mae

In hindsight, leaving your phone unlocked in that den of boundless wolves was a terrible idea, especially with what you left open and forgotten in your search tab in your late night delirium of morbid curiosity. 

But the popcorn was running low and everyone else was too hung up on their pointless argument of the day, so could you really blame it on them when you walk back out to the living room to see them hovered over Intak who had taken your phone to fact check the hot actress’s name?

Yes, but it’s no less mortifying. 

They stare at the screen, jaws agape, some faces (Keeho, Taeyang) beyond amused and some faces (Jiung, Jongseob) beyond red. 

And you have a hankering for exactly what they’re looking at. 

“What,” you start, slow and sharp. “The fuck,” their eyes snap up to you in unison, wide and glittering. “Are you doing?”

It’s silent. 

Until,

“I don’t know, noona,” Intak starts with a wide beam on his face, the apples of his cheeks tinged pink. “Why are you searching up how to give a blowjob?”

The popcorn bowl in your hand clatters to the kitchen counter as you immediately make way to lunge at him. 

But a body intercepts you, catching you around the waist and spinning you away from Intak’s shrieking self. 

“Shota, let me at him!” You yelp, thrashing in his grasp. “Give me back my phone!”

There’s commotion behind you as you continue to struggle in Shota’s iron grip, voices overhauling each other to fight for the phone. 

“Wait, there’s another tab!” You hear Keeho yell, sounding positively overjoyed. “How to please your man in six—”

“Stop!” You cry, thrashing even harder. Your body burns, your head feels dizzy, and you feel like you might actually throw up from embarrassment. 

Shota, sensing your distress, has the decency to let you go. 

You immediately bolt to where Keeho’s sitting on the floor beside Intak, snatching the phone from his grasp before he can even react. 

He jumps back when you do, startled by your speed. “Wait, I wanna see—“

“You,” you snap, ignoring him completely to glare at Intak. You’re seething, breathing heavy, and looking surely vaguely deranged. “Do you have no manners? What makes you think you can just take people's phones?!”

Intak gapes at you, jaw working around empty words as he struggles to defend himself. “I-I just wanted to search up if that was really her—“

“You idiot, I don’t care if—“ You immediately cut yourself when you see his eyes start to glimmer with tears, blinking in an attempt to push them back with no avail. “Okay, that’s not fair, you can’t just cry your way out of every problem.”

He grins then, expression switching in a split second. “Can I kiss my way out of it then?”

Your sputter, Jongseob cutting in before you can. “Please,” he scoffs, roughly shoving Intak’s arm. “Like you haven’t been doing enough kissing.”

Your cheeks flush, mind flitting back to all those mornings that Intak had made you burn your eggs while he kept you distracted with his head between your thighs. It was a lot more than kissing…

“Not enough with how you and Shota are always hogging her,” Intak immediately retorts, shoving him back. 

Memories of morning indulgences fade into late nights in Shota’s chair with Jongseob on the line over a forgotten game, and more late nights in Jongseob’s lap to “keep him warm” while he finishes a round or two. 

“You three are equally terrible,” Keeho cuts in while Shota snickers in the back, then adds under his breath, “Selfish brats.”

He’s not wrong. With how often the younger three steal you away, you rarely get more than a few indulgent kisses with Keeho. 

“We’re getting off topic,” Taeyang, ever the mediator, pipes in. He’s still smirking from where he’s sat on the couch behind Intak, watching you with slitted, mischievous little eyes. “Care to explain?”

Your defenses crawl up your skin, as they always do whenever Taeyang is in the picture. As far as intimacies go since that night two weeks ago, you haven’t shared much with him save for some teasing touches and lingering looks that make you wonder just why he hasn’t initiated anything more like the others. 

Well, like the others except Jiung, the only one who seems to be actively avoiding you. Your eyes glance at him without your permission. He’s tucked himself away to the farthest corner of the big couch, his gaze stuck down to where he picks at his nail. 

You ignore the sting in your chest—whatever, you’re not that greedy.

“If you must know,” you relent with a huff, turning your narrowed eyes back to Taeyang. The only way to fight his can’t-be-damned demeanour is with one of your own. “I just wanted to learn how to repay you guys.”

“Repay?” Shota asks with a blink and a tilt of his head from where he stands.

You shrug your shoulders, dropping onto the bean bag across from where the others are loosely huddled. “You guys have been… giving a lot,” you say for lack of better wording. “And I don’t want to just take and not give forever.”

The grin that grows on Keeho’s lips is smug and a little fond. “Aw, but I like taking care of my princess,” he teases with just a hint of condescension. “You know we like taking care of you.”

The admission is honest. And it makes something warm pool in your belly that’s not just arousal. 

“I know,” you mumble, shuffling to sit up straighter. “But my point still stands. I want to be able to make you guys cum too.”

There’s a pause that settles as they take in your admission, so earnest, leaving you squirming a little in your chair. You think you hear a hitched breath here or there. 

“Yeah?” Intak breathes out eventually, eyes wide and eager as he watches you. “Show us what you learned then,” he says, ever so eager. “From your research.”

Your eyes snap wide open as you peer around the room, keeping your gaze away from the corner. “Here? Now?”

“Is there a better time?” Taeyang asks. He’s leaned back on his elbows, head tilted slightly so that his hair is wisped over his face in a stupidly attractive way. 

You almost glare at him. “I suppose not…”

“Don’t be nervous,” Keeho coos, then starts giggling at his own joke before he even voices it. “Even if we’re not easy it's not like you have to worry about making Jiung cum.”

Your stomach lurches when Jiung’s head snaps up to look at Keeho (and thankfully not you). “What happened last time wasn’t my fault!”

“Oh, then whose was it?”

“It was T—“ He stops himself, seeming to think better as his ears turn pink. He scoffs, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t get a proper chance last time.”

“Well, have you tried to redeem yourself yet?” Keeho asks with a shit-eating grin on his face, leaning over Taeyang’s lap to poke at Jiung. 

Jiung pushes himself farther away while swatting at his hand, refusing to look anyone in the eye. “I—That’s not—“

Taeyang snickers, watching Jiung with an equally amused grin. “Embarrassed?” 

They’re scary together, Keeho and Taeyang. You wonder just how much they would push Jiung, how much they have in the past. 

Jiung’s face turns fire red, and it makes you giggle. 

His eyes snap to you, and you purse your lips together, quickly averting your gaze. 

You can see him narrow his eyes at you from your peripheral. “I don’t think you should be laughing,” he says sharply, and it draws your gaze back to him, lips parting in shock. 

“Excuse me?”

There’s a shift in his gaze. You hate to admit how his gaze makes your skin prickle, like being simply acknowledged by him is what your body’s been craving. Gone is the fidgety, nervous mess that Jiung is whenever he would get near you after that fateful night. Before you is the Jiung who’d commanded you with just his voice, the one who’d made you nearly cum on just the sound alone. 

“How about you try it? You wanna make us cum?” He asks, and something about the way his eyes sharpen, the way his voice lowers, it makes you inclined to obey his every word. “Don’t cum without making us finish first. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”

It lights something in your chest, something hot and vengeful. You meet his narrowed eyes with your own. Jiung’s known to be stubborn but you’re no better, especially in the face of a challenge. 

“Does everything have to be a game with you people?” You scoff, though you’re already tracing him over, willing yourself to recall every one of his weak spots. 

Jiung notices, and places the pillow in his lap aside, like he’s giving you free reign to try. It makes you want to claw at him. 

“Didn’t you have a good time last time?” He asks with a raised brow. He shifts to sit closer to the edge of the couch, parting his legs almost in invitation. “Come on. Show us what you learned from your research.”

The way he says ‘research’ with a hint of condescension to his voice makes your head burn with the need to shut him the fuck up. It also makes the space between your legs burn, but you don’t concern yourself with that. 

Six pairs of eyes watch you as you rise to your feet and make your way to Jiung. It almost feels like that night, with you all exposed and vulnerable for the taking, except entirely different because now it’s not just one on one, or three on one. 

You barely survived the last time, and if this leads to anything like that… you can’t imagine how you’ll survive this time. Especially now that you can’t come.

You drop to your knees in the space between his legs, your eyes locked onto his heated ones. They’re dark, almost entirely swallowed by his pupils as he watches you. 

No one says a word as they watch you watch each other. Almost like they’re waiting in bated breath, unsure of who might lash out first. 

“And if I win?” You ask, resting your hands on his knees, a light touch that makes his legs give a minuscule twitch. “What do I get?”

He huffs out a tiny laugh, short and breathy as he reaches to card his hand through your hair, pushing the tresses back and nudging you closer with his hand on the back of your head. “As if you don’t have enough?” He clicks his tongue. “I didn’t take you for being greedy.”

But you don’t give to his push, your lips pulling up when his brows pinch together at your disobedience. “And I didn’t take you for being a pussy.” 

He scowls at you, but you cut in before he can retort. 

“It’s only fair.” You slide your hands slowly up the expanse of his thighs, his muscles tensing under the heat of your palms. You preen internally, at how you have him under the control of your touch this time. Is this what gives Taeyang his giant ego? “Reward and punishment, isn’t it?”

“She’s got a point,” says the devil, Taeyang, himself. He’s not too far now, moved closer to Jiung on the couch. 

Jiung works his jaw, his fingers gripping down and digging into your skull. “We can make you cum however you want. Your pick.” 

The prospect makes you smile. “I can work with that.”

“Good. Now are you gonna shut up and—“ He cuts off with a hiss, head tilting back when you cup your hand over the strained tent in his lap and firmly knead down. 

It’s a nice feeling under your palm, not entirely unfamiliar as Intak had guided your hand clumsily over himself during one of your quick chases for relief, but it’s never been anything exploratory. 

You shift your hand, finding the thick length of his shaft, and slowly drag a tight hand along it over the fabric of his pants. 

Jiung grits back a choked groan, his hips bucking up to chase the touch. 

“So sensitive,” you coo without thought, but you don’t get to savor it before he’s shoving your hand off of him and reaching for his waistband. 

“Don’t stall,” he says, pushing down his sweats and his boxers down to his thighs. You’re reunited with the sight of his cock, half hard as he takes it into his hand and gives it a firm tug. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the pearly drops gathered at his flushed tip. “C’mon.” He puts his hand on the back of your head again, urging you forward. “Show me what you learned.”

You could fight back. Or you could just make him weep. 

So you give under his pull this time, bracing your hands in his thighs once more, and rise up on your knees to take him into your mouth. 

Your lips wrap snug around his tip, the musky taste of him bursting on your tongue at the first swipe along his slit.

You hum at the unfamiliar taste, following your instinct to give it a suck to taste more of him on your tongue. 

Jiung’s fingers tighten in your hair, digging down to push you. 

You give under the push, sinking down to take more of his length. The intrusion is foreign and makes your throat clench when his tip brushes the back of your mouth, but the details from the article you’d read just last night flit back to you. 

You breathe in deep through your nose and let your muscles relax around him, and only then do you push to take just a bit more. 

It’s too much. Your throat clenches around him uncomfortably and you pull off immediately, coughing into your arm. 

Keeho somehow appears on your left (he must have moved at some point from Taeyang’s side) and reaches to brush your hair back. 

“She’s so eager,” he teases, almost obligatory, because then he’s wrapping a gentle hand under your jaw and guiding you back to Jiung’s cock. “Don’t take too much too quick.”

“We shouldn’t be allowed to help,” you hear Taeyang mumble. 

You flush under the careful watch, wrapping your hand around Jiung’s base as Keeho guides you to take Jiung back in your mouth regardless of what Taeyang says. 

“You’re just a bitch Tae,” Keeho says distantly, too focused on the way your lips stretch around Jiung, who’s already starting to look a little too affected so early on. “She went through all that trouble of learning, best we can do is guide her through it. Isn’t it, princess?” He hums, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the apple of your heated cheek. He revels in the little whimper you let out, his own cock stirring in his jeans as he lets his hand join Jiung’s to push you down a little further. “You’re gonna take all our cocks aren’t you?” He whispers in your ear, chuckling at the choked sound you give. “Gonna make us all cum like our good little whore?”

He wants to push you more, but he gets yanked back by Jiung’s hand on the back of his collar. 

“Stop interrupting her,” he snaps, shooting him a nasty side glare before turning back to watch you as you slide up to suckle at his tip. 

Keeho rolls his eyes but relents, settling to palm himself through his jeans. He can be patient. For now.

But all of that noise goes over your head, because you’re too caught up in the heady taste of Jiung on your tongue. 

His hand stays a steady presence in your hair, not quite pushing anymore, but there to remind you that he will if he needs to. 

But he doesn’t need to, not when you start a steady pace of sinking down to take half his length then slip up and work the gummy head with your tongue while your hand works whatever you can’t fit in your mouth.

It’s clumsy at first, exploring and learning, but your movements become sharper by the second. The sounds are lewd, wet and filthy, mingling among the heavy breaths here and there not just from you. 

You glance up to see Jiung’s blown eyes steadfast on you, his cheeks flushed, his brows pinched and lips slightly bitten. He’s breathing heavily, a sure sign that you’re doing something right. 

The sight of him shoots electric heat right to your core, where you can feel yourself dampening by the second. Your thighs are pressed together to quell some of that helpless desire, but it’s not enough. Whatever, it’s not like you can do much about that anyway—you’re not sure you can handle one of Taeyang’s punishments if he deems you worthy of one for failing Jiung’s challenge. 

The state that Jiung was left in that night… you don’t think you’d survive.

You look up at him again. He’s got his head tilted back, lips parted as he pants. Your clit gives a pathetic throb—what you’d do to get him in that state yourself. Maybe you really are starting to understand Taeyang. 

Taeyang, who’s sitting at your right and palming himself through his sweats. He notices that you’re peering up through your lashes, of course he does, and gives you a lazy, smug little smile. 

But you don’t pay it any mind, your eyes locking onto the thick bulge straining the fabric. 

Your mouth slows down on Jiung, opting to stay and suckle at the tip as if you’re almost entranced by the sight of Taeyang’s hand wrapped over himself, pulsing down to relieve himself. Your hand gives an involuntary twitch. 

Jiung’s hips buck up, his tip poking up into the side of your cheek and nearly grazing against your teeth.

“Come on,” he whispers under his breath impatiently, and it spurs you back. 

You hollow your cheeks, sucking tightly around his cock as you slide down and up, and Jiung lets out a satisfied groan over you. 

“There you go,” he sighs, nails gently grazing into your scalp. “Good…”

It makes you whimper around him, the sound making him buck up into your mouth again. You can’t really tell if he’s getting close just yet, but you know you’re winding him up to it. Maybe you just need to double your efforts. 

But you can’t, because Taeyang takes the hand you have holding onto Jiung’s knee and places it right over his own erection. 

Your hand twitches at the sudden feel of him, your mouth faltering again, eyes snapping to the side to watch as Taeyang kneads your hand down with the guide of his own hand splayed over yours. 

He’s hot under your hand even through the fabric, thick and pulsing and impossibly hard. You’d nearly forgotten just how big he is. 

Without thinking, you reach up to his waistband and tug down. 

Taeyang smirks, lifting his hips to shuck his sweats and boxers down, letting himself spring free as he settles to sit closer, almost flush against Jiung’s side.  

Jiung doesn’t protest, can’t really when you eagerly grasp Taeyang in your hand. He can’t be that greedy when he’s given you such a long task. And he doesn’t quite hate the pained hiss Taeyang lets out when you drag your fist up his cock, the touch too dry to be pleasurable. 

But Jiung does hate it when you move off of him to reach over and take Taeyang’s cock into your mouth. He also hates that his dick twitches at the sight of your lips stretched around the thick girth as you struggle to take him in and slick him up with your tongue. 

Taeyang’s hand twitches at his side but before he can get his grubby hands on you, Jiung pulls you off of him with his hand back in your hair and not so gently pulls you back to himself. Fuck not being greedy, he is. For you he is, and he’s been watching the others have their fill of you for the past few weeks while all he did was watch from a distance and wallow at his own pathetic self. 

“Jesus,” Taeyang scoffs at his side, but Jiung can’t bring himself to care as he feeds you his cock again, sighing at the warmth of your mouth engulfing him. “Didn’t take you for a pusher, Jiungie.”

Jiung scowls at the nickname, gripping down on your hair when you sink further, enough to have him hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. He shudders at the sensitivity. 

“Tired of not getting what I want,” he muttered passively, blinking back the haze that’s starting to cloud his vision. 

Taeyang lets out a pleased groan, and Jiung glances over to see that you’re working him with your fist at the same pace you’re working your mouth. 

He watches as Taeyang’s face twitches each time you pass over your tip, twisting your hand around it with each upstroke. Whatever article you’d read on that must have been good. Or you’re just a natural. 

Whatever it is, Jiung feels a twisted sense of pleasure fester in his chest at Taeyang being so affected by so little. 

“Sensitive?” Jiung asks, not bothering to mask the condescension dripping from his tone. 

Taeyang opens his fluttering eyes and laughs breathily, looking down at where Jiung is starting to subconsciously buck his hips up to meet your mouth. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Taeyang says, brows pinching and teeth gritting when your hand starts to pick up the pace. “Close?”

Jiung doesn’t know what it is that sets off that competitive fire in him, but he thinks that somehow, cumming first would mean losing to Taeyang. And he can’t allow that to happen. Again.

“Not even,” he lies, willing that heat in his gut to loosen. But it’s there and it’s insistent with each swirl of your tongue over his cock, with each little suckle you give his tip every time you drag up. 

“Good. Me neither,” Taeyang says, and Jiung knows it’s a lie too. 

But you don’t notice, far too busy with the cock in your mouth and the other one in your hand. It’s difficult to coordinate with just them, but it becomes infinitely more so when someone settles behind you, lifts your hips, and starts grinding their hard-on against your clothed cunt. 

You moan at the sharp pleasure that bursts through your body. The groan behind you lets you know it’s Intak, and you’re not surprised in the least. 

You are, though, a little miffed when he starts a steady pace rutting into you, distracting you with the heady heat that climbs through your body with his dick slotted right between your aching folds. 

You lose track of both Jiung and Taeyang, your body honed in on the pressure that your body’s been craving for so long. 

And it makes Taeyang impatient, because he reaches over to dig his hand in your hair and starts to guide your head on Jiung with unabashed force. 

Your confused hum gets lost on Jiung as he moans, his hips starting to twitch and tremble under you. 

Another hand wraps around yours on Taeyang’s cock, bigger and rougher than Taeyang’s, and starts to guide your hand at a quicker pace, but with the mess of everything you can’t really care. 

So you shut your eyes and focus, trying to ignore as Intak ruts against you, and hone your efforts. 

It’s enough damage to Taeyang, who knows he’s probably fighting a losing battle because with your hand and Jiung’s hand working his cock, he knows he’s bound to not last. 

And when Jiung sets his mind to something, he’s usually not one to back down (save for some of his more… vulnerable moments). 

But he tries anyway, pushing your head down in Jiung’s lap and forcing you to take him down to the hilt. He only feels a little bad as you gag and sputter around it, but he’s not too guilty when Jiung lets out a choked moan and bows up off the couch. 

But he’s annoying, and he doesn’t cum yet, just spurs his hand over yours to move quicker on Taeyang. 

“You’re a fucking cheat,” Jiung gasps, pushing Taeyang’s hand off to give you some reprieve as you pant and recover. But you don’t waste time, taking Jiung right back down your throat. 

Taeyang’s retort dies on his tongue when Jiung guides your hand to give short, quick strokes at his sensitive tip. He curses as he pulses under the grip, digging his hand into the cushion. 

“You’re just bitter you lost,” he says anyway through his choked grunts. 

His body writhes under the sensation, gasping when your hand twists around the head of his cock before tightly sinking down. His hips start to buck up with a mind of their own, his eyes rolling back when your hand starts those tight, mind numbing strokes along his tip again. 

“You’re a… fuck…” he tries to speaking, but you’re fucking the words out of his head when you move your hand even quicker. “You’re just a s-sore fucking los-er—nngh!” 

Taeyang’s body tenses up off the couch, his head thrown back as he gasps for breath, holding on to the last thread of his control. 

But it snaps when Jiung leans in, whispering into Taeyang’s ear, breath fanning hot against his already heated skin. “Yeah? Then why are you about to cum?”

Taeyang cums with a ragged yell, spurting hot, thick ropes over your rapid hand. Jiung watches his body writhe through his orgasm—and something about the way he moans and whimpers, the way he trembles and twitches under your hand, the way his plush lips part for air, it does Jiung in. 

He curses, grabs your jaw and slides his cock back into your mouth (you’d popped off to focus on milking Taeyang for all he’s worth), and starts to ruthlessly fuck his cock up into your open, pliant mouth. 

He gasps as his orgasm builds, crashing over as he starts to shove his cock deep into your throat uncaring for the way your gag around him. And he seats himself in deep, grinding up into your face as he spills down your throat with a guttural groan, his entire body trembling through the overwhelming crash. 

You start to push at him eventually, and he lets go amidst his daze, his body going liquid into the cushions as you cough his release back over him. 

You’re pretty sure you’re seeing stars, your head spinning and mind reeling all at once. It’s only the insistent pressure of Intak still needily rutting against you that tethers you to reality. 

You don’t really get to recover, because Intak’s arms wind around you from behind and pull you to his chest, seating you on his lap over his needy arousal. 

His breath is hot and damp against your ear. “Can I eat you out?”

You nearly laugh through your daze at just how addicted he is to living with his head between your thighs. But that’s not what tonight is for. 

“No,” you say, reaching back to scratch affectionately into his hair with a pointed grind down on his cock that has him grunting.

You press your lips lazily to his cheek, Jiung’s cum smearing over his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind it at all as he turns to you and licks it off your lip before kissing you half heartedly, his mind too caught up in grinding against you. 

“Gonna take care of you tonight,” you mumble into the kiss, lifting off of him. 

He lets out a little whine when you disconnect, only settling when he sees you just stripping yourself of your layers. You hear him hastily pull his own clothes too before pulling you in and slotting cock against your ass. 

You gasp as he starts rocking you down, panting into your ear. “Don’t care, just wanna fuck you,” he whines. 

You click your tongue, moving to raise off of him but his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you right back down. 

“Please, noona, just sit on my cock,” he pleads. 

You feel him against the swell of your ass, hard and pulsing with need, practically begging you to.

“You better listen.” 

Keeho’s voice pulls your attention to him as he raises from where he was sitting, his dick sitting long and pretty in his hand as he works it. 

You watch as he closes in on you, stopping to stand right in front of you. He strokes himself slowly as he peers down at you with lust ridden eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. 

“If he gets impatient enough he’ll just take what he wants,” he says, voice deep and gravelly. He taps the head of his cock against your lip, smearing the wetness, but something tells you not to do anything without his direct command. “But you’re no stranger to that.”

“No,” you say, letting your breath brush over him. You fight a smile when you see him twitch in his hand. “Have you been watching us, Kyo?”

His smug expression falters for just a second before it livens back into a nearly wicked grin. “Maybe I have,” he says calmly, then hooks the head of his cock against the corner of your lips and pulls, popping out before he digs back in just to push against your teeth. 

You still don’t open. 

His brows twitch, a flicker of irritation that makes you smile. 

But not for long; because then Intak bristles under you, seeming to have had enough. He just wraps one arm around you and hoists you up, his other hand guiding his cock against your sopping cunt. 

You gasp at the blunt pressure, at the sheer size of him as he messily seeks out your hole. You’ve never actually taken him before, only seen him once, and you’re quickly reminded of his size, just shy of Taeyang’s. 

“W-Wait,” you try to say, but Intak ignores you completely. You gasp when he hooks against your entrance and pushes at the same time he pulls you down. 

The stretch as he pierces into you is devastating. Your mouth falls open in a loud cry, your walls clamping down and protesting at the sudden intrusion. 

And Keeho takes the opportunity to bully his cock into your mouth, sheathing himself in to the hilt and making you gag. 

It’s all encompassing, the feeling of being full from everywhere. Your head gets dizzier the longer Keeho keeps himself buried down your throat, cutting off all your oxygen as he keeps you pressed to his naval with a rough hand in your hair. Intak ruts himself even deeper and holds there, panting and whining at the tightness around his needy cock. 

You think you might pass out. 

But then Keeho pulls out completely, squeezing down at his base to stave off his quickly rising orgasm. The look on your face almost did him in, cross eyed and empty headed, purely blissed out. 

You cough, gasping for air as you try to recover, but Keeho doesn’t feel like being too nice tonight. 

“Open,” he says, and his dick jumps at how quickly you let your mouth fall open at his command. 

He grins, stroking his fingers gently in your hair as he holds you in place. “Good bunny,” he whispers, then starts to fuck himself into your warm, pliant mouth. 

You take it so well, humming softly around him with each stroke, gagging just a little each time he brushes against the back of your throat. The pace is languid, merciful for now.

Your eyes flutter closed, lost at the taste of him, at the feeling. But Intak looks like he’s about to burst into tears under you. 

He has to tap your cheek to gain your attention again, and when you blink your hazy eyes open, he places his hand under your jaw to lift you a little. 

“Come on, don’t forget about Takki.” 

Realization flits through the daze in your eyes, and you follow his pull to rise to your knees, bracing your hands against his sturdy thighs, nails digging into the rough denim. 

Slowly, you rise, and Keeho watches as Intak’s eyes roll back, as his body slumps back onto the seat of the couch behind him. 

And when you sink back down, slow and like it takes you a great deal of effort to impale yourself on his cock again, Keeho’s pretty sure Intak is gone. 

He just laughs at the sight, biting back a comment about how pathetic you both look, and lets you set the pace and adjust to his size. 

Soon enough you’re bouncing on his cock with ease, moaning around Keeho like a wanton whore as you chase the burning pleasure which each slam of your hips down on his. Your mission remains a weary thing in the recesses of your mind—you can’t cum without making them cum first. 

But it’s becoming more and more difficult by the second to heed to it, because with Intak filling you up, the ridges of his cock stroking every inch of your gummy walls so nicely, all your body wants to do is fuck until you can’t anymore. 

And you nearly get lost in that feeling, nearly let yourself chase that release. 

Until Keeho grips down on your hair and starts to pound his cock into your mouth, uncaring for the way it makes you gag each time he breaches your throat. 

“Fuck,” he hisses above you, his gut coiling at the sight of tears brimming your eyes. But you don’t protest, dutifully taking it as he ruins your throat while you keep fucking yourself down on Intak, though you get clumsier by the second. 

Intak is just a mess—moaning and writhing about how noona feels so good, gonna make him cum—he won’t even bother with that. 

Keeho’s too focused on you fucking yourself dumb, letting yourself be used like this. 

“You’re a fucking cockslut,” he laughs, voice breathy and ragged through his moans. He tightens his grasp on your jaw, digging his thumb into your cheek to feel himself through the barrier. “Bet you’re close from this, aren’t you?”

You nod on him, whining when he stops to rub his tip down on your tongue. 

“Yeah? You get off on being used like a cocksleeve?”

Your body gives a quick jerk, like the words were a physical thing threatening to pull your orgasm out of you. It makes his cock pulse dangerously against your tongue. 

He grits his teeth, cursing before he starts slamming back into your throat, his pace unforgiving. “Just made for this,” he gasps, the coil in his gut tightening each time you gag on him. You’ve stopping moving on Intak, and Intak starts whining under you, trying to fuck him self up and jerking your body with the movements, but Keeho doesn’t care. 

He continues to selfishly chase his orgasm, uncaring for the way you’re convulsing around him. You keep taking it, not pushing, not pulling, just taking. 

And it ruins Keeho. He pulls out completely with a pained grunt, fisting himself frantically to completion, holding you in place by the jaw as you gasp and cough and squirm. Thick ropes of his cum spurt out as he finishes with a low grunt, painting your face in pearly white streaks. 

Your mouth opens subconsciously, trying to catch his release, and Keeho groans, his cock giving another pathetic little kick at the sight. He indulges you, pushing his tip down on your tongue to smear the rest of his release before pulling back. 

You hum at the taste, your body nearly giving out, until Intak, who’s had just about enough, lifts you up and pushes you down onto all fours. 

You yelp, scrambling to catch yourself on your hands but Intak pushes you down with a hand between your shoulderblades, arching your ass up to meet his hips where he still remains buried inside you. 

“Sorry, noona,” he heaves. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Then he starts to piston into you with no restraint, punching your breaths effectively out of your lungs with each slam of his hips. It hurts with how rough he is, but it burns so good that he rapidly drives not only himself to his orgasm, but yours too. 

Alarms blare in your head, and you scramble to push him back but it’s a useless attempt. 

“T-Tak, no, ‘m gonna—“

He doesn’t care, holding your hips with both hands, bracing one foot down on the floor so he can pummel into you even harder. 

“Can’t stop,” he pants, barely sane as he chases the frantic heat. “C-Can’t stop, noona, need t’cum in y—fuck!”

His orgasm barrels through him unannounced and he fucks it out in you, babbling for you to take it. 

It nearly pushes you over. But you’re practically ripped away from him, you cunt empty and clenching around nothing but warm cum, as the world spins around before you’re dumped somewhere. 

That somewhere happens to be Shota on the love seat, completely bare of clothes as he wastes no time to shove his hard cock into you. 

You whine, writhing in his hold at the sudden stretch, though it’s not completely unwelcome. 

“No, stop,” Shota pleads, tightening his strong arms around you. “Stay, I’m so hard.”

“Yeah, noona,” sounds a silky voice from behind you, teasing and light as another wall of warmth hovers at your back. “Stay. Or Shota might cry from not getting his dick wet.”

Shota huffs, rutting up into you. “Shut up, Seobie, just get to work.”

You whine as Shota digs much deeper into you. He’s slimmer than Intak, but longer in a way that makes your toes curl. 

“Pushy,” Jongseob chuckles, pressing a warm kiss to your shoulder before he shifts. 

Your mind drifts immediately, too far removed from whatever Jongseob was doing as Shota slowly, shallowly fucks up into you. Not in a chase for anything, just as something to do as he waits…?

Your body seizes up taut, a ragged gasp ripping from your throat as you feel a wet pressure start to prod against your hole—not the one Shota’s currently buried in. 

“S-Seob!” You yell, squirming as you feel the pressure start to circle the tight ring of muscle. 

“Shh, relax,” he coos into your ear, barely pushing against your hole before he starts to circle it again. “It’s just my finger. Gonna open you up first.”

Fuck, you’d nearly forgotten you’d mentioned to him this was something you wanted to try. But you were too drunk on his cock at the time, delirious to what you were saying. It must have stuck with him, if he came prepared to seize any opportunity.

“B-But I’m supposed t’make you…” You trail off with a gasp when he tries to prod into you again.

He presses another kiss to the back of your head. “You will.”

Your knees tighten against Shota’s waist, your hole clenching in resistance when he tries to push in again. Your clit gives a pathetic throb, brushing against the base of Shota’s dick, and you’re quickly reminded of your burning need to cum. 

So you start whining. 

Taeyang knows exactly why. He’d been watching you intently as the others took their turn with you from where he sat, languidly stroking his newly hardened cock. 

“What is it?” He asks, doing nothing to hide the amusement in his voice. “Need to cum?”

You nod immediately, squirming, but Shota and Jongseob both hold you still. 

“Please,” you sob, your wide eyes flitting over to Taeyang. “Please, just once, need to… please…”

Taeyang’s about to respond, but Jiung beats him to the punch. 

“No,” he says, prompt and final.

Taeyang looks to his right, raising a brow at Jiung who watches on. He’s hard again where he’s tucked himself back into his pants, but he doesn’t touch. He just watches. 

Taeyang would be impressed if he wasn’t a little pissed off by him. 

His gaze turns back to you at the sob you let out, dropping your head to Shota’s chest as you accept your defeat. 

You’re still fidgety and tense, Jongseob getting a little frustrated when he’s not making any progress. So Taeyang, being the generous hyung he is, slips his hand out of his pants and gets up, making his way over. He doesn’t mind helping. 

You perk up a little at his presence, your eyes immediately locking onto where he’s straining against his sweats where it stands almost eye level with you. 

Taeyang scoffs, reaching down to pull himself out. “Come here,” he says, barely having to guide himself before you’re lifting up to take him into your mouth. He sighs at the wet heat wrapping around himself, brushing his thumb against your hollowed cheeks. “That’s it, you feel better with cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

He doesn’t mind helping as long as it gets him his dick sucked. 

You just hum around him, too dumb to properly respond. But it seems to do the trick, distracting you enough as you languidly suck on him to have your body relax. 

Even Shota latches onto your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it to ease a steady buzz of warm pleasure through your body. 

It relaxes you enough that you don’t even notice Jongseob slip the tip of his finger past your rim. Until he starts to shallowly fuck it into you. 

You bristle at the unfamiliar feeling, too sharp and intruding for your body to handle. But Jongseob quickly grabs your hip, holding you down. 

“Easy, easy,” he consoles, rubbing his hand gently along your spine. “You’re doing good. Just relax, let me in. Just breathe.”

His smooth, low voice thrums pleasantly in your head, easing you down. 

You hum softly as Shota switches to your other nipple, sucking softly at Taeyang’s tip as Jongseob slowly pushes his finger in to the second, then third knuckle until his finger sits fully sheathed into you. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, slowly pulling it out just to push it back in. He kisses your shoulder at your trembling whimpers. “I know, love, I know but it’ll feel better soon, promise.”

And it does, slowly but surely. 

He manages to shallowly thrust his finger into you, the stretch becoming more bearable by the second. Your little whimpers spill around Taeyang’s cock where it just sits there on your tongue now, waiting, not pushing. 

Soon enough, Jongseob is pushing a second finger in, making your body crumble onto Shota’s chest. But he doesn’t stop, he guides you through it as he scissors you open. 

Taeyang guides himself back into your mouth with a hand on your jaw, the other carding through your hair. “You’re taking it so well,” he says softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You melt at the uncharacteristic gesture, blinking your bleary eyes up at him. “You’re just that greedy for cock, hm?”

He grins at the fresh wave of tears that pool in your eyes when Jongseob starts to push the third finger in, pouring more lube over your hole to make the slide easier. 

But it still devastates you, makes you wail when he sits all three of his fingers to the base. 

“That’s enough,” Taeyang says, showing you some mercy as he pulls out to let you gasp the air threatening to leave your lungs. “She can take it now, hurry up.”

Jongseob clicks his tongue at his pushy tone but pulls his fingers out anyway, watching your hole gape around nothing. The comment dies on his tongue as he slicks himself up generously before pushing against the tight ring of muscle. 

You jolt at the heavy pressure, far more daunting than his fingers. Your whine of protest is barely a whine at all, just a broken sound because you’re too far gone for anything else. 

Then he starts to push in, and it feels like you’re being ripped open, impaled by his hard cock, carved out to make space for him. 

You cry out, your nails digging into Shota’s chest at the overbearing intrusion. 

“Easy,” you hear Taeyang say from above, his fingers scratching down into your scalp. “Slower.”

He’s not talking to you, though you wouldn’t have much of a mind to listen even if he was. You drop your weight on Shota, who’s tense under you from how hard you’re clenched around him. 

Soon enough, Jongseob sheathes himself fully in you. And full doesn’t even begin to explain just what you feel. 

You hear your name, gentle against your ear. 

“Are you okay?” Shota asks from under you. His thumb comes up to brush away the tear rolling down your cheek. 

You let out a stuttered breath, swallowing down the tension in your throat. You breathe out, trying to let go of the tension everywhere else. 

Your body eases slowly as it adjusts to Jongseob’s girth, and you find yourself nodding. 

“Okay,” you manage to slur, whimpering when Shota presses a warm kiss to your lips. 

He uses it as a distraction to buck his hips up slightly, an experimental roll of his hips to see where you are. 

When all you give is a soft, pleasured hum as the base of his cock rubs against your aching clit, he starts to slowly rock his hips up until all you’re doing is panting into his lips. 

Jongseob doesn’t move just yet, not until he feels you relax more around him. He’s struggling too, at the death grip you have around him, but when you start to ease up, he thrusts into you once just as Shota thrusts out. 

You tense up again but it’s momentary, a choked moan escaping you. 

Jongseob thrusts in again, and again, then starts to fuck into you at a steady pace, pulling out when Shota pushes into your cunt. 

Your body is completely liquid, molten against them to mould and move as they please, as they take what they want. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just a steady stream of burning pleasure that grows hotter the more frantic their thrusts become, the noisier they become as they fuck you in tandem. 

You give yourself to them mindlessly. 

Until Taeyang slides a hand under your head to lift you up, prodding his cock back into your mouth. 

You take him pliantly as he starts to fuck into the tight space, groaning low. 

“Perfect little cocksleeve, aren’t ya?” He gasps mindlessly, twitching in your mouth. 

Your only let your jaw fall wider, gagging around him when he starts to fuck into your throat, but you just take it. 

Shota’s whining under you, pretty scarlet lines blooming on his chest from your nails dig down. “F-Feels so good like this,” he gasps, slamming up into you as much as he can with what the tight space can allow. 

“So fucking tight,” Jongseob grunts from behind you, hands gripping tight on your hips as he pounds into you. “Shit, not g-gonna last long…”

You moan around Taeyang, your own body pushed closer and closer to its limits. Your neglected pleasure won’t stay intact for much longer, but the recesses of your mind still fears what might happen if you let go too soon. 

Taeyang cums in your mouth without warning, pushing in deep to spurt down your throat with a ragged groan.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling out as you start coughing, roughly pushing the little bead of release escaping the corner of your mouth back into your tongue with his finger. “Don’t waste it.”

You’re barely recovering from Taeyang, your body jerking under Shota and Jongseob’s brutal thrusts, when Intak shoves his way in, seating himself in your mouth. 

You bristle under the sudden intrusion but Intak holds you in place with a hand behind your head, starting to fuck frantically into your tongue. 

“Sorry, noona,” he breathes, his head tilting back at the warmth of your mouth. “C-couldn’t help it, need to cum again.”

You don’t complain, not that you can, as he chases his pleasure from you. 

Someone takes your hand, wrapping it around their cock for them to fuck into your fist—Keeho, you think, but everything is too blurry now to tell as the four men use your body, fucking you and your mind to tatters practically. 

You start to convulse under the onslaught of sensation, the coil in your gut winding tighter and tighter. 

It’s impossible to stop it now, you don’t have a tethered bone in your body to stop it from happening. 

You try to warn them, but it’s a fruitless attempt. 

Your orgasm barrels through you violently, snapping through your body like lightning as you jerk through it, wailing around Intak’s cock. 

It starts a chain effect, Shota spilling into you with a yell as your cunt flutters around him, Jongseob following soon after with how tightly you tense around him. Your hand and forearm grows damp with Keeho finishing himself in your loose fist, and Intak pulls out of your mouth just to paint your face. 

You’re floating somewhere between heaven and earth, body trembling with incessant tremors, mind vacant from anything but the pure bliss. 

Until the dread settles heavily over you. 

Jiung immediately stands to action when he hears the first sob escape you. 

He pushes his way through the bodies, practically knocking Intak to the ground and shoving Keeho aside, urging Jongseob off of you. 

He kneels beside you at the second sob, pushing his hand into your hair. But you turn your face away, burying it in Shota’s shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his heart climbing up his throat. Were they too rough? Did they hurt you? Fuck, he told them to be more thorough with their prep but—

“I failed,” he hears your tiny voice mumble, and his heart effectively crumbles. 

That’s why you’re upset?

Jiung lets out a breath, nudging Shota. Shota gets the hint, gently rolling your body down as he slips out of you with the hiss, moving aside to give Jiung way. 

But even as Jiung tries to pull you closer to him, you bury yourself further into the cushions. 

“Are you hiding from me?” You hear him ask, and even through the haze you can hear the pout in his voice. 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, trying to hold in your sniffles but it’s almost like you don’t have control anymore over your body with it being too spent. He slides his hand under your head, forcing you to face him but you squeeze your eyes shut, turning your face into his palm. You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I-I tried, I really did b-but it was too hard, and I couldn’t—“

Your words die when Jiung seals his lips over yours, softly kissing away your woes in an uncharacteristic show of affection. 

“You did so good,” he whispers into your lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Don’t apologize.”

His heart swells at your wide, glittery eyes looking up at him in awe. “Y-You’re not gonna… p-punish me?” You manage to ask through your little hiccups. 

If he were Taeyang he would. But he doesn’t have what it takes. 

“No,” he answers, ignoring Taeyang’s little ‘weak’ from behind him. He’ll deal with him later. He stands up, gathering you in his arms. “Come on, let me get you cleaned up.”

“Hey,” Intak pipes up with a whine, sitting up on the ground. “Why do you get to take care of her?”

Keeho snickers from the other couch. “Yeah, Ung, you’re so selfish.”

Jiung merely kicks Jongseob, who yelps ‘I didn’t say anything!’ on the way to your room, telling them over his shoulder to, “Make her food.”

You stay curled in Jiung’s arm as he carries you to your bed, setting you gently onto it. 

He stands to get a towel from your bathroom, coming back to see you watching him intently where you’re splayed. He has to keep himself from ogling your naked body, clearing his throat as he sits on the edge beside you to gently run the towel over your face, working his way down the mess. 

“Jiung,” you say quietly. 

The sound fills him with warmth. He still doesn’t meet your eye. “Hm?”

“You’re still hard.”

His face burns, and he averts his gaze as he runs the towel between your thighs, whispering a quick apology as he brushes against your sensitive core. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, willing his voice not to crack. 

But then you wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him down to your body. He goes down, watching you closely as you lift your weak body. 

His back hits the mattress, the warmth of your body engulfing his as you climb on top of him. He's about to protest again and tell you that you don’t have to, until you align your hips and grind down against his hard on. 

He cuts off with a whine, reminded of the arousal festered in his gut from watching the others take you apart. 

A full body shudder runs through him. You relish in the way his eyes roll back at the simple sensation. 

And then you’re on your back, Jiung climbing on top of you. He tugs off his shirt, but you don’t get the chance to admire his adorned skin before he’s devouring you in a deep kiss. 

You make a questioning sound as he slots himself between your legs, but he just shoves himself free of his clothes then presses the head of his cock through your folds, making you gasp. 

“Let me take care of you?” He asks, begs almost, as he teases at your messy hole, his free hand braced on your hip. 

You don’t have the mind to speak. So you just nod. 

Jiung seats his cock into you with one push, his body shuddering at finally feeling you around him. And it’s so enticing that he just can’t hold back. 

He wants to be gentle, wants to coax you to a sweeter release—but he can’t. 

He pounds into you desperately, shoving himself as deep as he can go with each frantic thrust, quickly going dumb in your pussy. 

His arms wrap around your waist to hold you in place as he splits you open, the rough slap of hips and loud squelch of your messy folds the only sounds besides both your ragged breathing. He buries his face in your shoulder, unable to hold back his whimpers. 

“You feel so—“ He whines, breaking apart with a deep groan when you clench around him, his hips stuttering. 

A moan breaks through your chest when he rolls in deep, just rutting against you desperately. Your arms around him aren’t enough to hold on, he thrashes your body in his arms with each buck of his hips. 

“Jiung,” you whimper, pulsing around him when he pulls out just to fuck his tip into you, teasing you in a way that melts your brain. “Ji, please, m’gonna c-cum, can I…”

He slams into you, his cock twitching inside of you before he pulls out just to slam back in, punching yells out of you each time. 

“Cum for me,” he breathes into your ear, then hooks his hands under your knees, folding them at your sides as he pounds into you, thrusting squarely into that gummy spot inside of you over and over. “C-Cum for me… just for me.”

