his tongue sliding against yours and his saliva becoming a new delicacy of importance, the bulbous head of his dick was guided and pushed past your puffy folds, completely swallowed until he was deep inside of you.
He inhales your cries and feeds you his own, smiling against your lips as you spread yourself even wider to let him reach your deepest depths.
Caleb keeps his body pressed firmly against yours as you wrap your legs around his waist, nails digging into his muscles and tanned skin as he doubles in his efforts to have your cunt properly shape itself around each inch stretching you open.
âHowâre you thisâhahâthis fucking tight?â He slams into you with a whirling force, pulling out just enough to miss you but not long enough to feel like heâs gone too far. âBeen walkinâ around with such a greedy pussy⊠she needed me, huh?â
âYes⊠yes,â you wail, proving your words true with every desperate clench. âIâm so c-close⊠Please keepâŠâ
âI got you,â he promises when your words fail. You grind up into him every time he sinks back inside with a lewd squelch, chasing that high thatâs been relentlessly teetering on the edge for long enough now. âLook at that⊠I feel you, baby. Câmon, you got it, donât run from it.â
Itâs torturous for him to have to slip out of your warmth when he feels how much you gush around his cock, but he made you an unspoken promise he knows heâll never be foolish enough to make again. Watching you fall apart, grasping at the sheets and letting hurried pleas mingle with the force of your orgasm, has Calebâs cum spurting out in creamy ropes all over your belly and soft curls.
His dick jerks until heâs fully spent and has spilled every drop you pulled from him. He looks down at you with an expression nothing short of satisfied, then kisses your nose and lips like he canât get enough of your taste.
âAre your fans gonna hate me for messing up their time with you?â
He presses another chaste kiss to your lips jutted out in a genuine pout of partial concern. âTheyâll be fine. Iâll make it up to them.â
âAnd usâŠ? What does doing this mean?â
ââM not sure. Wasnât exactly in the roomate agreement.â
You shove him in jest, but he can see past your light hearted laugh that you genuinely want to know. He knows you well enough by now to understand that disconnected relationships with some kind of benefits werenât your thing. You were either all in or all out, but right now? He didnât know where he wanted to be.
Yes, he liked you. No, he wouldnât be against your relationship becoming so much more than what it meant to. But he didnât know how soon he wanted it.
Losing you wasnât an option, though. Selfish or not, what you gave him, what you let him see, he now deemed it his.
âWe donât have to put a title on everything, not yet at least,â he continues, shifting the subject skillfully enough to deter you for now. âIâm gonna clean you up, heat up your food, and we can watch somethinâ until we fall asleep. Then maybe, when weâre out of the fog and our special kind of honeymoon phase, we can really talk. Sound like a plan?â
âIt does.â Exactly the answer he was looking for. âI forgot about the food, actually.â
âWasnât that how all this started?â
âWell, no. It was me finding you with your dick in your hand.â
He shrugs. âTomayto, tomahto.â
âYouâre such a dork.â
âMaybe. But Iâm still the best roommate ever, riiight?â
You grab him by the necklace to guide him closer and whisper against his lips. âBest roommate ever.â
A/N: And omg⊠THANK YOU TO MY NOVA BAEEEE @deepspacenova bc without her⊠idk what wouldâve became of this fic. Her beautiful mind helped me so much, you donât even know. But once again, thank YOUUU to all of my baes who decided to stick around đ€đœ WE ARE LOCKED IN FOREVERRRR!!
Creds to @/chrisssiren for the random pink & winter themed pink dividers!! Got the photo from pinterest loolll
đđ·ïž: @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @meadowinthesky @nod4mnm3rcyy @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc @hilliserose @celestialhoneycaleb @jeansdoll @yanviioo
âŸïžđ·ïž: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @xiaprint @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @ladyjade @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt @gktdh @raendarkfaerie @sickleddreamer @cloudedangels @alyakhq @aoinili @iridescentshine @luvinbloom @loveinorion @wetforsylus @naammiii

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
pairingïčąjung wooyoung x fem!reader x choi san genreïčąsmut. inspired by this song. usage of weed and aphrodisiac. consensual, relationship hinting at friends with benefits, cunnilingus, squirting, fingering, blowjob, slight hair pulling, cumeating, threesome, soft dom!san + mean dom!woo, praising, degradation, overstimulation, usage of petnames (baby, angel, princess, doll), reader gets called a whore once, spit roast + double penetration (all vaginal sex), piv (unprotected sex), creampie, aftercare. synopsisïčąthree best friends, a connection that doesnât exactly follow the rules... and cookies baked with a little extra something. word countïčą6,4k
the room smells faintly sweet; at least, you think it's sweet, too used to it to be anything else. smoke curling in foggy circles toward the ceiling as you cough out another giggle, slumping back into the couch. everything feels warm, maybe too warm⊠you donât even know, itâs so nice, and SAN'S voice is honey-thick, pulling another laugh from you even if you donât fully understand the joke.