This one doesn’t feel like the last one—when you cum, you break. 

Your vision whites out, your entire body going taut as your arousal sprays out of you, drenching Jiung and the bed. 

It only spurs Jiung on—he fucks you faster as he barrels through his own orgasm, muffling his cry into your shoulder as he pistons in deep and shoots into you. 

When Jiung comes back to his senses, it’s with his head on your chest and Taeyang standing over him with a bowl of ramen in his hand and a disapproving frown on his lips. 

“Taking care of her, huh?” He tsk’s, placing the bowl on the bedside table. 

Jiung just groans, turning to bury his face in your skin. “Fuck off.”

“Careful, don’t wake her.”

Jiung lifts his head to see your eyes closed, your lips parted as small puffs of breaths pass through. He pushes back the damp hair at your head, a soft smile tugging up at the peaceful sight. 

Taeyang snorts at the spectacle. Though he doesn’t quite blame it on Jiung for the dumbstruck look in his eye. 

But he needs to get to work. 

“Okay, be cooperative,” he says, and doesn’t allow Jiung to question before he rounds the bed to the other side and reaches forward to wrap his arms around both you and Jiung, tugging you to the cleaner area of the bed. 

Jiung bristles, opening his mouth to yell at him but quickly snaps shut when you start to stir. 

They both pause with bated breath, sighing when you lull off again with a breath, and Taeyang gets to work. He manages to pull the dirty sheets out from under your and Jiung’s tangled bodies and get fresh ones on. He wipes you clean after, tossing Jiung a towel of his own, but when he sees Jiung just blinking slowly up at the ceiling, unresponsive, he sighs and wipes him clean himself. 

By the end of it, Jiung is tangled with you again and half asleep. 

Taeyang is hesitant to leave, riddled with the urge to climb into the bed and gather you both in his arms (or maybe push Jiung off). But before he can make a sound decision, the door barges open. 

Taeyang hisses viciously towards the door just as Intak opens his fat mouth to yell something stupid surely, his arms suspended above his head where he’s holding up a can of Arizona.

His expression quickly morphs into apologetic when he sees what he’d nearly disrupted—but instead of turning around and leaving, he just pads in and makes his own space at the foot of the bed.

Naturally, Shota and Jongseob follow him in and take the corner edges of the bed flanking Intak.

Taeyang sighs, half considering beating them out with his shoe. He’s still not used to having to share you.

But he watches as Intak immediately picks a fight with Jiung instead (effectively waking him up) about letting him cuddle you but Jiung only tightens his hold on you.

“You’re clingy after sex,” Taeyang says with a snicker.

Jiung’s eyes snap up to him, sharp and eerily fox-like. “So? At least I’m not one note like you,” he grumbles, making sure to keep his voice low as he nuzzles into your shoulder again.

“One note?” Taeyang muses as he sidles into your other side. “Which note is that?”

“Rude.”

It’s not Jiung that answers.

Keeho finds his way into the room with an armful of gatorade bottles, making his way over to the people pile on the bed to hand them out. 

“It felt great seeing Jiung put you in your place,” Keeho says as he climbs on behind Jiung, wrapping his arms around him.

Jiung makes a sound of protest mid sip, trying to shake the other man off but Keeho just snuggles in harder.

“Maybe I should reward you for that,” Keeho adds lecherously, giggling when Jiung glares at him. But Taeyang doesn’t miss the blush tinging Jiung’s cheeks.

“Okay,” Intak starts, lifting his head. “If you three are gonna fuck can you just hand her over to us so—” He cuts off with a loud squawk as Taeyang chops him over the bed.

The sound wakes you, and you stir with huffs and grumbles. Jiung winces when your elbows start flailing out.

“You guys are so loud,” you grit, turning to bury your face into Jiung’s chest, like you’re trying to carve your way in and use him to drown out the noise.

Somehow, after everything, Jiung starts to feel shy at the display. And it only makes Keeho more annoying, who coos and pinches at Jiung’s reddening cheek.

Jiung doesn’t react, hoping he’ll bore himself out.

Intak pouts, still rubbing his head. “It wasn’t my fault, Taeyang hit me!”

Taeyang narrows his eyes at him. “How childish are you?”

Intak whacks his shin. “You’re childish.”

Taeyang sends him a kick, and Intak’s about to hit him again, until you groan. 

“God!” You snap, huffing and lifting your head to glare. “If you’re not here to sleep, leave.”

Intak immediately settles, mumbling a quiet apology as he attaches himself to your leg. 

But Taeyang, ever the contrarian, gets up to leave. “Whatever you want, princess.” 

Nobody protests. By the time he reaches the door, still nobody protests. It ticks him off, making him turn to glare. 

But then he sees you, a peaceful look on your face as you drift back off in Jiung’s arms, the others wrapped around you protectively in various contorted states. Intak had immediately taken Taeyang’s vacant spot to plaster himself to your back. 

Something about the sight tugs at his heart, pulling him back. 

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically, padding back towards the bed. “I’ll stay.”

He doesn’t miss the small smile that tugs on your lips as he climbs over the bodies to settle on top of you, wedging himself between you and Intak despite Intak’s quiet cry. 

“Simp,” Keeho whispers from behind Jiung. 

“Mhm,” Taeyang hums in agreement, shutting his eyes. “Aren’t we all.”

taglist: @jellyybelly, @jseobbie, @tintedsvn, @fixonfreak, @stxrxyyz, @hxraiiii, @peachy-x-k33n, @choxochip, @ozzysoatsolivesandpasta, @boptak, @kittyshotak, @oyasumiaikko, @straystar-8, @meow4seonghwa, @evemds, @willowedjelly, @velvetjoong, @seonghwaswifeuuuu, @delicatechris, @orchidves, @lycxee, @girlcrushd, @halaziasupremacy, @chandlxa, @soulssnucky, @snyngjhn, @jiungs-wednesdaygirl, @kyoluvrs, @princessthelsa, @nichozzystuffs, @mo8ny4951, @rockstartaeyang, @shmooooo, @cherryyberry1 @keymeadoww @p1issocool @tikfreakingtak @nota10butadefinite8 @snuckyyyy @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @kha0sblossom @sstrawbxrry @momochips @mydearandy @seomisaho @fairylix @ericlvr @kisseobies @saranghoeforanton

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1 reblog/comment = 1 virtual kiss <3

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

"Let's check out the beer house tonight." Hanni said, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I heard it's packed with rich people on Fridays."

Your brows knitted together. "A beer house?"

A knowing smirk tugged at Hanni's lips. She swept 1her dark hair into a messy bun before pulling out the chair beside the table, giving the seat a light tap as she gestured for you to sit.

The moment you settled across from her, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in…There was a familiar gleam in her eyes—the kind that only appeared whenever she had a new scheme brewing. 

"It's one of the most popular beer houses in the city," she explained. "The drinks alone cost more than what we spend on groceries in a week. People who go there don't think twice before throwing money around, which means they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for."

You couldn't help but picture it.

Crowded tables, loud music and half-empty bottles scattered across polished wooden counters. Men laughing far too loudly, their faces flushed from alcohol, expensive watches gleaming beneath the dim lights while thick leather wallets bulged inside the pockets of tailored trousers.

You frowned, unease settling in your chest.

"I'm pretty sure it'll be full of drunk old men, Hanni." you rested your chin against your palm. “Doesn't that sound a little... dangerous?”

Hanni dismissed the concern with a careless wave of her hand.

"They'll be too wasted to notice us," she said with a shrug. "Besides, those are the guys with money. A few missing bills won't even cross their minds."

She leaned even closer, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal the greatest secret in the world.

"Just give them a sweet smile," she said, the corners of her lips curling into something dangerously playful. "Make them think you've taken an interest in them. Laugh at their terrible jokes, let them believe they're charming..." 

She snapped her fingers between the two of you. "And before they even realize what's happening, you've already walked away with their wallet—or better yet, their credit cards."

A life built on stolen fortunes, calculated manipulation, and carefully crafted deception.

The words no longer sting the way they used to. They've become as familiar as your own name, each one another thread woven into the person you've become. What once filled you with guilt now slips through your fingers as though it was never yours to carry.

Perhaps that's what desperation does.

It doesn't ask you to become someone else. It simply teaches you how to live with the stranger you've become.

Earlier that evening, you and Hanni gathered everything you had stolen throughout the month, laying each piece across the small wooden table between you.

"We only gathered six hundred dollars this month, Y/N... This won't be enough."

A phone, a handful of jewelry, two wallets, and a watch clattered against the worn wood before settling into a messy pile.

"This won't cover this month's rent..." she let out a weary sigh, her manicured nails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop as she stared at the stolen valuables and the few crumpled bills scattered between them. "And we still have enrollment next month."

Your lips fell into a pout. "But the jewelry I stole is real gold."

You reached for the bracelet, turning it beneath the light. The polished links gleamed against your fingers.

Hanni only sighed again, the exhaustion in her expression deepening.

"It's low-karat gold, Y/N. And there's barely enough of it to be worth anything." she rubbed her temple before glancing at the rest of the pile. "If you manage to steal more next time, maybe we'll actually get something decent for it."

You looked back down at the bracelet, the weight of her words settling heavier than the gold resting in your palm.

You weren't born into wealth…from kindergarten until the day you graduated high school, scholarships carried you through your education. Without them, you doubted you would've made it that far. 

College was different.

Moving out had seemed like the responsible decision at the time. Renting a small apartment near the university was cheaper than spending money on transportation every day between your hometown and campus, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask your parents for more than they were already giving. 

So you packed your clothes into two worn-out bags, hugged your mother goodbye, listened to your father's endless reminders to eat properly, and promised them you would be fine.

Your father spent his days baking homemade bread before the sun had fully risen, while your mother worked quietly as a bookkeeper, carefully balancing numbers that never seemed to balance in your own household. Together, they earned just enough to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads.

Needs always came first.

Wants became something you learned to admire from a distance.

Yet, strangely enough, you never felt deprived.

Your home was small, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knew everybody, but it was always filled with warmth. 

While your classmates spoke about family vacations abroad, arrived at school carrying luxury handbags, and replaced perfectly good shoes simply because a newer pair had been released, you found comfort in simpler things. 

The smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the kitchen before sunrise. The sound of your father humming while kneading dough. Your mother's gentle voice reminding you not to skip breakfast, even when she knew you were running late.

You loved that life.

More importantly, you loved the people who gave it to you.

Which was why, when college came, you couldn't bear the thought of asking them for more. Every dollar they handed you felt heavier than the last, weighted by sacrifices they never spoke about but could never hide. 

You watched your father work longer hours. You noticed your mother's tired eyes after another day spent staring at ledgers and receipts. They never complained…not once—but love has a way of revealing exhaustion long before words ever do.

So you promised yourself that you would become lighter.

You moved out. You searched for part-time jobs. You told yourself that no matter how difficult life became, you would survive without asking your parents to carry you any farther.

You really believed honest work would be enough.

Finding a cheap apartment hadn't been easy, and if there was one stroke of luck you could still thank the universe for, it was meeting Hanni.

You found her through a post looking for a roommate. She needed someone to split the rent, and you needed somewhere you could actually afford. 

The apartment sat only a few minutes away from the university, saving you the transportation costs you had spent countless nights calculating over and over again.

Hanni turned out to be easier to live with than you expected. She wasn't the type to spend recklessly or chase after things she didn't need. Like you, she stretched every dollar until there was nothing left to stretch. 

For the first few months, you lived off your savings.

Each rent payment made the envelope thinner. Each grocery trip reminded you that numbers disappeared far quicker than they were earned. You searched for work every chance you got, walking into cafés, convenience stores, restaurants—any place with a "Now Hiring" sign taped to the window.

When a fast-food restaurant finally hired you as a server, you thought things were finally looking up.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been so relieved. The excitement, however, didn't last very long.

The paycheck barely reached your hands before it already belonged somewhere else. Half disappeared into rent. Another portion went to groceries, transportation, and the endless expenses college quietly demanded. 

Scholarships covered your tuition, but not everything else. There were laboratory fees, books that professors insisted were mandatory, printed materials, projects, uniforms, and countless little payments that no one ever warned you about.

The money came in. It left even faster.

And no matter how carefully you budgeted every cent, by the end of each month, you always found yourself staring at the same conclusion.

It still wasn't enough.

Hanni, however, never seemed to struggle the way you did.

For reasons she never fully explained, she always had money tucked away somewhere. Not enough to live lavishly, but enough to ease the constant pressure that settled on your shoulders every time rent was due. 

Naturally, you asked where all that money came from. Hanni would only shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as though the answer amused her.

"I have a lot of sidelines," she'd say, never bothering to explain any further. 

It was vague enough to end the conversation, yet suspicious enough to keep your curiosity alive.

Eventually, you stopped asking…but you never stopped noticing. 

One afternoon she'd come home carrying the newest phone model, casually placing it on the kitchen counter while she searched the refrigerator for something to eat. 

The following day, it would already be gone. 

Sometimes it was a watch. Other times it was a gold necklace or a designer wallet. The items constantly changed, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but you never questioned her. 

It wasn't until the two of you had grown close enough that she finally trusted you with the truth. 

You remembered expecting disgust to settle in your stomach the moment she confessed. Instead, all you felt was curiosity. 

Hanni told her story so casually, as though she were recalling an ordinary childhood memory instead of admitting to a crime.

She learned how to steal when she was still a little girl. Whenever she picked up a toy at a store or tore open a packet of snacks while trailing beside her mother, no one questioned her. People rarely suspected children, and Hanni learned that long before she understood the weight of what she was doing.

What started as childish curiosity slowly became instinct. Instinct became skill, skill became confidence, and confidence eventually became survival. 

By the time she reached adulthood, stealing was no longer something she occasionally did—it was simply how she made a living. 

She wasn't born into comfort either. Her family had struggled just as much as yours, if not more, and perhaps that was why you found it difficult to judge her. 

You knew what it felt like to lie awake at night wondering how another month would pass. 

You knew what desperation looked like because you had seen it reflected in your parents' exhausted smiles, hidden behind reassuring words they never truly meant. Maybe that was why her confession never horrified you.

Desperation has a peculiar way of changing people.

Because somewhere deep inside, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you understood exactly why she had chosen this path.

"You should blend in. Don't wear those ridiculous jackets or black caps." Hanni chuckled, uncapping the marker in her hand before turning to the small whiteboard hanging beside the refrigerator. 

She drew little stick figures and arrows as if she were giving a university lecture instead of teaching you how to commit crimes. There were circles around the words confidence, timing, and exit, each one underlined twice before she tapped the marker against the board. 

It sounded embarrassingly simple…but it wasn’t.

Your first theft had been nothing more than a granola bar from a convenience store, yet your hands had trembled so violently you almost dropped it before reaching the exit. Your heart pounded against your ribs with enough force to convince you everyone around could hear it.

Every customer who glanced in your direction felt like security in disguise, every beep from the cashier sounded like an alarm, and by the time the automatic doors slid open behind you, your palms were slick with sweat around the tiny snack bar you had risked so much to steal.

Hanni, meanwhile…walked out carrying a bottle of wine, two bags of cheetos, and three packs of mini m&m's tucked somewhere beneath her oversized cardigan. She looked utterly unbothered, stopping only to ask whether you wanted to eat at the nearby park before either of you went home. 

You remembered staring at her with your mouth slightly open, unable to understand how someone could steal so much and still have the composure to worry about dinner.

She only laughed. "It gets easier."

You hated how right she was.

Over the following weeks, your trembling hands gradually learned to stay still. You learned that people rarely questioned someone who acted like they belonged. 

Confidence, Hanni often said, was the greatest disguise anyone could wear, and manipulation was nothing more than convincing people to believe the version of you that benefited them most. 

You practiced smiling at strangers. You practiced maintaining eye contact. You practiced walking away without looking back.

Little by little, it became easier to silence the guilt.

Two months later, you could finally say you were improving. Your movements were steadier, your excuses more believable, your lies smoother than they had ever been before. 

Even so, whenever you compared yourself to Hanni, you still felt like an amateur watching a professional at work. She stole with an ease you doubted you would ever possess.

"Hanni, I'm not good at seducing people... you know that." you let out a groan, dropping your forehead onto the table with a dull thud. 

For all the confidence you had slowly learned to fake while stealing, anything involving men was an entirely different story. 

You have no experience.

Your thefts still involved people, but you always kept your distance…especially from men. You waited for moments of carelessness, slipping valuables from unattended bags, distracted shoppers, or pockets left carelessly exposed before disappearing into the crowd.

It was safer that way. The rewards were smaller, perhaps, but it meant you never had to charm, distract, or make someone lower their guard just to steal from them.

After all, you were still an amateur.

Romance had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford. 

While your classmates spent their weekends going on dates or gossiping about their newest crushes, you spent yours calculating expenses and wondering whether instant noodles could count as dinner for the fourth night in a row.

Hanni had pointed it out countless times before.

According to her, manipulating people wasn't always about lying. 

With men, it was about making them believe they had a chance with you. 

The problem was…you had no idea how to do that. 

You didn't know how to flirt, how to bat your eyelashes, or how to laugh at someone's terrible jokes without making it painfully obvious you were pretending. The thought alone made your stomach twist into nervous knots.

Hanni rolled her eyes, dismissing every excuse before you even had the chance to finish making one.

"Oh, stop it." she waved a hand dramatically. "You're very pretty, Y/N. Don't give me that bullshit! Just smile at them…one cute little smile and I guarantee they'll be tripping over themselves to impress you."

You buried your face deeper into your arms."But, Hanni—"

"No buts." she sprang to her feet before you could protest again, practically skipping toward her bedroom. A moment later, she returned with two shopping bags swinging from her hands, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.

"Besides, I already bought us dresses for tonight." she giggled.

Oh, you were doomed.

"This is so short," you complained, tugging at the hem of the black spaghetti-strap dress for what had to be the tenth time. Every time you managed to pull it down another inch, it simply rode back up the moment you took another step, as though the fabric itself was determined to embarrass you.

Hanni had insisted on doing everything herself. Your hair fell in loose, natural waves over your shoulders, soft enough to hide the nervous rise and fall of your breathing. She had done your makeup too, dusting the slightest touch of glitter across your eyelids that shimmered every time the streetlights caught your face. 

Even before you reached your destination, your feet were already protesting against the thin, strappy heels wrapped around your ankles, each step reminding you that beauty demanded sacrifices you had never volunteered to make.

Hanni glanced at you before letting out an amused laugh. "I can't see your panties from here, so you're fine."

You shot her an unamused look, earning another laugh from her.

Unlike you, Hanni looked completely at ease. 

Her dark green off-the-shoulder dress hugged her figure effortlessly, paired with matching heels that clicked confidently against the pavement. Her hair was swept into a messy updo that somehow looked intentionally elegant rather than rushed, and with the confidence she carried herself, no one would ever guess that the two of you struggled to pay rent every month.

Together, you looked exactly like the kind of girls who had never worried about money a day in their lives.

Which was almost funny.

Because hidden beneath expensive-looking dresses and carefully applied makeup were two women desperately hoping to walk away with someone else's wallet, watch, jewelry—or anything valuable enough to buy another month of survival.

"Okay, let's order a drink first and look around," Hanni said, her voice barely audible beneath the chatter spilling out from inside the beer house as she pushed the heavy wooden door open.

You followed closely behind, your heartbeat already beginning to pick up.

You had spent the entire walk convincing yourself that the place would be filled with loud, drunken old men slumped over tables, too intoxicated to notice a missing wallet or an expensive watch. Instead, your expectations dissolved the moment your eyes adjusted to the dim amber lights.

The place was crowded…not just with old men, but with all kinds of people. Groups of friends occupied long wooden tables, raising glasses every time the football match playing on the massive television reached an exciting moment. Couples sat tucked away in quieter corners, talking over bottles of beer, while businessmen who looked as though they had come straight from the office loosened their ties and laughed with colleagues over overflowing pitchers.

Your gaze drifted toward the long wooden bar stretching across one side of the room, shelves behind it neatly lined with bottles you had only ever seen locked behind glass displays. The smell of grilled meat and fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter scent of beer, while a small band adjusted their instruments on the stage, preparing for the night ahead.

You quietly took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter building inside your chest. 

You had been stealing for two months now, yet every new place made you feel like it was your first all over again. The fear of getting caught never truly disappeared—it only learned how to hide beneath your smile.

Hanni walked through the crowd without a hint of hesitation, weaving between tables before claiming two empty seats near the stage. When the server approached, she greeted him with an easy smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had come for nothing more than a quiet drink after a long week.

"Two draft beers, please."

The server nodded before disappearing toward the counter.

Hanni waited until he was out of earshot before her eyes swept across the room once more, lingering only for a second before the corner of her lips slowly lifted.

"I found your table." Hanni raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a knowing smile.

You pouted, instinctively following her gaze as your eyes wandered across the crowded beer house. Round wooden tables filled nearly every corner, occupied by groups of men laughing over clinking bottles, scattered glasses, and the remnants of another round.

Of course she'd choose men. You had long grown used to Hanni's reasoning.

Men were easier to distract…and according to her, far easier to manipulate than women.

"Which one?" you asked, squinting as you searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Hanni let out a quiet laugh before leaning closer, her perfume briefly overpowering the scent of beer lingering in the air. "The third table near the bar," she whispered, careful not to draw attention. "They look a little older than us. Not too old, though." 

She grinned mischievously. "I'd say they're giving daddy vibes."

You frowned at her. “Ugh, Hanni!”

Slowly, your gaze followed the direction she had subtly pointed, finally landing on the group she had been watching.

There were seven of them gathered around one of the larger tables, completely absorbed in their own conversation. They couldn't have been much older than Hanni had guessed, perhaps somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties. 

Dressed in simple shirts, rugged jeans, and jackets carelessly draped over the backs of their chairs, they looked more like friends unwinding after a long week than the wealthy businessmen you had imagined on your walk there.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them. Yet the longer you watched, the easier it became to notice the details.

A watch that caught the light every time one of them lifted his beer. A phone left face-up beside an overflowing ashtray without a second thought. Car keys, wallets, and cigarette packs lay scattered across the wooden table between bottles of beer and half-finished baskets of bar snacks, abandoned in the comfort of good company.

They laughed loudly, occasionally teasing one another, while wisps of cigarette smoke curled lazily into the air above them. They were so engrossed in their own little world that they never once looked your way.

"What do you think?" Hanni asked, her eyes never leaving the group near the bar."I say you target that table while I take the one near the door."

Your gaze lingered on the men for another moment before dropping to the table between you. Almost as if on cue, the server returned with your drinks, carefully placing two glasses of draft beer in front of you. Tiny bubbles rushed to the surface beneath a thick layer of foam, the chilled glass immediately collecting beads of condensation.

Hanni thanked him with a smile before wrapping her fingers around her glass. She looked... excited. There was always a certain spark in her eyes before a job, one you had grown familiar with over the past two months. 

While your stomach twisted itself into knots, hers seemed to settle. The closer she came to danger, the calmer she became.

Your fingers traced the condensation gathering around your own glass as you quietly stared into the golden beer. The thought of walking up to a table full of strangers, pretending to be interested in one of them, was enough to make your stomach tighten. 

You had spent the last two months learning how to steal, how to lie without stumbling over your words, how to smile convincingly enough for people to lower their guard. 

But flirting? That was something entirely different.

Still...

You glanced down at the dress hugging your figure before absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over your thighs. Hanni had spent her own money buying it for you. She had curled your hair, done your makeup, and patiently convinced you that you looked like you belonged in a place like this. She had done everything she could to make tonight successful.

The least you could do was try.

The numbers flashed through your mind before you could stop them, reminding you how little time you had left before another payment was due. 

You drew in a slow breath before finally looking back at Hanni, offering her a small smile that carried far more determination than confidence.

"Alright," you said with determination. "I promise I'll do my best."

Her face immediately brightened. "That's my girl!"

She lifted her glass toward yours with a grin so wide it was almost contagious.

"Cheers to that, baby."

The soft clink echoed between you, disappearing almost instantly beneath the laughter, music, and the constant hum of conversations filling the beer house.

Easy…smile, flirt and steal.

After a couple of minutes spent nursing your drinks and quietly familiarizing yourselves with the beer house, Hanni caught your eye from across the table. She gave the slightest nod—a silent signal the two of you had long grown accustomed to. 

It was time.

You rose from your seat, smoothing the wrinkles from your dress before letting your fingers comb through your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. Hanni disappeared into the crowd without another word, already making her way toward her own target, while you headed in the opposite direction, forcing yourself to wear the kind of smile she had spent weeks teaching you. Soft enough to seem approachable…confident enough to belong.

The barstool closest to their table sat empty.

You slipped onto it, offering the bartender a polite smile as he passed by before pretending to study the rows of bottles displayed behind the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention never truly left the table behind you.

Your heartbeat steadied, not because you were any less nervous…but because your mind had finally begun doing what Hanni had trained it to do.

Observe.

A few wallets lay carelessly on the wooden table, abandoned without a second thought by men too engrossed in conversation to notice their surroundings. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly.

Tonight, maybe two wallets would be enough. Any more than that would only invite unnecessary attention.

Your gaze lingered for another second before drifting higher, carefully studying each of the men one by one. 

If you were going to approach someone tonight, it couldn't be just anyone. You needed the one who looked the wealthiest, the one whose watch alone could cover next month's rent, whose jewelry might be worth more than everything you and Hanni had managed to steal over the past few months combined.

You couldn't flirt with all of them. So if you were going to take the risk, you might as well choose the wealthiest one.

Your eyes drifted from one man to another, careful not to linger for too long. 

One wore a pair of silver earrings that matched the chain resting against his chest. Another—the one with dimples that appeared every time he laughed—had an elegant silver watch wrapped around his wrist, the polished metal glimmering beneath the warm lights whenever he reached for his beer. The man beside him looked much simpler, dressed in an ordinary black shirt without a single piece of jewelry to catch your attention, and you dismissed him almost immediately.

You kept looking.

Until your gaze landed on a tattooed hand lazily wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

Silver rings adorned nearly every finger, each one different from the next, and just above them rested a watch that looked far too expensive to belong in your world. Your eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he lifted the bottle to his lips, only to notice the gold chain disappearing beneath the collar of his dark shirt. 

His ear was adorned with several silver earrings, each one catching the amber light whenever he turned toward one of his friends. When he tilted his head back for another sip, the small silver ring through his lower lip glinted just as brightly.

Then your gaze wandered lower…a pair of Porsche keys hung carelessly from the belt loop of his black jeans, swinging gently whenever he shifted in his seat as though they were nothing more than an ordinary keychain.

You quietly looked away before he could catch you staring, your heartbeat quickening as your fingers curled around the wooden counter.

Target locked.

You immediately order a shot of tequila, not to get drunk, but to act drunk.

Hanni had told you that people lowered their guard around someone who seemed tipsy. A little laugh that lingered too long, a gaze that wandered a little too often, movements just clumsy enough to look believable. It made approaching strangers easier.

You thanked the bartender with a polite smile before resting your elbow against the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention drifted back to the table.

His back was mostly facing you, making it difficult to study him without being obvious. Every now and then he'd turn toward one of his friends, giving you a brief glimpse of his side profile before looking away again, and somehow those fleeting seconds were enough for you to notice far more than you intended.

His jaw was clean and sharply defined, catching the amber glow whenever he tipped his head back to drink. A straight nose balanced his features effortlessly, while soft strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting every time he ran a hand through them. Every so often, you caught sight of his dark round eyes, softened by the alcohol he'd been drinking, their usual alertness replaced by a lazy heaviness that made them unexpectedly... pretty.

Your brows knitted together. 

You were supposed to be memorizing his belongings Y/N! Not his face!

The bartender slid your tequila across the counter. You murmured a quiet thank you before lifting the glass to your lips, taking only a small sip. The burn barely had time to settle in your throat before your eyes sneakily wandered back toward the table.

"Huh?"  

His seat was empty!

Your brows furrowed as your eyes searched the group, confusion replacing the confidence you had spent the last several minutes trying so hard to build.

"Looking for me?” a deep chuckle sounded from behind you.

Your eyes widened, you turned so quickly you nearly knocked your drink over.

Even with you sitting down, he towered over you with ease, one side of his body leaning casually against the polished wooden counter. Up close, the details you had only managed to steal glances of moments ago became impossible to ignore—the silver rings decorating his fingers, the tattoos stretching over his right arm, the small hoop piercing his lower lip, and those heavy-lidded eyes now looking directly into yours.

The corner of his mouth curled upward…amused.

As though he'd caught you doing something you weren't supposed to.

"H-Hi!" you greeted, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended as you struggled to hide how badly he had startled you.

What the fuck.

For a split second, every lesson Hanni had drilled into your head disappeared. Your carefully rehearsed smile, your excuses, the confident persona you had spent two months trying to build—they all vanished the moment he caught you off guard.

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

"May I help you?"

Your own brows drew together before you could stop them, your smile faltering for the briefest moment.

"Hm?"

"You kept looking at me." he chuckled, low and amused.

There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he'd caught you staring several times already and had simply decided to humor you instead of calling you out for it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly, your mind scrambling for something—anything…that would keep your act from falling apart before it had even begun.

Trying to save yourself, you immediately gave him a flirty smile.

"Oh..." a soft giggle escaped your lips, "Was I that obvious?"

You tilted your head ever so slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at him through your lashes exactly the way Hanni had told you to. 

When he took a step closer, your breath hitched. 

His thick black boots brushed against the legs of your stool, and with the way he positioned himself, his broad frame nearly shielded you from the rest of the room. It wasn't intentional…or maybe it was—but suddenly the chatter of the beer house seemed much farther away than it had a second ago.

"Uh-huh," he murmured, the single sound barely above a whisper.

The faint scent of mint lingered beneath the beer on his breath, close enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment. Up close, the gold chain resting against his collarbone shimmered softly, layered alongside several silver necklaces that framed the base of his neck. 

Before your courage had the chance to abandon you…you slowly lifted a hand and rested it around the back of his neck, your fingertips grazing the cool metal chains lying against his skin.

"You're cute," you whispered, biting lightly on your lower lip as your fingers idly toyed with one of the necklaces. Every movement had been rehearsed in your head a dozen times before tonight, yet none of them felt natural now that they were happening. You only hoped he couldn't tell.

Fuck, he’s so handsome up close!

His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face before his gaze slowly drifted downward. It lingered far longer than you were prepared for, tracing the exposed skin above your dress before continuing lower. Instinctively, you fought the urge to tug at the hem that had ridden higher on your thighs.

Don't. Fake it until you make it.

"I am?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smirk. His tongue swept across the silver ring piercing his lower lip before he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just beneath your ear.

"Yeah," you breathed, forcing confidence into your voice despite the frantic beating of your heart. "Want you."

The words felt foreign leaving your mouth. Still, they had the desired effect.

As his attention remained fixed on the spot where your pulse fluttered, your fingers subtly found the clasp hidden beneath the chains around his neck. 

One careful movement...that was all it would take.

You had barely begun to unhook it when his hand closed firmly around your wrist.

Your heart stopped. For one horrifying second, you were certain he'd caught you.

"Let's go to my car."

What?

"H-Huh? I..."

He lifted his head just enough for your eyes to meet his. The lazy amusement from earlier had disappeared, replaced by something darker. 

"I can't fuck you here."

Your eyes widen, fucking was your limit!

Your gaze drifted to the thick gold necklace resting against his chest... the leather wallet tucked carelessly into his pocket... and the sleek black car waiting only a few steps away.

Fuck it.

You followed him in silence, the cool night breeze brushing against your exposed skin and reminding you just how short your dress was. 

Your gaze remained fixed on his broad back as he unlocked the car, your throat tightening around a nervous swallow.

Earlier, when you had walked past Hanni, you had nearly burst into tears at the sight of her giving you an approving nod, silently cheering you on while she remained at her table, busy charming the men around her.

You couldn't back out now. Not after she'd placed this much faith in you.

The parking lot was quiet, a little farther from the beer house…the music fading into the distance. When he turned around, you gathered every ounce of courage you had left and greeted him with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Your mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another until only three remained.

First, find a way to slip the gold chain from around his neck. The wallet would come next, once he finally let his guard down.

Second, you were not going to fuck him. 

It didn't matter how broad his shoulders were, how unfairly handsome he looked, or how pretty his eyes became whenever he smiled.

Your hormones could cry about it later.

Third, whatever happened tonight... for the love of God, do not get caught.

He looked down at you, one brow lifting ever so slightly when he noticed the faint tremble in your legs.

"Get in."

He pulled the backseat door open for you, and you offered him a small, flirty smile before carefully slipping inside. 

The leather seat gave beneath your weight with a quiet creak, and for the briefest moment, you convinced yourself you'd have a second to steady your breathing, to gather the scattered pieces of your thoughts before facing him again.

The hope didn't last.

The car shifted as he climbed in after you, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that seemed to swallow the last bit of space inside the cabin. 

Your pulse faltered, the hem of your dress had ridden higher than you'd intended, exposing far more of your thighs than you were comfortable with, the fabric inching dangerously close to revealing the lace of your panties. Every instinct urged you to smooth it back into place, but you stopped yourself.

Focus, Y/N! You need to seduce him!

You had barely opened your mouth, ready to deliver one of the corniest pickup lines Hanni had relentlessly drilled into your head, when his hand suddenly pulled your hair. 

Your lips parted in surprise as he tugged you toward him, leaving no room for hesitation before his lips crashed against yours.

A breathless whimper escaped you, your eyes widening for only a second before they fluttered shut. His fingers tightened around the hair above your nape, angling your head exactly how he wanted it, his kisses deep, hungry, and impatient.

The bitter trace of beer lingered on his tongue, flooding your senses until your thoughts blurred at the edges. Your body yielded without resistance, melting effortlessly against his as he drew you closer, the strength behind the movement making you feel almost weightless in his hold.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot your mission.

His tongue slipped against yours with practiced ease, stealing every coherent thought from your mind before instinct finally caught up. 

You slowly lifted your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the softness of his hair as though simply indulging in the kiss. Then, careful not to rush…they drifted lower, brushing over the warm skin of his nape before gliding toward the necklace resting against his neck.

“Open your mouth wider,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak. A string of saliva stretched between your mouths as his other hand slid around your neck…his long, tattooed fingers wrapping firmly around your throat in a possessive grip.

Your eyes widened…one of your hands remained tangled behind his nape, your fingers still toying with the chain around his neck, desperately searching for the tiny clasp hidden beneath his hair. 

Too distracted to obey his request… he suddenly tugged your hair harder.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, and he seized the opportunity—his tongue slipping hot and messy into your parted mouth, kissing you with a hunger that left you no chance to catch your breath.

You barely kissed him back, surrendering to the pace he set as your mind gradually emptied. Somehow, through the dizziness clouding your head, your fingertips continued their quiet search along the cool metal resting against his skin, praying to find the clasp before he noticed.

“Mmph!”

A soft whimper caught in your throat when he bit down harshly on your lower lip. The hand around your neck tightened, his fingers pressing deeper into your throat until your breath hitched, the pressure almost choking you.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, pulling you away from his lips before effortlessly lifting your entire body onto his lap. 

Large hands settled on your hips, guiding your legs to either side of him until you were straddling him completely, your dress riding embarrassingly higher over your thighs in the process.

“Hmm?” you murmured, blinking up at him through hazy eyes, your lips swollen and glistening from his relentless kisses.

He tilted his head, studying you in silence. 

The intensity of his gaze made something tighten inside your chest. Your confidence, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel beneath his eyes alone, and without thinking, your hands abandoned the necklace altogether, drifting back into his hair as though that had been your intention from the very beginning.

“Kiss me back,” he rasped.

A quiet breath of relief nearly escaped your lips. He hadn't noticed.

You offered him the sweetest smile you could manage before leaning in again, your heart pounding so violently you were certain he could feel it through your chest. You kissed him as carefully as you could, trying to mimic the way he'd kissed you only moments ago, parting his lips with hesitant eagerness, hoping it looked natural enough to fool him.

To your surprise, he let you…he didn't take control or deepen the kiss. Instead, he simply let you explore him at your own pace.

Heat crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks, embarrassment blooming beneath your skin as the realization slowly dawned on you. 

He wasn't following your lead. 

“Baby...” he chuckled between kisses, his tattooed hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, holding your face steady with a firm grip. “You're not kissing me properly.”

Embarrassment rushed through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy, your inexperience laid bare after only a few clumsy kisses. 

Determination quickly swallowed the humiliation. 

Before you could think twice, you leaned in again, kissing him with far more urgency than before, desperate to prove that you knew exactly what you were doing.

The moment he finally kissed you back, a breathless whimper nearly escaped you. 

He kissed you effortlessly, guiding the rhythm while you struggled to keep up, your breaths already turning shallow enough that you were certain you looked seconds away from hyperventilating.

Determined not to lose yourself completely, you bit down on his lower lip, earning a low, gravelly groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound alone made your stomach flutter. Taking advantage of the distraction, your trembling hands drifted back to the chain around his neck, fingertips carefully searching beneath his hair for the tiny clasp.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he sucked on your tongue, warmth rushing across your ears and down your neck so quickly it almost burned. It was your first time being kissed like this—his kisses were shamelessly lewd, all heat and desperation. Saliva glistened between your mouths whenever he pulled away, only to capture your lower lip again with another lingering suck that stole the air from your lungs. 

Before long, the only sounds filling the car were the quiet, wet presses of your mouths and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

You couldn't tell whether he was simply that good at kissing or if your lack of experience made every touch feel overwhelming. Either way, the way his hand remained wrapped around your jaw, firmly angling your head exactly where he wanted it, sent a shiver running down your spine.

A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips when you felt him spit into your mouth without breaking the kiss. The sensation sent heat unfurling through every inch of your body, your knees threatening to weaken even from where you sat on his lap. 

Your thoughts dissolved into a haze, and before you realized it, the fingers that had been so carefully searching for the clasp of his necklace had gone slack, your mission slipping further out of reach with every slow, lingering pull of his mouth.

“Grind on me.” he groaned.

Your eyes widened, before you could even process his words, both of his hands settled around the curve of your hips, guiding your body into a slow, deliberate roll against his lap.

“W-Wait—” 

His mouth found your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rippled across your body as his lips traveled lower, his grip never once leaving your hips as he slowly rocked them back and forth, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips.

Heat rushed to your cheeks the moment you felt the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

“Roll your hips, baby.” he grunted.

His teeth grazed your neck before his tongue soothed the sting, the cool metal of his lip piercing dragging lightly over your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut…losing yourself completely as you followed the guidance of his hands, the subtle throbs of his cock impossible to ignore through the layers separating your bodies.

“That’s it,” he praised, looking down at your rolling hips.

“Oh, gosh…” you moaned.

You couldn't comprehend how dirty and lewd this was, grinding against a stranger's cock while convincing yourself that you wouldn't fuck him.

His clothed mushroom tip grazed the apex between your thighs as he guided your hips through another slow rub, drawing a startled gasp from your lips. A wave of warmth unfurled low in your stomach, spreading until it settled heavily between your legs.

Fuck, you were getting so wet.

Your body burned with a growing tension you didn't know how to quiet. The fabric of your panties clung uncomfortably against your cunt. When his hands finally cupped your breasts over the thin fabric of your dress, a shaky breath caught in your throat. 

Your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders for balance as he continued to maneuver your body with effortless ease.

“Oh my-”

His lips trailed lower…you sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the swell of your cleavage, your heart stumbling the moment you caught sight of his tongue slipping between the soft curve of your breasts, tasting the narrow valley created by the tight fabric hugging your chest.

“Hmm... so soft,” he murmured.

Before you could even process the praise, he leaned back just enough to gather saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing before he leaned down and let a warm bead of spit fall between your breasts. It slowly trailed down the center of your cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of your dress.

A startled gasp escaped you, the shamelessness of it sent another rush of heat coursing through your body.

“Spread my spit, baby.” his voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he brushed a lingering kiss against your cheek. “I want you messy.”

He never stopped guiding your hips, slow, patient rubs against his lap while he watched you expectantly.

You swallowed thickly. It felt as though your body had slipped into a trance, your thoughts muffled beneath the haze he'd wrapped around you. 

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers found the warmth between your breasts, gathering the wetness before slowly spreading his spit across the soft skin of your cleavage, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes following every hesitant movement.

Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the gold chain resting against his collarbone.

The necklace!

For a split second, you wanted to slap yourself. 

You'd become so hopelessly lost in him that you'd nearly forgotten why you were here in the first place.

Trying to keep up the act, you smiled and gathered the warm trace of his spit onto your fingertips before slowly bringing them to your lips. A flicker of nervousness stirred in your chest as you parted your lips, letting your tongue glide languidly over your damp fingers, never once breaking eye contact with him.

His lips parted. “You like it?”

You nodded. “Hmm…”

“Want more?” he cooed, his voice rough with satisfaction. 

Your cheeks heated, a little self-conscious under the way he stared at you before leaning in to kiss you again. You whimpered when he spat into your mouth while kissing you, trying to focus as your hands finally found the chain around his neck. Your fingers worked quickly beneath the curtain of his hair, your heart pounding so violently you feared he would hear it.

Then—the clasp gave. 

Relief crashed over you.

You carefully eased the necklace free, letting the chain slip from your fingers onto the leather seat beside you with a faint clink before your hands returned to brace against his chest. 

Your pulse hammered in your throat, so distracted by stealing the jewelry that you didn't feel his fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your black dress until they were already sliding down. Cool air kissed your skin a second before you realized the straps had fallen from your shoulders, the dress bunched at your waist, your bra laid bare beneath his dark, hungry stare.

"Ohh—" a moan ripped from your lips when his hands grabbed your tits through the bra, his palms kneading the soft flesh as his fingers pinched and rolled your stiff nipples through the thin lace. 

"So pretty," he praised, his eyes never leaving the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups.

His hand slid behind your back, his fingers flicking the clasp open. Your bra sprang loose, your tits bouncing free, your nipples peaked and aching.

“Keep grinding, baby.” he rasped.

Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, rolling against his lap. His hard cock formed a thick ridge beneath his pants, pressing right against your soaked panties. 

The delicious friction made your cunt leak, slick pooling in the gusset as each slow roll of your hips rubbed your clit across his length until your panties clung to your wet, chubby slit.

“Mhm,” you whined as his mouth locked onto one nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud before sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly while his other hand squeezed your breast, his fingers twisting the neglected nipple until it throbbed.

Wet sounds filled the car—the slurp of his mouth around your nipple and the squelch of your dripping cunt rubbing against his cock through the fabric. 

You forced yourself to look down, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for anything that might help you finish what you had come here to do. Then your thigh brushed against the square outline beneath the fabric of his pants.

His wallet.

You drew in a shaky breath before rolling your hips against him with a little more desperation. A low groan vibrated against your nipple the moment he felt the change in your rhythm, the sound sending another wave of heat through your body. 

A helpless whine slipped from your lips as your own hands wandered over him, trying to appear just as consumed by the moment. Your palms skimmed over his shoulders, down the firm planes of his chest, and lower still, making you swallow hard at the realization of just how toned he felt beneath your touch.

“Ouch,” you whimpered when his teeth suddenly bit into your nipple.

He only chuckled against your skin.

The sting disappeared beneath a lingering kiss before he lifted his head just enough to murmur.

“Slow down, baby. You're gonna make me cum.” 

The teasing words had barely left his lips before his attention shifted back to your breast, his mouth closing around the swollen nipple with harsh, eager suction that made your thighs instinctively tense around him.

Even through the layers of his pants, you could feel how big and hard he was beneath you, the firm outline of his thick cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties with every shallow movement. 

Fuck, focus Y/N.

His wallet had shifted dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, almost slipping free from the constant movement of your bodies.

You rolled your hips against him again…another soft moan escaping your lips as the friction sent a dizzying pulse of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my…” 

For a fleeting second, you almost forgot the wallet, your body threatening to lose the battle your mind was still desperately trying to win.

“Baby…” he groaned harshly.

His hands tightened around your waist, pinning your hips firmly in place before you could move against him again.

Confused, you instinctively tried to move again, but his hand beat you to it. It slipped between your thighs before firmly cupping your pussy over your soaked panties, his palm pressing against your wet cunt as his fingers slowly dragged against the damp fabric. A soft, unmistakable squelch filled the quiet cabin, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I said stay still, fuck.” he whispered, mercilessly squeezing your pussy through the thin fabric until another helpless moan spilled from your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, your mouth falling open as his slow, deliberate touch only made you wetter, the soaked fabric sticking embarrassingly to your folds with every movement of his hand.

A startled gasp escaped you when his free hand suddenly rose to your face, firmly squeezing your cheeks together. 

“Keep your eyes open. Look at what I'm doing to you,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit through the damp fabric and rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh... gosh,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath. 

Your thoughts were beginning to dissolve all over again until something caught your eye.

His wallet had finally slipped free from his pocket, landing quietly on the leather seat beside him. Relief surged through you, and you almost smiled in triumph, the sight nearly distracting you from your mission's success.

Before you could dwell on it, he hooked a finger beneath the damp gusset of your panties, flipping the fabric aside just enough to expose your slick pussy. His fingertips returned, meeting your bare cunt directly, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact tore another breathless gasp from your lips.

Your eyes rolled back as his long fingers slowly rubbed against your sensitive cunt. The cool metal of his rings grazed your slit with every stroke, sending a sharp shiver through your body and drawing another helpless whimper from your throat.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"

You could only nod, slow and breathless, your chest rising and falling beneath uneven breaths. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your face burning from every filthy thing you had let him do to you.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You like my fingers, baby?"

Before you could answer, his middle finger slowly pressed into your tight, untouched hole.

A broken whimper escaped you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your body instinctively tensed around the unfamiliar stretch. For a fleeting second, your hand nearly came up to push him away, your inexperience heightening every overwhelming sensation. But he caught your face first, his fingers tightening around your cheeks, forcing your gaze back to him.

He inhaled softly before hollowing his cheeks, gathering saliva in his mouth, then leaned closer and messily spat between your parted lips.

"Swallow."

You obeyed without hesitation, your throat bobbing as you swallowed, your walls fluttering tightly around his finger at the command.

His hand slipped lower, lifting the hem of your skirt before his gaze settled between your thighs. He watched with quiet fascination as his finger slowly disappeared inside your virgin hole before drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion at an unhurried pace.

"You're so tight, baby." he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your pussy. "When was the last time you fucked?"

The question alone nearly brought tears to your eyes, embarrassment burning through you just as intensely as the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure his touch continued to pull from your body.

“L-Long time ago.” 

As if Y/N! 

He licked his lower lip, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips as the pad of his middle finger reached deeper inside your warm tight hole. His movements remained slow until his fingertip brushed against your spongy spot, the sharp ache of the stretch gradually melting into a pleasure so warm it made your body soften around him.

"Aww, is that why you're so tight, baby?” he whispered.

God, this was so wrong.

“Maybe you need me to stretch your hole again, hmm?" he cooed, lowering his head until his lips wrapped around your swollen nipple, sucking gently while his finger continued to work deeper into your tight cunt.

"Y-Yes," you mumbled incoherently, your rational thoughts dissolving as your hips instinctively rolled forward, chasing the slow rhythm of his finger.

The moment he felt you move, his free hand settled firmly around your waist, stilling you with ease. He released your nipple with a soft pop before a quiet chuckle escaped him, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours with unmistakable amusement.

"Patience, baby. I'm still having fun."

A pout tugged at your lips, ready to answer back, but the words never came. His left hand slipped between your thighs instead, slowly parting your folds before drawing back the hood revealing your glistening clit, exposing it completely beneath his dark gaze.

"Wanna suck this clit so bad," he whispered, his gaze fixed between your thighs as your clit pulsed beneath the weight of his stare.

He leaned down and spat over it, a slow trail of saliva slipping down your slit until it met the middle finger buried inside your hole. A helpless whimper caught in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut as he spread the saliva over your exposed clit with slow, pressured strokes, every messy rub sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

Both of his hands were devoted to you now. His tattooed fingers continued to work your tight hole with an unhurried rhythm while his other hand circled your swollen clit, spreading your growing wetness together with his saliva. His eyes never left your cunt, watching every tiny twitch, every shiver that rippled through you as though he wanted to memorize your pulsating pussy.

"You wanna cum?" he asked, lifting a brow as he watched your chest rise and fall with uneven breaths. His middle finger emerged coated in a thick ring of your white milky juices before disappearing back inside you, while your legs trembled uncontrollably beneath every slow sweep of his thumb across your swollen clit.

You nodded desperately, “Y-Yes…”

He pursed his lips, studying you for a long moment.

"You sure?"

"P-Please," you pleaded, your hips instinctively rolling in search of more.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" a small smile tugged at his lips, though there wasn't a trace of humor behind it.

Confusion barely had the chance to settle before he slowly inserted a second finger into your cunt.

A loud moan tore from your throat as the sudden stretch stole the air from your lungs. His fingers paused only briefly, allowing your body to adjust before they began to move together, scissoring you open with slow, rhythmic strokes while his other hand never stopped rubbing your clit.

The lingering ache of the stretch gradually melted beneath the mounting pleasure, your body surrendering to it completely. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hand, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your eyes rolled back, your walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers while wave after wave of pleasure left your entire body trembling.

“Well done, baby.” he praised.

Even after the intensity began to ebb, your cunt continued to pulse around him, your legs still shaking from the aftershocks.

Only when your breathing had become nothing more than uneven gasps did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your hole, drawing another helpless whimper from your lips as the sudden emptiness met your lingering sensitivity.

Then he leaned in, his teeth grazed the shell of your ear in a soft bite before his lips brushed against it.

"I’m so proud." he whispered.

As your gaze drifted downward, it caught on the slight opening of his wallet, the sight striking you like a quiet reminder of why you had approached him in the first place.

Your fucking mission.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, gathering what little composure remained before forcing the words past your throat.

"C-Can I drink some water? I'm kinda thirsty," you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs were still trembling from your release, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

You expected him to refuse…Instead, he simply nodded.

"Hmm sure, baby. Let me get it for you."

His tongue swept across his lower lip before he gently tucked a few loose strands of hair away from your flushed cheeks, his touch unexpectedly tender as his eyes lingered on yours.

You swallowed hard, relief flooding through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy.

"I'll wait for you here," you said with a small smile, leaning forward just enough to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he stood.

His eyes narrowed, smiling a little, but there was something in them that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

The moment he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him before disappearing into the noisy beer house in search of a bottle of water, you sprang into action. 

You quickly fixed your dress before reaching for the thick gold necklace that had slipped onto the leather seat during everything that had happened between the two of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before darting toward his wallet, still resting exactly where you had dropped it after deliberately sitting on it when you asked for water. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your gaze frantically swept across the interior of the car, searching for anything else of value. It didn't take long before your eyes landed on a small, heavy bag tucked beneath the passenger seat. 

Without wasting another second—or even bothering to look more....you snatched it as well, clutching the necklace, the wallet, and the bag tightly against your chest before quietly pushing the car door open.

With shaky, trembling hands, you slipped out of the vehicle and hurried toward the nearest sprawling tree beside the parking lot, its thick trunk shielding you from anyone who might glance in your direction. Only then did you allow yourself to stop, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as you hugged your stolen belongings close, desperately trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. 

The necklace alone felt expensive in your hands, its weight unmistakable, and you couldn't help but admire the rich gleam of the gold beneath the parking lot lights. 

This has to be high-karat. 

Your eyes practically sparkled at the thought, relief and triumph swelling inside your chest as you silently congratulated yourself. You had actually managed to steal from him without getting fucked... and without getting caught.

Almost.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the thick gold necklace into your pocket, the reassuring weight of it pressing against your thigh. 

Your attention soon drifted to the heavy bag you had grabbed from beneath the seat, curiosity getting the better of you. You crouched beneath the tree and slowly pulled the zipper open, your brows knitting together at the sight of something black and metallic nestled inside. 

Frowning, you reached to get a better look, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

It was a gun. 

What the fuck?

Your hands instantly began to shake. The bag slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed far louder than it should have in the quiet of the parking lot. 

You stared at it in horror before your gaze darted to the wallet still clutched tightly against your chest, your pulse pounding so violently it made your fingers numb.

"Oh God... this is a bad idea," you whispered to yourself, panic clawing its way up your throat.

For one reckless moment, you considered running back, returning the necklace, the wallet, the bag….everything—and pretending none of this had ever happened. 

Maybe you could leave them inside his car before he noticed. Maybe you could still walk away.

But it was already too late.

If there was one thing Hanni had drilled into your head from the very beginning, it was this: once you stole something, you never gave it back. Going back wasn't bravery—it was stupidity. 

And stupidity was exactly how thieves got caught.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened his wallet, your brows immediately knitting together when an identification card tucked behind a gleaming gold badge came into view. 

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't a wallet at all—it was a badge holder. 

A cold chill crept down your spine as your fingers shakily flipped the leather, your eyes scanning every detail printed across the identification. The words blurred together at first, your racing heart making it impossible to focus, until your gaze landed on the line that mattered most.

CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Rank: Captain  | Name: Jeon Jungkook

For a long, terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, your pulse pounding so violently it drowned out every sound around you. 

"F-Fuck! Oh God—fuck!"

The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper as your hands shook so violently you could barely keep hold of the badge holder. 

Your breathing grew shallow, your mind racing through every possible escape, each one ending worse than the last. 

You stared at the polished badge in horror, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, when the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly reached your ears.

Panic surged through your body, and you instinctively turned, ready to run for your life, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could take a single step.

"Where are you going?" he asked with a quiet chuckle from behind you, amusement lacing his voice.

You froze.

Your gaze remained fixed straight ahead, too terrified to look back at him. Cold sweat trickled down your spine as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

The heavy bag still lay on the ground at your feet. The gold necklace weighed against your pocket. And clutched tightly between your trembling fingers was his badge holder, still opened to the identification that had shattered every ounce of confidence you had only moments ago.

You had been fucking caught.

Not just by any random stranger. 

But by a goddamn police captain.

"I got your water, baby," he said, his voice coated in quiet amusement. You flinched the moment the cold bottle brushed against the back of your thighs, the chill a cruel contrast to the heat of your panic.

"O-Officer, I—"

"You forgot something, didn't you?" he whispered against your ear, his grip never loosening around your wrist. 

The bottle of water lazily traced the length of your trembling thigh, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, hot tears gathering until they spilled freely down your cheeks. Every frantic thought crashed into the next, leaving you unable to form a single coherent sentence.

He leaned in even closer, his warm breath ghosting just below your ear.

"You forgot my wallet, baby." his voice dropped into a slow drawl. "That's my badge holder."

A broken sob caught in your throat. Your future flashed before your eyes in vivid, terrifying fragments. 

You could already see the cold metal of handcuffs locking around your wrists, the flashing red and blue lights, the backseat of a patrol car, a holding cell, your family finding out, your future slipping through your fingers before you had even been given the chance to fight for it. Everything you had worked so hard for, every dream you had stubbornly clung to despite your circumstances, all of it seemed to crumble into pieces in the span of a few unbearable seconds.

You had just thrown your entire life away.

“P-Please, I-’’

"Is my poor baby too dumb, or does that pretty little head of yours just want to get fucked?"

You shook your head frantically, tears spilling faster down your cheeks. "N-No, no, Officer, please... I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"

A startled gasp escaped you when he suddenly spun you around, your back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. Your tear-clouded eyes instantly met his dark ones, the amusement lingering in them only making the panic clawing at your chest grow worse.

He raised a brow, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment.

"Aww, look at you…so scared, baby." he cooed.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Want me to give you a chance?’’ he tilted his head.

Hope bloomed inside your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.

Jungkook took another step forward, his broad frame caging you against the tree until there was nowhere left to run. Your entire body trembled beneath his gaze, your heart pounding so violently you could barely hear yourself think, and you looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, clinging to the smallest possibility that he might actually let you go.

"P-Please, Officer… I-I'm sorry..." you stammered, the words tumbling over one another in your haste. "I-I know it was wrong, a-and that—"

‘’Run.” 

Your lips parted in disbelief.

"W-What?"

He slowly licked his lower lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that carried no warmth whatsoever. Stepping closer until there wasn't even a breath of space left between you, he brushed the pad of his thumb across your trembling lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Run, baby. Run as fast as you can.” his voice dropped into a low murmur, his tone as though he were talking to a child. "And when I catch you, I'm gonna take you to prison. I'll fuck you every day behind those rusty metal bars. I'll use your tight little pussy until your hole is gaping and leaking. Maybe I'll even let my comrades fuck you too. We'll take turns fucking that slutty, manipulative pussy of yours."

Desperation made people do reckless things. 

It silenced reason, drowned out fear, and left nothing behind but the instinct to survive.

You spun around and bolted before your mind had the chance to catch up, your legs carrying you as fast as they could through the dimly lit streets. Instead of following the brighter roads, you veered into the narrow, shadowed alleyways, your panicked thoughts convincing you that the light was far more dangerous than the dark. 

People could help you—but the moment they learned why you were running, they wouldn't see a terrified woman. 

They would see a thief.

A criminal…and they would hand you right back to him.

Your lungs burned, each desperate breath sharper than the last, your feet throbbing against the unforgiving pavement as you forced yourself to keep going. When a tall chain-link fence came into view, fear surged through your exhausted body. You stumbled toward it, your shaking hands already reaching for the metal, frantically searching for a way to climb over it.

You never got the chance.

A powerful hand suddenly seized both of your wrists from behind, wrenching them backward before you could react. A startled cry tore from your throat as your body was dragged away from the fence, only to be slammed against it a heartbeat later.

 “L-Let me go!” you cried.

The rough metal dug painfully into your cheek, your breath knocked from your lungs as he forced your arms higher behind your back. Then you heard it—

A sharp metallic click…cold steel closed around your wrist.

You were handcuffed.

He secured the other cuff around the metal fence, leaving your wrists restrained above your head. The cold steel bit into your skin as you instinctively struggled against it, your cheek pressed harshly against the chain-link, the rough metal scraping your flushed skin every time you tried to pull away. The handcuffs refused to budge, each desperate tug only making them dig in deeper.

"N-No... no, please," you cried, your voice breaking into helpless sobs.

Instead of hurting you, he reached up and gently combed a few loose strands of hair away from your face, the unexpected tenderness making your entire body flinch. His fingers lingered for a moment, idly twirling a lock of your hair around them before giving it a soft tug.

"Shh, it’s okay…" he said in a mocking tone.

"I-I’m sorry, please…I’ll do anything—"

The plea died on your lips when you felt him lower himself behind you.

“Anything, baby?” he whispered.

He settled onto one knee before slowly gathering the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until your damp panties were fully exposed beneath the cool night air. His large hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs apart with an effortless firmness that left your body trembling against the restraint. 

Your eyes widened as you pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, your legs instinctively trying to close, but there was nowhere to go. A warm tongue suddenly pressed against the fabric between your thighs, dragging slowly over your sticky panties.

His nose remained buried in your tight hole, drawing in a slow, deep breath as though savoring every scent of you. His tongue dragged languidly along your slit from behind, the damp fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.

"O-Oh gosh-" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your flushed cheeks as you felt him inhale against your clothed cunt again. His tongue swept over you once more, leaving your panties even wetter than before.

“Let me play with you.” he murmured before diving in.

You bit down hard on your lip, another wave of warmth pooling between your thighs despite yourself. More tears slipped from your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure tangling with the fear coursing through your body.

I am not enjoying this, I am not-

A low groan rumbled behind you as he spread your legs farther apart. His pointed nose brushed against your puckered hole, inhaling deeply. 

You craned your neck to look around, but there was no one in sight. Only the lonely yellow glow of a streetlamp stretched across the empty street, casting long shadows around the two of you.

When he flipped your panties aside, you instinctively tried to close your legs, but a startled gasp escaped your lips as his palm suddenly came down against your inner thigh with a sharp smack, the sting urging your legs back open for him.

“Open up for me, baby. Let me taste your little pussy,” he murmured, giving your thigh another light tap as he silently coaxed you to spread yourself wider.

You were getting wetter, but the thought of someone's tongue directly against your pussy was beyond your virgin imagination.

When you still didn't move, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You felt him rise behind you, the warmth of his body disappearing for only a brief moment before the unmistakable click of metal made your breath hitch. Before you even had the chance to turn your head, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your temple.

A broken cry caught in your throat, your entire body trembling. 

“W-What-”

"Spread your legs."

His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The barrel pressed more insistently against your temple, and with another shaky sob, your knees slowly fell farther apart.

A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. Only then did he pull the gun away, tucking it back into the holster at the back of his belt before lowering himself between your thighs once more. His hands wrapped around them, holding you open exactly how he wanted, and the moment he buried his face between your legs, a deep groan escaped him.

“Oh, gosh!” you moaned.

You were already leaking, his broad tongue dragged slowly up and down your chubby, swollen folds before slipping between them, teasing your slit as it delved deeper, massaging your inner walls with slow, deliberate strokes that only left you wetter.

“Pretty.” he leaned back and spat onto your cunt, watching the thick strand of saliva mingle with your slick wetness. “Do you regret what you did, baby?”

His fingers hooked beneath your outer lips, spreading them apart just enough to watch his saliva disappear deeper into your cunt. He spat again, his gaze fixed on the way it slipped between your folds, leaving your sensitive inner walls glistening.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned shamelessly, the torture only making you wetter.

“Would you let me do anything I want?” he asked, staring at your fluttering cunt.

You bit your lip, feeling your milky juices drip from every degrading thing he'd been saying to you.

“Yes.” you said in a tiny voice.

He chuckled, “You wanted to be used like this, didn't you?” 

He leaned in, his tongue flattening as he licked from your perineum to your clit in one slow, vulgar stroke, spreading his spit until his own drool began to trail down his chin. 

“You wanted this…you sat on my lap, ground your filthy cunt against my cock, acted like a good little decoy so you could rob me. But your hole's been thanking me the whole time, hasn't it?”

You shut your eyes tightly when you felt him continuously spitting on your cunt, your pussy was getting so wet that you felt it dripping on your inner thighs down to your ankles.

He held your folds apart, leaving you completely exposed for his hungry gaze. Leaning back, he watched the way they trembled and pulsed beneath his eyes before leaning down again, his tongue already darting out to lap up every drop of your juices. Each time he swallowed, he would only spit over you again, coating you until you were slick enough for him to start all over.

Your eyes widened as the muzzle of the gun pressed against your inner thigh, cool, unforgiving steel sending a shiver through your body. It slowly slid higher until it settled against your entrance, the tip quickly growing slick with your wetness.

"O-Officer—"

“Shh, you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? To rape your thief little pussy.” he mocked, his eyes fixed on the way the tip of the gun glistened with your milky juices as he slowly dragged it up and down your chubby slit.

Desperation was a frightening thing. 

It stripped away reason piece by piece until all that remained was the helpless anticipation of whatever came next.

When you didn't answer, too absorbed in the feeling of the foreign gun against your pussy, he pressed it harder against you, drawing a pained whimper from your lips as tears stung your eyes.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly, applying just a little more pressure.

"Y-Yes," you whimpered.

He tilted his head. "Yes, what?"

You bit your lip. "Y-Yes, O-Officer."

He hummed in approval before pulling the gun away. His tongue darted out to taste the tip, sucking your wetness from the cold metal before releasing it with a soft pop.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he buried himself between your thighs once more, diving back into your exposed pussy with relentless hunger. The obscene sounds of slurping, sucking, and the occasional spit echoed through the place, each one making you feel weaker, more helpless beneath him.

You bit down hard on your lip as you felt your orgasm creeping closer. You tried to hold it back, to keep control, but your body betrayed you. 

Every flick of his tongue, every slow suck, every warm trail of spit sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your pussy convulse beneath his tongue. 

“F-Fuck-” you whimpered.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms ached against the restraints, and your eyes rolled back as the pulsing sensation deep within you grew stronger with every passing second. You wanted to pull away from his mouth, to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted as he sucked out every last tremor, refusing to let you move even as the overstimulation left your body trembling.

“Mhm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered, leaning back just enough to pinch your folds together, as though squeezing every last drop of your milky white juices from your pussy before leaning in again to catch it on his tongue.

A helpless whimper escaped your lips. Your legs were on the verge of giving out beneath you, your arms still held captive by the restraints while your pussy throbbed with overwhelming sensitivity. As he rose to his feet, his palm landed against your cunt in a careless slap, making you flinch before he lazily wiped the sheen of your juices from the corner of his mouth.

His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through the strands before tightening into a firm fist. He tugged until your head tipped back, exposing the line of your throat, and his lips brushed against your tear-dampened cheek.

“Wanna steal more, baby?”

His grip twisted tighter, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully. 

He slowly dragged his tongue along the salty trail of your tears, licking your cheek with slow strokes, savoring the taste of your cries as another quiet hum of approval rumbled in his chest.

You whimpered, your body trembling as you felt the hard outline of his clothed bulge press against the plush of your ass. He slowly ground his erection against you, a low grunt vibrating beneath your ear while his hand kept a firm hold on your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to suck and leave harsh bites along your neck.

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, grinding his cock more firmly against your bare ass. “My money? My jewelry?”

“O-Officer-”

His fist tightened in your hair, forcing another helpless whimper from your lips as he dragged his tongue along your throat, feeling the way you swallowed hard beneath him. “You wanted all of it, didn't you?”

His teeth sank into your neck once more as his clothed bulge rutted harder against the cleft of your ass, the seam of his pants catching against your skin with every slow roll of his hips. At the same time, his free hand slipped beneath your dress, yanking the fabric higher before grabbing a full handful of your bare ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"My pretty, pretty thief," he praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hips rolled against you with even more force.

He wrenched his pants open just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the heated length slapping against one ass cheek before the other. Pre-cum glistened over the swollen tip as he slowly ground the shaft along the plush curve of your ass, coating your skin with every deliberate roll of his hips.

"Feel that? I'm so hard for you, baby."

A helpless mewl slipped past your lips as you weakly shook your head, your entire body trembling while he continued rubbing against your ass.

“Fuck, you make me so fucking horny.” he grunted.

Your cheeks burned crimson, the same flush spreading across your neck, and another whimper escaped you when he suddenly jerked your head back by the hair. 

"Grind back, baby, or I'll fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You cried harder, your body trembling as you reluctantly began to move your ass against his cock. A deep groan escaped him, his right hand settling firmly on your hip as he looked down, watching the way his hard length slid slowly through the cleft of your ass with every hesitant grind.

He spat over the curve of your ass for added lubrication, and a helpless cry caught in your throat when you felt the warm saliva land against your puckered rim. Despite the humiliation, your pussy only grew wetter.

His tattooed hand suddenly snaked around your waist, trailing lower until it reached your cunt. You gasped as his fingers cupped your pussy before hooking between your folds, spreading your lips apart into a lewd V-shape for him to admire.

“Look down and watch your clit, baby.” he rasped, tilting your head down so your gaze fell between your legs.

“P-Please...” you croaked, your body growing weaker by the second, your pussy aching for more even as the rest of you threatened to give out.

“Wanna be fucked so bad, huh?”

You gasped as his middle finger suddenly pushed between the V-shaped hold of his fingers, slipping inside your tight cunt. Your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick digit as he slowly worked it deeper.

“Oh! Mhmp!” you screamed.

His cock left your ass, the slick tip dragging slowly down until it notched against your entrance, smearing pre-cum and his spit over your swollen folds.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby…you’ve been a very bad girl.” he yanked your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue traced a slow path from your neck to the shell of your ear. “Need to fuck some sense into you, hmm?’’

“Mhmp!” you whimpered.

“Shh... moan for me, baby. It'll feel good.” his finger pressed deeper one last time, stretching your walls before he slowly withdrew it. The emptiness lasted only a heartbeat before he replaced it with the thick, leaking head of his cock, nudging its way against your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you screamed at the sudden stretch, his thick cock forcing its way into your tight pussy until you could feel every pulsing vein dragging against your walls as he pushed deeper.

He thrust halfway, then stopped, watching your cunt spasm around him, a thin ribbon of milky white release clinging to his shaft like a ring. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he slowly pulled back before driving into you harder, bottoming out in one deep thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass hard enough to make the fence rattle.

“Need to use this cunt every day. Maybe I’ll let my comrades fuck this tight little cunt so they can loosen you up for me, yeah?” he grunted, pushing even deeper until his balls rested snug against your cunt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against the curve of your ass with every shallow grind.

“U-Ugh, p-please...” you screamed, trying to wriggle, but he only answered with a low grunt against your ear. Then, without warning, he withdrew his cock completely.

For one fleeting moment, you thought he was finally going to let you go.

But your eyes widened the instant you heard the unmistakable clink of his leather belt being unclasped.

Your eyes widened as you felt him wrap the leather around your neck, fastening it just snug enough for him to tug whenever your cries grew too loud, cutting off your words with every sharp pull.

“Behave, baby.” he chuckled, easing himself inside you once more while keeping a firm grip on the belt for leverage. Every now and then, he gave it another deliberate tug, silencing your screams as his hips continued to drive into you.

The moment his hips began to roll against yours, your eyes fluttered back, pleasure blooming beneath the sting until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. 

“O-Oh, O-Officer!” a shaky sob escaped your lips, born as much from the humiliation as the sensation itself. Your pussy ached for more, clenching helplessly around his thick girth, betraying you with every pulse.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he circled his hips into yours, each relentless thrust threatening to lift your body off your feet.

“Is my baby enjoying this?” he whispered, giving the leather another measured yank, just enough to cut your sob short. The strap bit into the flushed skin of your throat as his hips snapped forward again, his balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every forceful thrust.

“This is turning you on, huh?”

You shook your head, but your pussy only grew wetter, your cries slowly dissolving into helpless moans as he continued to fuck you from behind.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered.

“N-No, Officer.” you whimpered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you gave a slow, trembling shake of your head.

“Yeah? You like getting used?”

He gave the belt another sharp tug, cutting off your whimpers before loosening it just enough to let a broken moan spill from your lips. Then he drove into you even deeper, his mushroom tip grinding against your spongy walls until you could feel your own milky juices coating his shaft.

"Gonna lock you up in a cell, baby… you'll be the precinct's little fucktoy."

The moment his thick head brushed against your g-spot, your entire body spasmed around his cock. A harsh groan tore from his throat as your walls clamped down on him, forcing him to pull out almost immediately. His movements turned urgent, one hand fumbling for the keys clipped to his belt while the other steadied you. Your hazy eyes fluttered shut as you felt the handcuffs finally come undone from your wrists.

You thought he was done.

A weak gasp escaped your lips when he suddenly flipped you over to face him, your exhausted arms falling limply to your sides as he stripped away the rest of your dress. Without a word, he lifted you with effortless strength and pinned you against the cold metal fence before guiding his hard cock back inside you. A broken whimper slipped from your throat at the oversensitivity left behind by your previous orgasm, your body instinctively tensing around him as his mouth found your exposed nipples, sucking them greedily while he chased his own release.

Your body bounced helplessly with every powerful thrust, like a toy being used exactly as he pleased. Your tongue nearly lolled from your parted lips, your mind reduced to nothing but scattered pleasure as his larger frame manhandled yours with ease. Low grunts and strained moans vibrated against your swollen nipples, each sound muffled by the way his mouth refused to leave them.

A rough growl tore from his throat as his climax finally overtook him. You felt the thick warmth of his release spilling deep inside your already used hole, his hips continuing to roll against yours in slow, deep motions, as though determined to push every last drop of his cum even deeper. 

“Fuck, baby,” his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the lingering waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Some of it trickled down the insides of your thighs, warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open…your body hanging limply in his grasp.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. Before you could steady yourself, he was already kneeling between your thighs again, firmly spreading them apart as though he hadn't just reduced them to trembling. 

“W-Wait-” you panicked.

A helpless cry escaped your lips when his mouth found your swollen pussy once more, lapping up the mixture of his release and your milky wetness, slurping every drop with relentless hunger. The overstimulation sent your body reeling, your clit already so unbearably sensitive that the moment his tongue slid upward to wrap around it, your pussy pulsed against his mouth, another orgasm crashing through you before you could stop it.

He looked up at you with heavy lidded eyes, watching every twitch and shudder that overtook your body as you came around his mouth. 

You could see the way his cheeks hollowed with every slow suck on your clit, and somehow the sight of his discarded gun and badge lying carelessly on the floor beside him made the moment feel even dirtier—

A police officer on his knees, devotedly eating out the very thief he had caught.

Only when he was satisfied did he rise to his feet. His hand slipped into your hair, gently tugging you toward him until his lips claimed yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you with greedy desperation. Your eyelids grew heavy, your knees threatening to buckle again, your body barely able to remain upright.

You flinched when you felt his hardened cock brush against your inner thighs even as he continued kissing you, a wave of panic surging through your exhausted body. Your pussy already felt swollen and unbearably sensitive, every nerve still humming from the relentless orgasms he had pulled from you.

As though sensing the fear creeping into your expression, he let out a low chuckle, slowly pulling away from your lips to study your face.

"Aww, is my baby tired?" he cooed, the words dripping with mock honey as he nudged your chin upward. 

You shook your head, your body instinctively yielding to whatever he was going to do next.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he bit down on his lower lip, your quiet submission enough to make his cock throb.

"Kneel for me."

Your knees trembled beneath you as you slowly lowered yourself, a startled gasp escaping your lips the moment the swollen tip dragged a lazy streak of pre-cum across your cheek.

"Open up, baby…daddy's not done." he gathered your hair into one hand with a gentleness that belonged to a lover rather than the man standing before you, tilting your face toward his groin, a smile tugging at his lips that never quite reached the darkness in his eyes.

"Clean up the mess you made, hmm? Open wide for Officer."

The swollen head nudged past your lips, and a mock-pitying sigh slipped from him as your mouth slowly yielded around his cock, your tongue flattening instinctively beneath the weight before a helpless gag caught in your throat.

"There, there," he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. "Suck nice and slow, pretty girl."

He began to rock his hips into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, while his free hand continued to pet your hair with a tenderness so painfully at odds with the degradation spilling from his lips.

"That's it, baby," he praised softly. "Tongue flat, like the dumb, cute slut you are."

He pushed his cock deeper until the swollen mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat, the prominent veins along his shaft dragging against the roof of your mouth with every slow thrust, the upward curve making each movement reach even deeper.

"I can give you everything you want, baby," he whispered, a groan slipping past his lips as his thrusts gradually became sloppier, his grip on your hair tightening with every push. Saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth as you fought the urge to choke, wet, muffled gargles escaping your throat each time he buried himself deeper. Your eyes burned, quickly turning red as tears pooled along your lash line.

He cradled your hair once more, the tenderness of the gesture clashing with the relentless pace of his hips.

"I can provide for you... spoil you with all of my money," he murmured, easing himself forward until your nose brushed against the coarse hair at his pelvis. 

He held your face snugly in place for a brief moment before slowly rolling his hips, then gently pulled you back just enough to let you catch your breath, his saliva-slick cock dragging across your flushed cheeks.

"Do you want that?" he asked, tilting his head as he lazily ground his cock against your swollen cheek.

You nodded eagerly, your tear-filled eyes never leaving his.

He chuckled, giving your cheek a light tap with the head of his cock. "Do you understand me, baby?"

You pouted…your cheeks burning red, your eyes swollen, your lips wet with his precum. 

“Mhm..” 

“Mhm?” he chuckled.

He bit his lower lip as he stared down at you, quietly admiring the mess he'd made. “Cute.” 

Without warning, he yanked your head forward until he was fully seated inside your mouth, your nose pressed into his pubic hair as his balls slapped against your chin with each shallow roll of his hips.

"Gurk—gurk—"

You choked around him, tears immediately spilling down your cheeks, but the only response he gave was a deep groan as he slowly began to fuck your face, each thrust forcing another muffled gargle from your throat.

"Fuck, baby...I'm gonna cum."

He pulled out just enough to lean down and spit onto your tongue before pushing his cock back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, the loose belt still hanging around your neck, its end dragging through the dirt every time your head was forced forward.

You gagged helplessly around him, your cheeks hollowing as your eyes rolled back, your head rocking back and forth with every relentless thrust while he used your mouth however he pleased. And when you felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts growing rougher and increasingly sloppy, he suddenly pulled free with a low groan. Before you could even catch your breath, he hauled you to your feet, one arm wrapped firmly around your body as he guided his cock against your cunt, his other hand positioning himself before pushing his hard cock back into your tight hole.

“I’m gonna cum inside baby, a reward for being a good little toy for daddy.”

A broken cry escaped your lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering the moment he came. Thick, warm spurts filled you one after another while your body trembled from the lingering overstimulation, his hips continuing to jerk and roll against yours as he emptied every last drop inside you.

"These are worth thousands, Y/N! Oh my God."

Hanni's eyes widened in utter disbelief, her gaze sweeping across the worn wooden table as though she couldn't decide which stolen treasure to look at first.

A thick leather wallet, its compartments stuffed with crisp bills. Heavy gold necklaces lay tangled together beside matching rings, each piece gleaming with the unmistakable richness of high-karat gold. A limited-edition watch rested nearby, its polished face catching the kitchen light with every slight movement. And a duffel bag overflowed with expensive perfumes, bottle after bottle worth more than most people's monthly salary.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as your gaze wandered over Jungkook's belongings scattered across the table.

You never told Hanni that you'd gotten caught. 

Instead, you let her believe everything had gone according to plan.

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

He had given you far more than you had ever planned on stealing.

Tucked beneath your bed, hidden inside an old shoebox, were stacks of cash and signed checks worth enough to keep you comfortable for a long while—buying you the time to find a better path for yourself.

You hadn't even told Hanni about them.

Not because you didn't trust her, but because you knew the moment she saw that kind of money, questions would follow. Questions you couldn't answer without admitting where it had come from. So you kept the cash hidden, the checks tucked safely beneath it, and carried the secret alone.

He still hadn't turned you over to the authorities, even though it was painfully obvious he'd known exactly what kind of person you were from the very beginning.

From the moment he'd let you reach for the clasp of his necklace, he'd already known.

No high-ranking police officer—especially not a captain…would've failed to notice what you were trying to do. He had seen through you from the very beginning, long before you'd ever managed to slip a single thing into your hands.

Why did he let you?

You smiled seductively, slipping the watch and wallet beneath your dress before taking another sip of your now-warm beer, your gaze lingering on your target, who was far too drunk to notice the way your attention had never truly been on him.

Perhaps you hadn't changed.

Because here you were, stealing again…chasing the same thrill, the same rush, while somewhere beneath every excuse you made for yourself, another reason quietly waited.

Maybe you wanted to see him again.

You left the crowded club with the stolen watch and wallet hidden beneath your dress, weaving through the lingering crowd until the music faded behind you. The cool night air greeted your flushed skin as you made your way toward the smoking area, where you and Hanni had agreed to meet.

You had been stealing for six months now. 

You managed to steal from a shopping mall, a restaurant, a boutique, and even a high-end store—your usual targets where men were rarely involved.

Tonight, you decided to try flirting again…attempting to seduce someone despite the fact that your only experience had been with him.

Before you could even pull out your phone to text Hanni, someone pushed you against the cold brick wall.

Familiar dark, round eyes stared back at you, the same pierced lips curled around a cigarette as smoke drifted lazily into the night. Tattooed arms caged you in on either side, leaving nowhere for you to go.

Your eyes widened.

Seeing him dressed in the crisp navy uniform of a police captain stole the air from your lungs. 

Gold captain's bars gleamed from the epaulets on his shoulders, while a polished metal badge rested proudly over his chest. His duty belt sat low around his waist, crowded with the familiar weight of handcuffs, a radio, holster, and the rest of the equipment that came with his authority. The neatly pressed fabric, the black tie tucked beneath the collar, the nameplate pinned above his pocket—it all transformed the man you remembered into someone far more intimidating.

Power looked infuriatingly good on him.

Before you could utter a single word, his left hand slipped under your dress. Your breath caught as his fingers found the watch and wallet strapped against your thigh with effortless precision.

“Looks like my baby didn't learn her lesson, hmm?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

You love your life. 

You love that you can wake up whenever you want, and that you have no set schedule to live by. The only deadlines you have to worry about are the ones you make for yourself. You love your beautiful apartment that you didn’t need anyone else’s help to get, and that it is so close to everything in the city. You love not worrying about money anymore. You get to live however you deem fit, taking life one day at a time. Everything in your life is by your own design. Honestly? It’s a dream. 

And it’s easy money, giving men a fantasy for the night. 

That’s what you sell, the idea of you. In everyday life, you don’t pout nearly as much as you do on camera, nor do you talk as sweetly to strangers. Some of them, though, aren’t strangers to you anymore. You recognize their usernames and their donations, especially the ones who have been fans of yours since you started, and the ones who pay for your highest tiered subscription. Twenty-five dollars a month just to jerk off to your exclusive content. Ah, men. 

Your fanbase has grown and grown, skyrocketing somewhat recently when you convinced Yeosang, your hot guy friend, to join you in one of your videos. He’d worn a face mask to protect his identity, but it had been so obvious that he’s attractive even with it on. The black tank top left little to the imagination as your audience watched the muscles in his arms flex as his strong hands fingered you over and over again while he talked you through each orgasm. It was a rather simple video, with no actual sex. Regardless, that became one of your most viewed videos even though it was an exclusive, and the video that ended up paying for this apartment. Men and women alike scrambled to type in their credit card information to see it, boosting not only your ego, but your bank account as well. You gave Yeosang a decent sized chunk of your earnings, seeing as he was in the video too.  

His whole face had turned red when you showed him the number of views, hiding behind his hands for good measure. He’s always been shy, it was a damn miracle you even got him to do it in the first place. 

Since then, you’ve been living quite comfortably. Yeosang, too. Despite your efforts to convince him to create his own account for people to subscribe to, he’s maintained his ‘innocence’. However, recently he’s been asking you more and more about the details and dynamics of running an account like yours. You’re almost afraid to jinx it, like if you ask him outright if he’s thinking about it, he’ll forget the whole thing and never do it. Who are you to potentially accidentally deny the general paying population of your hot friend? 

He may become even more popular than me, you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

You glance at your laptop, its camera trained at a specific angle towards your empty bed, and you peek at how many people are waiting for your livestream to start. Friday nights are always good to pull in larger crowds, and tonight is no different. 

Nine hundred, and climbing. 

Whoa.

You let out a low whistle at the number, the highest you’ve ever seen it just for the amount of people waiting. You’re not even due to start for another ten minutes. The number shifts around a couple times, losing some, and gaining more every minute. For the first time in a while, you start to feel a little self-conscious. This newfound fame is still just that: new. Even though you can’t see the audience you’ve gathered, you still feel that there are nine hundred pairs of eyes on you in your bedroom. There’s a nervous flutter in your chest that you can’t seem to shake off in the dwindling minutes before your stream begins. 

With only two minutes left, you flit around your room, double checking how you look in your mirror, fixing your hair and makeup, and adjusting one of the straps to the lingerie you picked out for the evening. You sit prettily on the bed, taking a few moments before you start to center yourself, taking deep breaths and focusing on getting your head clear for tonight’s performance. 

A ‘performance’ is basically all it is.   

Your fingers hover over the trackpad of your laptop, counting down the seconds until there are none left, and you click “Go Live”. 

As usual, you allow about ten seconds to go by, waiting for more to join once they get the notification that the stream has started. You read the sudden influx of chat, smiling when you see familiar usernames and knowing that rent will be covered for the next couple of months, just by their presence here. If you wanted something, all you had to do was ask for it. Someone in the chat will gladly donate however much you need – and then some – just for the chance to hear you read their username and thank them in your sweet voice. 

So easy.  

You saturate your greeting with honey, looking up into the laptop camera, eyes round and innocent. 

“Hi, everyone,” you sing, giggling for all of the people vying for your attention. Each comment is sent with the hope that you’ll read it out. Some send tips already, small amounts mostly in the single digits, but there are a couple of doubles sent your way already. The tip counter in the upper corner of the screen increases steadily with each donation as they come. Compliments, questions, requests, and general niceties move up the screen in a constant staccato, making room for the next. 

You lean back on your hands, pretending that you don’t know what you’re doing with this angle. The camera is angled down, providing an almost perfect POV shot for the audience. The fantasy begins immediately. You uncross your legs, feigning shyness. 

“My day was okay, thank you,” you purr, knowing you just made someone nearly cream their pants by answering their question. “But… I’ve just been so lonely.” 

You pout, right on cue to accompany your words. Instantly, the comment section floods with volunteers to cure you of your loneliness. Each one promises they can fix it, that they’ll be there for you, that they’ll never leave. It’s flattering, but none of them really mean it. Maybe they think they do, but again none of them really know you. You doubt most of them want to get to the very root of you and figure you out. No, most if not all just want to get into your pants to say that they have. Bragging rights. 

[user75846] will yeo be joining you?

You read the comment aloud, shaking your head in quiet defeat. “No, it’s just me tonight.” 

Some comments beg for his return, others are happy that it’s just you – the jealous types – and the rest are simply impatient to see your body. Your hand trails across the hem of your flimsy, sheer tank top you chose to wear for the evening. It leaves little to the imagination. The quiet pinging of more money being donated motivates you further. You sigh, looking up into the camera again. 

“I’ve been so sad and lonely all day… you guys will help me, right?” 

You pull your shirt down just a little more, showcasing your cleavage while keeping your face as innocent as possible. The comments spike again, but you don’t pay attention to them anymore. Your hand travels farther up to your mouth, fingers threatening to slip between your glossy lips. Twelve hundred people watch and wait. You hum, parting your lips slightly but not quite giving them the visual they want. Not yet. There’s no rush – not for you, at least. But one comment catches your eye because of its impatience.   

[mntn3000]: start.

Very blunt. You don’t recognize the username as one of your regulars or subscribers. Whoever this is must be new. You’ve run and maintained a rather strict program with your subscribers when it comes to what they say in the live chat – politeness being one of the main rules. The lack of a ‘please’ to sweeten the demand nearly twists your face into something less angelic. Maybe whoever this user is is already close, unable to finish his sentence before he finishes himself. You bet once you take your shirt off he’ll blow his load and leave. It happens. For now, you’ll have fun with him. Teach this newcomer some manners. 

You dip your fingers in, tongue peeking out to greet them into your mouth. The amount of comments slows just a little, silently telling you that some of your viewers are beginning to work themselves up along with you. 

“Oh dear… ‘mntn3000’ just said ‘start’. No ‘please’? Will someone let him know how this works?” You keep your voice sugary, making sure everyone knows you aren’t hurt or being stuck-up, but that you’re rather amused at the comment. 

Almost immediately, upon request, you see one of your regulars tag the newcomer in a message explaining the chat rules. 