âitâs not even that funny,â WOOYOUNG mutters from the floor, but his grin betrays him, lips pink from the joint that his best friend passed back at him. you tilt sideways, head falling against sanâs shoulder as you blink up at him with heavy-lidded and soft eyes. you laugh, high on how good it feels to say it, confessing again and again to the boys you love the most.
itâs one of those nights where you invite them for a sleepover, promising that you will have fun, watch a movie, or play video games. however, the three of you know activities like that would be quickly forgotten once wooyoung brings some of his leftover or unused weed.
san stiffens as your laughter puts him in a trance, when youâre already moving, climbing into his lap, straddling his thighs as your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt (itâs actually a shirt you stole from him) until itâs over your head. tossed carelessly aside, leaving you in a laced bra that makes his cheeks turn bright red, flushed not only from the consumption of cannabis.
âi think about you touching me right here,â you murmur, your own voice sounding far away and dreamlike as you guide his hand between your thighs, pressing his palm against your clothed heat. his eyes go wide, mouth parted as if he might say something, but the words never form. because then thereâs movement, the couch dips next to him, and suddenly youâre not in his lap anymore â youâre in wooyoungâs.
âso you think about only him?â wooyoungâs voice is lower now, a smirk ghosting across his face even though his hands grip your hips like heâs claiming territory. his gaze flicks toward san, whoâs frozen, pupils dilating as he doesnât know whether to smile sweetly or grin manically.
your head falls back, laughter bubbling up again, not realizing the tension between them. ânooo,â whining with your fingers slipping into wooyoungâs hair to play with it. âi think about you too... both of you like⊠always.â
then youâre kissing him, sloppy and eagerly, your chuckles breaking against his mouth as he swallows the sound. tongue pushes past your lips, greedy and oh so needy, as his hand slides under your skimpy shorts to press firmly against your heat. san shifts closer, unable to look away, the smoke making everything hazy. his hand lingers against your bare thigh, hesitant but aching to feel you.
youâre giggling again, hips rocking against wooyoungâs fingers through your panties, and he feels the dampness of how wet you are already. the couch creaks beneath the three of you. sanâs breath catches when your hand blindly reaches back, finding his and tugging him closer, because you donât want him watching only, you want him touching you too.
âfeels so good...â you whine, words slurred with haze, it comes more out of a moan, and it's not that you haven't behaved like that with them before, but it was a whole lot different. two pairs of eyes are narrowing toward the empty plate on the table, and a shocked expression colors wooyoungâs face.
âoh, shit.â
san blinks. âwhat?â
âthe cookies.â
silence stretches upon the realization. youâre rubbing your thighs together absentmindedly, skin warm, breath shallow. you are trembling, for one reason or another, making wooyoung look at san, and san looks at you, when it all starts to make sense.
âbro,â wooyoung mutters, voice strained. âwe put aphrodisiac in those.â
âfuck." san winces, "we were high when we made them⊠i forgot.â and they didnât tell you, not because they meant to hide it, but because they forgot about it.
that explains it. the way heat coils low in your stomach, blooming and spreading under your skin until you are flushed, feverish even. your body reacts faster than your thoughts can catch up â pulse loud in your ears, nerves wrecking, making you addicted. you barely have the time to think, maybe not because of the weed, or those yummy chocolate chip cookies you had, because whatâs wrong with them? they were baked well. wooyoung always knows to add more chocolate because you like them more stuffed⊠you wish you were stuffed full instead, wouldnât that be so nice?
âwe made her extra horny now,â wooyoung says, and he is not even panicked; he is so chill about it that his dazed eyes are glued to the way you squirm. âshit... sheâs hot though, but what the fuck do we do?â
âi dunno,â san shrugs, but heâs not really present, gaze locked on how you're trembling in his best friendâs arms. his hands are steady when his thumb brushes your waist. âshe does feel⊠really warm.â
your bra digs into your skin, panties too tight, air against your neck making you shiver. the fabric suddenly feels unbearable; itâs getting so hot in here. even your own heartbeat feels intrusive and distracting as you whine softly, clutching at wooyoungâs shirt, as if it might save you from the sudden adrenaline rush.
you thought you learned your lesson, playing by the book, self-improvement, distancing from substances like that. all of it crumbles the second they look at you like this. holding you close just for tonight, wanting to last until morning light, and even in your dazed state, you know one thing, and that is â their affection is more addicting than any drug.
âso do you think iâm just desperateâŠâ you ask, breathless and aroused, fingers twitching between keeping them to yourself or touching the one holding you. they choose for you, sliding up his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. âor do you know that iâm obsessed with how it feels when we fuââ
he doesnât let you finish when he kisses you hard, like heâs been holding it back for the last time he had you like this. mouth warm, insistent, teeth biting your lower lip until you melt into him. you arch, while his hands roam down your back, over your ass, squeezing like heâs memorizing, no matter that he knows every part of your body by heart.
then strong hands lift you, and your world spins, as the other black-haired man presses you against him, lips claiming yours next, slower but deeper, kissing you with his hands exploring already claimed territory, thumbs brushing over your nipples through lace until youâre whining into his mouth.
san sits you back down between them, and this time they donât hesitate. wooyoung slips your bra off, throwing it somewhere, kisses a wet trail down your throat to your chest, tongue flicking until your back bows and toes curl. sanâs fingers hook into your panties, dragging them down to your ankles until they hit the floor, spreading you open like heâs ready to enter heaven.