“Thank you, Woo,” you hum, lifting your shirt up even more, just for him, to show your gratitude. Your hand lingers near your breast, a small shudder running through your body as you graze your nipple. 

‘Woo’, your nickname for him from his username, has become somewhat of an anonymous friend to you. He’s subscribed to your highest level tier and the VIP extras that you offer, including private shows and a group chat on Discord. He’s always the first to step in if someone says something out of line or disrespectful in any way. Your own personal guard dog. 

Whoever he is, ‘mntn3000’ doesn’t say anything to Woo’s message. 

Fourteen hundred people now. 

You hum again, resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You love the attention. And after doing a rough estimate in your head how much money you’ll make tonight, it just makes you want to put on an even better show. 

“If you want something…” you purr, taking your shirt off completely. The comments erupt. “Ask nicely~” you tease, giggling to yourself.

A donation pops up immediately, the sum of which nearly makes you gape.   

[mntn3000] has donated $500 

Well… that’s certainly nice. 

[mntn3000]: start, kitten

That’ll do it. 

You’re quick to control your reaction to the generous donation. However, now you can’t help but feel like you’re performing under pressure. Some of your other patrons comment on it, but you’re on autopilot now. 

One more deep breath in and your tight little shorts soon join your shirt on the floor. 

You exhale audibly, turning the breath into a quiet moan as your hand continues to explore your own body. This time, you don’t tease when your fingers come back up to your mouth, accepting them immediately. Your free hand finds its way to your neglected chest, kneading the warm skin. It’s easy to pretend that the touch belongs to someone else’s manipulation. 

It’s more than just a little confusing for you to immediately imagine it’s Yeosang, if not friendship-wise. The two of you have mutually agreed that you’re platonic. The collaboration was just… a friend helping a friend. Moreso than the views and money you earned from it, you’re thankful that there is no awkwardness between you two in the aftermath of it. When you had switched the camera off, he had even joked about graduating to another level of friendship, or something like that. You can’t remember exactly right now, you’re a bit preoccupied. 

You pry your eyes open to read the chat, wanting to know if they’re enjoying the view so far. 

[user92834]: i keep expecting yeo to show up ㅠㅠ  i miss him

You whine, only able to nod once or twice. “I miss Yeo, too.” 

Now you’re playing with fire. Multiple people in the chat remind you of their personal favorite parts of that video, giving you a much needed visual to get yourself off. Is it wrong? To use memories of your best friend ‘platonically’ overstimulating you for the better part of an hour? Maybe. You think you just need to get laid soon. Admittedly, it’s been rather long since you have been. Longer than most of your viewers will ever believe.  

“I wish someone was here to help me,” you blink slowly into the camera, pouting again. 

Your artificial patheticness is like a siren call to these men. It seems that every single one of your viewers suddenly comes alive, flooding the chat and your donations box all at once, each claiming that they should be the one to help you next time. That they have what it takes. 

Except one. 

You haven’t seen that ‘mntn3000’ guy’s username pop up since he sent the generous donation earlier. You wonder if he’s still watching. Maybe he’s embarrassed from earlier. 

Whatever. He’s more likely just another background viewer. You probably won’t hear from him again. 

Pushing the thought away, you start to finally trail your hand down your stomach to lightly circle your clit. Your hooded eyes flicker up to the screen, making sure everything’s in view. Satisfied with what you see, you resume touching yourself, continuing to loudly suck on your fingers for good measure. 

[user82392] has donated $5

[user01743] has donated $20

[puppyu.u] has donated $50

[mars9843] has donated $50 

[puppyu.u] has donated $100

You can’t help but smile, watching the silent competition between your viewers. Every time someone ups the amount they’re willing to drop on you, there’s dozens more who are willing to match it. You feel like you’re at auction. Who will win in the end? Usually, it’s one of your regulars, the ones with access to the private Discord, who come out on top. You’re betting on ‘puppyu.u’ tonight. He seems like he has something to prove. 

No one’s quite willing to match ‘mntn3000’’s five hundred dollar starting offer just yet. 

You get the feeling that everyone who regularly competes here silently agrees to just… ignore it. Everyone here spoils you, of course. But dropping five hundred dollars straight out the gate is a blatant power move that seems intent to undermine most of the others in here in one fell swoop. 

But he’s quiet now. Maybe he spent all he had in one go. It happens sometimes. Rarely, but sometimes. 

You’re not sure why you’re so hung up on this random user. You’re not used to being caught off guard like this. Closing your eyes so no one can see you roll them, you decide to not think about him anymore. 

And you have just the thing for it. 

While they spend money to achieve imagined dominance over the others in the chat, you reach just offscreen to grab your favorite dildo. It’s a fan-favorite as well. You scoot a little farther back on the bed, finally taking your fingers out of your mouth and replacing it with the head of the dildo. You sigh around it, like you’re content, grateful to have something in your mouth again. In reality, this is just so that it goes inside of you easier.   

This time, you don’t make them wait. 

The blunt head of the toy slips inside easily, and you fight to keep your head up so everyone can see your reaction to it. Halfway in, you give up. Head back, a visible shudder runs through your body that has the donation notifications ringing like crazy. Around this point in your little show, you’ll pay less and less attention to the chat, only focusing on the pleasure you’re creating for yourself. 

But this time, something’s off. 

No matter what you do, you can’t seem to find that specific angle that makes you cum. Not even playing with your clit seems to be any help. You try to relax, to see if maybe you’re too tense to feel anything, but it’s quite hard to relax when you’re this frustrated already. You’re not about to let the audience know that, but it’s discouraging. You don’t like to lie, but again, it’s all part of a performance. A fake, tailored show to sell a fantasy version of you. The one who always comes for whoever is watching, the one who is just so insatiable for each individual person watching.  

At one point, you obtain false hope. You hit an angle that nearly does it for you, getting you closer than you were before to that sweet edge. It’s so close you can almost taste it, quickening your pulse and electrifying every vein in your body. There’s an ache in your wrist that is starting to become strained and uncomfortable, and your eyebrows furrow together to try and maybe will an orgasm into existence. And yet the payoff evades you completely.  

You make a sharp, high-pitched noise out of frustration, which hopefully comes across as ecstacy instead. You’re not even enjoying it anymore, and your hand begins to slow down the pumps of the dildo as your fake moans increase again. There’s a trick you know to make your legs look like they’re realistically shaking from an orgasm – learned by ego-boosting one too many failed relationships and one night stands in the past – and you use it now. 

Ugh. 

The toy slips out of you, and you blearily toss it next to you on the bed. You let the audience watch the slowing rise and fall of your chest as your breaths even out. 

What the fuck was that? You think to yourself, tilting your head back to hide your look of confusion. You’re kind of nervous to look at what people are saying in the chat, worried that they somehow caught onto the fact that you faked it. Without any proof, you conjure up images of cancellation, accusations, name-calling, every possible and yet unrealistic bad thing that could potentially happen. 

Steeling yourself as best you can, you straighten and take a look at the chat. 

All worries melt away at once as soon as you notice the heart emojis that flood the comment section. You’re not sure when this started, nor do you know who began the trend, but it has turned into something similar to applause at the end of a stream. A cute signal that they enjoyed the show. You smile at the screen, even laughing a little from relief. Time and time again, you’re proven to be loved no matter what. 

There are a few more donations, although they’ve slowed down now that you’re done. You push your hair back, taking the time to slowly breathe in and out as you read the comments. Most of them tell you how hard you made them bust, which earns you a few more dollars. Still, there’s one username you’re stuck on that you’re not seeing. Not yet. You hope you’re not being obvious, waiting for it to reappear. Maybe with some manners and patience this time. Your eyes stay locked on the corner of the screen.

It’s after you blow a puff of air up towards your hair to move it out of your face that he reappears. Maybe your impatience was received loud and clear to him. 

He only sends one word. Four letters. 

[mntn3000]: cute 

[mntn3000] has donated $1000

[mntn3000] has left the stream

Huh. Your spinning head almost registers that. A good thing about streaming is that you’re not exactly on a time limit. You can take as much time as you need to to calm down and regroup before addressing your audience again. Most will leave during this time, and that’s alright too. Your devoted viewers will stay, still seeking out your attention, praise, and appreciation. You always thank them for watching and of course, donating. 

“There’s thousands of others you could have spent your time with tonight, so thank you for choosing me. I hope I made it worth it.” 

In the middle of catching your breath, you manage a small grin into the camera. With a whispered, ‘goodnight’, and a kiss blown straight to your audience, you end the live and flop backwards on your bed. Another job well done. Another year of rent earned. 

You force yourself to move after five minutes, showering, changing into new, comfier clothes and taking your makeup off in the bathroom until it’s just you in the mirror, and not the character. It’s not until you’re brushing your teeth that you realize how tired you are from that live, nearly drifting off with the toothbrush still in your mouth. Head about to hit the wall, you jerk back to stand upright and finish up quickly. You can practically hear your bed calling your name.   

A text from Yeosang lights up your phone, halfway buried underneath a pillow. You pull it out and stand by your bed to read it. 

[yeoyeo🌻]: another successful day at the office?

You can’t help but grin, burying yourself under the covers and texting him back quickly. 

[y/n🌸]: another small fortune 🥱

[yeoyeo🌻]: still wanna hang out tomorrow?

[yeoyeo🌻]: or is the princess too tired 

[y/n🌸]: stfu 😂

[y/n🌸]: yes pls i miss you :( 

[yeoyeo🌻]: fine fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: i’ll be over at noon 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you better be awake -.- 

[y/n🌸]: goodnight pretty boy!

[yeoyeo🌻]: 🖕🏻

[yeoyeo🌻]: goodnight 

Exiting the messages app, you reach over to the nightstand and grab your laptop from its perch, keen on transferring your earnings into your bank account as soon as possible. Luckily, the site you use makes it rather easy, just a click of a button, but this time around, you take a second to look at the number in the corner. 

$14,601. 

You whistle lowly at the sight of it. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars for thirty minutes of ‘work’. If you spend and save wisely, you’ll never have to set foot in an office for as long as you live. 

Laptop set aside for the time being, you make a mental note to try and fit in some pilates tomorrow morning before Yeosang comes over. There are certain things you try to do to maintain your beauty and health, especially if the rewards look like this number. The sore muscles, cutting off sugar, and time spent trying to match your wing eyeliner are worth it. Almost… you do miss sugar quite a bit and are prone to cheat if tempted.  

You quickly do the math in the calculator app to see how exponentially your bank account is about to grow once the transfer is complete. The total makes you smile ear to ear. Already, you’re thinking of more ideas, ways to keep everyone interested… but also… maybe a vacation. A first class flight to anywhere in the world seems more than desirable. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask Yeosang if he’d like to come too. The thought excites you, making you want to stay up and look at potential destinations. 

Closing out of the calculator and banking apps, you’re just about to go on TikTok to look through your ‘dream vacay’ folder, when a notification directs your eyes upward. It’s from your email, but it's no promotional message from one of the many stores you shop at, nor is it spam. 

The sender is simply ‘H.J Kim’, accompanied by three words in the subject line: ‘Exclusive Collaboration Offer’. 

That certainly piques your interest, although it could just be a scam. Since you don’t have an agent, you’ve learned the hard way how to filter out those who just wish to take your hard-earned – well… earned – money away from you. When you were just starting out, you had to change numerous passwords more than once. You’re on a first-name-basis with your bank. Usually, you ignore emails like this, but something draws you to it. In what you can see of the preview, the sender doesn’t use more words than he has to, and the word choice seems rather official. Not as scammy as you’re used to. 

Hesitant, but intrigued at what this offer could possibly entail, you click on it to see what the rest of the email says.

__________________________

Dear Miss Y/N, 

I hope you are doing well. My name is Kim Hongjoong and I am a Talent Agent with Afterdark Productions, representing Choi San. We have been admiring your work for a while now, and would love to extend an offer for a collaboration between the two of you. 

If accepted, I will be more than happy to disclose more information regarding the details of the shoot as well as beginning the process of arranging transportation and accommodation. Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, and I will respond as quickly as I can. 

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the possibility of working together. 

Sincerely, 

Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

__________________________

You sit up, suddenly needing more air. 

Choi San. 

Just his name makes your thighs clench together under the plush comforter.

You make a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a laugh of disbelief. You reread it a couple more times, making sure you’re reading it correctly. There’s simply no way someone like Choi San knows you exist, and if he does, then how? Sure, you’re gaining popularity on cam platforms, but you didn’t think the industry on the other side of the coin would take notice. Maybe you’ve just been naive. It’s essentially the same thing but without a script or team involved. You do everything yourself — the lights, the camera, the action. The idea of even attempting what ‘Afterdark’ is known for is quite daunting. The thought of potentially meeting San even more so. 

Everyone knows Choi San. 

Somewhat of a respected micro-celebrity, he is currently revolutionizing the stigma around adult videos and being an adult actor. Breaking stereotypes, barriers, and backs. Impressive. It also helps that he has adonis-like features and a smile that can universally melt hearts. Very helpful, indeed. 

It’s still not fully clicking that you’ve been offered a chance to work with him. Not yet. Most likely, it’ll hit you in the morning when you check your phone for the millionth time, making sure you didn’t just dream this all up in a post-orgasmic haze. Each time you reread it, the words stay the same. The name jumps out at you. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” you whisper, pressing your palm to your mouth, reading the email over just one more time. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. 

A collaboration… you assume that means on his turf. On his side of the industry, anyway. Your mouth dries. Are you even up for this? 

A visual learner all your life, you find yourself opening a private browser and looking up a porn site you know has posted a couple of San’s videos. For research. Literally. Your thought process is to refresh your memory, imagine yourself in the actress’ place and discern whether or not you think you can handle what this offer entails. You pick the very first result after you enter his name in the search box, and settle back against your pillows, nervously biting your nails as the video begins. 

It starts off like many others of its kind, a flashy montage of what’s to come – pun unfortunately intended – to entice viewers to keep watching. You skip ahead, like many do, not caring for whatever ‘plot’ has been thrown together to justify why these two hot people are sleeping together this time. Although, from the clips you do see as the video jumps ahead, inching closer to the real action, you have to admit he’s a decent actor. You stop skipping through it towards the end of their conversation, landing at the proposition and steadily rising scripted passion. 

San steps closer to the actress, really getting into her space, and holding eye contact the whole time. The type that would make any girl melt. It’s not fiery or intimidating, no, it’s something much worse. 

Desire. 

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch, too focused on how his hands wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer. What startles you is how… almost vulnerable he looks. Attentive. His head tilted down slightly, looking at her through his eyelashes, enchanting her so effortlessly as his hands gently wander. You cross an arm over your chest, eyes still fixated on the phone screen. You’re getting affected this much just watching him look at her like that? How the hell will you possibly be able to handle it in real life? The short answer is: you probably won’t. 

Because the next time you skip, impatience gnawing at you to just see and know what he does, you’re thrown right into the fray. 

The camera is almost cinematic, capturing precise angles where everything can be seen, the lighting low and sensual. They’re on a large bed, and San has taken the time to place one of the pillows under her head as well as her hips. A blindfold covers the actress’ eyes, but you can tell right away she’s been steadily crying through the fabric. Her hands tighten in his hair, his mouth latches onto one of her breasts, and his hand between her legs where quiet, constant, wet sounds are being drawn from. Still, he looks earnest. Genuine. Like he cares about her pleasure, and wants to make sure she’s getting just as much out of this experience as he will. At this point, you’re sure the script is thrown out the window, because the way he talks to her, so soft and sincere, praising her closer and closer to the edge, is something that no scriptwriter could come up with. No, this was pure San. 

When she’s close, she tells him immediately and he changes nothing. He whispers the same praises, keeps his hand at the same pace and angle, reaching deep and curling up over and over, coaxing her body to release. The automated subtitles are no help, so you turn the volume up just a bit more, so you can hear him clearly. He must’ve been edging her because she starts begging him, trying to not pull his hair out at the roots. He simply covers her mouth with a free hand and leans over her, giving her permission to let go for him. 

She shudders violently, thighs pressing into the sides of his body to prevent him from moving. He's not going anywhere, though. That infamous dimpled smile appears as he watches her come undone beneath him. 

Your thighs clench. That’d be you. 

His voice drifts languidly from your laptop speakers, melting your brain even further. “Yes, baby, that’s it. There you go… such a good girl.” 

A girlish squeal gets stuck in your throat and you press your lips together to ensure you don’t let it out. You haven’t even said yes yet. There could be conditions you don’t agree with, payment arguments. He could be an asshole for all you know. Or this could all be a very elaborate and convincing scam. 

Still, just in case it is real, and for the sake of ‘research’, you keep watching. 

He kisses her chest, slowly making his way up her throat, her jaw, until he reaches her lips. He takes his sweet time, like he knows no one would dare look away. She sighs into his mouth, quiet whimpers leaving her every so often while he gently rubs her clit, just enough to keep her stimulated as she gets used to the feeling of being empty once again. You wonder what it’s like to kiss him. Your hands itch to reach for your phone and text Yeosang to tell him everything, however, you’re rather busy holding them still at the moment.  

You appreciate how he doesn’t move onto the next thing immediately. Too many times have you seen other actors in his industry not giving their partner a bit of a breather after such an intense orgasm. Granted, some may like that, the overwhelming and constant stimulation, but the way San allows her to take her time, silently encourages her to follow the deeper rhythm of his breathing, and how he holds her hand and places slow, soft kisses all over her body, it all adds up to make you crave a slower pace. An intimate interaction like this. 

San checks in with her quietly, and with a nod from her and another peck on the lips, he’s positioning himself between her legs. Stars in her eyes, she reaches down and strokes his length, whimpering softly. He gently brushes her hair back, admiring the look of nervous anticipation on her face. When he finally pushes inside, the two of them moan at the same time. Buried the way in, he smiles down at her before kissing her deeply. All dimples. A broken moan of his name tumbles from her lips, and you’re almost sure she didn’t realize she even said anything. She’s staring up at him like he’s a deity. Like he’s come down from heaven just for her. And she’s not acting. 

One thing you know for sure: you’d be stupid to decline the offer. 

You consider your mind made up. 

Reluctantly exiting the video, saving it for later, you reopen your email app. Part of you wonders whether or not two in the morning is an appropriate time to email someone, but another part of you simply doesn’t care. It’ll be in Mr. Kim Hongjoong’s inbox first thing when he wakes up tomorrow. Your reply is enthusiastic yet professional, expressing appreciation for the offer in the first place. You thank him and San for taking notice of you and offer praise of his work as well. Wrapping up with the same politeness the original sender used, you sign off with your name. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a minute before adding a kiss emoji to the side of your name. Before you can second guess that choice, you send it off. 

Needing to expel some of these nerves, you get up out of bed to scavenge your fridge for a well-past-midnight snack. Maybe yogurt or something. Standing in the white light of the fridge, you realize food may not be the best choice. Nothing jumps out at you to want at two o’clock in the morning, stomach already doing flips and tricks as it is. You settle on a mini carton of strawberry milk that you may or may not finish and walk back to bed a little too fast. Quicker than your usual leisurely pace. 

You glance at your phone, laying face down on your bed like what you just watched on it made it shy. You want to text Yeosang so badly, to get his take on all of this, but you should let him sleep. Just because your sleep schedule is fucked doesn’t mean you have to ruin his as well. Your fingers absentmindedly tap the carton, only two sips deep in your drink. Hm. 

You’re just starting to flirt with the idea of calling Yeosang anyway when you get a notification that effectively snaps you out of your thought spiral. Whoever or whatever it is has just unknowingly saved Yeosang’s REM cycle. 

Not expecting a response so soon, your eyes widen a bit when you see that you’ve gotten a response back already. The quickness makes you a little wary. Scams usually are quick to respond back too. 

Or, this ‘Hongjoong’ guy may have a sleep schedule quite like yours. After all, you responded rather quickly to his first email. 

__________________________

Hi Miss Y/N, 

Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer. 

The next steps in moving forward are rather simple. I will ask you to fill out a form – which I have linked to this e-mail – and send that at your earliest convenience. It is your basic questionnaire, really, and a chance for us to get to know you as well as your preferences for the shoot and scene. 

 After you have sent that and we go over it, I would like to meet with you – either in person or through video call – for both our safety and to finalize all arrangements. If you choose to meet in person, I will gladly bring along a female member of my team in an effort to make you feel more comfortable and safe.  

As always, please feel free to reach out if you have any questions, comments, or concerns. Looking forward to hearing from you again. 

-Kim Hongjoong 

Talent Agent, Afterdark Productions

[email protected]  

| Attachment: 1 File

__________________________

‘We’, he wrote. 

‘We are thrilled to hear that you are accepting the offer.’ 

At first, you assumed he was just referencing the production company, but the specific use of it catches and holds your attention. Did San… ask for this collab to happen? Scrolling up to reread it again, the second line of the first e-mail you were sent strikes you: ‘We have been admiring your work for a while now…’ Not just the company. ‘We’ as in… 

You swallow hard, setting the strawberry milk on your nightstand and shrinking back against your pillows again. Your phone burns your eyes in the dark, but you can’t stop reading this new message. There’s so much to unpack, even though it’s so straightforward. As of right now, in regards to meeting with Kim Hongjoong, you’re leaning towards just a video call. You’re still not quite totally convinced this isn’t an elaborate prank of some kind. Maybe a weird fan who wants this to happen but there’s no truth to it. But again… you don’t get that vibe. Not from how professional this seems. And a crazy fan wouldn’t offer to bring along another woman to make you feel more comfortable, he’d insist on meeting alone, under the guise of ‘protecting our privacy’. 

And if it is real… then it is really happening. Moving forward, as the talent agent said, a collaboration in the early stages of planning. With Choi San. 

Dammit, Yeosang, why can’t you be awake right now, you think and you huff dramatically, burying your face in your hands. He’ll certainly get an earful of all of this tomorrow afternoon.   

But you decide you need to talk this through to somebody right now. Or some people. 

Even though you just went live, you’re quick to open your Discord app, not even bothering to send a warning message to tell your exclusive members that you’re going live again. This time, just for them. You know they’ll come. They always do. 

Once you have your laptop adjusted and headphones on, you’re ready to go. You click the microphone button and wait.  

As expected, four of them join immediately. You regularly wonder how they’re all able to drop everything to watch you, no matter what time you go live. Two others join soon after, but they rarely comment in the chat. Silent viewers with open wallets are never unwelcome here. 

“Hi guys! I have big news,” you smile into the camera, reading all the messages as they pop up. 

[woogoesthere]: tell ussssssss!!!!!

[fix0nmi]: 👀?

[mars9843]: what is it cutie?

[puppyu.u]: hi baby why the secret meeting?? 👀

You take a minute to let them get all their guesses out, increasing their desperation to know what you’re hiding from them. Hopefully they’ll take the news well. As far as you can tell, none of them specifically come across as the parasocial jealous type, but you don’t know for certain. However, they seemed to handle your previous collab with Yeosang pretty well. That gives you some more confidence to confide in them about this. 

“I’ve been offered to do a collab with someone from…” You pause before saying the company name for dramatic effect. “Afterdark.”

You’re a little surprised by the lack of comments right away, even worried a little. The thought of them being the parasocial jealous type crosses your mind again. Especially Woo. For a split second, you worry that you may have just angered your most loyal – and charitable – fans. The abrupt absence makes your heart plummet to your stomach. 

It takes a full minute before anyone says anything. The longest minute of your whole life. 

[woogoesthere]: are u telling us ur collabing w choi san?!!??!?!?! :0

Leave it to Woo to ease any worry you may have. You mask your relieved exhale under a light laugh. 

“Should I be worried?” you half joke. 

The immediate responses in the comments are overwhelming and collective:

[puppyu.u]: yes!!!!!! 

[mars9843]: be afraid, be very afraid 

[fix0nmi]: he’s gonna wreck you lmao 

[fix0nmi]: icw to watch 🤪

[puppyu.u]: same 😭😏😭

[mars9843]: if you could barely handle yeo………

Your confident smile fades slightly, the corners of your mouth dropping back down as you read the multiple comments confirming what you’ve been wondering. 

[woogoesthere]: guys stop ur gonna scare her ㅠㅠ

You try to laugh it off, looking off camera to grab your strawberry milk again. The action gives your hands something to do as worry begins to settle in your chest. Of course, Woo tries to ease your growing anxieties in the chat as you lift the bottle to your lips, eyes still scanning the messages… or rather, the warnings. 

[puppyu.u]: well it’s true 

[woogoesthere]: we should be encouraging tho >:( 

[fix0nmi]: yeah or else she won’t do it 👀

[mars9843]: … 

[mars9843]: y/n we’re just kiddinggggg

[fix0nmi]: you’ll be fine~! >:) 

[woogoesthere]: -.- 

[puppyu.u]: drink lots of water beforehand! 

[woogoesthere]: you pervs are so annoying

“I can do it!” You try to regain your previous confidence. 

A shroud of doubt begins to creep up over your shoulders, weighing you down. You’re able to hide it well, but you go quiet. Quieter than usual when you’re live. You don’t like silences that last too long. Unfortunately, your sudden silence is noticeable. 

[puppyu.u]: babyyyyyy 

[puppyu.u]: don’t listen to us we’re just teasing 

[fix0nmi]: haha sorry baby

[mars9843]: you’re gonna be great, pretty girl 

[fix0nmi]: can’t wait to see it ;) 

[woogoesthere]: you ARE gonna be great

[woogoesthere]: choi san has no idea what an honor this is fr ㅠㅠ

That last message brings your smile back, tugging at the corners of your mouth until you give into it. ‘Woo’ is right. You have to remember who the fuck you are. Choi San sought you out specifically. There’s no need to be nervous about anything. It’s a different side of an industry that you’re already accustomed to, that’s all. You just have to adapt to however it operates for one day, and if you hate it, you’ll never have to do it again. And hey, you’ll get to say you’ve had that first and only experience with San of all people. 

What a debut. 

Your loyal fans must notice the confidence boost you’re experiencing because they’re quick to praise it in the chat. 

[fix0nmi]: there she is :) 

[woogoesthere]: ugh ur too cute 

[puppyu.u]: fr that bastard has no idea how lucky he is ㅠㅠ

[mars9843]: he better be nice to u >:( 

“Aww, you guys are so sweet,” you giggle softly, enjoying their attention and their praises. Your nerves are somewhat settled for the time being, though you can’t promise they won’t return once you open your eyes tomorrow morning. You wonder what Yeosang will say about it. 

Leaning back against your headboard, you exhale deeply – maybe even adding a little hint of a whine-like noise to keep them entertained. ‘Pervs’, as ‘Woo’ put it, indeed. Not that you minded. 

You hum to yourself and mention how much better they’ve made your night, and they eat it up. 

“Thank you all for your love and support. Truly.”    

You talk with them for a while longer, reciprocating their interest in you by asking them about their days and what they’re doing tomorrow. One of the silent viewers goes offline, and you can’t say that you blame them – no one should still be awake at this hour. You’re not sure if you’ll fall asleep quickly after you log off, so maybe that’s why you linger here and continue to talk with them. The minutes continue to go by and you start to feel guilty for keeping them all up this late. You know it’s their choice to stay and talk, but still. Odds are that at least one of them has to be up early tomorrow morning. They won’t leave until you do. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, guys. Thank you for staying up and chatting with me.” You smile, watching all of their usernames simultaneously start typing again. 

[mars9843]: goodnight cutie

[fix0nmi]: night babe ;)

[woogoesthere]: aww have a good night jagi <333 

[puppyu.u]: sweet dreams baby <3

[puppyu.u]: <3333

You giggle, noticing ‘puppyu.u’’s competitiveness. Before ‘Woo’ can start a war to see how many 3’s they can add to their hearts, you quickly blow them all a kiss and end the call. 

The silence of your apartment comes back quickly. Naturally, so do your racing thoughts. You place your laptop on your nightstand and crawl back under the covers, hoping against hope that you can smother your thoughts with your pillow. 

Your phone vibrates against your thigh and you sneak a quick glance at it, half-expecting another e-mail, only to find a Venmo notification. It’s from Woo. Your exclusive members have the username of your ‘business’ Venmo account to send you money outside of cams, if they choose to. The message he attaches to the money makes you laugh: ‘i’m not losing to puppyu.u so easily. goodnight<333333333333’ 

Oh, man. 

Make that $14,751 now. 

You wince as you notice the time in the upper lefthand corner of your phone screen. Yeosang was very clear in his text: you better be awake by noon. Knowing how late you usually sleep until, it’s not looking good. Hoping it will help, you set several alarms on your phone. Surely one of them will wake you up. You switch your phone off, refusing to check it again until tomorrow morning. 

Without your phone to distract you though, all you do is replay that video you watched of San and that actress. The memory of it projects against your eyelids and you can’t look away. A shiver runs through you when you picture how his hands held her with such gentle strength, and the addictive moans he wasn’t afraid to let out. The same thought echoes until you finally fall asleep: that’ll be you.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Against all odds, and seven missed alarms later, you manage to wake up – albeit, exhausted – around ten o’clock. Plenty of time before Yeosang is due to come over. 

After you eat breakfast, you decide to spend the morning researching San, watching more of his videos, listening to interviews, stalking his Instagram, anything you can find to get to know him better. Or at least, to get a better grasp on what you should expect. Hongjoong never clarified if it was going to be just you and him at this future meeting or you, him, and San. You want to be ready. 

From what you can find, you’ve come to the tentative conclusion that he appears smart, funny, well-traveled, and handsome. That last one is a given to anyone with eyes, though. It seems like he could’ve succeeded in any field of his choosing, but his candor is notoriously present and blunt whenever he gets asked why he’s gone into this profession: “I like sex. I happen to be good at it, so why not?” 

You get it. Easy money. 

His Instagram is mostly pictures of him in exotic locations. It seems you and him have dream destinations in mind for the future as well. Nine million followers strong – and counting – he has his comments turned off to them on every post. There is also no message option anywhere. He completely cuts himself off from being accessible. A part of you is a little jealous, but at the same time you like the closeness with your fans. It feels more intimate, it gives you a reason to be punctual and come back and care about what you do. Although some, like that ‘mntn3000’ guy, can sometimes be quite rude in the chat. You have your chat open to all, and your public Instagram is the complete opposite of San’s. Thirst traps, a highlight on your profile for song recommendations, and the ability to comment and message you. Not that you answer most of them. Most are gross, obnoxious, frankly misogynistic men who choose the most unhinged, disgusting words to express their… ‘desires’. You’re thankful for Woo and fans like him. Still… you find yourself wondering if you should limit your accessibility as well. Your popularity is rising. Maybe now is the time. 

You still find yourself looking for everything and anything that has to do with him online. Everyone wants to be him or be with him. One of those guys. Of course. 

You rest your head in your hands, groaning to no one in particular. After all the women he’s been with, you hope you can meet his expectations. A worthy costar. Same industry, different department. 

By the time Yeosang knocks on your door at a quarter past noon, your mind is so far away he has to call you to let him in. 

“Hey, sorry.” You apologize, ushering him in and locking the door behind him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be awake,” he grins, making himself right at home on your couch. “Is going live for thirty minutes really all it takes to make you catatonic the rest of the day?” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder as you sit down next to him. “Shut up, it’s not because of that. Well… not exactly.” 

Yeosang quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on, then. What’s up?” 

You pull out your phone, ready to show him the evidence to back up what you’re about to say. The original email is still unchanged as you glance down at it, which is encouraging. Another reminder that you didn’t make this all up in your head. It didn’t happen in a dream, there’s hard evidence staring you in the face. 

Well, now or never. Out with it. 

“I, um… I got an offer to work with Choi San.” Your voice toes the line between excitement and cautious optimism. If anyone’s opinion matters to you at all, it’s Yeosang’s. 

Yeosang’s eyebrows raise at the name. “Like… the Choi San?”

“The Choi San, yes.” You nod, confirming it’s exactly who he’s thinking about. 

Handing your phone over to him, email ready to be read by a fresh pair of eyes, you watch his reactions closely. You find yourself biting the side of your thumb nail, a habit you keep thinking you’ve grown out of, only to be proven wrong in times like these. 

Yeosang’s face is serious as he reads it. You can tell he’s searching for any indication of this being a scam first and foremost before he digests the rest of it. Finding no blatant or well-hidden tricks, he pays more attention to the general message.       

“Are you gonna do it?” He asks, handing your phone back to you. His voice holds some reservation to it that you clearly pick up on. You take no offense, though. He’s just worried about you. It’s more… public than you’re used to. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, answering him honestly. “I’ve done my research on him and already sent them an email back saying that I was interested and wanted to know more, but… do you think I should?”

You truly value his opinion. Yeosang has been such a good friend to you for the past couple of years. The two of you had met in your second year of college and became fast friends. When you moved to the city, about a year after he did, he helped you find your first apartment, got you a job, and checked in on you to make sure you knew you had a friend here. He made everything easier. He still does.  

Yeosang shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. If you feel confident about doing it, then go for it. If something is telling you to not do it, then don’t.”

He makes it sound so easy. Should it be? 

“Yeah, but… I value your opinion.” You mumble, not outwardly saying what you’re thinking. But he reads your mind anyway. 

“Y/N, it’s not gonna change my view of you if you decide to do this. If I had a problem with my best friend being a mattress actress, I would’ve told you a long time ago. Y’know… before I collabed with you.” 

At this, you can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s right. A pressure you didn’t realize was weighing on you is alleviated off your shoulders, making you feel lighter. He grins as you let out a small sigh of relief, glad that he eased some of your worries. Now, to tease you about it. As best friends do. 

“I’m just worried that you won’t survive the experience,” Yeosang says dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm and sneaking a smile your way. 

“Stop, what do you mean?” You push him, playfully. 

“You said you researched him, right?” 

You nod, wondering where he’s going with this. Is there something you’ve missed? You feel like you’re the only one left out of a well-known inside joke. You try to think back to the videos you’ve seen of him. Sure, you haven’t watched his whole filmography, but nevertheless, you’d like to believe you know roughly what to expect of him when the day comes. 

“Did you watch the ones he’s done for ‘Fantasy’?” Yeosang smirks. 

You blink, trying to remember if you did. To be totally honest, you weren’t really paying much attention to which company was posting the videos. Just that San was in them. 

“I don’t know… maybe?” 

Yeosang shakes his head, already seeming to know the answer. “You’d know if you did,” he says definitively. “If you wanna know what he’s really capable of, watch some of those.” 

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, frustrated that no one will just tell you what they’re talking about. You only have one guess, that it may be due to the fact that you’ve only ever been with two guys before. They each taught you the basics, but everything you bring to your livestreams, you learned all on your own. And it’s not like you’re clueless when it comes to the different kinds of sexual encounters one can experience. You’ve watched porn before – hell, you do a type of it for a living. So why does everyone keep underestimating you? What does San possibly do to make everyone think you won’t survive him? 

A part of you kind of doesn’t want to know. You don’t need to give your creeping self-doubt any more ammo. It had taken you a long time to beat it far back enough in your mind for it to not invade every time you hit a little snag in life. A resurgence would make you question everything, make you back out of this quickly. You don’t want that. No, you’re determined even more so now to see this through. To prove everyone wrong. More importantly, though, to prove it to yourself. 

“Sounds like he sought you out though,” Yeosang says. His words almost make you jolt. Not only do they pull you out of another spiral, it reinforces something you were thinking in passing last night. Maybe you aren’t reading too much into it after all. “Kinda seems like this Hongjoong guy and San are fans of yours.” 

You hide your face in your hands and groan, making Yeosang laugh at your rare display of shyness. It’s frustratingly unclear to you why the idea of him watching your content makes your cheeks burn so much. You’re obviously comfortable with people seeing your body and earning a profit from it, but you like the anonymity of the people watching. You simply don’t want to know. Perhaps it’s because he’s about to not be a faceless viewer anymore. Rather, a colleague of sorts. 

Also, in a way, you tend to view cam’ing as more… intimate than porn. The sole focus of the audience is on you. No fake plot, no costar, no distractions. Just you, reading the chat, and existing and getting off in real time. 

“Sounds like it,” you agree. “I must’ve done something he likes to pique his interest.” 

Yeosang shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Or he saw the collab and this is all just an elaborate ruse to get to me.” 

You’re grateful to relax enough to laugh again. “Oh, I bet.” You say, playing along. Though, part of you does wonder for a brief moment if San had watched the collab and that’s why he thought you’d be a good partner for his next project. It’s definitely plausible.    

“So,” Yeosang leans back against the couch, crossing his legs, “what do you have to do now?” 

Remembering the phone in your hand, you look down at it, visualizing that attachment Hongjoong sent you. Yet to be opened. “There’s a form I have to fill out, I think it’s some kind of consent form.” 

He nods, “Yeah, that’d make sense.” 

There’s a small silence between you that follows as he watches you stare down at your phone. You have the most recent email pulled up, analyzing it again. He watches you bite the inside of your cheek, a habit you have that comes up when you’re thinking a little too hard about something.  

“Do you want me to go through it with you?” He asks, though he thinks he knows what you’ll say. 

“No, I’ll do it myself. It’s gonna ask like… in depth questions,” you insinuate, almost shyly. 

Yeosang doesn’t press you on it, which you appreciate. But you know he’s probably thinking there’s not much he doesn’t know about you. After all, he was fingering you to high heaven in front of a camera only a week ago. Still, he doesn’t push your privacy or your boundaries. It’s one of the many things that makes you feel safe with him. 

Breezing past the subject, knowing you probably need to relieve some stress, he picks up one of the gaming controllers on your coffee table. 

“Rematch?” He asks, referring to a game of Mario Kart fairly won by you, though his opinion of the event is rather different. Something to do with you ‘innocently’ bumping into him, causing him to almost drop his controller, and giving you the lead in the race. His win streak is much cleaner than yours. 

“You’re on,” you agree, playfully narrowing your eyes at him as he scoots away from you on the couch. 

There’ll be no ‘accidents’ this time. But maybe you’ll think of something.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

The rest of the day is light. 

Little by little, the weight of uncertainty you feel fades into the background, instead transforming into unserious frustration as Yeosang beats you in Mario Kart six times in a row. You win the seventh round, but you highly suspect he let you. He had several speed boosts and red shells that would just disappear from his screen the next time you looked, wondering when he would fire one of those shells at you. 

You order in, opting to stay inside and just be lazy today, and the two of you eat on the couch. When the sun eventually starts to set late in the afternoon, he takes a nap while you scroll on your phone, half-watching a K-Drama on your TV. Neither of you bring up San or the form still laying in wait in your inbox again. He wakes up around eight o’clock, yawning and stretching as he gets up to go home – he mentions that he promised his friend he’d go out with him tonight. Though he extends the offer, and part of you does want to go, you decide to be responsible and take the night to go through the form with a somewhat clearer mind than last night or this morning.   

Almost as soon as Yeosang leaves, you’re back in bed and pulling everything up on your laptop. The attached file on the most recent email takes just a second to load, bringing you to a Google Form sheet, ready to be completed. 

But first, you think about what he said about San. You want to know what everyone else already seems to. At least one video. Just for research purposes again. 

In another tab on incognito mode, you hesitantly type in the search for ‘choi san redfantasy’ and bite the inside of your cheek as the page loads. The typical ads pop up before you’re able to see any actual content, avoiding the scams and viruses with practiced ease. Trying to not overthink it, you just click on the first video that comes up. In fact, you barely look at the title. It’s in all caps, a bunch of buzzwords and tags jammed together to get as many eyes on it as possible, but his name is always put first. That’s the seller right there. Audiences are in the market for Choi San. 

There is no plot this time, at least none that you can discern. The lighting is darker, as well as the mood. There’s less build up, the action begins almost straight away after the company logo screen fades away. 

Your chest constricts at the very first shot. A rather pretty woman, on her knees in the middle of a room. Her bare knees dig into the plush carpet beneath her and she looks up at the man in front of her, tilting her head up with a firm hand in her hair. 

San. 

“...didn’t you?” You barely hear him say to her, and you quickly turn up the volume on your laptop, rewinding the video ten seconds to hear the full question. 

“You misbehaved today, didn't you?” He purrs, nodding once to give her permission to speak. 

“Yes, sir.” She replies, obediently. 

The hand in her hair is taken away, and yet she never takes her eyes off of him. You imagine that’s probably what she was instructed to do… but you’re starting to think a director wasn’t involved in this. Everything seems more intimate, less corporate. Like San just set up a camera in this expensive looking hotel room. A step above amateur porn. 

San stalks around her, humming to himself as if sizing her up. The camera cuts to a slightly different angle, farther away, and you only just now realize that her hands are tied behind her back. The multiple static angles all but confirm your theory: everything in this video is by San’s design. 

He then sits down on a rather large, black leather couch, facing her. The camera caresses his features, letting you see every detail of the tailored suit he’s wearing that fits him perfectly. The suit itself is probably more expensive than five of those couches. Wordlessly, he beckons her closer with two of his fingers. He almost looks bored. But you think bored is the wrong word… curious actually. Like he’s just taking his time, waiting for her to act first. His tempo is carefully curated and well-calculated. He reacts, even though he knows they’re both just enacting what this company wants to see. Like this isn’t just for the cameras. Every scene is serious to him, and yet it doesn’t come across as corny or too much. You wonder why he doesn’t go into acting. He seems more than able to convince people of real chemistry between himself and his co-star each and every time. And with a face card like his, you doubt he would’ve had many rejections. 

Then again, you imagine it’d be rather hard to make a smooth transition into becoming a serious and respected actor after being in adult films. 

She manages to make her way over to him, knelt in between his knees, waiting for further instruction. And he makes her wait. The camera cuts a couple of times, documenting the power dynamic from several angles. It’s evident a long time has passed because she keeps shifting her weight, knees never quite finding relief on the floor.   

A small whimper leaves her, and it earns her a sharp smack across the cheek. You gasp at the same time she does, not expecting that at all for an action so miniscule. In almost the same motion, San’s grip returns to her hair, pulling her closer to his clothed crotch. 

“Be actually useful for once, baby.” He says sweetly, like he’s praising instead of degrading her. “Earn it.” 

You can tell she’s holding back another whimper, trying to be good. San guides her further down, until her face is pressed into the front seam of his tailored pants, and holds her there until she realizes what he wants her to do. Rather pathetically, she mouths at his dick through the fabric. He’s not even hard yet. No, he fully expects her to do all the work for him, including getting him ready. 

While she’s… busy, he lazily takes off his watch, setting it aside and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt to just above his elbows. You’ve seen him naked about a dozen times in these types of videos, and for some reason, this is what sends an uncontrollable shiver down your spine. Almost on sight, you feel how wet you’ve become, panties starting to cling to you. 

His face is stony, refusing to give away what he’s thinking. That’s privileged information. But the harder he gets, the more motivated she becomes, tilting her head to the side to attempt to wrap her lips around his length as best she can. And yet, he never says anything. No praise, no degradation. He lets her actions speak for themselves, lets it burrow into her mind on her own. Pathetic. She doesn’t bother looking up at him for reassurance anymore. He’s not giving her anything to work with. 

Abruptly, he yanks her back by the hair, just to see if she makes a noise. She does. Another sharp crack against her cheek makes you squeeze your thighs together. She takes three more slaps until he stops, his hands leave her entirely and one grips himself through his pants, sighing like he’s bored. Or rather, disappointed. From what you can discern from the print against his pants, he’s only half-hard. 

“You don’t want it that badly, do you?” He asks like he’s already decided her answer. 

Frantically, she shakes her head, denying his assumption. “No, no sir, I do want it. Please, I want it so–” 

Unfortunately for her, his mind is already made up. 

San rises from the couch, picking her up into his arms easily, like she weighed nothing. The camera cuts, now facing the bed, and San lays her down onto it. He then goes about tying her down to it, on all-fours. The girl’s face presses into the pillows, muffling any noise. San ties her ankles to the bedposts, leaving her spread open for him with no chance of closing herself off. Fully exposed, at his mercy. Or lack thereof. 

San then loosens his tie before wrapping it around her throat, fashioning it into a makeshift collar and leash. He tugs it once, testing its reliability. Satisfied, he lets it go for the time being, no doubt planning on using it later. For now, he stalks around the bed, admiring his work, and assessing the best way to deal with the girl tied to the bed. 

“Since you couldn’t wait and just had to touch yourself before you came to me, I’m gonna teach you some patience.” 

As if the last few times weren’t enough, an involuntary sound escapes from her lips. Soon enough, her ass is red and bruised, San’s hand quick to punish her for making noise. 

“Be quiet,” he reminds sternly, “or you get nothing.” 

That’s good motivation. Suddenly, you feel like you can’t make a single noise either. 

He disappears offscreen for a while, the camera cutting a few times to capture how the anticipation makes the girl very nervous and wet at the same time. Impatient, you skip ahead thirty seconds and San pops back into frame, holding something. 

There’s no warning, no telling her what it is. Only he and the audience (you) know. He holds the vibrator wand right up to her pussy, mere centimetres away and pauses. Her toes curl in an effort to stop the rest of her body from squirming. He waits for any minuscule movement. It’s when she cranes her neck, attempting to look back to see what he’s doing, that he turns it onto the highest setting and presses it against her clit in one swift motion. 

Poor thing gasps and screams at the intense, unexpected vibrations, earning her another brutal round of spanks. 

“Shhh,” he hushes her softly, “be quiet. Don’t move.” 

Your pulse stutters, eyes wider than they were before, and your hand starts to drift downwards, underneath your clothes, to find your clit. The relief is immediate, like scratching an itch. You work yourself up alongside her, trying to follow San’s instructions yourself. Breaths turning shallow, you press your lips together to keep from making any sounds. If you really wanted to immerse and challenge yourself, you’d grab your own vibrator from the drawer, but you can’t tear your gaze from the screen. You don’t want to miss anything, and you feel like pausing it would disrupt the experience. If this is potentially what’s in store for you, and she doesn’t get a break, you don’t get one either. 

Her fists tighten and grab at nothing, still bound behind her back. You can tell she’s losing the fight to follow through with his instructions. San notices this too. He moves the vibrator up and down, grinding the head of it harder on her clit before moving it away again. You have no idea how she’s managing to hold on. 

San hears it the same time you do, not a gasp or a noise per se, but a hitch of her breath, just audible enough to hear. At the same time, her legs begin to shake, out of her control to stop them from doing so. 

He takes the vibrator away, switching it off. 

Her toes curl again, burying her face deeper into the pillows to silence any sounds. Your hand stops dead, even though all you want to do is keep circling your clit. 

“See what I have to do?” He sighs, trailing the head of the vibrator down the back of her thighs. “If you just waited for me, I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to waste my time teaching you to be patient.”

Damn. Have you ever heard him talk to any of his scene partners like this? The San from the first video you watched as part of your ‘research’ feels a million miles away. A completely different person. 

Eventually, the vibrator is returned to her clit, humming at full power. You resume your own administrations as well. San kneads her ass with his free hand, eyes glued to her body, waiting for her to fuck up. Any excuse to take the pleasure away again. An excuse comes when she’s forced back onto the brink of an orgasm, and he switches the toy off again. But he keeps it pressed against her pussy. On instinct, her hips rock backwards, trying to chase the pleasure, and you can’t help but groan out of frustration as you take your hand away. This time, he doesn’t administer spanks to her ass, but right on her pussy. And she can’t help the high-pitched yelp that leaps from her throat. San spanks her pussy until she shuts up. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until the uncomfortable pressure in your throat forces you to inhale deeply. 

The girl shudders after the last smack but doesn’t move or say a word. You’re both rooting for her and secretly hoping she’ll screw up again, just to see what he does. Also, you want to see if he’ll actually fuck her. 

Rather impatiently, you skip ahead a couple of minutes, needing to know if he’s the type to punish by leaving her empty the whole time. It takes only a second for the video to buffer and when it does, you see that he’s added another toy, keeping it pressed deep into her pussy, right up to the very base of it. The vibrator never leaves her clit. The skin of her ass is bright red and already bruising in some areas. It looks rather painful. She’s moaning but it’s muffled and barely audible – you can imagine San gagged her in some way to keep her quiet after failing over and over again. Possibly with his tie. He doesn’t move the toy at all, instead just forcing her to feel the thickness and weight of it buried deep inside of her, no doubt pressing right up against her g-spot. 

If he denies her again in this state, you’ll really be scared of him. 

And that, he does. 

This time, she wails through her gag, her whole body locking up and then quickly deflating in defeat. But the time in between denials is no longer merciful. San waits maybe ten seconds before starting again, placing the vibrator back where it belongs. 

God damn– you think, becoming wetter as your fingers find your clit again, your own pleasure building. The poor girl shrieks into the pillows, incoherently pleading with him to stop. Instead of listening to her cries, San taps the vibrator against her pussy, driving her – and you – even more crazy. 

“I’m doing you a favor,” he says flatly, not caring that she’s essentially begging for mercy. “You should be apologizing for making me waste my time to teach you basic manners.” 

Your mouth drops open at that. He’s so mean, and yet if you were in her position – which you may be soon – you’re pretty sure you’d start apologizing right away. But she can’t, at least not properly. Not with a gag in her mouth and her face half-pressed into the pillows. You imagine after being denied what must be nearing ten orgasms at this point, her mind is also going a bit blank. 

He presses the vibrator harder against her, making her back arch. “Tell me how sorry you are and maybe I’ll stop.” 

That grabs her attention. Muffled, garbled, and barely full sentences immediately tumble from her lips, on the off chance that he’ll take pity on her and stop this edging torture. Her body shudders violently, cutting off her voice entirely.  

Rather surprisingly, he does let up. Both toys disappear at once, and he watches her body collapse onto the bed, burning muscles unable to hold herself up any longer. But he doesn’t let the relief stay for long. His hand twists in her hair, yanking her upright until her back is against his chest. With the other, he rips the gag out – which was, in fact, his tie. 

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me the truth,” he mutters in her ear, his other hand lingering dangerously close to her sore mound. “Did you just cum without permission? Yes or no.” 

A sob tears itself from her throat, knowing that she’s been caught. 

San pulls her hair again, causing her to yelp again. “Answer me,” he hisses, “and don’t you dare lie to me.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” she whimpers, honest. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let her go. He just makes her stay with that feeling of guilt, the shame of being caught, and the foreboding knowledge that he’s going to have to punish her again. With his free hand, he runs the pads of his fingers through her soaking wet folds, collecting the evidence for himself. To humiliate her even further, he shoves those fingers into her mouth, pressing on her tongue. She whines around them, which he rewards by shoving his fingers deeper, into her throat. Tears flow down her face and neck, already utterly fucked out and he hasn’t even touched her himself, really. He’s still fully clothed, for fuck’s sake. 

San sighs, thinking aloud, “What should I do with you, hm?” 

Busy choking and spluttering around the intrusion in her throat, she can’t answer him at all. He probably doesn’t want an answer, though. You have a feeling he knows exactly what he’s going to do with her. 

Once again, you’re proven correct when he lets her go and pulls his fingers out of her mouth. He watches her gasp for air and cough violently for a fleeting moment of relative peace before dragging her back towards the edge of the bed. 

“Fucking useless slut…” he mutters to himself, just audible enough for her to hear. “You wanna cum so bad? Fine.” 

A new toy is brought into frame, this one looking more daunting than the other two. You can tell it’s one of those two-for-one types, and your heart goes out to her. It slips inside of her easily, though it’s thicker than the previous dildo, all but confirming once again that she did cum without his permission. This time, there’s no mystery or question about what he’s going to do to her. She knows. The knowing is almost worse than the not-knowing. 

He switches it on without much ceremony. She does her best to not move or make a sound, but another orgasm builds rapidly. Too fast, too soon. 

For seven straight orgasms, he just watches her. He doesn’t even touch himself even though you can tell he’s hard beneath those tailored pants. Her pleas fall on deaf ears, like he’s not even in the room. You’ve barely managed to keep up with her, coaxing two weak orgasms from your own body with just your fingers and already feeling exhausted. Fuck, maybe everyone’s right… 

You tap the screen to see how much more of the video is left, and your eyebrows raise when you see there’s still ten more minutes. You decide to skim through, just curious if he ever does let her have his cock.

Spoiler alert: he does not. 

In reality, the only thing he changes is that he jerks himself off, getting off on her screams and pleas for him to turn the toy off, that she’s had enough. For the last two orgasms he forces her through, he adds his thumb to her clit, circling it mercilessly. 

“One more, come on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To cum?” 

Through her tears and scratchy voice, she warbles, “W-want– wanted you t-to fuck me…” 

He only laughs at her, and it sends such a blow to your psyche. 

“Did you really think I would?” 

She screams again, mixing with her sobs and choked groans as the final orgasm rips through her worn-out body. The only act of kindness he gives her is removing the toy and kissing her back, in between her shoulder blades. 

He takes his time to untie her ankles from the bedposts, his hands smoothing over the skin where the rope had been. Wrecked and twitching, she curls into a ball on the bed, pussy sore and swollen. Knowing this, San drags her back down towards the foot of the bed, forcing her legs apart again. Her hands weakly try to push him away, but he ducks down, licking a near-fatal stripe up her folds, sucking harshly on her clit. Voice basically gone, her scream is broken and breathy. 

That’s a habit he has, you’ve noticed. Or maybe just a signature thing. No matter what, when he’s done with his scene partner, he gives their pussy one final lick. As if he’s sealing the deal. Something they’ll feel long after the cameras stop rolling, along with the ache of their inner walls. 

San chuckles, patting her inner thigh with his hand before pulling her onto the floor, back down onto her knees. He doesn't say anything more as he jerks off in front of her, aiming his cock right at her face. He lets her suck on it, much to your surprise, and he eventually comes. Some of it inside of her mouth, and the rest, he smears across her face. The final act of humiliation for her. 

You slam your laptop shut. 

Holy. Shit.       

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You come back to the forms after a cold shower and a half an hour long pacing session in your living room. 

With a somewhat clearer head, you decide to take it one question at a time. 

At first glance, you can’t help but feel like you’re filling out the forms you’d normally get in a doctor’s office. It covers everything. Height, weight, age, consent for Afterdark to inquire upon certain medical history to ensure the prevention of any diseases or illnesses, and payment information. On the next page, it goes deeper, and you almost want to take another lap before you dive in and check off any of the boxes. 

There’s a checklist of kinks, each one with a box to check if any are ‘hard no’s’ or ‘hard yesses’for you. You gotta hand it to Afterdark, they’re very thorough. At the very top, just above this checklist, you notice two more boxes simply labelled ‘Rough’ and ‘Gentle’. 

Ah. 

This must be the reason that every video with San feels different. Not just because of whatever context they provide in the beginning of the video, but he never exactly has the same go-to way of fucking every time. Except of course, that parting move he’s so accustomed to doing. With some women, he takes it very slow, gentle and caring with lots of praise, and with others, like the one you just watched, he is ruthless and mean, denying orgasms and spanking them until their skin turns an alarming shade of red. They’ve tailored their own experience with him. That makes you feel a bit better actually, gives you more of a sense of control. You’re not just walking into this with no say in what he does to you, nor will you be blindsided. Actually, you’ll have a pretty good idea, and no worries that he’ll do something you’re uncomfortable with. 

The empty boxes still taunt you. Which version of him do you want? 

After much consideration, you eventually let fate decide. You pick both options. Rough and gentle. Let’s see what he does with that. 

Moving on, forcing yourself to breathe slower, you continue down the list of kinks. Again, it’s very thorough, even asking for locations that you’d be okay filming in. You check off ‘hard no’ on most, if not all of the ‘bodily fluids’ section of the kink list. All except creampies, crying, and squirting. You wonder if he’ll be able to make you do that. If so, you don’t want to discourage him from it. You’re okay with toys, cunnilingus, fingers in your mouth, body worship, hair pulling, hickies, clothed sex, light bondage, the traffic light system, and spanking, just to name a few. You also mean to check off a hard ‘yes’ to aftercare. Aftercare is a non-negotiable for you. One of your exes never did that for you, and it’s been a dealbreaker ever since you got out of that relationship. You dislike feeling used after-the-fact. Discarded. It’s an ugly shock to your system, one that you’d like to avoid if possible. 

Double checking everything on this page, you go to the third and final page. 

In the top half, there’s an interactive calendar so you can input dates and times when you’re free to do the shoot. You’re pretty much free all the time, if you’re being honest. You just have a family wedding to go to in late August, two months from now. Though you’d rather do the shoot later in the day, not wanting to risk sleeping through it with your terrible sleep schedule. So, you mark every afternoon and evening as ‘available’. 

In the bottom half of the page, there’s just one last question, accompanied by a text box: ‘Tell us about yourself, and what we can do to better tailor this experience for you.’ 

You have to admit, you weren’t expecting this kind of question to come up. They want to know about you? Tailor this opportunity for you? 

Huh. 

Your mind goes blank at first. What could they possibly want to know? What are they actually looking for? There’s really no telling. 

Slowly, you type out a vague summary of where you grew up, why you started doing cam-shows, and that your favorite color is purple. When it comes to writing about how they can improve on this collaboration, your fingers hover over the keyboard. Stuck. You could just straight up not say anything, or just put ‘N/A’. But your inner professional tells you to answer it. You search yourself, wondering if there’s anything that would make you feel a little more comfortable while there. You assume they’ll provide a robe for you, or something to cover you up when you’re not filming, but you’ve also heard how ‘fucking cold’ porn sets are kept. Not exactly wanting to show up with a blanket from home, you decide that’ll be your one request. 

‘If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like a blanket while on set. Thank you! :)’ 

You double – triple – check each form page, making sure you didn’t accidentally check something off or type in your information wrong. After you confirm that everything is accurate and spelled correctly, you click on the ‘submit’ button. A ‘thank you’ screen pops up, and you quickly exit the tab, not wanting to think about it anymore. It’s out of your hands now. 

But speaking of the hands it’s now in, you have to set up a meeting time with this Kim Hongjoong guy.  

Right. Okay, onto the next step. 

In a new email, you type out all the dates and times you’re free – you may have made yourself sound busier than you actually are – and send it off to him. Glad to have everything done, you flop back against your pillows and groan. You replay all the images you’ve seen. All the things he’s done to multiple women. 

You wonder what on earth he’ll do with you. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

It’s the next day that ends up being the meeting day. 

You opt for a virtual meeting, reasoning that it’ll probably be quicker and easier for both of you. From what it sounds like, being employed by Afterdark and Choi San keeps Hongjoong rather busy. 

You do your makeup and hair, wanting to look presentable. It’s the shirt that gives you a headache. You’re rather unsure how professional you should look. What does someone wear to a meeting like this? You look down at your chest, trying to mentally calculate how much of it is appropriate to show, and choosing a shirt based on that. Eventually, you just pick a nice triangle lace cami. Kim Hongjoong will just have to excuse the fact that it’s summer and hot in your apartment in the afternoons. You’ve been meaning to figure out how the air conditioning works. It’s hi-tech in a way that truly baffles you. You’ll get Yeosang to figure it out the next time he comes over. 

Moving your laptop into the kitchen for the natural light, you try to shake the nerves out of your hands as you walk around the kitchen island. You grab a cold water from the fridge and drink half of it before forcing yourself to sit down. The meeting is set for two-thirty, just a few minutes away. You kind of want to scream into the pillows on your couch. This will be the final stage until you actually go through with this whole collaboration. The last buffer until it happens. 

In the upper right hand corner, you see an email notification from Hongjoong, providing you with a link to a video chatroom. For a full sixty seconds, you pretend you haven’t seen it yet. But when that minute is up, and you have to be an adult, you take one more sip of water before clicking on the link and sneaking a glance at yourself in the reflection of your laptop as the camera loads. 

There’s a small boop sound from your laptop, signalling that the call has been connected and you brace yourself for a scam. Your hand hovers above the trackpad, ready to hit ‘end call’ at a moment’s notice. When his camera finally loads, you breathe a little easier. He’s in an office based on context clues of what you can see around him, and he’s rather handsome himself. That admittedly takes you aback. He has short, dark brown hair, round eyes, and a charming smile once he sees you on his screen. He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose, and leans forward in his seat a little bit. 

“Miss Y/N! It’s so nice to talk with you today, how are you?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you. Are you the one I’ve been emailing?” You ask when he doesn’t introduce himself by name. You just want to clarify. 

He laughs to break any awkward tension, “Yes, that’s me. My apologies, I’m San’s agent, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Okay, good.” You smile back, shoulders relaxing a little more. His dress shirt makes you feel a bit… well, underdressed, but when you notice that the top two buttons are undone, it makes you feel a bit better. He’s clearly not going for ultra-professional right now either. Off camera, in your lap, you play with one of your rings, giving your nervous hands something to do. 

Unexpectedly, the first ten minutes are spent just making small-talk, especially after finding out you and him grew up around the same area. He asks you how you like the city, and you find yourself telling him about how much you love it, and that you never want to leave. Turns out he shares the same sentiment. It’s starting to feel less like a rigid job interview and more like a casual interaction. Nothing to be afraid of. You feel much more comfortable than you did ten minutes ago, that’s for sure. 

Hongjoong eventually looks over to the side, where his desktop computer is and starts clicking around, the light reflecting off of his glasses. And you realize that it’s time to actually start talking about the collab. You fix your earring for no real reason, just to give yourself something to do.  

“So, I’ve received the forms you completed – thank you for doing that, by the way – and I was wondering if you have any questions for me about them?” 

You pause before you answer. Now’s the time to ask, and with the right person, too. Humming to fill the silence, you think about a good question to ask first. 

Hongjoong picks up his phone when it starts vibrating incessantly, and looks at the screen for only a few seconds before placing it face down on his desk. Someone must be trying to get in touch with him, but he doesn’t bother with replying right now. You know it must be important, whatever it is, so you appreciate him keeping you the center of his attention right now. 

“I guess I’ve been wondering about… like… if I check off certain boxes will we do all of that? Or…?” 

Very eloquent. 

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “Oh, no, no. Usually what happens is we take a look at it, figure out which ones would work best together and with you and San, and take it from there. It’s just to see what you’re comfortable with and to see which direction you want this collab to go.” 

That makes sense. And now that you think about it, what if someone puts a ‘hard yes’ next to something that San would check off as a ‘hard no’, obviously they wouldn’t do it. It’s a mutual agreement. They find the things that match between you two and take it from there. 

“Actually,” Hongjoong says with a small grin, still scrolling through the forms on his computer. “You two are pretty similar. It wasn’t hard to match up.” 

You hear it but your brain doesn’t process what it means yet. 

“Oh, really?” You say, not knowing how else to respond. 

Hongjoong just hums, nodding once. He pushes his glasses up again before turning back to you. 

“Regardless of that, though, I wanted to also let you know that if at any point during the shoot you feel uncomfortable and want to leave, you can, and you will be paid in full, no questions asked. Obviously though, if you leave before, or if you don’t show up at all, we can’t really do anything to pay you. We have this in place because we don’t want you to feel trapped once the scene starts. Does that make sense?” 

You nod quickly, “Yes, it does.” 

“Perfect,” he says. “So, with your schedule that you sent me, if you’re okay with it, we can set the date relatively soon. Is this coming Friday, at six o’clock alright?” 

Friday. As in… Friday, two days from now, Friday? Your mouth dries instantly. Two days from now. Is he not busy? You assumed this wouldn’t happen for a couple of weeks, at least. A delusional voice in her head tells you that maybe he cleared his schedule to be with you sooner rather than later. Oh, sure. Yeah, right. Still, it baffles you. 

And yet you hear yourself say, “Friday’s good for me!” 

Well, now it has to be whether you’re ready or not. Your hands itch for your phone, needing to text Yeosang immediately, even though you know he’ll probably find your dilemma rather entertaining. 

Fucking hell, Y/N, the things you get yourself into. 

Hongjoong lights up, quickly typing something on his keyboard, scrunching his nose once or twice to keep his glasses from moving down again. A few more clicks of his mouse, and it’s done. 

“Okay, perfect. I’ve got you booked for six o’clock this Friday. If you could email me where you’d like our driver to pick you up, that’d be great. Otherwise, do you have any other questions, comments, or concerns for me?” 

Your lips part. Driver? Someone from Afterdark is going to bring you to the set? Your right hand grips your phone, turning it over and preparing to call Yeosang as soon as you hang up with Hongjoong. 

Fuck, okay. Sure, why not? 

“Oh, um–” you suddenly remember one thing he hasn’t mentioned at all. “Is there a script? Like, do I need to know any lines before…?” 

Hongjoong answers right away, “Ah, this shoot will be unscripted. It’ll feel more natural that way.” 

More natural. Your heart feels like a brick in your chest. To be honest though, you’re really glad there is no script. However, a rubric would be helpful as well. You nod, acknowledging that information. So it really will be like the videos you watched. That’s the experience you’ll be getting. 

“Okay, cool,” you reply, desperately needing another drink of water for your dry mouth. “Thank you.” 

Hongjoong smiles politely. “No problem. Alright, well if everything sounds good, we’ll see you on Friday! Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.”

We. 

Again, he’s probably just talking about the company, but Yeosang’s words from yesterday are stuck in your head. Your secret delusions and Yeosang’s smart mouth are never a good mix. 

“See you Friday! Thank you.” You reply politely, the very picture of calmness and professionalism.  

And once the call disconnects, you’re slamming your laptop shut and calling Yeosang to tell him everything.   

He picks up on the third ring, yawning and obviously not fully awake just yet. You forgot he went out with his friend last night. Still, it’s definitely time for him to be awake now. 

As expected, once you rattle off every detail of the call you were just on, Yeosang laughs his ass off. 

“Oh man,” he says with an audible sigh, “you’re fucked.”      

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

Part of you wishes that the driver will somehow get hopelessly lost on the way to the set. 

You’re sure he’s been there multiple times before, but you pray for a random dose of amnesia anyway. It’s not that you’re second-guessing the decision – not at all – you just weren’t expecting the day to come so soon. It’s crazy how forty-eight hours now seems like no time at all. You shake out your hands as you step out of the car, and look up at the building. It’s rather unassuming, blending seamlessly into the numerous ones around it. Nothing about it screams that this is where adult films are produced. Not that you really expected it to. 

The driver parks with the hazards on, and gets out as well to let you into the building via a keycard. You thank him quietly as he holds the door open for you. He must’ve told you his name, but for the life of you, you cannot remember it. He points you in the direction of the elevators, and confirms that he’ll see you later to drive you home. Then, you’re alone. He gets back into the car and drives it around the building, to an underground parking garage you assume. You take a deep breath in the lobby, finding the elevators quickly and starting towards them. Hongjoong said the shoot is on the eighth floor, so you press the ‘8’ button once in the elevator car. 

As soon as the doors shut, the silence and gravity of what you’re there to do settles in immediately. You force yourself to take a deep breath, really dragging out how long you exhale to try and ease your heart rate. The second floor comes and goes, as does the third. But the higher you climb, the tighter your throat becomes. On floor five, you think of bailing. Past the sixth floor, already almost there, Yeosang’s custom text ringtone startles you. Glad to distract yourself, you immediately read the text.  

[yeoyeo🌻]: don’t let him intimidate you, you’re the one he wanted for this 

[yeoyeo🌻]: remember he’s literally just some guy and you’ll be fine 

[yeoyeo🌻]: you’re gonna be great :)    

You can’t help but smile, and you roll your shoulders back to stand taller. He’s right, as always. Choi San is many things but at the end of the day, he is just a man. You decide to view this as a very elaborate hookup rather than a career opportunity, just to calm your nervous system if anything else. 

When the elevator doors open on the eighth floor, someone is already waiting for you on the other side. 

Hongjoong. 

You don’t realize until this moment how relieved you are to see a somewhat familiar face. 

“Miss Y/N,” he greets, extending his hand out for you to shake, “it’s so nice to meet you in person.” 

You smile warmly, returning the greeting and hoping that your handshake is up to par. Before you have time to possibly overthink such a small thing, he asks if you need anything. 

“Oh, um…no, not at the moment, thank you.” 

“Of course,” he nods once. “If you do need something at any time, please let one of us know.” 

You assume that ‘one of us’ probably means the team of people you’re about to meet and be fucked in front of. Forcing another deep breath, you manage another easy smile and thank him again. 

He motions for you to follow him, and you have to look down at your feet to get them to move. You beg yourself inwardly to get a grip and soon. 

Hongjoong leads you down a long hallway, deeper into the Afterdark floorplan. You’re surprised by how nice it smells in here, like someone is burning incense somewhere. The walls are decorated with miscellaneous artworks and some awards, as well as headshots of the actors and actresses signed with them. At the end of the hallway, there are two huge double doors, and he pulls one of them open with ease, letting you walk into the gigantic room it reveals first. 

When you finally enter the large set, you can instantly feel the drastic temperature drop. Just as you had been led to believe, they must have turned down the thermostat in the room, making it several degrees colder than the early summer weather outside, and you rub your arms to try and warm them up. 

No more than five seconds after the two of you enter, Hongjoong is suddenly flanked by a young woman with a clipboard. A sticky note flutters as she keeps pace with you and him, and she mutters something to him that you can’t hear. 

“No, that’s alright,” he says quietly, “I think he’s good without her right now, but double check for me, please.” 

You keep your eyes on the floor, pretending that you didn’t hear anything, but your mind races. Who is ‘she’, you wonder? As quickly as she appeared, the assistant scurries off, past the camera and lighting crews, and over countless miscellaneous wires with practiced ease. 

While the two of you walk, you’re rather relieved that no one is staring at you as you go by. You’re just another actress to them, and right now, that’s okay with you. And luckily, the path Hongjoong is taking you on is relatively close to the perimeter of the set, so you’re not exactly the center of attention right now. A part of the wall juts out, making it look like a closet, but once he opens the door, you see it’s a dressing room. Complete with vanity lights, a full bathroom, and a brand new silk robe for you to wear on set, hanging up by the door. There’s also a small, plush couch up against the wall next to the vanity that you have a feeling you will be texting Yeosang on as soon as you’re left alone. 

“This is all yours for the day,” Hongjoong says, “someone will come around in a minute to help with hair and makeup, and then we’ll start.”

You nod, swallowing down as much of your anxiety as possible. 

“Will you, um–” you ask before you can stop yourself. Hongjoong pauses before he heads out, waiting expectantly for you to finish your question. “Are you gonna be on set the whole time?” 

His expression changes into something akin to surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting you to ask anything about himself. He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a moment to try and understand why you’re asking that. You can almost see the professional within him piecing together a corporate response in real time.

“We try to limit how many people are in the room to those who are absolutely necessary. I usually stay close in case someone needs me. Why?” 

You wave your hand, trying to brush everything off. “No, I was just wondering. Nevermind. Thank you!” 

Hongjoong looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately leaves you alone, gently closing the door behind him. 

As soon as it clicks shut, you’re moving to sit on the couch, ready to call Yeosang, but you stop yourself at the last minute. You’re acting crazy, you do realize that. And you have a sneaking suspicion he’ll tell you the exact same thing. 

Instead, to satiate your need to call him, you reread his last three texts of encouragement. 

Lock in. Remember who the hell you are. Now. 

You put on some ego-boosting music so you’re not just getting ready in silence, and quickly undress before hair and makeup arrive. Folded neatly on the vanity, is your outfit for the scene. A tight, cropped black lace cami, and a plaid mini skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

No panties anywhere in sight. No bra, either. Total and easy access. 

Your lower stomach starts to heat up, already envisioning how San might go about undressing you. From what you’ve seen, rarely does he let girls undress themselves. No, he wants to be the one to do it. Like he’s unwrapping a present, just for him.  

After you throw your hoodie onto the couch with the rest of your pile of clothes, you turn back to the vanity, noticing a small army of mini water bottles lined up and waiting for you if need be. You’re almost positive that if you look in the vanity drawer, you’ll find snacks as well. Maybe you can get used to this. But you’ll wait to give your final verdict after the job you came here to do is done. It’s best to wait. 

You’re only waiting for a minute or two before there’s a light knock on the door. Two women wearing face masks enter the dressing room, bowing to you and introducing themselves. You try to remember their names – Youngmi, you think is the makeup artist, and Rina, the hair stylist – but your brain is elsewhere, working double overtime to try to calm you down. Luckily, the Britney Spears song in the background is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. Youngmi and Rina are quick, and good at what they do. Rina makes you laugh by scrunching her nose and singing along to the song as she brushes through your hair. Youngmi only rolls her eyes at her colleague, but it’s all in good fun. 

By the time they’re done, you no longer feel like the scared outsider that doesn’t look the part. They made you even more beautiful. 

There she is, you think as you admire yourself in the mirror. 

You sigh in relief, feeling much more confident than before. And not only that, you feel ready. It’s not the easiest thing to turn your nervousness into excitement, but somehow, this time, you manage to do it. So many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now – or, in your skirt. You had kicked your shoes off next to the couch. 

You make sure to thank Youngmi and Rina before they bring you out, not knowing if you’ll have a chance once you’re on set. With one more spritz of your perfume that you brought with you from home, and a last minute decision to bring the robe out with you, you finally follow them out towards the set. Just mere feet from where you’ll be… ‘performing’. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

As you’re walking and looking around, you start to wonder if San makes it a point to surround himself with equally beautiful people. Or maybe it’s a company requirement. 

Sure, maybe Hongjoong, Youngmi, and Rina are just coincidences, but even the camera and lighting crew are arguably just as pretty. Speaking of Hongjoong, you look around, noting that he isn’t anywhere to be found at the moment. He’s probably with his talent right now. 

When you’re introduced to the director, you almost say something about it. Everyone in this room is attractive. Conventionally, unconventionally, and everything in between. 

“Hello Ms. Y/L/N, I’m Choi Jongho, I’ll be directing you two today.” He introduces himself, bowing politely and shaking your hand. 

You bow your head and reply, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” 

He offers you a chair to sit in while everyone waits for San to come out, and you take it gratefully. You don’t know how long he’ll be. Youngmi and Rina excuse themselves, heading off in the other direction together, walking with purpose. You drape your robe across the back of it, unsure if you’re supposed to give it to someone or take it with you onto the set. 

“Would you like anything to drink, Ms. Y/L/N?” The director asks, noticing that you don’t have anything with you ready for any breaks. 

Director Choi only refers to you as “Ms. Y/L/N.” Very professional, cordial even. Makes you feel like more than an object his star is about to fuck on screen. You’re being treated with real respect, which is a pleasant surprise in comparison to what you had expected from the porn industry. 

You look around yourself, only just now realizing you didn’t take one of those mini water bottles from your dressing room like you originally planned. 

“A water, please–” you start to say. As soon as the last syllable of ‘water’ is spoken, an assistant hands you one. You didn’t even see him standing next to you, much less holding a bottle. Then again, you aren’t really paying attention to whether or not people are carrying water bottles or not right now. Damn.   

You try to warm up your arms by rubbing them, now that you’re virtually wearing next to nothing in this arctic-like room. Only a few moments later, a blanket is handed over to you wordlessly by another assistant, a quick bow following the action. You tilt your head down as a responding bow, shocked. You didn’t even have to say anything. 

Is this what San is used to? Everything given to him at once, on a silver platter with no questions asked? You imagine every single thing handed to him accompanied by hopeful, round eyes looking at him for his approval, only to be ignored or thanked by a small nod. You’re so used to doing everything yourself, this type of treatment makes you feel… stuck up – and every fiber of your being screams at you to make sure none of the staff think that of you. 

“San will be out in just a moment,” Director Choi says, but his heart isn't in it. He checks his watch and glances towards San's dressing room with nearly well-concealed impatience. It is rather late in the day, and you only just now think about the possibility that they may have been here since early morning. Maybe even shooting San with someone else. It’s entirely possible. You can imagine they all just want to get this last one done and go home. None of them would ever let that show, though. No, you have to admit everyone here is quite professional. 

Your hands absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair around your finger as you zone out. At least for now, you can zone out with a blanket wrapped around you. 

The air shifts just moments later.

It’s like a sudden pressure drop where everything goes still for only a second. That one second feels like a lifetime as you turn your head to see what’s going on. Though, in your heart you know exactly what it is without needing to look – it’s the arrival of the main attraction. 

From where you are, leaned back in your chair, you can’t see him too well. He’s surrounded by a team that moves with him like a clump of cells, or maybe in this case, like sheep in a herd. Finishing touchups by Youngmi and Rina, an assistant by his side carrying a medium-sized leather bag and holding his coffee cup when San hands it to him, and other miscellaneous characters that float around the star. Everyone wants to be near him in some way. 

Hongjoong stays at the back of it all, looking down at his phone as he walks. 

The team finally disperses one by one, revealing more of Choi San to your eyes. 

When San finally gets close enough to you, whatever air in your lungs is promptly sucker-punched out of you at the sight of his refreshing beauty. It’s even more pronounced in real life. You’re not entirely sure how to greet him, or what he’s used to. But you remember Yeosang’s encouragement again: He’s just a guy. Don’t let him intimidate you. You’re gonna be great. 

He’s just a guy. You’ve dealt with those before. It’s just that this guy in particular is crafted like an apology for creating men in the first place. And a couple of days ago, you were watching him make a girl cry on a bed that looks quite similar to the one on set right now. 

You stand up, smoothing down your skirt and standing still, hands clasped in front of you. 

“Hey Jongho, sorry we’re late,” Hongjoong calls over, pocketing his phone. He side-eyes San, who bows his head in apology as he walks.  

The director waves him off, clearly used to his tardiness and the apologies that follow. “It’s alright,” he says, “you’re actually earlier than we thought you’d be.”   

“We need to go over the rules with her,” San says once he’s close enough to you and the director, sounding tired. You wonder if he just woke up. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he speaks, and catches you looking. You don’t see it when you quickly avert your eyes, but his whole demeanor changes. No longer lethargic, he becomes awake and alert at the sight of you. 

Director Choi nods and grabs a clipboard from his own director’s chair. You nervously roll your ankle, hearing it crack quietly in the interim.  

“Right, number one rule is consent. If at any time you want to stop, just say the word. No questions asked. Second rule is to keep all details of this shoot private, including any conversations with each other,” At this, Director Choi looks up at you. “Third rule is health and safety, but Hongjoong said you covered that with him, and when you sent in the form,” Again, his eyes flick up from the clipboard to glance at you. “Fourth is to be respectful at all times – there’s no room for ego here. And lastly, don’t look at the camera unless told to, otherwise keep the illusion.” 

You go over each rule in your head before you forget. Consent, confidentiality, feel safe, be respectful, and don’t look at the camera. Simple enough. You keep your chin up, and shoulders back. You force that annoying inner voice of self-doubt to mumble the lyrics of the Britney song from earlier. 

“Follow these, and we’ll have a great shoot day. We should be ready to go in just a few minutes.” Director Choi offers both of you a quick smile before he turns on his heel and walks towards the cameraman, getting everything finalized and ready to shoot. Your heart pounds underneath the robe. Hongjoong steps closer to San, muttering something to him before walking back towards the dressing room. 

You’re just about to walk over to the set to get used to it and be ready to go whenever they are, when San steps right in front of you, effectively blocking the way.  

Out of the blue, he crowds your personal space, and you have to really dig deep to make yourself stay put. Right where you stand. Don’t be intimidated. At the end of the day, you’re both here to do the same job, and both of you are successful in your own rights. He’s just a man, you remind yourself again. 

San towers over you, his shirt opened just enough for you to see his perfectly toned and tan chest right in your face. You keep eye contact, even though all you want to do is look away. It’s much easier to be confident and independent on your own turf, but here on his, it’s more of a challenge. Still, you stand your ground. You have to if he’s going to keep sizing you up. He has been since he walked out here.  

“You didn’t cum,” he says matter-of-factly. 

… 

Pardon? Did you hear him right? What an odd opening line to say to someone you’re meeting for the first time. 

Your lips part and eyebrows furrow, rather startled. “I’m sorry?” 

There’s no way you heard him correctly.  

“Your last liveshow,” he shrugs. “Am I right?” 

Well… yes, but– how did–? 

Is this how he starts all of his conversations? With a personal accusation? 

“That’s alright. We all do it sometimes,” he shrugs again. He leans down so his mouth is next to your ear and lowers his voice. “You’re not gonna fake it with me, though,” he says, and the terrifying thing is that he sounds genuine. It’s not unfounded cockiness or meaningless bravado. He means what he says in all seriousness. He says it like you shouldn’t worry about it. Like it’s a promise. 

And you exhibit monumental self-control to not clench your thighs together at this moment. 

Your mind races at a million miles a minute. That, you didn’t expect. Isn’t that all that porn is? Fake, overblown orgasms for the girls and endless, guaranteed pleasure regardless for the men? You’re starting to think that this may not be the case with him. You think about the videos you watched as part of your ‘research’, and a bolt of electricity zips up your spine. You never doubted that he made his costars feel good, but you know full well that a lot of porn actresses pretend that they’ve cum with their scene partner. But with him, now you know: all of the girls weren’t acting. In fact, you really doubt that they needed to fake just how good he made them feel. The last video you watched of him comes back to mind… you wonder if he’ll make you scream like that too.

Unsure of how to respond to that, you just take a small step backwards to put some distance between you two. Room to think and process if possible. But he’s relentless, and he seems to like getting up in people’s space. A mischievous glint in his eye tells you that he’s enjoying this particular encounter especially. He’s definitely the type of guy that finds it fun to make girls flustered or nervous. 

You swallow hard. 

“You sound rather confident,” you note, still trying your best to hold eye contact with him. To not back down or seem weak. You’re sure it’s not working. You just refuse to melt all over him, or suck up to him. Especially not when he’s the one who asked you here.  

Surprisingly, he smirks. “Shouldn’t I be? I’ve done my research, I know you probably have done yours as well.” 

So you were right. Yeosang, too. San has seen your content before. And not only has he seen your previous works, he was right there with you, watching your last live. Your speculation sounds a lot like confirmation now. 

“Does that make you nervous, kitten?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly to the side like he’s about to kiss you. He could if he just leaned forward a couple more inches. 

A little, you admit to yourself. Your heart hammers against your chest like it’s trying to push you forward, to get closer to him. At this proximity, you can easily smell his cologne and dammit, somehow it makes him even more attractive. You’re almost getting annoyed with him now. Surely there should be at least one flaw to him, something that makes him human like the rest of the world. 

“No,” you lie, “I’m fine.” Arms crossed. Eyes up. 

San laughs lightly, and his smile instantly becomes the most attractive thing about him so far, even if it’s at your own expense. 

“If you say so,” he shrugs again. 

He doesn’t move away from you, though. Not right away. His gaze lingers on your lips for a fleeting moment, which gives you just enough time to come up with a question of your own. 

“So, you’re a fan of mine?” 

At that, he pauses. But, he doesn’t shy away from it. 

“Yeah,” he says, owning up to it immediately. He straightens back up as you nod, taking in the information. “Have been for a while now. I saw that other collab you did with that guy, it was really fuckin’ hot.” 

You make a mental note to let Yeosang know he was right about that, as well. To be honest, you weren’t expecting the compliment.  

“I’m– glad you liked it,” you say, clearing your throat in the middle of the sentence. You’re doing pretty well on the outside despite your nervousness beginning to rise again on the inside. San studies you once more, like he’s searching for something on you that only he can see. You step back again and turn your face away from him as you take a sip from your water bottle, taking your time to screw the cap back on. 

“Mm… you’re even prettier in real life,” he says, so casually it almost doesn’t register. 

You nearly swallow wrong, just barely avoiding choking on the small amount of water still left in your mouth. Luckily, Director Choi calls over to you two to start making your way onto set. 

The final few minutes begin to tick down.  

You don’t attempt to hide the deep breath you take, but you do try to not make it very noticeable. Placing the water bottle onto the chair you were just in, you clear your throat again. 

“Any final advice or warnings for me before we start?” You ask, keeping your voice casual and light. It’s a subtle dig to him, but you mean no malice behind the words. Fortunately, he picks up on it. 

“Oh, tons,” he grins, keeping pace with you onto the set. It’s almost easy to forget the cameras.  

You steal a glance at him as you walk, the floor bitterly cold beneath your feet. With each step the bed gets closer and closer. Now finally getting a chance to see the set in detail, you’re pretty impressed. It’s a pretty realistic bedroom setting, complete with shelves decorated with trinkets and records, but vague enough to have no specific personality. Nobody’s going to be admiring the set design when they watch this. Still, you appreciate the effort made by the production team to make it feel real. 

The lights facing you are blinding and you wince when you accidentally look right into one. Good incentive to not look that way, you suppose. 

San sits on the edge of the bed. “You get used to it,” he says, nodding towards the lights. 

You nod as well, placing a hand above your heart, willing it to stop racing. 

Noticing this, San takes your hand and guides you to sit down next to him. You do feel a bit better now that you’re sitting. You keep your eyes down to avoid burning your retinas, and turn your head slightly towards him. He shifts a little closer, positioning his body so he’s facing you. 

“Nervous?” He asks rhetorically, knowing full well that you are. He’s still holding your hand, playing with each of your fingers one by one. 

“Obvious?” You reply, managing to laugh at yourself, despite your nerves. 

San grins, his eyes turning into crescents, and that dimple in his cheek reappearing. “Only a little bit. But, I’ve seen worse.” 

You hum in response. Being reminded of his experience, leaps and bounds ahead of yours, does nothing to help your anxiety. You just hope you can live up to the fantasy version of your own self. That’s the version of you he invited. 

Where’s Britney when you need her?  

You push your hair back, a minute attempt to self-soothe in some way. You only realize halfway through the action that Rina probably just clutched her pearls somewhere past the lights, cursing you for messing up her work. Oh, well. According to what you’ve seen and the information you’ve gathered, your hair’s gonna be plenty messed up anyway. 

The room is starting to become a lot less crowded. Just like Hongjoong had said, only the essential people stay on set to make sure everything goes smoothly and safely. Everyone else becomes fading background noise, filtering out into the hallway you first came in from. 

But less distractions means you notice the man right next to you even more. 

You can feel San’s eyes on you. 

It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, quite the opposite actually. The weight of it is light, soft around the edges as he appreciates how he managed to practically will you onto this set with him. You’d been sure you may be insecure around him because of his almost unnatural beauty, but… actually, having his eyes on you right now makes you a bit more confident. He’s not looking at anyone else but you. Not just looking, but admiring. 

His gaze drifts down, greedily drinking in the sight of your collarbone and legs – the only skin you’re revealing at the moment. If the crew would just hurry up, he’ll be able to see more. 

Fortunately, he’s never been one to wait to get what he wants. Especially not in this industry. And right now, he wants you. 

“I meant it, by the way,” he says quietly, “you’re beautiful.” 

Without any water to choke on, or an interruption from the director, you simply look up at him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s no trace of irony anywhere. Not in what he said, and not hidden somewhere within his features. The genuinity, and the doubling-down of the compliment takes you aback. 

“Thank you… you’re quite beautiful yourself.” You compliment him back, shifting how you’re sitting to face him as well. 