âweâre gonna take care of you,â his eyes searching yours, but they were closed from the pleasure. âokay?â
you nod frantically like a lovesick junkie begging for one more little puff of whatever this is.
they prepare you like an angel needing all the care and love, but your divine being seeks warmth from the devils instead. their fingers are slick, mouths everywhere, every touch feels magnetic, overwhelming in the best way, until youâre aching for more: who could blame you for that?
am i crazy for wanting us to be mutually obsessed? the thought barely forms before san settles between your legs, careful as he lifts them and puts them over his shoulders, adjusting until youâre comfortable. his kisses are hungry, and he canât resist licking and biting your inner thighs. he got the urge to bite from his best friend, who just loved to mark and munch on your sweet skin.
everything is too much, and somehow, still not enough.
wooyoungâs breath is hot against your shoulder, his mouth following sanâs example, biting where he knows youâll feel it most. theyâve always had a thing for marks, bites, and hickeys: little reminders that are so hard to cover and linger for days.Â
letting yourself want it all, when the man between your legs' mouth finally finds its place on your slick and wet folds, a breathy whimper slips out before you can stop it. the way his tongue pushes in, sucking as his hands tighten their hold on your hips, which twitch instinctively.
wooâs hand comes up from behind, as he toys with your nipples with his fingers, making your stomach twist, then wrapping them around your throat, squeezing gently, with you barely registering when theyâre in your mouth.
âatta boy,â he murmurs, gazing down at his friend. âsave some for me, alright?â
you canât focus on anything else when san is completely gone. âsannieâŠâ his name slips out softly from your lips, a muffled moan with wooyoungâs fingers still inside your mouth until he drags them out, so you can take a breather.
âbaby, youâre so wet for me⊠look at you,â the beast down there glances up at you then, eyes filled with adoration, mouth curved like he knows exactly what heâs doing to you, and for some reason, you canât look away. being extremely needy, and open in a way that feels overwhelming but pleasantly nice. god, his tongue. san doesnât hold back. he licks, teases, and hums low against your cunt, as he whimpers, while his tongue plunges deeper. âso perfect, ahâ so sweet too.âÂ
youâre trembling, thighs clamping around his head, your hand grips his hair, your hips bucking involuntarily, and he just keeps going, whispering filthy praises every second, accompanied by whimpers and groans. he is literally slurping, mouth and tongue impossible to stop because you are just so delicious, leaving no other way for him but to give in to the temptation to devour you all.
âthatâs it, yeah? thatâs my good girl⊠come on, let it all out for me,â his voice is low, and teasing all at once. then it happens. your breathing goes rigid, stomach twists, and your walls clench, pussy gushing over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble, back arching, making wooyoung drag you back until you hit his chest.
âangel,â san groans, licking up every drop, chuckling against your skin, âlook at you squirting for me⊠making such a mess.â he doesnât stop moving his fingers and tongue, coaxing out every last drop, because he didn't expect you to squirt instead of just orgasm like normally⊠he is not complaining, not even a bit. you were already a hot mess, and san couldnât pretend that you werenât ready for him at this point.
maybe the cookies werenât such a bad idea after all. or whatever they stirred in only made this inevitable heightened desire, the kind of want that makes them both cherish you and completely ruin you.
thereâs a strange tug-of-war happening inside you. the weed wants you calm, to drift away, pulling you downward into something soft and floaty, like sitting on a cloud or melting inside a cotton candy. it hushes the noise in your head, tells you everything is fine, and you are fully relaxed.
the aphrodisiac does the opposite.
it lights you up from the inside, sparks racing under your skin and it's spreading fast. your body feels like itâs moving a second ahead of your thoughts, responding before you can decide anything. youâre aware of it, at some point, you think you are. itâs confusing and intoxicating, like being set on fire, but it doesnât hurt at all, because you want to seek the warmth a little bit more.
and then thereâs san. his presence alone makes you want to squirt again with the way he focuses on you, so devoted when every movement of his mouth makes you ache in places you canât even name properly. thoughts scattering like puzzle pieces, and you canât focus on anything, because itâs like you are hanging upside down, all the blood going directly to flush your face.
wooyoung is everywhere else. hands firm, teeth grazing, reminding you that everything is indeed real and not some wet dream or a figment of your imagination. his touch keeps you from floating away entirely, even as your head feels light and as if you have no thoughts behind those eyes, you know one thing for sure.
you love them â the realization is simple, stripped of overthinking. love in a way that feels consuming and addictive. you donât know where the line is anymore, between friendship and this rather strange relationship: friends, best friends, maybe⊠soulmates, if you believed in something that big and unexplainable.
when they praise you, the obsession you pretend isnât there, hits you straight to the core.
baby, one of them murmurs, doll, the other follows. angel, princess, pretty girl, dove, bunny, sweet thing. each petname is reserved only for you, sending little shocks to both your body and brain. it makes your chest ache, your eyes sting faintly, as you might cry just from being seen, loved and desired all at once.
feeling like youâre in outer space, glowing like the brightest star, as if nothing exists beyond their bodies and voices, that can either make you shine even more, or suck you like a supermassive black hole. and you donât know what this makes you, just some girl with bad habits, or what it makes them; however, all you know is you never want it to stop.