By now, your knee is touching his. Even this small amount of contact between you makes your shoulders tense again. You’re not sure why, but you just want to melt into him already. Perhaps due to the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. 

Maybe it’s the insane sexual tension between you both, that very well could be the root cause as well. 

You remember how real his scenes look… this must be how the chemistry is kindled. Starting before the cameras capture anything, it makes it all seem less like a show. And you know what? Until the director yells ‘cut’, you’re more than willing to match that energy.

His hand moves from yours to rest on your thigh, slowly, like he’s silently asking for permission to continue. When you don’t flinch or push him away, he hikes up your skirt just an inch or two higher, exposing more of your skin. The light ghost of his touch makes you freeze in place. It’s already dizzying enough to have him in such close proximity, and now adding in the electricity of his touch, it’s a whole other level. And this, you assume, is just the warmup. Getting you used to the feeling of his hands on you. It’s nice that it doesn’t feel wrong. 

The lighting crew dims one of the lights and one of them loudly asks the director if it looks good on camera. Distracted, you turn back to look their way again, but San gently cups your face with his hand, making you face him instead. 

He hums, looking down between your still-clothed bodies. His other hand dips under the hem of your skirt, and your breath hitches. Worrying too much about the crew still, you look back to see if this is alright to do before the cameras start rolling. 

“Don’t look at the camera, kitten,” San purrs, “I believe that was rule number five.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you mumble without any real bite to your words. 

That smile of his returns, and the energy between you becomes even more charged. The moment right before someone gives in after holding back for too long. 

San never looks anywhere else, entirely focused on you. It doesn't matter to him that there’s about twenty people still in the same room, all witnessing this ‘warm-up’ unfold. It barely fazes him. He’s experienced in this setting, way more used to it than you are. You just have to roll with it. 

His hand on your face drops back down to the mattress as his wrist turns, and you inhale sharply when he lightly drags his fingers through your wet folds. He hums again, clearly satisfied. 

“What’s got you this wet already, kitten?” 

Your lips part to answer, but he finds your clit before you can speak. This time, you gasp quietly before you can stop yourself. Once again, you glance over at the crew, wondering if anyone is watching the two of you. You can’t see very well because of the lights and the various equipment in the way, but several of the crew and team are. 

San smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers harder against your clit. “You like the attention?” He asks, following your gaze. “It’s different from your little camshow isn’t it? Now the audience is only a few feet away…” 

His fingers begin to move in small circles, occasionally dipping further down to collect your wetness before bringing it back up to your clit. 

“San–” you breathe, catching his wrist in a semi-firm grip. Not to move it away, but just to hold onto something. Jesus, the shoot hasn’t even officially started yet, but you’re about to beg them to hurry up so it can. 

San just moves closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in your cute expression. His voice is quieter, so only you can hear him. “Already thought about all the ways I’m gonna make this pretty cunt cum for me. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.” 

Another promise. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and that’s the moment the crew decides that they’re ready to shoot. 

San pulls away like nothing happened, even smoothing down your skirt for you. You force yourself to breathe through your nose, steadying your pulse. You quickly look down, checking to see if your top is still on straight.  

Director Choi walks up to you both for final notes. “Alright, no script so we’re mostly gonna follow your lead, just let us know when one of you needs a quick break. All three cameras are going to be rolling, and one handheld. You remember all the rules?” He looks over to you. 

You nod quickly, unable to meet his eye right now. The back of your hand lifts to your cheek to check how hot it’s gotten – as if you need additional confirmation. You hope you didn’t smudge your makeup or wipe some of it off by accident, but you imagine that if it shows up on camera, they’ll stop to fix it. 

“Okay, then we’re ready to go.” 

San thanks him as he walks off, turning his attention back onto you. Your gaze has dropped down to your lap, breaths kind of erratic from the little show you and him just put on, and from nerves. But you manage to pull yourself together, externally at least. All you really have to do now is look pretty for the camera. You can do that. Except for the live audience, this isn’t much different to a camshow, really. 

And aren’t you here for your fans anyway? Sure, you also wanted the opportunity and experience, but it’s also for your fans. The ones who supported you enough to even get noticed by Afterdark and San in the first place. You imagine they’ll make up at least half of the view count whenever this video drops. You’re performing for them. Not for the strangers in the room. 

Once that clicks for you, all your anxiety melts away, freeing you to finally just… enjoy this. Why not? You deserve it. 

Plus, you’re quite eager to pick up right where you and San left off just moments ago – and it seems that San is too. 

His gaze becomes heavier, darker as he shifts into his on-screen persona. 

“C’mere, kitten, want you on my lap to start.” He says, moving back on the bed a little more and gently pulling you towards him. 

You straddle his legs, slow to sit down fully. Now slightly above and closer than before, you can’t look anywhere else but at him. His hands slowly trail up your thighs again, watching you the whole time. You stop breathing when his fingertips tease the hem of your skirt again. He can probably feel through those dress pants he’s in how wet you are. Equally though, you can feel how hard he’s getting. 

Subtly, you grind your hips down onto him. The immediate pleasure of the friction against your bare pussy makes your eyes roll back. One of his hands sneaks to your hip, gripping it tightly, and you meet his eyes again. 

“It’s just you and me,” he says quietly, breath fanning across your cheek. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed again as you grind into him once more. “Okay…” 

Through your pleasurable hazy fog, you faintly hear someone yell, ‘Action!’. 

And San stops holding back. 

The hand on your hip pushes you back and pulls you in, encouraging you to keep grinding on him – and to not stop anytime soon. His other hand moves to your hair, keeping your face close to his as he finally kisses you. His lips are pleasantly soft, and he tastes like peppermint. You hope you do too, you probably brushed your teeth at least four times before the driver showed up outside your apartment building. San seems to have no complaints as he moans quietly, his hand tightens in your hair. 

Your whole body feels electric, every touch amplified by a thousand. He makes out with you slow and deep, savouring the taste of you, and groans into your mouth with each roll of your hips. 

San tilts your chin up to kiss your neck, hiding his face from the camera. “Never answered my question,” he whispers, barely audible so his voice doesn’t get picked up by any of the overhead microphones. 

You disguise your response as a moan, “Hm?” 

He licks a small stripe up your neck, right up to your ear and looks down between you. You follow his gaze, only to find a wet patch staining his pants already. 

Ah. 

His question from mere minutes ago: What’s got you this wet already? 

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, a bit louder. It’s alright if the microphones pick that up. “Wonder why…” 

It’s the knowing smirk that does it. You move to undress him first, intriguing him. He didn’t expect you to be so bold right out of the gate. But, you have an on-screen persona of your own. Now both of your characters are out to play. 

In your dwindling patience, you come close to just ripping the shirt off when you fumble with one of the buttons. San finds your lips again as you push the offending fabric off of him, eager to explore his newly exposed body. But you’re next. 

Both of his hands lift up your shirt until it comes off over your head, forcing you two to break apart for a moment. Neither of you wait to make up for that lost time. You drape your arms around his shoulders, one of your hands lightly tugging at the roots of his hair. At first, your whole body erupts in goosebumps from the cold air now hitting your upper body as well, and not just your arms, but you can’t blame your reaction entirely on the temperature. 

San must notice how your shoulders hunch a little and how you press further into him, because he is quick to warm you up. 

One arm around your waist, he pulls you closer, chests touching. The first brush of your peaked nipples against his skin makes you gasp into his mouth. He nips at your bottom lip, distracting you while his hand moves from the back of your head, down to one of your breasts. His thumb flicks over the sensitive bud there and you have to duck your head down to catch your breath for a second. You grind down onto him again, adding to your arousal tenfold. 

Refusing to prolong this any longer, San suddenly flips you onto the bed, underneath him. His hand returns between your legs, fingers shallowly dipping into your entrance and circling your clit. He keeps just out of your reach, his lips so frustratingly close to yours. You glance down to watch him. The visual of his hand disappearing underneath your skirt, the veins in his arm beginning to rise and pop, and the heat of his body against yours is all starting to add up. 

You tug at your own skirt, looking up at him with doe eyes. He nods twice, understanding. In no time at all, your skirt is unzipped and pulled down your legs, discarded somewhere onto the floor. 

Now fully exposed, San pauses. 

The tempo of the scene slows abruptly as he takes his time to look at your body, laying so prettily beneath him. He looks at your body like he’s deciding where to start first, with too many enticing options. You drag your hands down his chest, lightly scratching him and making him shiver in the process. This, you realize, is how he makes every scene feel legit. He takes his time to admire his partner, make them feel admired and wanted. You have to admit, it does work its magic. Not just for the audience, but for you as well. 

He catches both of your wrists, bringing your hands together to kiss them both before guiding them down above your head. 

“Keep them here,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

You barely have time to enjoy or savor the taste of him again before he moves to kiss your neck. Eyes closing, you sigh into the feeling, wanting to commit this to memory. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, moving down to kiss your chest next. Soft, wet warmth once again wraps around your nipple and you arch your back to try and get more of it. You twist your hands in the sheets above you, keeping them anchored there just like he instructed. 

San then moves further down, ghosting his lips past your stomach. You part your legs to accommodate him, and he kneels on the floor, gently pushing your legs further apart. He drags this out, just to torture you, you think. His intentions and what he’s about to do are clear, but he’s a professional at driving his partners crazy. The kisses turn to licks, right next to your labia. So tantalizingly close. 

If your eyes were open, you’d see that he’s been watching you the entire time, trying to pace himself as best he can. You’re actually lucky there’s a job to do here because if it was just the two of you alone, he doesn’t think he’d be holding himself back from just taking what he wants. 

To him, this is all just a chance for him to prove himself to you. To him, you’re the star. And he’s going to make sure you leave this set more than satisfied. Wanting for nothing. 

But he’s not going to start until you beg him to. 

His breath fans across your wet lower lips and your hands find his hair again, trying to push his mouth where you need him. You hear him laugh, exhaling through his nose before moving your hands away. 

“Thought I told you to keep your hands up there, kitten,” he reminds you, with a slight warning edge to his voice. 

Oh, shit, you realize all too late. The last video flashes through your mind, and he feels you tense up. He kisses your hipbone to calm you down. 

“Be a good girl and keep them above your head,” he repeats his previous order. 

You nod quickly, “I’m sorry–” but he cuts you off by licking a thick wet stripe through your folds. Your breath hitches, and your hands stay cemented to the sheets, to hold on for dear life. 

When he repeats the action, the tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, making you see stars already. 

“Oh my god…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again. 

Your hands itch to move back down to his hair, wanting to pull him closer and to push him away. You want to touch him again, but the fear of him reenacting the ‘Fantasy’ video keeps you frozen. 

As expected, his mouth is just as perfect as the rest of him. The softness of his lips against your core only stokes the dull heat in your lower stomach. He alternates between focusing more on your clit, and dipping his tongue into your entrance. The most addicting part is that he’s moaning while he eats you out, like the taste of you is getting him off. You hope he lets you return the favor. 

He readjusts his hands on your thighs when they threaten to close around his head, opting to push them back towards your chest. Your toes curl as he sucks your clit hard, and you can’t help the high-pitched sound that escapes your mouth. He does it again, and again, getting you louder each time. 

“Look at me, baby,” he breathes, his nose brushing up against your sensitive clit as he speaks. 

You whimper as you lift your head up, resting on your elbows to not strain your neck. He meets your eyes for just a second before shoving his tongue into your hole, rubbing his nose against your clit again. You cry out, throwing your head back as the pleasure increases and squirm in his strong grip. Legs shaking and breath uneven, it’s clear that you’re close. Now you’ll get to see what he has planned for you. The two boxes you checked off, ‘Rough’, and ‘Gentle’ come back to haunt you. 

A moan cuts you off as you try to warn him that you’re close, but he can tell without needing to hear you say it. He’s been the cause of enough female orgasms to see the warning signs of one approaching. Two of his fingers suddenly dip into you as he sucks on your clit, hooking deep inside and prodding your g-spot over and over again. 

His voice is rough and gravelly against your pussy, “Cum for me, baby. Wanna taste it.” 

A bolt of electricity runs through you as you cum, shaking and moaning while it gradually subsides. The heat in your lower stomach cools off but stays simmering now, waiting to be rekindled again. You whimper, raising your head back up to look at him. He’s in his own world between your legs, gently licking your pussy and your inner thighs clean. Your core clenches around his fingers when he slowly starts to drag them out, and he smirks. He lowers your legs back down, kissing your knee and doing a quick check to make sure you’re okay to continue. 

You answer that check by sitting up and pulling him towards you, kissing him even more hungrily than before. He hasn’t even wiped his mouth yet, but you don’t care. Without breaking the kiss, he follows you back down onto the bed, sucking on your tongue and wrapping a hand around your throat. Not tight enough to restrict airflow, but just enough to make your head feel light. He grinds his still-clothed erection into you, and the friction makes your head spin. You don’t know if you’re allowed to move your hands or not, but you just want to touch him so badly. You want to grip his length, make him feel just as good, taste him too. 

For now, you just roll your hips up into his, moaning into his mouth. 

“Want it…want you,” you mumble, parting from his lips for just a second to tell him that. 

San hums, lazily kissing your jaw. “What do you want, kitten? Be specific.” 

You groan inwardly, but you know he has to prolong this a little. Damn… for a while, you forgot about the reason you’re currently underneath him. You sneak a glance over to your left, seeing where the set ceiling abruptly stops and opens up to the industrial interior of the Afterdark building. He notices your focus straying, and he’s quick to act. 

“Tell me,” San redirects you, blocking your view by kissing the left side of your neck and distracting you from everything else by keeping his hard-on pressed right up against your bare pussy. His voice is firmer. A small warning and reminder of rule number five. 

You take a deep breath before you voice what you want, “Wanna suck your cock… please, sir.” 

It’s the ‘sir’ that nearly kills him. You really have done your research, haven’t you? You know that’s what he likes to be called, especially when his scene partners are feeling extra submissive to him. Are you feeling that way already? Maybe you just really want to do this for him. San studies you for a second, confirming the latter. He can see how much you actually mean it by the way you look up at him, pleading with your eyes. 

And who is he to deny you? Especially when you ask so nicely. Plus, he’s been wanting to feel your mouth wrap around his cock since he watched your livestream. 

“Yeah?” He asks, biting the space where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing up against you again. 

You give him your best doe-eyed look, really tapping into your innocent act. “Yes, sir.” 

San helps you sit upright again and stands at the foot of the bed, starting to undo his belt. Wanting to be an active participant, you lean forward, dragging your lips down and across his abs, occasionally licking at his soft, honeyed skin. His belt hits the floor, and your hands are quick to do the rest. It’s a little hard to get the zipper down, but you manage it, successfully removing his pants. You’re just about to deal with his underwear next, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him. You stumble a little as you find your footing on the floor, and let him lead you over to a chair against the set wall. It’s a better angle for the cameras, you assume. For him, he just wants to watch you do this properly. He wants nothing to obstruct his view, or the camera’s. 

San pushes his hair back as you drag the final piece of clothing away from his body. You avert your eyes until the very last second, tossing the garment off to the side to join the sad little pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Now you take your time, pressing a kiss to his knee, slowly rising up onto yours the further up you move. You hear his breath shift, and you finally glance up to face his cock. 

Somehow, it’s bigger than it looks on camera. 

You have no idea how that’s possible – you know about the fish eye lenses and tricks the porn industry will use to make someone’s dick look bigger than it is, but right now, you’re presented with the exact opposite. It’s larger in real life. This, you were not expecting, but it is such a pleasant and welcome surprise. And of course, it’s just as pretty as the rest of him.  

Both of these things combined only make you want to put your mouth on it even more. 

When you delicately wrap your hand around it, he hisses at the long-awaited contact. A hand tangles into your hair, not pulling you towards him, just resting there for now. San leans back against the chair, his toned body a feast for the cameras and for you. You remind yourself not to rush, and to savor this. 

Wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, you tease him a little by ghosting your lips up his length, watching him shiver and bite his lip. You kiss the tip, and linger there for a second, acting like you’re about to put him in your mouth, only to move away, kissing his hipbone next and stroking him with your hand. 

His grip tightens in your hair. Knowing he wants you to hurry up, you let go of him for a moment to spit in your hand before quickly returning to it. He groans a bit louder, head falling back a little as you gently twist your wrist, squeezing at the base of his cock. 

Finally, you lick him from the base to the head before wrapping your lips around him. His other hand balls up into a fist, but that’s the only reaction he gives away for now. You relax your jaw as much as you can, trying to accommodate his size before sinking down lower. You can taste his pre-cum in the back of your throat, coating your tongue. 

If you were annoyed with his apparent perfection before, you’re pissed now. How does he also taste good too? 

As if to get back at him somehow, you wrap your lips tighter around his cock and suck hard, which earns you a choked moan from him. You hum around him, amused and pleased with yourself. His hand shakes slightly as he pushes your hair back, the other one in your hair starting to guide you even further down. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag on it, forcing yourself to relax and remember to breathe through your nose. 

“Fuck, baby…so good,” He groans, starting to struggle to keep his eyes open. 

The visual of you choking on his cock is better than he could’ve ever imagined it to be. You don’t try to fight against him when he pushes you down or pulls you back up, simply letting him use your throat as he wishes. Even though you’re gagging and your eyes are watering, you don’t try to pull off. Not even when he shoves you down, making you fit his entire length into your throat, and holds you there for ten seconds. The longest ten seconds of your life. Your nails dig into your thighs, creating angry red crescent-shaped indents in your skin. His cock twitches in your throat and you whimper, keeping your gag reflex at bay. When the ten seconds are up, he lets you pull off of him completely to catch your breath. 

You cough into your shoulder, one of your hands wrapping around him again to make sure he still feels good. San can't help but praise you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, cupping your face with his hand to make you look at him. It’s a subtle check-in moment. Nothing between you is said out loud, but he searches your face for any signs of discomfort or stress of any kind. He’s rather relieved to find none, only your glossy eyes staring back at him, lips parted and breath heavier than before. Ready to go again or continue on. 

Whatever he wants. 

San shivers as you gently twist your wrist again, returning your lips to the head of his dick, kitten-licking the pre-cum that still leaks out there. You hope he’ll cum in your mouth. A rare hope, as you’ve never quite enjoyed the taste of it before, but with his track record so far, you’re willing to bet you’ll enjoy it this time. To encourage this dream to happen, you spit onto the head of his cock twice, collecting some of it with your hand already around his length, and the rest with your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. 

You hear soft footsteps behind you, and naturally, your first instinct is to whip around to see who it is. Luckily, your conscience kicks in, reminding you of where you are, and you’re able to stop yourself before you can even move an inch. It’s probably one of the crew leaving the set, you figure. But it sounds close by. 

As if to prove you right, soon there’s a figure or a shadow looming just out of your peripheral vision on your left, holding something. To combat every urge within you to turn around, you close your eyes and steal another kiss from San, who lazily kisses you back. He doesn’t seem to mind that your lips are covered in spit and pre-cum. Not one bit. His groans have increased the more you stroke his cock, one of his hands grips the arm of the chair in an attempt to ground himself. Harder, faster, your wrist begins to burn from exertion, but determination keeps it going. You’ll get a damn brace if you need to. 

“God–” he grunts, looking down at your hand. 

“Want you to cum too,” you say, looking up at him, almost pleading. 

San’s eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, a full body shudder wracking through him before he is able to compose himself again. 

“And where do you want me to cum, kitten?” He asks, his volume raising slightly, caressing your cheek. 

“In my mouth, sir.” You reply, also loud enough for the microphones to pick up. 

He all but shoves you down. You barely have time to make sure your teeth aren’t grazing his dick with every bob of your head as his hand returns to your hair, guiding your movements once again. This time, with just a fraction less of his notorious self control. You’re able to keep up easily, sucking harder whenever you’re closer to the head of it, and using your tongue as much as you can. 

San swears under his breath, hissing at your previously unknown skill level. It takes every ounce of composure to not fuck your throat the way he wants to. He’d be so mean to you if you’d let him. He wouldn’t have kept himself down your throat for ten measly seconds, it would’ve been until you tried to push yourself off, desperate to breathe again. That would’ve been heavenly, to feel your throat constrict around his cock, in search of air. But not for the first scene together. 

If there’s a next time, maybe that’s when he’ll let go just a little more. Show that side of him and see how you cope with it. For now though, he’s content to just enjoy the sight of you taking him in your mouth, wanting to make him cum. And you’re damn near close to achieving that. 

He ignores the cameraman standing barely two feet from you, and leans back again, relaxing his body as his dick twitches incessantly in your mouth. Every time his tip hits the back of your throat, sparks of electricity shoot up his spine. 

“Fuck… ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum… mmf–” San moans, head tilting back against the chair. 

You don’t change anything about what you’re doing, just continuing until finally, he releases into your mouth. Just like you wanted him to. And it’s just as you predicted. The taste of it makes you want him to cum in your mouth again and again, surprisingly pleasant. Slightly bitter, yes, but not overly so. You swallow around him, not pulling off just yet. You won’t until you suck him dry, until he pushes you off from overstimulation. Maybe subconsciously, it’s because you know he loves to overstimulate his scene partners – a subtle payback for all of them. You try to hide your grin as you finally release him. Not a single drop wasted. You swallowed everything. 

San looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, fighting to keep his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm. You lick your lips just for good measure, and he snaps. 

His hands return to your face and the back of your head, pulling you towards him to kiss you deeply. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips into yours, not caring in the slightest that can taste himself. As you straighten up on your knees, you can feel how wet you still are, and you can’t help but be a little surprised. You’ve never gotten wet from sucking dick before. If he finds out, it’ll go right to his ego, no doubt. 

But before he can, there’s an abrupt, loud clacking sound to your left, and at first, you think someone must have dropped something. San makes a quiet, irritated sound before pulling away, glancing towards the director. The cameraman right next to you moves away, going back over towards the others and adjusting something on his camera. You feel slow to catch up on what’s happening, looking back up at San for help. 

“We’re breaking for a second,” he explains, still out of breath. 

Ah. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, without thinking. You’re not even sure why you asked that. 

San blinks, processing your question as well before nodding once, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” 

There’s a fleeting moment between you that you can’t describe. Something deeper than the scene now that you’re out of it. It’s the way he’s looking at you, void of any facade or persona meant for the cameras. Almost like he’s curious about something. 

No one ever really asks him if he’s alright. 

Just as quickly as the moment appears, it’s gone. You hear a flurry of movement and murmured conversations on your left as you sink back onto your heels, processing everything. Your eyes close as you try to focus on your breathing now that nothing is blocking your throat, deep inhales and slow exhales.  

“You okay?” San asks as well, eyebrows furrowing in what appears to be genuine concern. 

“‘M okay… honest.” You nod as you speak to emphasize that you’re truly alright. One more prolonged exhale, and you roll your shoulders back, heart-rate decelerating back to its default speed. One of your hands reaches up to massage your aching jaw. 

Opening your eyes again, you accidentally make eye contact directly to his cock, still right in front of your face. It’s laying against his stomach, still slightly twitching, but… not softening. At least not as much as you’d expect it to. Surely, he can’t still be hard after coming. However, at this point, you wouldn’t put it past him to have a practically nonexistent refractory period. Might as well tack it onto the list of things he has been blessed with in life. 

San runs a hand through his hair, looking over towards someone who must be talking to him. You watch his eyes follow them until you see for yourself who it is – one of the assistants that had been in his little circle when he first walked out of his dressing room. He hands him a robe, and quickly walks off. You feel a small nudge at your shoulder and find one of the other assistants – the one that had handed you the blanket earlier – extending a robe towards you. You take it gladly, your body heat crashing down again now that nothing is happening, and the frigid air conditioning reminding you why you asked for a blanket in the first place. He also gives you a water bottle with a straw poked through the plastic cap, and you drink it down gratefully. 

Director Choi calls over Youngmi and Rina, and they’re quickly by your side, touching up your hair and makeup. You scoot back a little on the floor, giving San some space as his own team descends around him. Still, through the quiet rush of activity separating the two of you, your eyes stay glued to him. 

Once the four hair and makeup girls leave, you hear Hongjoong from somewhere behind you. You both look towards his voice, standing near the director. A young woman you haven’t seen milling around the set before stands right next to him, also in a short silk robe almost identical to yours from what you can see of it past the lights. Your chest burns. She’s gorgeous, and seems to only get prettier the more you look at her. She looks between Hongjoong and San expectantly, as if waiting for a regular cue. Totally relaxed. You look back down at your hands in your lap, toying with the hem of your robe. It’s obvious what she’s there for. You wonder if she’s been watching the whole time as well. 

But San is quick to rid you of any worries. 

Actually, he seems a little annoyed as he waves Hongjoong and the woman off, before turning his attention back to you. He helps you stand up, slowly to ensure you won’t get dizzy, and leads you back over to sit on the foot of the bed. Back where you started, in your own little bubble together in front of the lights and the cameras.  

Once settled again, San tilts your head up, his pointer finger under your chin, and holds it there, effectively disrupting your train of thought. He can almost see the self-doubt threatening to cloud your mind, even if you try to hide it behind your on-camera mask. He simply won’t have it. His other hand cups your cheek, making sure you don’t try to look anywhere but at him right now. 

“‘M still hard for you, kitten,” he says quietly, just for you. He moves closer, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “Made me feel so fucking good… doing so well…” 

You can’t help but blush at his praise. He’s so attentive, it’s a little shocking. You expected him to be, due to the videos you watched, but off-camera as well? 

To thank him, you wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it lightly, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. You want him to snap again. To just fuck you stupid already, to not wait for the production team to be ready. God, you just want to stop thinking and overthinking. You lean into the hand holding your cheek, humming at the comfort it provides. 

One of your hands wanders between you, trailing up his thigh. You want to feel it for yourself, even though the robe does little to conceal the truth in his statement. Nevertheless, your confidence is rekindled once more when you feel him through the silk, hard and ready for you. He hisses at the contact, resting his forehead against yours for a moment or two before straightening again. A low groan from him makes your thighs clench together. 

“Sorry, sir,” you whisper, grinning mischievously now that you’re the one teasing him.  

San laughs once, breathy and short. 

“You really have done your research on me, huh?” He smirks, watching you slowly move his robe aside to touch him properly. He tenses a little at the initial contact, but gradually relaxes again as his body gets used to it. 

You shrug, playing it cool. “Wanted to see what I was getting myself into,” the corners of your mouth twitch as you slowly stroke his cock, watching for his reactions. 

“And–” he clears his throat before continuing, “what do you think so far?” 

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you’re taken aback again by his genuineness. He’s not just asking to ask or to boost a sky-high ego, he really does want to know. Still, you want to keep him intrigued. Maybe you even want him to try and prove himself to you a bit.  

“Well… I’m still wet for you,” you admit, casting your eyes down towards your lap. “But I think I’ll give you a final verdict later.”  

San hums, remembering the taste of you, and how wet you were for him to start. His eyes trail downwards, towards your chest, which is slowly becoming more and more revealed as your robe loosens.     

“Deal,” he whispers, slowly leaning in to kiss you. 

Before he can though, you squeeze his member a little harder, your thumb circling the tip, making his mind nearly go blank. San shudders and leans back on his hands, his robe also loosening little by little, revealing his chest and the top of his abs to your hungry eyes again. He steals a quick glance over to the crew, before just taking matters into his own hands. 

As soon as his robe comes off, he tosses it in the camera’s direction. A rather obvious way of telling everyone the break is over. Director Choi quickly stands from his chair, shooing away a production assistant and waving another one over to collect the robes. You take yours off as well, tossing it onto his, and San eases you down onto your back, kissing you just as deeply as before. 

You shiver, finally underneath him once more. The promise of what’s to come thunders through your mind. He slots his knee in between your legs, keeping you open for him. You whine into his mouth when that knee raises slightly, pressing against your pussy. You can almost hear his smirk, confirming that you are indeed still wet for him. 

Well, he won’t make you wait any longer. 

And just in time too, because someone over on the left shouts, ‘Action!’. You feel kind of bad for stressing out the crew this much, but you can’t dwell on those guilty feelings when San is rubbing your clit again.

“Fuck… please…” you whimper, hips grinding up in search of something else.  

San moans, working himself up as he feels your pussy slicking all over his knee.  

“Are they gonna stop us again?” You ask, whispering in his ear. 

“They better fucking not,” San breathes, pressing one more kiss to your cheek before pushing himself up, spreading your legs further apart so he can kneel between them. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows again, intent on watching. You clench around nothing as he grips himself, angling his dick down towards your pussy. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation and impatience. Your brain goes haywire just at the sight of his cock near where you need him most, knowing he’ll stretch you out, and knowing that you probably won’t last too long with his size. Hopefully, you won’t cum as soon as he bottoms out. 

San presses the tip to your hole, and you hold your breath. It’s so big, but you’re ready. You’re definitely wet enough to help get him inside without any help from spit or lube. Nevertheless, he spits right on your clit, pausing to make you feel it drip down through your folds. He taps the head of his cock against your clit a couple times, greedily watching your reactions. 

And much to your despair, he doesn’t push inside just yet. Instead, he drags his cock up and down your pussy. Slowly. Forcing you to feel every inch of it, just not where you need it. Your clit is so sensitive, every time he rubs up against it, you can’t help but whine pathetically. 

San hums, mocking you. “Hm? What’s wrong, kitten?” 

“Please fuck me already,” you exhale, whimpering at yet another tap of his cock against your clit. 

“Louder,” he instructs, not just to make you beg for it again, but also so the microphones pick it up. You’d forgotten all about them again, to be honest. “Ask me properly.” 

Another shiver runs through you, and you gasp when you feel the head of his cock return to your entrance. Just barely enough so you can feel it’s there. But it’s enough motivation. You spread your legs further apart to convince him, holding them up and back by hooking your arms around your knees. Fully exposed to his eyes, open and ready to be filled. 

“Please, sir, please fuck me. Want it so ba–” 

Your voice is cut off by a choked noise as he finally pushes into you. Quickly, you look down, watching him breach you. All of your air is punched out of you as he stretches you out, sinking deeper and deeper, inch by inch. He takes over the task of keeping your legs apart, and he stills for a second to give your body time to adjust to him. He’s just barely halfway in, and your brain already feels like mush. 

Maybe it’s a good thing because the same cameraman from before comes back, aiming the camera right at you two. Your body is so tense from the intrusion that you can’t look towards him, even by accident.

San swears under his breath, watching his cock disappearing into you as well. 

“So fucking tight… god, baby…” he grunts, adjusting his knees slightly closer to your ass so he can feed you more of his length. 

One of his hands tilts your chin up again, silently telling you to hold eye contact with him. His eyes flicker down only for a split second. 

Then he shoves the rest of his cock inside. 

A mix of a gasp and a yelp punches its way out of you. Your whole body is like a livewire. Alert, teetering on an electric edge. Your hands grip the sheets next to you, biting your lip. You can feel everything. Every inch, every vein dragging against your walls when he slowly pulls it back again. You both crave and dread the next time he pushes in, knowing it’s going to feel so overwhelmingly good. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re close to coming already. 

Wide-eyed, all you can do is stare up at him as he rolls his hips into yours. Your walls flutter around him, legs already beginning to shake. There’s no hiding it anymore. 

Amused, San leans down, pushing your legs back even more, deepening the stretch. He groans as your pussy contracts around him tight, wanting more. 

“What, kitten? Already?” San smirks, a windfall of pride rushing through him. As if he needed any more validation for how good at this he is.

Your face burns, having been found out. 

The next roll of his hips is sinfully languid, taking his time. Then, he really betrays you. One of his hands leaves the back of your thigh and he uses his thumb to rub your clit. You yelp, body buzzing from pleasure, and he takes this time to start fucking you properly, thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he says, twisting his wrist so he can rub your clit with two fingers instead. “Let me feel it.” 

You’re starting to think all you need in order to cum is for him to tell you to do it. Your second orgasm of the evening is a bit stronger than the first one because of the addition of penetration. It makes you feel very floaty once it hits, clenching around his cock in order to prolong it. 

Unlike last time, he gives you no recovery period. The second he sees your eyes refocus, he’s fucking into you again. Like he never stopped. Your hands grip his shoulders, knowing you’re in for it. The tags for this future video flash through your mind, overstimulation being one. You lay flat on your back now, unable to keep holding yourself up as another strong wave of pleasure crashes into you. A third orgasm building up again. 

His fingers on your clit press down harder, making tight circles over the sensitive bud. He only relents for a second, just to hook your legs over his shoulders, letting him get even deeper inside of you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, whining at the feeling. Your hands try to push at his chest, to make him stop, to make him straighten up, you’re not entirely sure yourself. 

There’s no energy behind your actions, but San still subtly checks in. “Feel good, kitten?” 

You choke on another moan, his cock getting dangerously close to hitting your g-spot. “Mm- I’m– good, feels s-so good.” 

“Yeah? You liked coming on my cock?” 

“Yes…” 

“Yes, what?” San punctuates his question by ramming into you hard, unexpectedly. 

You’re quick to correct yourself, “Y-yes, sir!”

“There you go,” he brushes some hair away from your face, “my good girl.” 

Your body melts at the praise, replaying it over and over again as the feeling builds up higher and higher. You don’t realize until San winces that your nails started to dig into his chest, leaving some red scratch marks in your wake. As soon as you see that, you instantly take your hands away, feeling so bad that you’ve hurt him unknowingly. 

But he puts them right back where they were. 

And he leans down to your neck to return the favor, biting and sucking the skin there to create dark red and purple bruises wherever he can. His thrusts become more powerful, angling down into you to make you see stars. The simmering heat in your stomach is stoked with each direct hit to your g-spot. It’s getting to be more of a challenge to breathe normally like this.

Especially as your third orgasm begins to crest. 

“‘M coming–” you warn him, but he knows already. He can feel it. 

He hovers over you, moving his hips precisely and slightly faster. He wants to watch you again. To see you fall apart for him again. Truthfully, he already feels a bit pussy-drunk. Starting to get addicted to the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him, coming for him so prettily. And you don’t disappoint him the third time either. 

You’re loud this time, unable to control your volume. The third orgasm hits you like a truck, and it only builds higher and higher instead of gradually diminishing. You cry out, halfway through it. Something feels unfinished about it, and you’re desperate to chase it. Luckily, San knows exactly what you need. 

He quickly lowers your legs from his shoulders, jumping right into action to catch this. Your legs are held back, like the previous position they were in, and he returns his other hand to your lower stomach, pressing down hard. You can feel him moving inside of you. Your head falls back and you moan loudly, suddenly feeling everything tenfold. 

The sound is obscene, definitely pornographic. Wet, sloshing sounds, accompanied by your loud cries and moans fill the warehouse-like room of the eighth floor. His cock prods your g-spot every single time, building something insanely powerful that you’ve never felt before. You grab his wrist, looking up at him with slight fear in your eyes, but he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s determined, if anything. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, so affectionately it makes your brain melt. 

He adjusts his hand on your stomach just a little further down. At the same time that you feel him rubbing your clit again, he ducks down to suck on one of your nipples, and fireworks explode behind your eyelids. The quadruple stimulation makes you scream. 

“Gonna make a mess for me, kitten? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock again?” 

You don’t even have time to nod or reply in any way. A strong surge of pleasure smashes into you from all sides, whiting out your vision. It’s a feeling of release unlike any other that you’ve felt before, much harder than any orgasm you’ve ever had. He keeps fucking you through it until your pussy forces him out, watching your body shake uncontrollably underneath him, soaking the sheets below you, and his lower body. Now you know damn well what kind of ‘rough’ you’ll be getting from him: overstimulation. Making you cum until you beg him to stop. 

San growls at the sight. It burns into his brain, and he can already say for certain that he’ll be jerking off to the memory of this later tonight and for days to come. 

Just to prolong it, he taps his heavy cock against your pussy and clit again, enjoying how you try to squirm away from it. 

You’re so wet, it’s audible. Every tap is loud, and a thin, stringy mixture of his spit and your slick clings to him for as long as it can whenever he pulls away. You reach for him, not knowing exactly what you want, but knowing you want him closer to you, and he obliges. He leans down over you again, slowly sliding his length between your puffy, wet folds. 

A familiar, faint voice from the left is ignored totally by you and him, too busy coming down from the most intense high of your life, and him holding you through it.  

An aftershock rattles you from head to toe, and you gasp when you feel it. The intense pleasure you felt gives way to sudden emptiness, and you realize you do not have anything to clench down on anymore. Though his dick is right there, dragging up and down your outer lips, it feels so far away from where you actually want it. 

Thankfully, sensing your dilemma – and hearing you whine for it – he doesn’t make you wait any longer. In your post-orgasmic haze, he guides you over onto all fours, now facing the foot of the bed. Ever the gentleman, he moves your hair out of your face. However, you imagine it’s so the camera can see your fucked out, dazed expression. 

His cock slips back inside of you easily, without any resistance, and the two of you groan in unison. In both relief and pleasure.  

That familiar, faint voice comes back. Clearer this time, and closer as well. “San… San! We’re taking another break now.” 

San kisses your shoulder blade, barely paying attention. “Okay, have fun,” he brushes the voice off, impatiently. 

You’d laugh if you had any coherent thoughts or spare energy left. No, you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment, your body trembling around his cock, and so happy that he’s pushed back into you. Truthfully, you don’t even care if you’re stressing out the crew anymore. All of your thoughts are about San. 

San smooths a hand up your spine, slowly pushing inch by inch into your soaked hole. He shushes you gently when you whimper, interlacing his fingers with yours when you try to reach back to find his hand to hold.  

“I know, kitten, it’s okay. Just relax.”

Easier said than done. 

He lightly presses your lower back, signalling you to arch it for him a little more. You nearly regret it when you feel him deeper than before in this position. Your elbows threaten to buckle, body shaking like a leaf. Yet, you still want more. Even though you’re nearing a certain point, wavering between overexertion and exhaustion, you crave more. You want to chase that feeling with him again. Make him glad he asked you to come here. Make him come back for more. So, you grit your teeth and keep yourself from face-planting into the mattress. For now, at least.  

San’s powerful pace resumes in no time, stealing every breath from your lungs. Another vague, quiet plea falls from your lips, and in response, he squeezes your hips, pulling them back to meet every thrust. Your throat is raw from all the noise you’re making, and you know you’ll have to drink some tea or honey tonight to get your voice back to normal. Not this thin, broken voice you have now. Your lower back aches from staying in this position, but you do your best to ignore it. 

It helps that his cock is basically in your stomach, that does a lot to distract you from a mere ache in your back. It also helps that your pussy is extra sensitive, coming three times – twice in a row without a break – and squirting for the first time. On camera, no less. Your viewers are going to lose their fucking minds. The image of your donation box on your livestreams, and your Venmo accounts skyrocketing after this video releases is motivation enough for you to want him to make you do it again. 

Your back arches even more, hips grinding back against his to get more of him somehow. 

Such a little natural.     

“Mmm, there you go. That’s it. Keep fucking yourself on my cock, pretty girl.” 

You make a noise, halfway between a whine and a moan and do as he says. Your chest grazes the sheets below you, chin buried into the mattress and arms gripping the edge of the bed in front of you. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, a couple of stray tears threatening to fall. “You’re s-so fucking deep.” 

San groans, increasing the pace. You yelp when you feel him smack your ass, and again when he hits it a second and third time. By the time the third strike lands, he doesn’t even give you any time to process the stinging pain he’s left behind before there’s a new one on the back of your head. 

Slightly dizzy, it takes you a second to realize you’re upright, on your knees. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling at the roots, and the other rubbing incessant circles on your swollen clit. His chest presses into your back, and he moves your head to face him so he can kiss you again. Mind threatening to wipe completely, you can’t fight to hold back your tears anymore. You shudder violently, and he groans as he feels your body struggle to keep up with him. He knows you can take it, though. You’re a fighter, he can tell. 

“Doing so well,” he whispers in your ear, “such a good girl for me, baby. Knew you would be. Knew I’d get this pussy to fall apart on my dick. Thought about it so fucking much…”

You whine against his mouth, tears wetting his face now as well. The blatant admission that he had thought about you like this before today goes straight over your head. 

All you hear is his praise. You’re doing well. Good enough for him, like you were so stressed about being. Nothing else matters to you anymore, now that you’ve earned his approval. A proud smile creeps across your face, and he grins at the faraway look in your half-lidded eyes. You’re so far gone. Completely pleasure-drunk.  

The hand in your hair tightens again and loosens, like it’s an afterthought now. Just something for him to hold onto. To keep you steady, if anything. Warm pressure building and building again in your stomach, you round your back as another shiver wracks its way through your body, making your spine tingle. His hand moves down to hold you by the back of the neck, and he slows his pace just enough to guide you back down onto the bed. This time, totally flat. Your pussy forces him out at this new position, but his other hand is quick to spread one of your ass cheeks apart, cock sliding back inside of you. 

He doesn’t ease you into his pace anymore. The first brutal thrust makes your eyes roll back, and your jaw falls open. Your nails claw at the bedding, every muscle in your arms straining while you hold onto the fabric for dear life.   

He’s so fucking deep. Impossibly, almost. 

He may just make you cum like this, without even needing to touch your clit. He’s making you learn so much about what your body can do when in the right hands. No wonder people are so obsessed with him. He’s become so in tune with your body so quickly, just by paying explicit attention to you this whole time. It makes you really appreciate his expertise, because he could easily have just used what has worked for other girls in the past. He probably could’ve made you cum like that as well, but he tailors himself for each girl. Adapts for them. For you. 

And he’s learning you pretty well. Probably read you like a fucking book. 

Every precisely angled thrust punches a moan out from deep within your chest. Each sound is partly muffled by the bedding, and you try to keep quiet, not wanting to be annoying. You can’t help it, though. Not when it feels this good. Certainly not when another orgasm is building, more rapidly than the others. 

You squirm under him, toes curling and nails digging into the mattress. 

“I– mmf–! You’re… you’re gonna make me cum again,” you have to speak quickly before it hits you. 

San leans over you, hands planted right next to your shoulders, fucking you harder. “Give it to me, pretty girl. I want every fucking drop.” 

Someone dressed in all black stands right in front of you, pointing something towards you. It doesn’t register that it’s the camera guy with the handheld camera for a couple seconds. You imagine he’s zooming in, capturing everything. He must know the future audience does not want to miss a single second of how you react to coming again, and how San won’t let up on you once you do… again. 

Your eyes shut tight once your fourth climax thunders through you. Pure ecstasy erupts in every vein. Euphoria clouds your brain. The sheets beneath you two become even more soaked, and you can feel your release dripping down your thighs. You must’ve been loud because your throat feels scratchy and rough all of a sudden, but your head is in such a rush that you don’t even hear anything. 

San holds you by your throat now, making you keep your face up. 

Just as you predicted, San doesn’t stop or slow his pace whatsoever. True to his promise that he’s ‘gonna make you feel so good’. Well, that promise is currently turning you into a limp, fucked out mess. You’ve never had this many orgasms so quick in succession before. It’s making your hormones go absolutely wild, and you cry harder, wetting San’s hand with your tears. The camera loves it. 

There are some sounds near you that you can’t be bothered to discern, and you just lean into San’s hand on your throat. Fully intent on just letting him do whatever he wants to you at this point. He pretty much already is. Although, you’re not entirely sure how many more times you can cum without passing out. You hope he’ll stop before that happens. You don’t want to embarrass yourself like that. 

San subtly taps your throat, getting your attention, before raising your head a little higher by the throat. 