your thoughts are still high in the endless vast sky when san finally pulls back. heavy breaths, lips still coated with the essence of you, as he settles beside you, shoulder brushing yours, staring up at the ceiling, needing a second to come back to himself. his hand doesnât let go, though; itâs possessively gripping your thigh, thumb pressing at your still trembling body. the weed keeps whispering slow down, but your suddenly spiked up libido refuses to listen.Â
you are needy, extremely needy, that you don't even know what to do, think, or say. should you cry or laugh? shaking all over, feeling the wetness under you on the soft cushion⊠did you make this mess?
for some reason, you wanted to cry â not because you disliked it, but because the feeling swelled up from somewhere deep inside, overwhelming you with nothing at all, and the show hasnât even started yet.
wooyoung raises his eyebrow at you and how youâre suddenly zoning out with those pretty dilated eyes of yours, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. poor angel, he thinks, you're so sweet and beautiful that he can't wait to ruin you. he shifts closer, knowing exactly what heâs doing, by wasting time with this mindless toying, watching you squirm and whimper without meaning to.
âfeeling needy?â he sweetly asks, as you nod, turning slightly to him to nuzzle your head in his shoulder. cheeks burning, because you need more than being toyed with, more than the slow build thatâs driving you out of your mind.
âlook at you,â twirling a lock of your hair between his fingers. âso pretty when youâre like this.â the way he says it makes something snap in you when your own hand goes to clutch at his shirt without thinking, âwoo, pleaseâŠâ
he tilts his head instead, looking down at you with almost apologetic eyes when it was nothing but a mocking stare. âhmm?â humming at the sound of you and how desperate you are. âwhat was that, princess?â
shaking your head, embarrassed by how badly you want him to do something, anything but his wandering fingers. âwoo⊠iââ
âno,â he cuts in, fingers tightly pulling the locks he just twirled, and it didn't hurt, but it made you hide your face entirely, âcome on, say it, use that pretty mouth of yours.â
you swallow, heart is pounding so loud youâre sure they can hear it. âpleaseâŠâ the word comes out shaky like you are begging for mercy, but oh dear angel, the fun part hasn't started for you to beg like this.
wooyoung leans in closer, his lips brushing your temple, leaving a quick kiss. âplease, what?â
âpleaseâŠ" he makes a quiet, pleased sound, dragging the moment out on purpose, letting you sit in the want until itâs only him you can think about. "i want you,â his hand never stops pulling your hair, gently of course, but he will get to the point of being the meanie he is, reminding you exactly how little control you have right now.
âagain,â he murmurs. âtell me what you want, donât be shy⊠we are here to make you feel good, alright?
"please," each repetition of the words please strips you down further. "please, woo, i need you, i-i just..." your voice gets softer and needier, just the truth spilling out of you. san is at your right, as you didnât even notice when his hand went up, fingers playing with your clit, massaging and toying with it, and you can only feel even more ashamed that you were so open for them.
wooyoung is closer to your upper body, and you turn into him instinctively, face still tucked into his shoulder, as your hands move on their own, drifting downward his body, finding what you were looking for without having to search.Â
âyeah,â his voice low and teasing, almost cooing, as you even turned to him with wide eyes as if you were feeling him for the first time, âof course i am hard, baby⊠how can i not be?â
heâs entertained by how obvious it all is. really how could he not be, when itâs you? when youâre like this â pretty, horny, exposed, pressed between them. his hand comes up to your back, fingers caressing your spine as you shiver slightly, keeping you right where he wants you.
âour pretty doll,â he adds, mockingly gentle. you donât even realize when sanâs touch changes when he starts pumping slowly with two of his fingers, it pulls a quiet moan from you, and you try to hide by biting your lips, embarrassed by how easily you react. your legs are shaking, you're even more aroused, and you don't just want their fingers and mouths. you want the real sweet pink lollipops.
wooyoung notices the way you shake, how tears start to slide down your cheeks, and his hand slides up, fingers tilting your chin so that he can murmur against your mouth. âlisten to yourself,â he pecks your lips, âit sounds even sweeter when you don't know what to say or do. isn't that right, san, don't you agree?â
between them, thereâs no sense of being used, because they donât take from you⊠they share you.
some days itâll be just san, leaving you glowing and aching for hours. other days itâll be wooyoung, all teasing smiles, watching the way you wobble afterward. and sometimes, like tonight, itâll be both of them: messy and too much into it.
they spoil you like a princess, and ruin you like a slut.
san is somewhere else entirely. all he can think about is being inside you too, so while you werenât looking, being distracted by wooyoung, who loved teasing and edging you⊠heâd been stroking himself, fingers slipping between your thighs at the same time. heâs leaking, fully hard, pre-cum sliding down his tip as he whimpers, cheeks flushing red and warm, answering only with a breathless:
âhahâ yeah⊠yeah, i uhâ what was the question again?â
wooyoung chuckles, turning toward his friend just in time to catch him with his cock out, then his gaze drops to you, eyes fluttering shut at the way sanâs fingers work you, lips parting as you unconsciously lick them. thatâs when wooyoung decides heâs done waiting.
âsan,â saying calmly to his best friend, âjust fuck her.â itâs not advice or a suggestion, itâs an order. between the three of you, heâs the control freak, the ringleader if anyone had to be given a role. then his attention shifts back to you, fingers already pulling your hands away from his pants.
âas for you, my pretty girl,â he adds, smiling wickedly at you, âiâll find a good use for that mouth. just donât try to choke, yeah?â
the zipper comes down as you watch the black denim pools at his feet, leaving him in boxers darkened with damp stains. he catches you staring, clicks his tongue, tells you to behave âeyes up,â and your gaze meets his. heâs about to explain the position he wants when san beats him to it.
suddenly youâre on all fours on the couch. san is right behind you, his cock presses against your soaked entrance. you swallow hard, breath catching, only to lift your head and find wooyoung right there â his length waiting at your lips.
san is slowly fucking you from behind, hands settling firm on your waist, your back arches instinctively, offering him everything, and the sight of your ass: plush, plump, bouncing every time he draws back, has him biting his lip hard. he has always been an ass guy, and always will be. âfuckâŠâ he breathes, voice wrecked already, thumbs digging in to leave marks.
he doesnât push all the way in at once; rolling his hips forward carefully, stretching you slowly, letting you feel every part as you clench around him, when he finds a rhythm that makes your eyes roll.
âyouâre doing so good, angel,â grunting and growling, letting his breathy deep voice come to life. âso pretty like this⊠taking me so well.â your answer is a broken moan, walls fluttering around him, and he canât help the soft whimper that slips out when you squeeze him even thighter, the sound of skin slapping making you think about how itâs been too long. you can feel it in the way he tries to find a pace, because itâs been what⊠four months, maybe? long enough that this feels like a reunion.
and then thereâs wooyoung. you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, lips parted and glossy, and he groans quietly as his hand tightens around his flushed cock, pressing the heaviness of it against your mouth, smirking down at you like he already knows youâll take it all.
âlook at you,â he scoffs softly. âopen wide, princess.â
and you do, because being stretched open is the thing you are phenomenal at, best of the best.
he slides in, just the tip at first, dragging it slowly across your tongue, letting you adjust to it. âthatâs it,â he mutters, thumb brushing your cheek when you relax your jaw. âgood girl. youâre really made for this, huh?â
pushing a little deeper, watching your throat work as you take him, wet sounds filling the room. âdonât get shy now. youâre so good at being used.â behind you, san groans your name, throwing his head back, hips slamming hard when he feels the way you squeeze him while reacting to wooyoungâs voice.
âsheâs so⊠beautiful,â san whispers, fingers rubbing soothing circles into your skin even as he starts to thrust more firmly. âtaking both of us like this⊠god, baby, youâre perfect.â
your moans turn muffled around wooyoung, drool slicking his cock as he guides your head, hand gripping your hair for better control of your movements, âyeah,â a low praiseful whisper, fingers dining into your hair, âjust like that, donât think about anything else.â
sanâs cock hammers into you from behind, hips rolling harder, pulling you against him as his hands grip your waist tight. every curve of your ass makes him bite his lip, low groans rattling out, âfuck⊠so tightâŠâ heâs praising as he slams into you deeper and faster, loving the way your gummy walls love him. every moan that spills from your lips has him whimpering with you.
at the same time, wooyoungâs cock stretches your mouth wide, tip pressing past your gag reflex, making you cough and choke slightly. drool and saliva slide down your chin, your palms dig into the soft couch cushions, knees braced, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as you try to catch a breath.
âdonât start with your crocodile tears, youâre not fooling anyone,â wooyoung snaps, tugging your hair with one hand, while the other has his thumb pressing against your chin to keep your mouth open. âi wonât slow down just because you canât take it⊠like youâve never sucked a dick before.â
youâre not faking it; your body genuinely canât handle it. he doesnât like hesitation, and that just makes him smirk cruelly, pushing deeper, head brushing the back of your throat. âdoll, donât pretend you donât want it.â his tone is so devilish, âitâs not every day i feel generous enough to give it to you directly instead of teasing.â
eyes rolling at the overwhelming sensations, at the slick heat filling both your pussy and your mouth. sanâs thrusts are needy and hard, pounding into you with heavy sounds of skin slapping. wooyoungâs words sting even as he praises you, and itâs too much, making every nerve scream. you want more, crave both of them at once, but your mouth is already full, and your body is shaking from overstimulation.
san groans your name, your back arching, thrusts growing desperate. â(name)⊠baby, iââ he chokes out just before spilling inside you in thick, hot waves. your mouth freezes mid-suck around wooyoung as you squeeze san, pussy clenching him deeper, milking him as he moans, whimpers, whines through the pleasure, slowly fucking his cum in you.
wooyoung doesnât like that â doesnât like when you slow down or stop. his grip on your hair is tightening, cock twitching violently. âhey, hey,â he hisses, âyouâre not done with me, little whore. you donât get to stop just because he came inside you. open up.â
he pushes forward, pressing even harder against your throat, making your gag reflex spike, and the room fills with your muffled whines, moans, and the wet slaps of two cocks at once.
everywhere you feel it: inside, dripping on your legs, and on your tongue. youâre overstimulated, crying, whining, clenching, and still craving both of them. being used exactly like this, at their complete mercy, itâs too much, but you canât stop, and neither of them wants you to.