You blink stupidly up at the cameraman in front of you, eyes half-lidded and heavy, struggling to keep them open. You flinch a little when you see that there are two more people in front of you, the director included. When did everyone get so much closer to the bed? All of them, you notice, are at least semi-hard. Director Choi nods behind the camera, muttering inaudible praises. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles turning white, and pull them up towards your mouth to muffle your screams. Out of frame, Director Choi motions for an assistant to pull the sheets down, ripping your comfort away, exposing how loud you’re being. Tears sting your eyes, both from exertion and from the intense pleasure San is giving you. 

“Pussy’s so good… so tight and wet… could fuck you forever.” 

Director Choi silently motions for San to keep talking like that. 

San grunts, fighting to catch his breath enough to speak again. “Such a good girl… gonna make you cum again.” 

And he does. 

Before you even realize that it’s been simmering and building, it knocks into you sideways. This time, you can’t even scream. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out due to your body locking up. San releases your throat, worried that you’re not breathing – and he’s right. He slows down considerably, moving your hair away from your face to check on you. Your body slowly relaxes again underneath him, one muscle at a time, and a low, guttural groan tears itself from your throat. 

You can feel every inch of him dragging past your inner walls, and every slightest movement makes your pussy clench, trying to simultaneously push him out and suck him in further. Instead of continuing again, though, he pushes all the way into you one more time, and then stops. 

It’s somehow both torture and a relief. You feel so fucking full, but he isn’t doing anything to continue the dull flames that engulf your lower stomach, and yet you know it’s better than being empty. He could pull out, leave you to deal with that emptiness before you felt ready. He doesn’t. Appreciative thoughts swirl around your head and you cry harder, trying to hide your tears in the sheets. 

When the camera crew and director see that he’s not continuing, they call for another break. Everyone moves away, and there’s no longer a black cloud in front of you. 

San doesn’t move an inch, though.  

He brushes through your hair with his fingers, comforting you. He’s intent on waiting until you calm down, not wanting to push you too far before you’re ready. He knows he went a little crazy, instantly getting addicted to the feeling of you coming around his dick, and you deserve a break. As long as you need. 

But you’re addicted yourself. A real glutton for the pleasure he’s given you thus far. You push back and wiggle against him, trying to get him to move again. His hands push you down by your hips, keeping them still. You whine at the denial, looking over your shoulder at him with teary, red eyes. He almost gives in. 

“I know, baby. Just relax with me for a moment.” 

You pout, another tear roaming down your cheek. Deep down, you know he’s right. Your body has been pleading for a break two orgasms ago. It’s high time you listen to it. You collapse, finally letting yourself relax, solely focusing on the quiet murmur of the crew off to the side, and San’s fingers running through your hair. 

It’s a nice moment.  

Nicer still when San litters your shoulders and back with gentle kisses, helping you calm down. Clearer thoughts slowly begin to reenter your mind, and your breaths even out, relatively back to normal. Better than the mixture of shallow inhales, long periods of holding your breath, and gasps for air. Because of the improved air intake, your head finally feels like it’s stopped swimming. Little by little, your energy comes back. 

You take a deep inhale, sighing contently as you exhale it back out. Looking behind you again, you catch him already watching you. 

“Hi,” you mumble, half-smiling.

San smirks, his hand cupping your cheek. “Hey, pretty girl. Feel okay?” 

You nod, humming, and you subtly push back against him. The feeling of his cock pressing into you doesn’t shock your body as much as it did before. Now it’s a welcome, familiar feeling. Sought after. You really are addicted. Maybe even insatiable when it comes to how well he fucks you. 

With the other hand, he places a water bottle in front of your face, the same one with a straw poked through the cap from before. You don’t bother wondering where he got it from. You have a pretty good idea. They’re always everywhere during a break. 

Once you’re done with the bottle, he places it against one of the pillows, where it will no doubt be collected by a production assistant within seconds. 

You push back again, trying to get him to move. You hear him chuckle behind you. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” 

Instead of contradicting his statement, you just nod. Why lie? 

“Wanna make you cum too,” 

San hums, just barely rolling his hips into yours. “How do you wanna do that, kitten?” 

You steel yourself for what you’re about to do. Hoping he will let you go through with your plan, you pull yourself away from him, and he slips out of you. The emptiness hits just as hard as you thought it would, and you whimper at the initial feeling. If all goes to plan, you won't be for long. 

San watches you carefully as you turn to face him on the bed, gently pushing him back against the pillows. His hands instinctually rest on your hips as you straddle him, and he looks up at you, patiently waiting for your next move. At least, coming across as patient externally. You don’t miss how his dick twitches, eager to be engulfed by your warmth again. He must feel something equivalent to the emptiness you felt when you pulled away. 

You’ll fix that gladly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the crew start to come back to their spots – lights, camera, microphones. They must have learned not to stay too far away when it comes to filming you two. You do your best to hide your grin. 

San helps you line up the head of his cock to your entrance, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders as you slowly sink down. His eyes flutter shut, eyebrows furrowing as he exhales shakily. Following his lead, you don’t give him much time to adjust before you start moving. 

You swear you hear him whimper. Just once, but you catch it nevertheless. 

He keeps his eyes down, locked between you, watching your cunt swallow his dick over and over again. You bite your lip, nails digging into his shoulders as his hands become more firm on your hips. The next time you sink down, he pulls you down hard. You gasp, not expecting it, and he attacks your lips once again. 

You kiss him back just as eagerly, increasing your pace. Your thighs already start to protest from the strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care or stop. Not when he’s moaning into your mouth like this. Every noise you pull out of him is pure music to your ears. A rhapsody you could hear a thousand times and not get bored of. You pull away from his lips just to hear him clearer, and he chases you. He nips your bottom lip, one of his hands slowly travelling up to knead one of your boobs again. 

Breaths mingling, you shiver in his hold. His other hand dips down to rest on your ass, squeezing the flesh there as you bounce on his cock. 

The heat of it all consumes you, drives you to get him to cum. You want to hear him. You want to repay him for making you cum four times, and put in just as much effort. 

It’s a battle to try and ignore your own pleasure, building up for a fifth time. You’re not convinced you can cum again. However, now you’re willing to see what happens. If you faint, you faint. 

You clench around him on purpose, grinding into him and rolling your hips, your gummy walls massaging his length and successfully driving him crazy. His head falls back against the headboard, and his fingers begin to leave bruises on your skin. 

“So fucking good,” he hisses, “such a good girl… gonna make me cum so hard.” 

The thought and image that accompanies it gives you a second wind of energy. Your hands move to his chest, and you press down as you continue to fuck him. 

“Want you to cum inside me,” you beg him, hot breath hitting his neck. You feel him shudder underneath you. 

San only nods, unable to speak. You lick a stripe up his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his sweat and kissing the hinge of his jaw. Right next to his ear, you moan again, enjoying how he tenses up. 

Suddenly, both of his arms are wrapped around your waist, and he sits up a little more. One of his hands presses into your upper back, supporting you as he starts fucking up into you, seamlessly matching your rhythm. 

He lets out a choked moan, cutting it off by kissing you one more time before his eyes shut tight. 

“Gonna cum…fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you, kitten. Gonna feel me for days.” 

You whine at his words, and he seems to have worked himself up further by saying it as well. 

“Please, sir, need your cum inside of me. Please give it to me–” 

San pushes you down onto your back before you can blink. Your legs wrap around him, and the pleasure increases for you almost instantaneously. When you look down, you swear you can see a slight bulge in your stomach. His lips attach to your neck, sucking and biting to muffle his moans as much as possible. Every sound he makes is so pretty. 

He pounds into you without any more room for mercy, concentrating on coming again. And he can feel that you’re close again too. 

“Cum with me,” he pants against your neck, “give me one more. Let me feel your pretty cunt cum on my cock one more time, baby.”          

One more. You nod, eyelids growing heavy again. Everything is perfect in this moment. The feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the head of it pressing against your g-spot and fanning the flames of your arousal until it engulfs you like wildfire; his soft, plush lips on your neck, his words in your ear, and his warm, firm skin under your hands. 

As if that all wasn’t enough, San spits on his fingers and starts to rub your clit again. 

Everything adds up to push you over the edge. 

You cry out, body completely spent as you weakly squirt for him again. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, adrenaline and euphoria taking turns to run through your bloodstream. The sheets beneath you are completely soaked through. Every sense is both heightened and dulled. Exhaustion pulls itself over you like a weighted blanket. 

And your climax triggers his.

True to his word, he comes deep inside of you, filling you up until it’s leaking. The additional warmth is comforting for a second, until your stomach begins to cramp a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but just enough for you to notice. You’re definitely not used to coming this much. 

San shudders violently before dropping to his elbows, careful not to crush you under his weight. Both of you catch your breaths, chests heaving as you coax air back into your lungs. You tangle one of your hands in his hair, holding him close to you as you take this moment to settle down. He buries his face in your neck, small, audible sighs occasionally escaping him. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’s never cum that hard before. Years of experience behind him, sure, he’s gotten close to this level, but never was able to reach it until now. 

Reluctantly, he slowly drags himself out of your pussy, eyes immediately glancing down to see his cum leaking out. He smirks as he watches you fight to keep it inside, not wanting to let it go yet. 

Then, like he does every single time, he ducks down to lick one more long, slow path up your pussy. Entrance to clit. A silent ‘thank you’. You whimper, legs closing when he pulls away. 

“Cut! Print it.” 

And he’s gone. 

You feel you just got a violent slap back into reality. 

What…just happened? You slowly push yourself up, with admittedly great difficulty. 

Half of the staff flutter around you, while the others flock to San’s side, covering him up in his robe and starting to lead him towards his dressing room. The production assistants assigned to you don’t say much, handing you the same water bottle as before and urging you to drink it all. You watch the cameraman and the director talk, leisurely packing everything up. Just another day at the office. It’s all over just like that. 

Meanwhile, you feel… stunned. Maybe even a little empty, and not just physically this time. You never thought about how aftercare is pretty much nonexistent in shoots like this. Everything is strictly business. Professional. Void of any emotion for the other ‘actor’. Still, as someone runs a brush through your messy hair, and someone else wraps a silk robe over your shoulders, you find that you cannot tear your gaze away from the direction of San’s dressing room door. Your eyes threaten to tear up, a dull yet powerful feeling of rejection blooming in your chest. 

Maybe you aren’t cut out for this type of thing, no matter how many offers you receive. Not if this is how it ends, as if nothing happened. Like none of it mattered. Another notch in Choi San’s belt. 

Director Choi suddenly appears in front of you, and you’re quick to act like nothing is wrong. “You did great,” he says, “thank you for your time today.” 

You manage a fake smile and thank him as well, apologizing for any issues you may have caused by being impatient or loud. 

He simply waves it off, “Happens more than you think. Have a good rest of your night, Miss Y/L/N. Maybe we’ll work together again in the future.” 

‘Maybe’. 

His words stick to you, gnawing at your skin like leeches. He truly didn’t mean to make you feel worse, you know that, and yet he really drove home just how… common you feel. Not special whatsoever after all. 

You imagine going back home and going live again. The notorious four exclusive viewers will want to know how it went, and you’re going to have to tell them something. You doubt you’ll be able to lie. Woo will probably be able to tell something’s wrong. 

Maybe, once this check hits, you can just disappear for the foreseeable future. If you’re astronomically lucky, everyone will forget it happened so you won’t have to relive the very tail end of it. You run a hand through your hair. You’re so fucking dramatic.

It hurts a little extra when even Hongjoong doesn't stick around to check in on you, tending to his star first and foremost. You can’t say you really blame him, though – that is his job. San should be his priority. 

It’s just that you desperately wish for a friendly face, or someone to genuinely check in with you. Comfort you. 

Not to be surrounded by strangers who won’t look you in the eye.  

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You’re not sure what the plan is. 

You don’t even know if he’s still here. But here you are, standing in front of his dressing room door like a fucking idiot. Another girl obsessed with him. Nothing new, just another number they’ll have to delete. 

Even so, you want to try and talk to him. Ask him why the fuck he left in such a hurry. Your hands readjust their grip on your purse, with half a mind to swing it at whoever opens the door. 

Gathering up all the courage imaginable, your hand raises in a fist, and you softly knock on the door three times. 

To be honest, you’re not really expecting a response. Half of the staff are gone already, it’s unlikely that he’d want to stick around here any longer than he has to. When you checked the time on your phone in your dressing room, you were surprised to see that it’s already nearing nine o’clock. Your stomach had growled almost immediately upon seeing it. You look over your shoulder, watching the rest of the staff still here turning off some of the lights and gathering wires.    

Distracted, you jump about a mile in the air when the door opens, revealing San, now also dressed and looking like he’s ready to leave. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” he says, so casually. “What’re you still doing here?” 

Embarrassment hits you like a brick wall. Yep, just another girl on the callsheet that stuck around to beg him for more. Ugh. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you,” you say, already giving up on the whole idea of confronting him. Britney can’t help you now. 

You start to turn on your heel, but he opens the door wider, stepping aside as if to invite you in. “No, no. Not bothering me. What’s up?” 

Your mouth dries. Okay, now you got to follow through. But god… does he really not know? You wonder if this has never come up before. If all of the girls before you are just collectively tougher than you emotionally and can handle no aftercare, no follow up, nothing. You should be, too, honestly. You know what porn is and what it isn’t. It’s not exactly a dating service. Two hot people fuck each other and go their separate ways, money wired to them before their heads hit the pillow at night. 

Still… you and Yeosang aren’t dating, and after your collab with him, he redressed you and cuddled you for an hour straight. He made sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that the friendship is still intact. You weren’t being used. 

You hesitate to step into his dressing room, and ultimately decide to just stay put. Stand your ground. You don’t want to take too long, you just need an answer. 

Out with it. 

“I was just wondering why you left so quickly? Did I do something to offend you in any way?”  

San blinks, slight confusion clouding his face. “Oh, no, I just– I saw your form. Didn’t want to hang around and make you uncomfortable.” 

Now you stare at him, just as confused. “Wait, what? What about my form?” 

“You checked off ‘Hard No’ to aftercare.”  

…Pardon? 

No way. 

He must see the bewilderment in your face because he fishes his phone out of his pocket to show you. 

“Yeah, Hongjoong said…” he trails off, the light of his phone screen reflecting in his dark brown eyes. “Yeah, look.” 

He holds his phone up to show you, and you step closer to it, squinting to see for yourself. Sure enough, amidst all of the other dozens of checkmarks, you accidentally fucked yourself over and selected ‘Hard No’ for aftercare. Luckily, you didn’t select one of the bodily fluid options as a ‘Hard Yes’ in your evident past confusion. You bury your face in your hands. 

“Oh my god. That was meant to be a ‘Hard Yes’.” You groan. Guilt threatens to eat you alive for all your negative thoughts towards him, and the texts you sent Yeosang while in your dressing room after the fact. You’re going to have to do some serious damage control to get Yeosang to not hate him forever. It’ll surely start with a screenshot of the form you fucked up, followed by a dramatic statement of your stupidity. 

San pockets his phone again, almost sheepish. He hesitantly steps closer to you, unsure of how to fix this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, “I should’ve double checked with you.” 

“No, no, please don’t blame yourself when it’s my own mistake.” 

“Still…” he trails off, looking down at the floor. 

It hits you that he’s really hurt by this. Hurt for you. 

“San…” you tilt your head to try and meet his eye. “It’s alright, really. I feel much better now that I know it wasn’t on purpose or because I did something wrong.” 

“I’d never do that to you, or anybody. I always stress how important aftercare is to the directors I work with so they don’t try to rush through it.” San runs a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he speaks, exasperated. You vaguely remember him saying something akin to that in one of the interviews that you watched. 

Damn, he really is nice. Here you were at the start of this, thinking he’d be a cocky son of a bitch who has the world at his feet, and anything he wants within arms reach. The last two parts of that description may be right, but your assumed attitude is definitely not. Well… maybe not entirely. The cockiness isn’t used to make anyone feel small, that’s the important difference. It’s confidence, more than anything. 

“I know,” you smile, trying to make him feel better. “Really, it’s okay.” 

He seems unconvinced. “Can I make it up to you in some way?” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. If you wouldn’t immediately cringe at yourself for doing so, you’d maybe ask for a hug or something. Physical contact in any way to comfort you, make you believe it. But the guilt he obviously feels is enough. The knowledge that he truly thought it’s something you were so against, and he respected it anyway, is more than enough. 

“You don’t have to, San.” 

“I want to, Y/N.” 

Your pulse skips a beat, wondering what he has in mind. The way he said it was so final, like he made up his mind already. His phone reappears in his hand, texting someone quickly and sending it off. He then reaches into his dressing room, turning off the light after doing a quick scan of it and closing the door behind him. 

“Can I walk you out?” 

That, you’ll allow. 

“Sure. Are you going home?” You ask, changing the subject as the two of you start walking towards the exit doors. 

“Nah, not yet. There’s a gym on this floor I’m gonna go to first.” 

You just nod in response, wondering how on earth he has the energy to go to the gym right now. You have a very special date with your bed for the foreseeable future. It’s highly doubtful that you’ll wake up before three in the afternoon. Truthfully, you can’t wait. Maybe you’ll sleep off some of the soreness you’re sure to have tomorrow. 

“Oh, by the way, do you have an agent?” San asks you out of nowhere, right before you get to the doors. 

You blink once. Twice, processing. “No…?” 

Yeosang’s the only one who may even come close. He’s the one you ask before doing anything, wanting his opinion and blessing. But technically and professionally, no, you’re an independent artist as far as you’re concerned. 

“I’d find one soon,” San says, glancing towards the bed, soaked through. “You’re about to get a lot of offers.” 

You blush furiously, reminded of everything that transpired between you barely an hour ago. “Maybe I should just take yours.” 

San groans, “Honestly, do it. I’m sure Joong could use a break from my bullshit.” 

You laugh, trying to hide it with your hand. San pretends to be offended that you agree, clutching his heart in betrayal, which makes you laugh harder. The doors push open, the white fluorescent lights blinding both of you after being so used to the golden studio lights on set. 

“Maybe I will let you have him,” he says, a smirk growing across his face. “It’s good manners.” 

He looks at you like he knows something you don’t, and it bothers you. The word choice sounds familiar, but you can’t place it. Before you can ask, he steps closer to you, invading your personal space for the first time since being intimate with each other. You hold your breath. 

“Goodnight, baby.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking down towards the opposite end of the hallway, where you can only assume is the direction of the gym. 

Fuckin’ hell… 

You stand there like an idiot for another couple of seconds, still processing what just happened in the span of five minutes. You also try to figure out the implication behind his word choice. ‘Manners’. It bugs you so much, you know you heard something about it recently, but can’t pinpoint where or when. 

The question of what he meant follows you all the way to the lobby. You press the down button on autopilot, just now remembering to text the driver to tell him that you’re ready to be picked up downstairs and taken home. From down the hallway, you hear the door to the studio swing open again – probably some of the crew heading home as well. You glance towards the stairs, not exactly jumping at the chance to be stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers who watched you have sex an hour ago. 

But the footsteps that follow the sound of the door closing are what gives you pause. They’re hurried, and headed towards the lobby. The elevator dings behind you. You turn around just as the mystery runner comes around the corner. 

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Kim–”  

Hongjoong jogs over to you, catching you before the elevator doors open. 

“Sorry if I startled you. San is wondering if we can arrange another collab, but this time on your livestream.” He speaks quickly, like time is of the essence.  

You stutter, brain trying to connect with your vocal cords. 

“What?” You ask, even though you heard and processed everything Hongjoong said just fine. You’re just wondering if you actually heard him right. Today just keeps getting stranger and stranger. More interesting, definitely. 

He’s quick to repeat himself, almost pleading with his eyes for you to say ‘yes’. 

At least with the emails you had some time to think everything over. Now Hongjoong is staring dead at you, waiting for the response he hopes to hear. 

You can’t help it. You want to make him chase you again. 

“Tell him I’ll think about it,” you say as sweetly as possible, stepping into the elevator. 

You try not to enjoy the perplexed look on Hongjoong’s face until the doors close completely. 

· · ─────── ·☆· ─────── · ·

You have no idea how he does it, truly. 

Everything in his world is immediate. You’re not used to it whatsoever. 

Those are the thoughts you have as you step out of the elevator in your apartment building, walking up to your door. You're more than ready to throw your shit down in the kitchen and go the fuck to bed. Your phone is in the process of being fished out of your pocket, intent on texting Yeosang to ask if he's around for a debrief.

You stop dead in your tracks when you look up, about to unlock the front door. Perched tall and proud, is a beautiful bouquet of purple flowers in a glass vase right outside your door. A card is placed in between the overlapping petals, and you can’t help but gawk at the sight of it. 

How the hell did he find your address? 

Oh– Hongjoong, probably. Your initial creeped-out feeling vanishes. Hongjoong can just find anything for San, you’re sure. 

Punching in the keycode to your door, and switching the kitchen lights on, you place the flowers on the counter, taking a second to admire them. Purple, you note. Your favorite. Again, Hongjoong must have told him, but you can’t help but smile – he really did want to make it up to you. 

You pluck the small card from the flowers and read it, sitting down at your kitchen island. 

Hope you had a good time today. 

Sorry for being such a stupid slut </3

-San

Your smile widens, laughing and rereading it. You flip it over, and on the back is a phone number, scrawled in blue ink. 

Perhaps you missed a hidden clause in the forms that makes you promise to not fall in love with him. 

You hope not. 

The young adult life was fun, with your friends always pulling you out of the dorm in the dead of night and taking you from one bar to another. From the local student's club to the cabin by the lake, owned by one of the jocks you happened to sleep with.

But the joys of a student's life – be it an evening spent studying or fucking in the car after a stressful exam – were, after a few months, taken away by your stalker.

Suguru Geto has been following you since day one. The moment his eyes fell on your body sprawled on the campus lawn, skin shimmering in the late summer sun, and a sweet giggle tickling his pierced ears.

His brain turned fuzzy whenever he saw the angelic aura wrapping around your cheeky face. Heart melted when your eyes fell on him, even for a single second. An uncontrollable feeling bubbled in his chest at the sheer sight of a little crease appearing between your brows when you bestowed him with a grimace.

It was clear that, for some reason, you treated him rather as a foe than a man who could pique your interest. 

At first, he did nothing but look. Observe, with this devilish smile tugging at his lips and lavender irises taking pleasure in the loveliest scowl slipping onto your face. He tried to keep himself at bay, but not because shyness coiled in his heart.

No, simply because he wished to know everything about you, before making an official approach. Your favourite flowers, the desserts you most cherished, the tight course schedule that always seemed to keep you up all night, favourite shapes and colours of the clacking jewellery that hung from your skin. Of the big hoops that always brushed your neck, and bracelets stacked one on another, chirping like sweet birds whenever you passed by.

He wished to know the colour of your lingerie and how your panties smelled after a long day. To feel the warmth of the bra that had just left the embrace of your breasts. Smell the sweetness of your slightly sweated skin after days when you joined the cheerleading sessions.

Suguru… Suguru wanted to be the one having you all to himself, even if you hated the sheer sight of him.

Whenever you took a shower during late, late nights – someone always seemed to be there. In the shared bathroom on your floor, the one meant to be used solely by the female students. A listener, whose ears pricked up to hear a soft hum of a random melody that bubbled in your throat and sweet sighs when the first hot droplets hit your skin. 

The first time you noticed it was when the bathroom doors closed louder than they should. Another girl coming back from a late session, you thought, giving it no mind. 

But the silence that lingered in the air stretched for too long. As no other shower seemed to be in use, nor did any other sounds of movement filled the lonely bathroom. 

You waited, and waited, to hear something that would not make you believe that a fucking creep slipped inside the room just to await your naked body leaving the shower.

But nothing else ever came, and so your voice echoed off the walls with a, "Hello?"

Silence stood still, and the hot droplets soon turned into the cold sweat tickling the shivering skin along your spine. Nothing, but the thick fog filled the tiled bathroom and a heavy breath of yours, trying to listen for the eerie footsteps that clacked against the wet floor a few seconds ago. 

Coming closer, and closer, till you could already see the heavy, black boots peeking from the lower door crack. A gentle tingling of the oh-so-familiar silver chain slashed through the air, and if you lifted your head up, surely you could see a peek of silky black hair. The shower doors were, after all, not two meters tall. 

"You fucking freak," a low snort escaped your throat. "You don’t think I know who you are?"

Silence. 

He simply stood there, as if waiting. For you to come outside? Or maybe simply enjoying the tension that rose within a blinding fog. The faster beating of your heart, shuddered breath you tried to conceal with a harsh tone, and trembling fingers covering your breasts, as if he could see your naked body through the door.

"Cat got your tongue, huh? Don’t be a coward, at least say something," you continued, making sure the miserably weak latch was keeping the door closed. "You’ve been stalking me for months. Don’t you know who my boyfriend is?"

Suguru knew. 

But he also knew that the captain of the basketball team wasn’t your boyfriend. Because you didn’t do that stuff – relationships, love, cheesy romance. 

So a low chuckle slipped past his lips as he pressed his forehead to the door. Trying to smell the sweet body wash that lingered in the air, imagining the foam that coated your soft body and curled around those plush breasts he loved so dearly.

"I can’t believe you’re getting off to this," another snort escaped your throat, as you banged with a fist on the door. "You don’t think I’ll report you? I’ll end you, do you hear me?!"

But Suguru could simply laugh – deeply, with a vibration hitting the plastic surface. His large palm pressed to the door, as if he tried to imagine where exactly your hand lay. So the image of your skins almost touching could slip an eerie, excited thought that tickled his mind in such a pleasant manner. 

A wrath coiled beneath your heart, hearing how much he enjoyed this little torture. Because, if only he wanted, he surely could rip the door off the hinges with little to no sweat. Instead, he simply let out a hum, curling the fingers into a fist.

"Sure, baby. I hear you loud and clear," a low purr bounced off the tile, foggy walls.

The heat made your head spin, body leaned against the plastic door in need of fresh air. But going out now would mean slipping right into his needy clutches. 

And before you could snap once again, he added, "I hope you won’t mind me taking those pretty panties of yours, hm? I’ll give them back one day, pinky promise," and with that, the leather shoes disappeared from your sight.

With your pitched you fucking psycho, kissing his cheeks goodbye, as he left the stuffy bathroom.

And so during the first semester, you started seeing the consequences of having a stalker like him.

Your panties were disappearing one by one, and you knew that it was not a fault of the old washing machines in the dorm. Always suddenly appearing back on your bed, clean and fragrant, although only god knew what he did with them.

Other times, it was the white knee-socks from the cheerleader costume. The woollen, soft material that wrapped your sweaty thighs after hours of training. Always disappearing whenever you planned to do the laundry, always back on your bed a bit stiff, with a heavy cologne still clinging to the cloth.

The report to the headmaster did truly nothing, as you had no proof whatsoever that Suguru Geto was your stalker, nor that he slipped into the women’s bathroom. After all, no one else saw him, and for that matter, no one could accuse him of anything. 

The jock you were sleeping with back then refused to deal with him another way, for he simply didn’t see a reason to it.

You snorted, the first time Toji said it and slipped off his bed. The winter’s biting cold was sneaking past the old dorm windows as you started dressing yourself up. 

"Doll, what are you doing?" The mountain of a man asked with a sigh, stretching his massive body on a bed. "I won’t kill some random guy, just because you think he’s stalking you."

You scoffed at the quizzical tone of his voice, pulling on the warm, woolly sweater. "So you think I made this up, huh?"

Toji groaned, lazily wiping his face with a hand. "Come on, I’m just saying that he may have a crush and that’s it."

"He’s been stealing my underwear and listening to me taking showers for months!"

The emerald eyes followed you with a raised eyebrow, as you pulled tight jeans onto your ass. The scowl between your brows made him chuckle lowly and sit up on a bed, patting the still-warm place next to him.

"Come on, let me make you feel better. It’s not as if he’ll do anything else." His long hand reached for the loops of your jeans, but you quickly smacked it. "Doll, I’m serious. If you were in danger, I would definitely deal with him."

Fully dressed, with shoes on, you turned to him with a low tsk and, "I think you’re too much of a fucking coward to do it," before going out of his room and closing the door with a thud.

Months passed; winter turned into early spring, the second semester began, and Suguru Geto was slowly getting closer. 

In slow, baby steps and yet you felt the line between the two of you thinning. With him appearing on your horizon much more often, following you around the campus, barely trying to hide it.

In early spring, he started leaving little gifts on your bed, under the door, in the locker. A pretty set of lingerie, favourite flowers, a tape with music he thought you could like, the… death threats.

Not to you, oh, but of course, as he would rather cut his limbs off than make a single, precious strand of your hair fall for the greediness filling his heart.

All the death threats were always aimed at your lovers, of course. 

As Suguru had a little patience left for seeing you change men like gloves, with none worthy to be bestowed with the softness of your skin. To nuzzle into your neck, trace kisses down the chin, and hear the sweet laughter every single day. 

Suguru was simply jealous. And he addressed it quite openly in short, paper notes that you somehow always found in your bag.

The mix of, baby he’s not good for you, and, break it off, or he’ll regret ever setting his eyes on my girl.

When you brought them all to the headmaster, he simply offered to monitor the situation. As you still had no proof to offer that Suguru Geto was the one who wrote them all. No one saw him slipping the notes into your bag, nor his ghastly figure stealing all your lingerie. 

On a campus, he was simply a weird guy.

In classes, the best student.

For you, a hellish nightmare that tried to crawl under your skin and wrap around your body like a deathly viper.

And so you ignored the threats. Broke most of your relationships, but didn’t quite reveal the reason. If he had a problem with you sleeping with one guy for a month or two, then… you simply had to stick to one-night stands and not show yourself on campus with any other men.

As long as you weren’t hanging onto anyone’s shoulder, it should be okay. Somehow, you would last the next year and leave this town behind. With the stalker hot on your heels and the presents stacked in your bedroom, one on top of another. 

The middle of the second semester began quickly, with spring in full bloom and the sizzling sun once again letting you slip away for the pool parties at the jocks’ houses. You allowed yourself to get lost in the pleasures and madness of student life, with summer just around the corner. Only a few months left, and you would get a break from your stalker for the whole holidays.

But then… Suguru Geto confessed.

He came to your dorm with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, a small bun sitting high on his head, and pierced lips curling in a gentle smile, as he knocked on your dorm’s door. After months of following you obediently like a puppy, he knew every little thing about you.

Every mood swing of yours, each emotion, always oh so visible on your lovely face. He learned how to watch you, please you, and say the right things to become the perfect boyfriend.

He knew how your pussy smelled during the ovulation days. How you usually tasted, checking it each day with a pretty lingerie of yours pressed to his lips, and fingers pumping his leaking cock. 

He learned the melody you always hummed under the shower and the brand of shampoo that made your hair smell like the sweetest garden.

He found out what you liked and hated in bed, all the kinks you wished to try. The way your fingers pressed to your swollen clit, whenever you stayed in your dorm room alone. How your breath hitched when you were close, and thighs squeezed around nothing, although he truly wished it was his head being squished between the heavenly softness that haunted his dreams.

And when you opened the door, he knew that it was now or never. He, finally, was worthy to ask for your love.

"Hi, baby," he said, glancing at your figure dressed in nothing but a skimpy gown. 

Wrapping you a bit too tight, ending just above the mid-thighs and with perked nipples poking through the flimsy material. 

A scowl bubbled in your throat, and you quickly, with full force, tried to close the door. But he was quicker, slipping his heavy shoe right into the small crack. 

"Leave, or I’ll start screaming," you warned him, getting as an answer a low giggle.

He pushed the door easily, coming into your room. The dim light slipping from the night table bathed the small space with a soft glow. A few scented candles flickered on your desk and the bed of your roommate, as usual, was empty.

You took a few steps back, trying not to show any signs of panic. 

The sudden fear that rose in your chest. Breath becoming slightly more hitched, fingers trembling around the gown you tried to pull down. Eyes fixed on him, as if he could attack any minute now. 

But he, as always, was looking at you. Closely, carefully, with lavender warmth slipping up and down your body and a handsome smirk tugging on his lips. Long hair tickled his shoulder, swimming down along the muscular back dressed in leather jacket. Metal bars on his lips and eyebrows twinkled like coins under the spilling candle-flame, adding a sort of wickedness to his demeanour. 

Suguru Geto was… handsome.

Dear lord, he was beautiful. 

And as difficult as it was to swallow, you could not change the fact that your stalker was one of the prettiest men you had ever seen. With a horrendous and sinful character, yet the face of an angel.

So you allowed yourself to trace the broad back bulging under the jacket. The height looming over your shivering figure. Long fingers that gripped the bouquet and beefy thighs dressed in black jeans.  The woodsy scent of his cologne wrapped around your senses in an utterly pleasurable way, melting you in its warmth.

You hated the way he made you feel. Confused, scared, and most of the time simply furious. But somehow, on some days, a bit too balmy. With a heat spreading all over your body, slipping under the chest, down the belly, between the thighs, as if the wickedness of his actions, the sheer idea of how obsessed he was with you, made you excited. 

So then, while he stood in your dorm with a straightened back, you decided to wait. To see what other foolish plan would bloom in his devilish mind, only for you to bring it back to the headmaster. 

"What the fuck do you want?" you snapped, crossing arms over your chest.

He took a step closer, lavender eyes mingling with an excitement of a source that made your spine tingle in an unpleasant way. Long hand extended towards you, pushing a lush bouquet right into your arms. 

"Go out with me," he stated, not even curving his tone into a question. 

A statement, rather, it was as if he was utterly sure that you would agree.

And you stood there with the same scowl that didn’t leave your forehead even for a second. Fingers wrapped around the heavy bouquet, nostrils tingling with the strong, flowery smell you loved so much.

But the wrath coiling beneath your chest was dangerously close to spilling. Eyes bulged, hearing the question he dared to push after months of acting like a psycho stalker and turning your life into madness. Everyone looked at you like a crazy, delusional woman who tried to frame a poor outcast as a maniac who, Suguru Geto, definitely wasn’t.

And now he had the audacity to stand in your bedroom, checking your body dressed in nothing but a flimsy robe, as a sly smile tugged at his lips. 

"What did you just say?" Rolled in tremble, as you could barely stop the rage bubbling in your chest. 

His head tilted. Long legs took another step closer. Until the big hand lifted to nuzzle your soft cheek, strong thumb brushing the skin aflame with fury.

"Go out with me, baby. Let me love you as you deserve it." The silkiness of his tone made your head spin, in both an unsettling pleasure and madness. "And if you don’t want to date me, use me. It’s been a while since you slept with someone, hm? Why won’t you just use me for your pleasure?"

Thumb slipped to your slightly parted lips. The urge to bite it and suck on it fought in your mind, bringing an irrational feeling that made your lower lip tremble right under his digit.

His words clearly stated that he, in fact, did not know that you hadn’t given up on sleeping with other men. Because if he did…

"Why so sure that I’m not fucking with anyone?" You muttered, tilting head in a cheeky manner.

As if you wanted to indulge yourself in the psychotic game of his, fully aware that you would always end up as a loser. Because for the past few months, Suguru Geto was never, ever, letting you win any of the tricks you tried to play on him. The reports, gathering the evidence, paying people to give him the lesson, although the next day he was always appearing back on the university’s lawn. Fully aware of all your miserable attempts.

Something in his eyes twinkled, but the smile didn’t come off his lips even for a second. "Do you?"

You smacked away his hand, and with a swing, shot the flowers through the room. Gentle petals smashed against the wall, falling pitifully on your roommate’s empty bed.

Before he could even look their way, your arms wrapped around his neck, perked nipples pressed against his torso as you lifted yourself up on tiptoes. The sweetness of your skin immediately enveloped his senses, and it seemed this sudden, intimate gesture left him speechless.

"Every. Single. Night." You whispered, tugging harshly on the long, silky hair curling behind his neck. His breath slipped out shuddered, and, for the first time, you noticed a true rage bubbling in his gaze. "Think you’re so smart? That I’m scared of your stupid threats?" He didn’t answer, allowing himself to cherish the softness of your body pressed to his. "I’m fucking every day with a different guy. Guys, maybe? Who knows, maybe I’m already knocked up stupid after all the cum they–"

His patience finally snapped. 

One hand curled around your waist, the other lifted to squeeze your jaw before the last, nasty words would fully set his mind ablaze. The fingers dug painfully into your cheeks, the arm kept you in place, forbidding you from slipping away from the deathly clutches.

"Aren’t you a smartass, hm?" He chuckled, but his low voice was edged with the wrath that made the lavender irises narrow into a cat-eye glance. "I’m giving you an easy way out, baby. If you’re a fucking nymphomaniac, why won’t you make me your boy toy? Think I was joking?" He tugged you, drawing a soft groan from your throat. And as fear filled your body from head to toe, something exciting, maddeningly confusing, tingled in your fingertips.

"You are a fucking joke," a muffled mutter bounced off the walls, only making him squeeze your cheeks even harder. 

"I don’t think you’re in a position to make me angry, baby," he leaned closer, his lips mere millimetres from yours. 

Another move, and he could taste the sweetness of your lip gloss.

"Or what?" You snorted, enraging him even more. "You’ll kill me? Come on, psycho. At least I’ll get myself free from you."

Suguru never wanted to hurt you. He never wanted to do anything that would cause you even a moment's pain. But the way you spoke to him, the way your eyes twinkled with the truth of choosing death rather than spending another second in his presence, made his blood boil in a disgustingly dangerous way. 

Your doe eyes fixed on his, lovely face twisted in a wicked smile as he finally loosened his grip on your cheeks.

"Is that your final answer, then?" He asked, low bass filling the small room. Candle flames licked a side of his face, with warm tongues and peppered kisses. A devil truly looking like an angel. "I promise you’ll regret it, baby."

And with a final scowl, you pushed him away. This time, he allowed you to do it without a fight.

To kick his massive body out of your room and smash the door till the tremor bounced off the corridors. 

Back then, while gathering the beautiful flowers of the bed and pushing them all to the trash can, you didn’t know what consequences your decision would bring upon the lives of not just you, but all the other people you associated yourself with. The rage filled you from head to toe, making your mind go foggy from the dizziness and adrenaline that still pulsed in your veins. 

Back then, you thought that the official rejection would finally stop all his attempts to coax you into this weird relationship he had made up in his head and give you a little breather.

So when you didn’t notice his presence around yourself for the next few days, a grain of hope bloomed beneath your heart. That maybe, he finally decided to leave you alone. 

Your lingerie stopped disappearing, death threats were no longer found in your bag, and all the little presents stopped appearing on your bed. Life was getting back on track, and you could enjoy the last few months of university, hanging on jocks’ shoulders and slipping into parties every single weekend.

But as it would soon turn out, those few days of peace were nothing but a bad omen. The storm that would soon haunt not only your life but the whole campus itself. 

As on the night one of the male students had left your dorm, he disappeared. Simply, just like that, only to be found two days later in the local forest. With body dismembered into pieces, head a few meters away from the torso.

When the news spread across the campus, not a single student or professor was left unshocked, their hearts shattered. 

Did he have any enemies? People wondered. Did he find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The police went to you first, of course, since you seemed to be the last person who saw him that night. But the two officers didn’t get anything from the stuttering, and weeping body of yours, with dark circles swollen under your eyes. As, in fact, you didn’t even know his name, after meeting at some party and taking back for a quick fuck to your room. 

Weeks passed before you could somehow move on and find calmness within a company of another guy. Not a one-night stand, but simply someone whose kindness and gentlemanly manner made your mind flutter with peace. He talked to you gently and made a sweet, genuine laugh slip past your lips. A friend, companion, but of no love interest from your side.

And yet, after a while, he disappeared too. Only to be found in the lake, with a purple body bulging from the water and a head wrapped in a dirty sack. 

This case… made you spiral into madness. 

Because, as you would soon discover, men who got close to you in any way were always, always, going missing just a few days after exchanging a few simple words with you. Be it a random student working in a library or a waiter at your favourite dinner. It didn’t matter who they were to you, but a single glance at your face was enough to sentence them to death.

And whenever another person was disappearing, you always saw him.

Suguru Geto, looking at you from across the campus, with a diabolical smirk tugging at his lips. Of unmatched beauty, with cheeks, straight eyebrows, and almond-shaped eyes. Lavender gaze lingering, with an uncanny sense of a secret only the two of you knew. The love and obsession so heavy that he was ready to cut you off from any men if that would force you to crawl back to him.

So you simply stopped hanging around campus. You just gritted your teeth, hid face beneath the heavy hoodie, and left the room only for classes. Room – classes, room – classes, the route that, during the last month before the summer break, became your routine. 

You made minimal contact with other men, be it people in your class or a cashier at the local supermarket. Avoided the parties, gatherings, hangouts, just to not risk anyone’s life any further. 

Just one month, you thought, desperately wanting to move back to your parents’ house for the summer holidays. 

To leave Suguru, the university, this whole mess behind, and lock yourself far away from all the problems you already caused.

And then, a few days before leaving, Shoko knocked on your door. And when you opened with a puffy face and a shirt dirty from a chocolate ice cream you just stuffed yourself with, she sighed heavily, quickly coming inside.

"Do you even have a roommate?" She asked, noticing that the other half of the room was always empty.

With a brief nod, you fell back on your bed and closed the book you had just been reading. Ice cream in a big paper cup was melting on your bedside table, and heavy curtains cut off the summer light in the stuffy room. 

"She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend," you muttered, patting the place next to you. 

Shoko took a seat, watching the misery furrow your face. "You can’t cut yourself off. It’s not healthy, you know?" she said, tugging a lock of your hair back behind an ear. 

Your fingers fiddled with the old, pink tracksuit, picking on the little, plastic diamonds glued to the soft material. 

"I don’t want anyone else to die," a low, almost crying voice filled the space as you desperately tried to hold back the tears already swirling behind your eyelids. "What if he’s going to hurt you?"

She wondered for a second, taking in your state, a pain ripping at her heart. "Don’t worry, I won’t let that bastard get anywhere near me. Besides, it seems that he only aims for your…" She bit down on the lower lip, as if not wishing to confirm what was already obvious. "Anyways, I thought that maybe we could have some fun tonight. Nothing crazy, just a simple funfair with me, Utahime and Yuki."

You looked up from behind the wet eyelashes, seeing the comforting smile on your friend’s face.

"I don’t think I’m in the mood for fun," another sigh escaped your tightened throat. "Besides, he can follow me there."

She hummed, nodding her chestnut head. Short hair curled around the lean cheeks, and a single cigarette was pushed behind an ear. 

"Well, how about you slip away through the window? He won’t notice you leaving the dorm. His room is on the other side of the building; he won’t even see you cross the lawn."

A low giggle slipped past your lips, seeing a cheeky grin lift her lips. "And how do you know that?"

"I think you truly underestimate your friends. Yuki’s boyfriend is friends with his roommate, the nerd guy, Satoru. We’ll make sure he keeps him entertained for a few seconds," Shoko laughed, squinting her eyes like a sly kitty. "Besides, there’s some weird metal band in town. I’m sure he and the rest of Addam’s Family will hang out there. He already knows you’re too scared to even leave your room, so… he won’t suspect anything."

The plan indeed sounded good. And as your room was on the first floor, slipping away would be easy. The worst that could happen was a small scratch, but it seemed worth it to experience even the simplest moment of joy before leaving your friends for two months. 

At the same time… the fear was eating you alive. The thought that he might somehow be able to track your location sent a shiver down your spine. Made your mind freeze, heart trying to leap from the tightened chest. You didn’t want to hear about any more murders. Didn’t want to befriend kind, innocent people who would meet a tragic end only because of the psychotic stalker who cared for you in his sick, twisted manner.