san doesnât pull out, not even after youâve milked him dry. his hands stay firm on your hips, cock still buried deep, because your pussy feels too good to leave just yet. âlook at you,â he pants softly, canât get enough of the sight. âsqueezing me like that.â
your body follows him with another broken cry spilling out as you come with him. slick heat dripping down your thighs while he slowly fucks his cum into you, shuddering through whimpers, staying buried in you.
wooyoung doesnât have that patience. heâs already close, the grip tightening in your hair as he starts fucking your mouth again, meaner now. you choke, cough around him, tears still spilling, and he laughs under his breath. âaren't you a pathetic little thing?â
his thrusts slow suddenly, until only the tip of his cock presses past your lips. you barely have time to register it before he groans, cumming straight into your mouth. it spills thick and warm, hitting your tongue, your lips, dripping down your chin and onto the couch. he watches proudly of the mess you make. you try to pull back, just a little, however, he doesnât let you.
âdonât you dareâŠyou donât spit,â wooyoung growls, fingers pushing under your chin, cockhead nudging your lips. he stuffs it back into your mouth, making sure you swallow every bit. âgood, thatâs it. take it.â
youâre too fucked out to fight him and be a brat, overstimulated, tears still sliding as you swallow, and it feels humiliating and too much all at once.
he finally pulls out, stroking himself lazily while still slick with his release, smearing it over his hand, adding to the mess already ruined on the couch. you sob openly now, choking on broken sounds, body trembling. wooyoungâs hand shifts from your hair to gentle strokes, fingers combing through slowly, almost tender. sanâs hands follow suit, rubbing soothing paths over your hips and spine.Â
thatâs when you choke out, his cum still dripping out from your lips as you wipe with your hand, âm-more⊠i want more, p-please, iââ
they look at each other, because you really want more? usually thatâs it, they both cum, and so do you, cuddles and aftercare follow. sanâs about to ask you if you could really handle more because look at you⊠you're like a wounded rabbit, you can't move, you just tremble. with two bullets, they killed you good.
when wooyoungâs phone buzzes on the table, face down, it breaks all three of you from the trance, finally taking a breather, when san asks, still gently caressing your body to calm you down. âwho is it?â
wooyoung scoffs. âdonât fucking care. probably yeonjun or changbin wanting me to give âem weed.â
he ignores it, doesn't want anyone to ruin the mood, since your body is still clenching around san. wooyoung exhales slowly, as he looks back at you, then at his best friend. âsannieâ casually asks, âyou wanna be under her?â
the man blinks, ready to open his mouth and say okay, and the other just smirks. âiâll take care of her, donât worry. iâll be gentle, but no promises~â
the three of you already know what it means. san has to pull out, and even as he does, he murmurs promises, telling you heâll be back inside you before you can even miss him. wooyoung makes him guide you instead, watching closely, eyes never leaving you for a second.
san pauses, holding your hand as you sit at the edge of the couch, having already switched places with the other stoner. âdo i really need to lie down?â he asks, glancing at the mess. âitâs all dirtyâŠâ
wooyoung pulls his sweatshirt over his head, as he shoots a look to his friend, âyouâve got a shirt on. whatâs the problem?â
san exhales, flustered. âiâ nevermind thenâŠâ then his voice softens, sweet again when he looks at you. â(name), princess⊠come here.â that gentle tone makes you always follow without thinking.
you do exactly that, letting him guide you as you line yourself up again, sinking slowly onto his thick cock, until youâre seated fully, then lying back, feeling his toned body on your back even through the fabric. âgood,â san breathes, arms wrapping around you. âthatâs it, baby. so good, mm?â
you nod against his shoulder, when one of his hands slips up to your chest, squeezing your tits briefly before both hands move to your thighs, opening you wider for wooyoung.
when you finally lift your eyes to him, really look, your gaze softens despite everything. heâs beautiful too â toned, veins standing out, tattoos stark against his skin: the rose on his forearm, the latin quote along his ribs, the others you know by memory, tho you canât see the matching one he has with san. his abs, his v-line, it makes you wet all over again.
âangel,â wooyoung says softly for once, âwant you focused.â
dropping to his knees, the couch dipping under his weight as he lines himself up. you maintain eye contact, even when he hisses under his breath, cursing quietly because sanâs girth already fills you so much thereâs barely any room left.
but itâs fine. youâve done this before, more than once. third time now, right? they say the third time is the charm.
your pussy is swollen, sensitive, still warm from before, but you stay open, and obedient. theyâll be gentle, at least⊠one promised so, you are worried about the other.
wooyoung finally slides inside you, and you scream at the stretch of it: too full with two cocks inside you at once. your body trembles, breath breaking as they start to rock into you together, slow at first, letting you adjust. your hands try to hold your legs open, but give up quickly.
the man above is already gripping one of your legs high up, holding you open as san mirrors him, his left hand spreading your other thigh while his right slides down your waist, fingers finding your clit. the touch pulls a sharp moan from you, blessing their ears, eyes and souls.
âwoo⊠sanâ fuck, ahââ you chant their names, the only other words you know besided more and please. you are surely under some kind of spell, but the truth is, you are under some substances that you will definitely try out again.
san watches over your shoulder, breath hitching at the sight of him and his best friend inside you, making your body give out even as you take it. âsuch a good girl,â he murmurs, because you always take it, even if you think you canât.
wooyoung tightens his grip, opening you wider, forcing you to take them deeper. you hiss at the burn, eyes squeezing shut; however, the pleasure crashes over it immediately, and itâs so overwhelming. âyeah,â a breathy grunt coming from him, âthatâs it, pretty. keep saying our names like that.â
and you do, again and again, orgasm after orgasm, all night long. maybe you are a greedy little whore â because you let two men fuck you at the same damn time and you keep asking for more. wooyoung stays gentle only for so long before his thrusts grow rougher, more demanding, while san stays slower beneath you, forced to match what your body can take.
the sounds take over with the skin slapping, balls hitting, wet and obscene, when your moans mix with soft whines. then again, the phone couldn't stop ringing, but he ignored it, not now, he thinks to whoever decided to call him. san grunts and whimpers under you, fingers never leaving your clit, while wooyoung just groans low and deep, hips snapping harder. both of them praise you, voices overlapping, each trying to outdo the other, both in words and in how deep they push.
âi need to⊠woo, s-san please... nghââ they both know what you need.
youâre already right there, their cocks leaking, heads pushing deeper as they pick up the pace just enough. then it hits you, hard and sudden, a blissful wave tearing through you, soaking their lengths as your body clenches uncontrollably.
wooyoung comes first, much to everyoneâs surprise, cursing under his breath as he spills inside you. san follows moments later, fingers still working your clit until he finally grabs your waist, holding you down as he empties himself too.
youâre wrecked and completely full.
wooyoung doesnât soften completely after, but the praise doesnât stop. âthatâs it, baby,â a little rough even as his hands steady you. his thumb presses lightly into your thigh as san continues, âeasy now⊠we're so proud of you.â
they stay inside you until thereâs nothing left to give, both of them shuddering through the last of it before slowly pulling out. san lifts you carefully as he helps you sit up. you hiss from the impact, lungs struggling to pull in air, body ruined in the most beautiful way, eyes are glossy from crying, and you donât even know where you are anymore.
itâs warm, their release spills out of you in slow, obscene trails, dripping down your thighs. itâs so much that it almost makes you dizzy. theyâve never cummed like that before, never ever you have seen so much cum in your life or felt it in you.
and then theyâre there again next to your sides, hands brushing hair off your forehead, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. kisses pressed softly to your shoulders, collarbone, and your face. san murmurs about a bath, clean clothes, and being tucked in bed. all the care and tenderness youâve earned.
theyâll take care of you because their pretty doll always knows how to offer her heart, body and soul.
you donât hear them talking over you, because youâre already halfway asleep.
âiâll go prepare the shower,â san says, standing and stretching, and then it hits you that you are all butt-naked. âyou get towels from her room.â
you sway slightly where you sit, exhausted beyond thought. wooyoung stays close, arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you into him. water starting moments later, and you hear the sound, itâs a little calming actually. youâre exhausted, and for half a second, you smile and wonder about shower sex.
wooyoung reads your thoughts because he knows what that sleepy smile of yours is about. âangel,â he says, pulling you gently against his side, arm around your shoulders. âas much as i want to⊠no more sex tonight.âÂ
you hum instead of answering, eyes sliding shut, listening to the water run. âsorry for being mean,â he presses a kiss to your cheek, then another. âbut i know you like it.â
after that, everything is warm water and gentle hands. youâre clean, wrapped in a fluffy towel, skin smelling like coconut and orchids. wooyoung dries your hair carefully, fingers gentle even as the dryer hums, while san prepares your bed by straightening sheets, making space for your plushies where you like them when you sleep.
they dress you in fresh panties and an oversized shirt, guiding you until youâre tucked in, plushie hugged to your chest. they kiss you goodnight, eyes, nose, lips as you murmur, âi love you,â and they say it back without hesitation. "we love you too, doll."
then your best friends leave you to rest and return to the living room that still smells like sex. the couch can wait to be cleaned; towels are thrown over it for now. theyâve showered too, changed clothes, and are playing something quietly on the tv not disturb you.
because monsters or not when they fuck you, aftercare is a must.
already sitting side by side, the half-lit joint from earlier rests between wooyoungâs fingers. he finally takes a drag and offers it to san, who hesitates before accepting, smoke curling lazily between them. only then does wooyoung finally check his phone.
âshit.â
âoh,â san frowns at his own screen. âlooks like iâve been spammed too.â
your phone lies abandoned on the table, and they pick it up, curiosity getting the better of them. when they unlock it, the screen floods with notifications and missed calls, far worse than theirs. they exchange a glance, the same thought settling between them without a word.
how the hell are they supposed to explain to your boyfriend, yunho, that some addictions you just can't quit?
happy valentine's day âĄ
taglist ( open )ïčą @strhwa @lillys-bakery @les4heeseung @yeehaw-odyssey @livonianmaia @estrnrea @chanscappuccino @lateez @cyberpxnks @zerowantstobattle @raicecakes-and-buldak @finewinesixtynine @jensdior  @hwavon @hwa2tiny @woosansbb @haleria @lol-imtrash2000 @haohaoshoe @iamagnesrrr @phesodain @chuuyaobsessed @niyareloadedd @enhacolor @atetheluck @eviemae5864 @booposaurusrex @belongjoong @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @urfavleobiscuit @way2jellyous @cultofsin @hearts4itoshi
© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.
sneak peek for chapter 7 of like a waltz
san x reader (+ surprise member at the end), only lightly edited -> 1k words
âWhat are we going to do when the winter melts away?â YN teased San as she was tugged into his lap with a strong pull. She giggled as he adjusted her closer, tugging at her clothes in a way that was less sexual and more in efforts to make her comfortable in his embrace. The warmth of the fur coat was slung over her shoulders with a velveteen tickle.
âWhat will we do when itâs too warm to be this close?â she continued, fingering at his button-ups collar. The silk was soft and cool.
One of their favorite past times was cuddling up in Sanâs many fur coats. An excuse to be close for warmth when there were fireplaces and layers they could put on. No, San would pout if she suggested such a thing. He loved the affection. The cuddling and kissing. It was intimacy as close as they could get without having sex. Pressed forms, the expensive fur coats hiding them away, shielding them away from the world under the guise of seeking warmth. Sanâs lips were hot against her throat, nose nuzzling into her jawline. Breathing her in as his strong arms held her closer like she was a stuffy just for him.
âHmm, honey?â San mumbled against her skin. A well-placed kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear made her shiver in his embrace. He chuckled low, hands shifting over her back. A grin lazed onto his face.
âYouâre still shivering, YN.â He teased.
She shoved at him, playfully. He huffed and growled lowly, moving to hold her tighter. Shimming the furs tighter around them. She giggled at his antics, being pushed and pulled like a doll. Her legs shifted to straddle his lap. Closer, closer, closer. Their lips pressed against one another, hungry one moment before slowing into something more exploratory. San was always eager to learn, to discover something that would make her burn like he burned. Every lick, nip, and press of their lips was a careful thing. A search for the most pleasure he could drain from her and himself. San wished he could be in her skin despite the sweat that licked the back of his neck.
âArenât you warm, Sannie?â she murmured against his lips, pressing another kiss to his pout. His teeth grazed her lower lip, biting slow and surely until she gasped out. âYouâre sweating.â
He chuckled lowly. He felt like was on fire. But he felt that way whenever she was there.
Shifting her between his arms, he moved one hand to pluck at the white silk button up he wore. One button at a time popped free. His half-lidded gaze steadied on her, watching for any cues. Any flinches, any disapproval. All he saw were rosy cheeks, a dazed smile, and eyes that carved down his chest as more and more skin was revealed to her.
âI can cool down.â He said as he popped the final button. It was easy for the shirt to slide down his arms, warm fur brushing against hot tawny skin. His thumb brushed up and down her back.
âAlright, honey?â he checked in.
She nodded quietly, whispering a yes. Sanâs attentive yet lazy gaze faded into one of content. Eyes shutting as he smiled up at her, sweet as a cat.
âNot too hot?â he prompted, teasing her.
She was warm, buzzing with too much attention and half-drunk on kisses. She didnât answer, just leaned in to press another kiss to his lips. Eagerly. He rumbled a laugh against her mouth.
His hand trailed over her waist, tickling just enough to make her squirm into him as he slid his hand up and over her arm slung over his neck. Interlacing their fingers, he tugged her hand close to press a kiss to her hand, to her pulse point and then his bracelet around her wrist.
Before he guided it towards his bare chest. Her fingers were surprisingly cool to the touch and it made his pecs jump from the change in temperature. He laughed airily. She echoed it, adrenaline flooding her veins.
Even though theyâve been close, even though Wooyoung was touchy, even though she and Yeosang had kissed quite extensively, theyâve never shared so much skin-to-skin. She had never touched anotherâs body like this â even if it was just touching his chest. It was exciting, new, and whirl-winding. Her fingers tingled as she explored. His thumb caressed softly over her wrist. Eyes burned as he watched her.
âSan,â she whispered as she felt him stop her suddenly. Her eyes left his chest to watch him. He was out of breath. Silently, he guided her hand down his abs, flexing subtly so she could feel every carved muscle he worked so hard for.
She noticed the half-healed scars, the faint scarring, and old bruises. What caused them? Why did she want to kiss them away? Her fingers flickered over discolored ribs. Soft and gentle, her nails traced the shapes. Counted the freckles, the moles. Her hand shifted upwards, avoiding her eager stomach that urged her to go lower. Curiosity killed the cat and she didnât want blood on her hands just yet.
Still, her thumb brushed over a pebbled nipple and he sucked in a breath.
âYN,â he breathed back, leaning closer to capture her lips again.
She giggled breathlessly against him as she slid her hand back up over his neck to press herself closer. He groaned lowly, hiding the way he shut his eyes in pained pleasure. She was oblivious to why. He bit at her lip in retaliation before soothing it with another kiss.
âIâm yours,â he devoted himself to her. âHoney, ple-â
âScandalous.â A voice called out, making both of them jump out of their haze. âDonât stop on my account.â