And yet, without a second thought, you nodded, drawing a squeak from Shoko’s beaming face. She pulled you into a tight, warm hug, a sweet fragrance of perfume and cigarette smoke wrapping around your senses. 

"So get your ass up now and go take a shower," She said, pushing you towards the door. "I’ll prepare a little special outfit for our night out."

The bathroom was empty when you entered, but no one interrupted your long, warm shower. No heavy footsteps bounced off the tiled walls, and no one’s silky hair peeked down at your naked body. It felt almost unusual, yet you tried to enjoy this intimate moment of peace just as you used to, with the same melody hummed softly beneath the dripping rain and a sweet body wash lathering your skin. 

Colours seemed to slowly spread across your cheeks, the purple smooched disappeared from under your eyes, and a heavy, relaxed breath escaped your throat. 

The life, even for a slippery second, felt as if it was back under your control. 

When you turned to the room, a small, shocked gasp rolled off your tongue.

"I am not wearing that!" You scowled, looking at the set Shoko prepared for you. 

You had long forgotten about the tight, extremely short pink skirt and the sparkling white top that were hidden in your wardrobe. A set of white lingerie lay right next to them, and your heart almost stopped at the bra, thin enough to make your perked nipples visible through the flimsy top.

"What do you mean? You wore it so many times before!" she exclaimed, adding a pair of big hoops and milky-white heels. "Come on, don’t be a prude!"

"I’m not, but…" but what if some guy tries to talk to me, and he will be there, and…

"Nuh-uh, stop. I can read your thoughts," Shoko said, quickly wiping a towel over your naked body. Her chestnut eyes slid up and down your figure, a cheeky smile tugging at her lips. "Mhm, perfect. Dress up and let me do your make-up."

So after an hour and a long fight over the crimson lipstick that smudged your lips in an utterly whorish way, you and Shoko, under the sky blanketed in darkness, finally slipped away through the window. Bags fell onto the lawn first, heels following right after, only for your stupidly giggling lips to shush each other as you ran across campus. 

Yuki and Shoko were already waiting outside, and when you saw them crouched behind the bushes, a loud, alive laugh filled the warm summer night.

"Why didn’t you wait in the car?" You asked, slipping into the passenger seat.

Yuki started the car, slowly reversing from the university’s car park. "For your entertainment, dear." She chuckled before pulling onto the main road.

After ten minutes of laughing and chit-chatting in the car, with music blasting from the speakers and Yuki’s cabriolet swooshing along the forest roads, you finally noticed the lights.

Red, orange, and purple, with a Ferris wheel looming over the dark, haunted house, rollercoasters, and multiple colourful booths filling the place with a mixture of burnt popcorn and sweet cotton candy. The tacky music beamed from the stickers, bouncing off the nearby lake, hidden just behind the deep forest. 

Children, teenagers and students filled the park to the brim, with plastic red cups or paper boxes of food in their hands. Men tried to show off their muscles, hitting the high striker again and again until the golden bell buzzed with a red alarm, tickling your earlobes. A few squeaks escaped from the haunted house after a group of girls left it, laughing and giggling, while another group just entered, fear twisting their faces.

It seemed perfect, joyful and carefree, lifting a heavy burden from your shoulders and allowing you to experience a moment of happiness.

Shoko wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you towards the entrance.

After an hour, you completely forgot about the terror that had haunted you for the past year. You couldn’t count the cans of beer you drank, the amount of caramel popcorn that filled your belly with sweetness, all the times you almost barfed on the rollercoaster, and your miserable attempts to win a plush toy in darts.

Some men looked behind their shoulders to sense a direction from which sugary laughter was coming. Some tried to talk to you, but all three girls were immediately taking you away from their clutches, knowing that the presence of another guy was the last thing you needed.

But then all of them left for the haunted house, which you refused to enter, and suddenly became easy prey. Easy enough for someone to come into your line of sight and let out a chuckle when another soft ball didn’t hit the moving object. 

"I’m sorry, but you really suck at it," a low voice whispered in your ear, and you quickly looked over your shoulder. 

A young man, surely your age, with coffee-coloured eyes that mingled like little stars and sandy hair brushed slightly back. He stood tall, with broad shoulders bulging beneath the blueish shirt. Muscular arms peeked from beneath the short sleeves, with a few creamy buttons revealing his warm chest.

Your lips pouted. "I’m not that bad."

"It’s the fourth time you lost it."

Sixth, almost slipped away, but instead, you let out a giggle.

His eyes scanned your face, taking in the loveliness warming your skin, before drifting towards a booth filled with plushies.

"So which one do you want?" He asked, giving the cashier a few dollars for another try. 

You bit the plush inside of the cheek, pointing with a finger at the big, black cat with yellow eyes and a pinkish nose.

"He looks mischievous," a man murmured, nevertheless sending you a smile.

His legs spread a bit wider, and his body leaned over to get a better view of the moving cans.

"I like them a bit mischievous," you said, moving yourself to stand right next to him. 

With a corner of the eye, you noticed his gaze on your warm cheeks, before he looked back towards the game. "I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m a nice guy."

The first ball flew, hitting right in the middle of the small can. You gasped, shooting your head towards him. To look at the cheeky smile and sandy brows curving up. 

"You did not!"

He shrugged, rolling a chuckle. "Not bad, hm?"

Another three balls in his hand disappeared just as quickly. One by one, each hitting the can with force, until the metal cups fell to the ground. The cashier seemed just as surprised and charmed as you, watching the blue veins bulge on his forearms and squinting at the aim. 

When the last can fell, you suddenly, without a further thought, grabbed his shoulders and started jumping with loud squeaks.

"Oh my god! Amazing!" The pure happiness lighting your face swelled his heart with pride as he pointed a finger at the big, black cat.

"Here you go, pretty," He said, a gentle rosiness kissing his lips as he pushed the plush into your arms.

A bit too small to hug it fully, slightly bigger than your chest.

"Pretty?" Fell rather cheeky, as you walked towards one of the benches. 

The warm summer air coated your body, hair stuck to the glossed lips, and you noticed the way his finger curled into a fist, as if wishing to push those few strands away. 

"Well, aren’t you?" He scratched the back of his neck at the poor attempt to crack a flirty joke. 

And as heartwarming as it was, maybe a little cheesy, you smiled, nuzzling cheek into the soft fur of your new gift.

"Mhm, whatever you say, handsome."

This time, his lean cheeks blazed with colour. Eyes slipped over your shoulder, as if the loveliness of your eyes was simply too much to bear. Cute.

"I’m Nanami," he said, coffee eyes finally meeting yours once again. "I was watching you for a while and thought you were pretty…"

The shyness creeping up his neck melted your heart. He was handsome, of course he was, with a sharp jaw and sandy hair, a few golden strands as if licked by the sun's rays. Eyes deep and warm, like sweet cocoa, held the damnedest purity that men your age usually did not possess. Pale skin, coated with a sheen of sweat, fingers curling and straightening under the weight of your gaze.

You sat down on the nearby bench, nothing but a black cat keeping your thighs from touching each other.

"Are you trying to flirt with me, Nanami?" You asked, turning head his way.

"Is it working?"

You hummed, leaning closer with a devilish smile dancing on your lips. "I think you’re pretty cute."

Nanami turned out to be the utmost gentleman. Always paying attention to everything you said, listening with pricked ears and quick nods. Sometimes the conversation turned to him, but more often to you. And although you thought of yourself as a rather boring person, Nanami enjoyed every word that slipped past your lips.

He seemed rather boring, but kind, shy, and utterly curious about your persona. Making a pleasurable warmth bubble in your belly and a wicked need to coax him into your arms. To use him for your own satisfaction, as back in the days when you enjoyed spending your nights with men too good to hang out with girls of your sort.

And soon you started leaning closer. And closer, placing the cat on the other side of the bench, pressing your thighs together. He was sweetly, utterly aware of your presence. Of the sweetness that filled his nostrils, the warmth of your body and giggles kissing his earlobes.

"I was thinking…" fell sweetly, with your breasts stuck to his arm.

Nanami’s breath hitched, lips felt slightly open. "Y-Yes?"

"Maybe we could move somewhere quieter?" A lovely pout formed on your lips, doe eyes lurking up from beneath the curtain of lashes. "There’s a lake nearby. And I could reaaally use a cold swim right now."

You felt a tremor slip down his spine. The goosebumps rising on the skin of his bicep, you curled fingers around. A bulge in his trousers that made your eyes twinkle and lips lift in a wicked smile.

"But you don’t h-have a swimsuit," he said, perfectly knowing how stupid his reasoning was.

Because the lack of a swimsuit was, indeed, the whole point of this secret meeting. 

So when a low, "Do you mind?" Slipped past your lips, he quickly shook his head.

"Let’s meet in ten, then." You said, before walking away towards the hidden beach with a gentle sway of your hips and a big cat wrapped within your arms.

It was safer to meet there separately. The reasons were obvious, but Nanami didn’t need to know them. There was no need, as for the past few hours you had been carefully scanning the park for the dark, heavy shoes and their owner, a face that still haunted your dreams.

It seemed he truly had no idea of your whereabouts, so the invitation seemed quite safe. Nanami appeared too good to get himself tangled up in your whole mess, yet the egoistic, carnal need for pleasure was far stronger than the need to keep a clear mind.

 The short path through the dark forest led you towards a small beach, with trees looming over the crystal water and the moon peeking through the thick branches. Crickets hummed a summer melody, gentle waves crashed over the soft sand and without a second thought, you started undressing yourself. 

The top, skirt, heels, followed by the flimsy white lingerie. A shiver ran down your spine when you dipped your feet in the water. Lukewarm, but still cooling your body in such a pleasing way. You slowly went further, and further, till the lake wrapped around your hips and moonlight bounced off the crystal droplets gathering on your skin.

Soft sigh slipped past your lips as you immersed yourself fully, with only your head peeking over the calm surface.

After a while, you finally heard footsteps slowly coming towards the beach. Nanami was close, and so you went back to the shore, slowly, slowly, walking out of the lake, with beads coating your naked body. Hanging off the perked nipples, nuzzling into the collarbones, dripping down your pussy, and a sheer sight of you could make one recall legends of water nymphs. With a beauty that unlatched heaven itself, carrying a wicked spell that spiralled men into madness.

When the shadow lurked from between the bending trees, your lips curled. Head tilted, mind already imagined the fever that would hit his lovely, virgin cheeks. 

"Nan–"

And yet, before the name could fully roll off your lips, your breath hitched instead. 

Because the man who appeared in front of you wasn’t him. The kind boy you met just minutes ago.

No, but instead Satan himself. Demon, nightmare, a fiend plaguing your life since the year before.

With a tall, muscular body dressed in black, heavy shoes wrapped around his ankles, creamy skin drenched… in blood. Long fingers wrapped around the long knife, and this damned smile bubbled behind the lavender irises.

"You–" a shuddered breath escaped your tightened throat, body suddenly a lot more naked than it should.

Everything you showed, exposed, and wanted to offer wasn’t meant to be seen by him.

And Suguru Geto knew it. Oh, he knew too well, and that’s why the lavender gaze travelled up and down your body with a satisfaction.

"Hi, baby," he said, slightly tilting his head. "Why the surprised face? Have you waited for someone else?"

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to confirm the obvious. Instead, your hands lifted to cover the soaked breasts, eyes quickly fell on the clothes left messily on the sand. Four big steps and you could at least grab the lingerie.

But Suguru noticed the way your gaze wandered, and a small gasp escaped his lips. He was faster, with long legs carrying him to your panties before you could take a step, body still frozen in fear. With one hand gripping the knife, he bent over and grabbed the dirty panties with the other.

"Such a pretty set. All for me?" He giggled, lifting the material to his nose. You could hear a low moan as he took a deep, heavy sniff with utter pleasure. Pervert. "Fuck, baby. You always smell so fucking good." Before you could snap back, his tongue peeked out past the pierced lip, taking a long, moany lick of your juices, lavender eyes not leaving your face for a second. "And taste like heaven."

Something bubbled in your belly. A mix of emotions too strange to identify, making your mind spin into a fury and spine tingle with a craving too queer to admit. The sole fact that standing naked in front of your stalker felt…

"Where’s Nanami?" you added quickly, trying to ignore the way your thighs clenched the moment Suguru moaned around your panties.

He took a step closer, coming your way at an unhurried pace. Panties hidden in the back pocket of his jeans, a thumb brushing away your juice, mixed with a crimson liquid on his cheek.

Suguru shrugged, eyes still fixed on your face. "Who?"

Your fingers turned into fists, as "What did you do to him, psycho?" fell through the gritted teeth.

But the gentle crease appearing between your brows melted Suguru’s heart. Low chuckle bounced off the calm water, as he was only a few steps away. If he wanted to, he could simply extend his hand and grab you by the neck. 

"Baby, I really thought you learned your lesson," an angelic pout twisted his lips, as he pressed the drenched knife to his cheek. "Let me think… are you talking about the guy who was coming to see you? Blond, slightly shorter than me?"

When a terror flickered behind your gaze, his eyes lightened. "Ah, so that was him? Well, I didn’t like the fact that he was coming to meet my girl," Lavender irises dropped down to your breasts covered by your hands, before slipping towards the soft belly, hips, mound of your pussy, with a low growl tickling your ears. "Fuck, baby. I’m so happy this fucker’s dead. I can’t believe–"

Before Suguru could finish, you took a step.

And the next one, and another, before your palm met with his cheek. You didn’t expect the hit to be that hard, and yet he stumbled and fell on the soft sand. With a shock crossing his face and hand lifting to grab his burning skin. 

"Bab–"

You launched towards him, your hips straddling his, palms pressing his shoulders down until his head hit the ground. Everything felt too weird, unnatural, as burning rage took over your mind and adrenaline pulsed beneath your skin. 

Another slap echoed from the looming trees, and when his head flew to the left, you quickly turned it right with the next hit. And the next, next, counting each man who died because of you. The jock, the kind guy, the diner waiter, the student from the library… Nanami. 

One hit more ruthless than another, but the adrenaline cooed over the sizzling pain that ripped your palms. No tears ran down your face, no trembling washed over your spine. 

It was a wrath that had been simmering beneath your heart for months and finally found a way to spill in a deeply dishonourable way, leaving you filled with disgust for the violence he forced upon you. 

When you finally finished, with deep breaths slipping one by one through your parted lips and eyes looking down at his face, a sort of peace dripped into your mind. Upon seeing a thin thread of blood trickling down his lips and a nasty, lavender bruise slowly forming high on cheeks.

He lay still with a mix of shock and absolute, loving madness that slipped in a shudder past the bloody traces on his face. 

If Suguru Geto had thought he already loved you those few minutes before, now, with your naked body straddling his and cheeks pulsing from a beating he had himself awakened in you – he wasn’t sure whether love was enough to describe the devotion his heart swelled with.

Your breasts rose with deep breaths, lips slightly parted, while your hands still pressed his shoulder into the sand. And before he could speak, your finger hooked around his lip piercing, pulling him forward as pain shot through every nerve the metal had struck.

"Stop fucking testing me," you growled, with squinted eyes looking straight into his. "Think you’re so smart? I know your psychotic ass is too miserable to lay a finger on me. Pull another stunt like that and I’ll fucking kill you," you launched him forward, without a care whether the lip ring would rip through the skin. "Do you understand?"

He quickly nodded, but the heart-shaped irises were enough to raise another wave of fury beneath your chest.

And when he thought you would stand up and simply walk away, leaving him on a sand with a blood trickling down his chin and a hard cock trying to rip through his pants, you…

Kissed him. Smashed your lips against his, licking clean the crimson liquid pooling on his skin. 

Suguru was already taken by surprise, but now, feeling your warmth so close to his body, he could swear that heaven was nowhere but in the taste of your sweet breath.

He moaned, drinking the saliva dripping from your lips and feeling the wet pussy rolling against his bulging jeans. Your hands lifted to his cheeks, squeezing them tight till another pitiful groan slipped right into your mouth.

And when his big palms landed on your hips, you pulled back, giving him yet another slap. "Don’t fucking touch me, you psycho."

Your words fell harshly, but the desire bubbling in your lower belly and sticky juices coating his jeans were enough evidence to make you feel utterly, madly turned on by the miserable state he allowed you to put him in.

"Baby, fuck, sit on my face, I’m begging you," he moaned, looking down at the long, silky thread that dripped down from your cunt right onto his bulge. 

The sheer sight made his mind spin, and when you moved over his face, Suguru was sure that blood started dripping from his nose. 

"I don’t care if you’ll suffocate, but you better make me cum," you stated, looking down into his dazed eyes.

Knowing fully well that the death between your thighs would bring him the peace he did not deserve.

With one move, you sat yourself on his face, tongue already peeking out and plastered to meet the heavenly sweetness of your cunt. A low, loud groan filled your drenched walls as he could finally savour the flavour he had craved for so long. 

Lavender eyes rolled back, muscular body trembled as you sat with your full weight, till his teeth grazed your swollen clit and tongue sealed the leaking entrance. He drank the honeyed saps like a man starved, lapping through your folds with low moans and shallow breaths. Getting himself intoxicated by the creaminess trickling down his throat and coating the inside of plush cheeks with a sheen of sugar.

His hand immediately slipped down to his cock, fiddling with a belt, only to pull out a massive, leaking shaft that hit his abdomen. You looked over your shoulder, mouth watering at the sheer sight of the monstrosity he dared to keep hidden all this time.

He did offer to be your boy toy, and maybe, maybe, you would think it over, knowing the fatness that could poke each and every nerve deep inside your pussy. 

When his lips curled around your clit, sucking on the swollen button, your hips rolled in pleasure. 

"Fuck," you moaned, feeling a smirk already tugging on his bloody lips. 

The metal rings felt slightly cold, bringing a weird pleasure to the heat that ripped you from the inside.

His long fingers curled around the thick shaft, pumping it in slow, lazy strokes. The reddened head pulsed as if ready to burst, balls contracted whenever your hips rolled over and over again, smearing his chin, cheeks, nose in a creamy cum.

His tongue fluttered around your clit, folds, poking inside the tightening cunt. When his other hand slipped up to grab your tit, you allowed it with a soft groan. Long fingers rolled the hardened nipple, squeezing the fat that fit into his palm just right. 

"My sweetest," he pulled slightly away, forcing a frown upon your lovely forehead. "That desperate to get fucked, huh? I’m sorry my baby needed to wait that long."

It could look as if he was talking to you, but, in fact, his squinted eyes were nowhere but on your glistening pussy. With another wave of cum already sticking to his lips and lonely hole clenching desperately around nothing.

"My–"

"Stop talking," you muttered, grabbing a fistful of his silky hair, only to push him towards your cunt. "I’m far from cumming."

And he did as you ordered, plastering himself again to the heaven between your legs. 

This time, he lapped more hungrily. With lips, tongue, nose poking all your sweetest buds, sucking on the trembling clit and pushing, pushing, pushing inside the weeping cunt. Each roll of your hips tugged painfully on his piercing, but he didn’t mind. 

No, but rather took a carnal pleasure from the heaviness of your body, feeling that dangerous warmth bubbling in his loins. 

And you were no better, with head falling behind and eyes closing from the ecstasy that was ready to spill any second. Looking back on his cock, you moaned, already imagining the fat, leaking shaft nuzzled deep inside your pussy. With a slightly curved head hitting your womb and a warm cum filling you to the brim.

"Oh fuck, I’m close," an almost inaudible whisper rolled off your tongue, but Suguru caught it in time.

With a sly smirk and lips sucking on your clit harsher, till the plumped bud trembled on his tongue, leaking a few droplets of sap.

His face turned red, for you really cut the air off and made him suffer in pleasure, strangled beneath your oozing cunt. Eyes rolled back again, a low groan spread through your pussy, sending another wave of climax down your spine.

And within the next few rolls and his tongue digging deep inside your soft walls – you finally cummed. Gushed, all over his face, drenching it in splatters of crystal droplets, landing in his mouth, on cheeks, dripping down the forehead. Your thighs squeezed around his head, a pitched moan left parted lips, and fingers grabbed his hair tighter. 

You trembled, and trembled, feeling the ambrosial orgasm tickle your spine. Probably the first and best given to you through oral sex alone. 

And as embarrassing as it was to admit, Suguru was, by far, the only man who made you moan that loud. 

You didn’t have a moment to catch your breath. No strength to lift yourself up from his body. And to him it was of no problem, as the second later, the world spanned only for you to find yourself under him.

With thighs glued to your chest and ass slightly lifted up. 

"I told you–"

His lips fell onto yours before you could finish, drawing a sweet moan from your throat. 

"My poor baby is in heat," he muttered, licking a long stripe of your sweating cheek. "Let me take care of you. You waited so fucking long, didn't you?"

"And whose fault is that?" You snapped, feeling his smirk back onto your lips. 

He kissed you messily, yet with a sweetness and care you would never associate with a psycho of his sort. 

"I told you," he started, pulling away to take his shirt off. Muscles upon muscles glistened under the moonlight spilling through the trees, dark locks cascading down to his hips. "You will regret rejecting my love."

His trousers quickly joined the shirt on the sand, and soon he was hanging over you naked. With a heavy cock lying on your belly and droplets of precum leaking onto your belly button. It burned down through your skin – the hefty girth that made your mind spin from the sight alone. 

He didn’t cum, as if waiting to release himself deep within the warmth of your pussy, and his next "Last time you mentioned something about getting knocked up, hm?", only confirmed the nasty thoughts already bubbling in your skull.

"Don’t know how to use a condom?" You bit down on lower lip, deep inside knowing that you yourself would throw that condom away. 

There was simply no way you would pass up a chance to feel such a monstrous shaft deep inside you. His big palms hook under your thighs, folding you even further, till the breath alone slipped in trembled gasps and chest squeezed under the heaviness of his body.

And yet, you still tried to expose yourself even further, moving your hips in desperate need to meet the long-craved fraction and the maddening stretch. It felt so embarrassing, humiliating, to get yourself drunk on the pleasure that tickled your fingertips and made your lips fall open.

Dizziness already coiled behind your eyes, and Suguru could see it clearly. In the way you looked at his leaking cock, with this slutty, needy gaze.

"Do you want me to use it, baby?" He chuckled, leaning himself down. Only lick a long stripe down your neck, feeling the sweat tickle his taste buds. "Tell me you don’t dream about getting fucked raw and stupid."

A moan slipped past your lips when the head of his cock smooched your entrance, and lips sucked on sensitive skin right beneath your jaw. "Just do it already, fuck."

"Tell me you love me," He murmured, teeth grazing one of your pulsing veins. "Tell me you’ll stay, and I promise to give you everything."

Hips already rolling, as you tried to get yourself closer to his fatness. To the tip that oozed with sticky precum and the heat radiating from his cock. 

A pathetic mewl escaped your throat as he sank himself a bit deeper. But only the plump head, that already marked the painful stretch you would surely get after the rest of the shaft followed.

"Stop dreaming, you psycho," you gritted through your teeth, pushing out even more of the cum that wrapped in a creamy ring around his cock. You stretched your hand, taking a fistful of his hair, only to pull him closer. Till your lips crashed in another kiss, the dried blood sticking to your maws. "Fuck me stupid, and I’ll think about it."

And Suguru, as desperate as he was, needed only those few, mean words to shove his massive shaft deep inside your pussy. 

A loud scream bounced off the trees, soon muffled by his lips, drinking in every cry, every moan that started spilling out. 

The stretch was as painfully ecstatic as you expected, spinning your mind with drowsiness and rolling eyes into the skull. He filled every corner, every fold of your plush hole, till the reddened head smooched your womb. You trembled from head to toe upon a sudden intrusion, and the way he immediately started moving. 

Pushing, thrusting, shoving his cock till the balls squelched against your lifted ass, and nasty splashing filled the little beach. He kept you in place, with muscular arms folding you in half and lips licking, sucking, and biting on the sensitive skin of your neck. Chest plastered to your nipples, brushing the perked buds each time he rammed his cock inside your weeping cunt.

The air felt sticky and steamy, with the sweetness of your breaths mixing whenever another moan slipped past your lips, and Suguru watched carefully as pleasure twisted your face.

The ethereal beauty that warmed your cheeks, eyes lidded in delight, a stream of spit dripping down your chin, before he licked it with a low, nasty groan.

"Fuck, baby, I waited so long," He muttered, mind spinning into madness whenever your plush cunt clamped on his cock. "So hungry, weren't you?"

When his fingers slipped between your bodies, only to press against your clit, a pitched, "Mmm y-yeah, fuck, I hate you so much," rolled right into his smirking lips.

He chuckled, shoving his shaft faster, deeper, till a small bulge appeared right under your belly button. "Do you? Because I thought you, ugh, liked them a bit mischievous, huh?"

You heard those words somewhere before. Maybe because they were the same words said to Nanami.  

But then, with his cock stuffing you, nasty, full and plush lips caressing yours, you couldn’t give a single fuck about how he knew about them. The only thing that mattered was his heavy, beefy body pressed to yours, leaving barely any space for the warm air that desperately tried to slip between your sweating skins.

"Suguru," a lovely mewl escaped your throat when his curved tip hit your sweet spot inside. Ramming into it relentlessly, with a force that drove your body into the sand. "So, oh god, you fill me so good."

His lips met your jaw, chin, lavender eyes tracing each scowl of your face. "You love it, don’t you, baby?" Big thumb rolled the swollen clit, pulling another pinched moan from your throat. "I know, baby, you love it so fucking much. And if I’ll do this," He rammed his tip against your spot again, before nuzzling it right against the plumped womb. "You will cum very, very soon."

And he was right. Pushing all your buttons, kneading your body in all the right places as if he knew exactly how to make a warmth bubble in your belly. 

Fingers of one hand dug painfully into the backs of your thighs as you opened them even further, letting him slip into you even deeper.

"Talk to me, baby." He ordered, feeling the erratic clenching of your walls. "Tell me how much you love me."

"I love it–ahhh," rolled instead, and you could feel a dissatisfied tsk bouncing off your chin.

"No, baby," his teeth sank into your neck, his thumb pressing on your clit even harder. "Come on, baby, tell me how much you fucking love me. I’ll kill every man you’ll ever try to talk to. Hell, I’ll slash your pretty friends’ throats if they try to keep me away from you." Each nasty word was marked by a more brutal roll of his lips. Till the sweet pleasure of smooching your womb soon turned into your painful cries. "Say it, say that you love me."

The warmth in your lower belly was ready to spill, head lulled to the side only to be brought back by his lips, tugging harshly on yours. He bit into them, then licked the swell with a coo, as if trying to coax you into the madness-confession he had waited so long for. 

And you, wrapped around the heavy weight of his cock inside your cunt and the way he made your feet curl in pleasure, finally, unfortunately, had given up. 

"Suguru, I love you–nghh–s-so fucking much," a sweet mewl slipped past your lips. "So good, fuck, you feel so fucking good. I love you, love you, love you, love you–"

Your desperate cries were muffled by his low groan, dripping into your throat, as he finally stilled. 

With cock kissing your womb, lips lick the tears rolling in the corners of your eyes and a thumb pinching the trembling clit. 

You came with a loud cry, squirting all over his beefy thighs, abdomen, soaking the trembling shaft that started filling your clamping walls with waves and waves of cum. Its stickiness glueing to your soft insides, creamy droplets plugging you so full, till the milky threads spilled from the rim of your cunt. 

And in the brief moment when Suguru Geto let his guard down, your fingers seized the long knife left messily on the sand and, with a single furious thrust, drove it deep into his left thigh. 

A low groan slashed through the air when the shimmering iron struck his thick muscles, sending a painful wave over his spine. 

You rolled his heavy body off, milky cum still dripping down your thighs and eyes… 

Eyes looking no better than his. With heart-shaped irises glancing down at his body wrinkling in pain, with a sweet giggle, as you finally felt the winning pleasure spreading all over your chest. 

His naked, muscular figure sprawled on the sand, cock already getting hard once again, upon seeing the bloody, sticky mess you left on him. Lavender gaze gazed up to you with a swelling devotion, and you needed to grit your teeth not to give him one last slap. 

Instead, you started dressing yourself, slowly, with eyes squinted and lips tugged by a sly smile. 

"I should fucking kill you," tickled his ears, and he could only give you a short nod. "But it would be a waste of resources," your eyes slipped onto his already leaking cock.

"I’ll come over tonight, baby," he mumbled, wrapping his hand around your ankle. If he could, he would crawl behind you, but the pain slashing through his thigh was already spiralling him into dizziness. "Fucking, wait for me, I’ll come over."

"I’ll be taking a shower in two hours, and I expect to see you there," you said with a final low hum and a tilt of your head, before walking away. 

And Suguru… he had to jerk himself twice before he could finally stand up, swaying and pain swirling droplets of sweat on his neck. Yet, neither death nor such a minor injury could ever keep him away from his sweet, precious girl.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

You know what, I kind feel sorry for Nanami... anyways, pyramidhead Toji next! I haven't written Toji for such a long time! I hope you enjoyed the first story <3

art by @/sayaartss on ig dividers by @uzmacchiato

Wooyoung fully turned around at that, brows knitted together, kitchen sink still running, the titanium holding three more dishes he still had to wash. “While she was driving? Or did she pull over?”

His son looked at him with such an incredulous look it made Wooyoung feel a little stupid for asking the question. With a little giggle, Kyungmin answered, “She pulled over, duh.”

“Okay, attitude,” Wooyoung is always amused whenever he sees you in your son, even if he thinks Kyungmin is all him. Sitting in the same clothes he wore to school today, a tee shirt, loose jeans that Wooyoung bought him, his favorite Elsa and Anna socks, his eyes went right back to his tablet, the case bright green against the deep granite countertop. “Did she go to the doctor?”

His kid shrugged. 

“Kyungmin,” Wooyoung’s tone was stronger, beckoning for his son’s attention. The boy lifted his eyes away from his screen as Wooyoung asked, “Has she said anything about it?”

“Just said she’s sick,” Kyungmin shrugged again, sounding irritated that Wooyoung was taking him away from his screen time, “she told me not to tell you.”

Wooyoung’s smirk was anything but involuntary. His son, indeed. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“It’s stinky,” he uttered, crinkling his nose as he said it. A little quieter, a little smaller, he mumbled, “And it’s scary.”

“Don’t be scared,” Wooyoung soothed, turning off the kitchen sink before leaning his elbows on the granite, leaning over the countertop so he can be eye-to-eye with his son. “Mommy’s okay, I promise.”

Kyungmin lifted his eyes, a twinkle of fear swirling in whiskey, eyes that were identical to his own. He whispered, “How do you know?”

It made sense then, why he hasn’t been served papers. Even if it fills him with hope, he knows there’s a long fucking way to go before actual progress is made, although it’s already been over two months since that dreadful night on your living room floor. He expected to be served within two weeks, maybe three, but nine have passed and nothing, not a whisper about his least favorite word that starts with D. 

God knows he hasn’t brought it up. 

“Because daddy’s always right,” Wooyoung gleamed, and the smile made the corner of Kyungmin’s lips curve upward. Wooyoung’s head tilted, “Aren’t I?”

Kyungmin shook his head, “No.”

“Boo,” Wooyoung’s lip lifted, dragging out the word in a sneer. “Come on, I was right this morning when I said making bunny ears with your shoe laces is easier, right?” Kyungmin’s lips pursed like he was trying to fight his smile from growing. Wooyoung made his way around the kitchen counter, coming up behind Kyungmin, “And I was right earlier when I said you’re still ticklish, wasn’t I?”

His hands jumped for Kyungmin’s sides, and his heart sang listening to his son’s loud, wild giggles. He stopped tickling to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, planting a kiss to the top of his head. “Daddy’s always right, and I said mommy’s gonna be just fine, so trust me, okay?”

Just fine. Nine weeks of pick-ups and drop-offs damn near silent, everything was so fucking far from fine he’s barely slept in weeks. He finally came clean with his therapist, who he hoped and prayed had something legally binding her from reporting his lawyer in some way, which might be the result of leftover anxiety from doing such a thing in the first place. 

He should have waited. He probably shouldn’t have done it at all, but he did, and he should have fucking waited to tell you. If you’re pregnant, which he’d place a million dollar bet on if you’re throwing up–if this pregnancy was anything like your pregnancy with Kyungmin–he could have waited until you were farther along. Hell, he could have waited until the baby was born. 

Any time would have been better than the time he chose. When you two were on better terms, smoother terms, he should have told you then. When it might’ve felt like everything was falling into place. Instead he ripped things apart all over again, and now they’re worse than they were to begin with and fuck he was back to square one or even something before that. Square negative ten. 

His therapist wouldn’t agree with any of that, but whatever. He’s losing his mind. But the little boy in his arms is keeping that singular thread of rationality stronger than steel. 

“Come on, stinky, shower time.”

“I’m not stinky,” Kyungmin huffs, “you’re stinky. You smell like… you smell like my butt.”

Wooyoung raises his brows at the little’s head tipped backward into his stomach, “So your butt is stinky?”

Kyungmin smiles, “No.”

“Okay, so maybe we’ll go to bed early tonight, since you forgot how to make sense,” he lifts his son by his armpits onto the floor, and the tablet dangles from his right hand, which Wooyoung scoops up with his own. “This screen is frying your stinky brain.”

“You have a stinky brain,” Kyungmin points, then turns on his heel, giggling just as wild and just as loud all the way to the bathroom. 

“This stinky brain created you,” Wooyoung calls after him. “If I’m stinky, you’re stinky!”

“You’re the stinky one!” 

Wooyoung can’t help the snort that rips from his nose as he throws the tablet onto his couch, making his way towards the bathroom in the middle of the singular hallway in his entire apartment. Almost-bachelor-pad, Yunho and Aurora had called it. “Then I’ll take a shower after you, stinky boy. Do you need help with the faucet?”

“Yes, please!”

His smile doesn’t leave the entire time he’s in the bathroom. Turning on the faucet to the right temperature, helping Kyungmin with his shirt that got stuck going over his head, even smelling Kyungmin’s stinky socks that really were fucking stinky. Hearing his son laugh again, his favorite sound in the world, he remembers the days he could hold the boy over one forearm like it was yesterday.

Fuck, and he might have another? Another shot at creating a life? Hearing his baby laugh for the first time? Take their first steps? Hear their first word? Another child to see himself in, to see you in, a life created by both of you, by the time he’s spread out on the couch half-listening to Kyungmin singing a song from Kpop Demon Hunters, somehow he mindlessly got his phone out, your contact information on the screen. 

Somehow. 

You don’t pick up on his first try. So he calls again. 

“Is Kyungmin okay?”

You sound like summertime. Even if your voice is ebbed in panic, burnt at the edges like you’re trying to contain the flame, you sound like the morning of August twenty-third, the morning he met you, fifteen years ago.

“He’s fine–”

“What do you want?”

The flame burns freely once more. 

He didn’t really think this far. Tongue-tied, he sputters over his next words, “I- um, just- uh–”

“Wooyoung,” your voice is stern, a warning. It doesn’t help how each one of his limbs has seemed to lock up. “What do you want?”

“You.” Fuck his brain and his vocal chords for not working as a team. He lets the following pause settle, hoping you’d take it as a joke, at least. If this was a month ago you would’ve hung up as soon as he said Kyungmin’s fine. 

“Well you fucked that up,” you say matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know it down to his very fucking soul. Closing his eyes, bringing his palm to his forehead, he sighs. “Is there anything in particular that requires you calling my phone at six o’clock on a Tuesday?”

“Am I allowed to talk to you?”

“No.”

“What?” There’s a part of him that feels like throwing the same tantrum Kyungmin threw yesterday. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a deceitful, selfish asshole, and a pain in my fucking ass.”

His lips thin, face going flat. Can he blame any of this on pregnancy hormones yet?

“Look–”

“No.”

“Please–”

“No.”

“Holy shit can I please just fucking–”

“No.”

And the line runs dead. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, throwing his phone on the couch beside him. He groans after watching it bounce to the floor, sinking deeper into the tough, barely broken-in cushions, knees spreading, he’s really fucking close to throwing that tantrum. 

“About nine weeks.”

“Nine?!” Your eyes blow wide, staring at your doctor who’s brown hair curls deliciously around his ears. The word came out no prettier than a loud shriek of terror. “Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t realize I was that far along.”

“You don’t sound particularly joyful,” Yeosang’s smile doesn’t quite reach his assessing eyes, your doctor but also one of your closest friends. “Which brings my next question, where’s your husband?”

Your eyes thin, “Where’s your wife?”

He lifts the probe from your stomach, popping a brow. He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, despite the spark of curiosity in the smooth rasp of his voice, “Got it, won’t ask any more questions in that department. She’s at home with the girls, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, happily married and whatever the fuck,” you huff, the paper beneath your head crinkling as it falls back onto the examination seat, chair, table, whatever it is that’s abhorrently uncomfortable beneath your body. “Please wipe the jelly off me before I flip shit.”

Yeosang laughs at that, a tiny giggle under his breath, “Does he even know you’re pregnant?”

“Hell no,” you respond, cringing as he takes a towel to your lower belly, wiping softly. 

Yeosang’s head snaps to yours, “Is it his?”

You pull your shirt over your stomach, tugging the paper towels out of the waistband of your leggings, threatening to throw them at him by crumpling them up and holding them over your shoulder. “Whose else would it be, motherfucker?”

“Damn,” Yeosang mumbles, taking a step back, “you’re a bundle of sunshine right now.”

“I’m irritated,” you grind out. “I’m pregnant and still fucking married to my stupid fucking husband.”

“You don’t have to be pregnant,” Yeosang sits back on his stool, a small, blue cushion on wheels. He rolls toward the counter across the room, grabbing his clipboard, “You don’t have to be married, either.”

You sit up on the table, arms planted behind you, knees spread, head tilted. “I know.”

“I’m not gonna ask for details,” he looks up at you over his clipboard, eyes deep, comforting, radiating intelligence. Doctor’s eyes. “But you have options, and support. Obviously you have my silence, too.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a grim smile before running your fingers through your hair. “Do you and Keni ever think about having more?”

“Two girls is enough,” Yeosang laughs a little. “Winnie is bad as hell. Nina’s good, though, she sleeps like a fuckin’ tank.”

“Kyungmin slept, too,” your smile is a little more genuine at the mention of Kyungmin, but knowing there’s more to discuss brings the frown right back. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I guess I should tell him first.”

Yeosang stands again, “You have some time, do whatever feels right. He doesn’t have to know, either, it’s your choice. Call me and I’ll write you a script if you need it, okay?”

“Thanks, Yeo,” your smile is so close so being real it almost surprises you–the amount of real smiles have been few and far between for the past nine weeks. “Do you need anything from me? Am I good to go?”

“Call me with a decision and then we’ll have the baby talk,” he nods, so sure of himself, so unlike the guy who’s lawn you used to loose your guts on after hazy nights at the bar. Anything before Wooyoung feels like nothing but a fever dream now, any life you had, any experiences. 

You sure as hell haven’t gotten any more after him, if after him ever even existed. 

With a few waves to some nurses and technicians in goodbye, you trudged your pregnant ass back to your car. An SUV, one big as shit and black, the interior was a sauna after forty-five minutes inside Yeosang’s practice. You were lucky to have him, your friend of a decade now; you met him when he was still studying to get his PhD, when his wife was still his girlfriend, and the two were just happy to be out of their university and settled into something small while Yeosang finished out his schooling. Nights out at the local bars when you were still on the prowl for a man, before you ended up stuck with stupid fucking Wooyoung the moment you walked into corporate city. 

It didn’t feel good, knowing there was a life forming inside you, and he wasn’t there to hold your hand through it all. That was easy to admit, but to get over the breach of trust, to ruin all the growth you thought you made with three words, we’re still married. You still spent a year alone, taking care of Kyungmin without any help from him, but you thought you were alone. No ties. 

Just to find out you were still married the entire time. 

Call me with a decision. 

You sighed, feeling the sweat forming at the base of your neck, taking it as a sign to flip the engine and get out of Yeosang’s parking lot. A dim hum of music pours through the speakers, a stupid love song playing, you bare your teeth as a low curse sneaks from between your lips. Even the universe wanted you to call him. 

He answers on the first ring. 

On speaker, his already loud voice is amplified in your car, filling the cabin of the SUV. “Are you okay?”

You make a face, brows twisted, lips curled, not that he could see you. “Yes? I’m fine. What are you doing?”

“I’m working.” You could almost see him, making the same confused expression that you wore. “Why?”

You glance at the time at the top left corner of the screen before asking, “Can you meet me for an early lunch?”

“Ofcourseareyoukiddingme–”

You try to scowl, but your lips lift at the corners without you allowing them to. “‘Kay. You know where.”

“You know I do.”

It took every single second of your twenty-two minute drive from Yeosang’s practice to Genesis to calm your heart rate, to get all of your thoughts in order. You haven’t spoken to Wooyoung other than a few small arguments over the past nine weeks, all resulting in you hanging up the phone before he could get more than six words out. You didn’t want to hear his explanation, whatever reasoning he’s made up in his brain that’s convinced him any of this is okay. 

He’s waiting in the same booth you always shared. And for a second, maybe less, he looks like he did fifteen years ago. Face smoothed out, not a line or a wrinkle to be seen, his hair is longer, his eyes are brighter– but the illusion is gone as soon as it's created. 

Because he’s there, he’s smiling, he’s waiting for you. And fuck your heart for picking up speed, for the trickle of sweat at the back of your neck, fuck your brain for remembering that shred of hope you had nine weeks ago. For thinking everything would fall into place, that you could be normal again, that your divorce might’ve been a mistake. 

“Hi, wifey.”

He’s surrounded by brown leather and sunshine, the worn, wrinkled booth making his two-piece suit look out of place. Tall windows douse him in warmth, whiskey eyes glowing amber where the sun catches, his skin so glossy it's almost wet. Fuck him, most of all, for being this fucking beautiful, for becoming impossibly more gorgeous with age.

Your top lip curls, “It’s not funny or cute anymore, Wooyoung.”

“There was a time when it was?” He wears a pretty smile, one corner of his mouth lifted in that sinful fucking smirk, showcasing his pointed teeth. 

You slip into the other side of the booth and you wish the movement was more graceful, but after years of use the leather isn’t as flexible as it once was, and neither are you. You can remember coming here when you’d just started working three doors down, seeing Wooyoung morning after morning, you can still remember his coffee order, not that it's changed.

If the walls only knew what they created, what would become of the two of you. Maybe they would’ve whispered a secret to you, maybe they’d say don’t let the pretty boy buy you a coffee. Not that you would’ve listened. 

“I’m not here to catch up,” you huff a breath, throwing your purse into the space beside you. He’s watching you intently, taking in every detail, every expression, every movement like he’s waiting for something. 

“Okay.” It’s an absent-minded word, his eyes dancing around your face, your body, distracted. 

Your brows knit together, “Hello?”

His eyes find yours, and like you’d pushed the on button, his smile returns. “Hi, beautiful.”

“We need to talk,” you cross your arms over the table in front of you, back slouched. He nods, face blank of any expression, ready for whatever you’d throw at him. Ball in hand, prepared to pitch, a waitress cuts you off before you even had the chance to speak, placing two plates between you. 

Then you notice the water placed just to your left, the coffee already half-drank before Wooyoung. Your brows furrowed so fucking far together they might as well be considered a unibrow. 

Thanking the waitress, Wooyoung looks at you warily for a second before he speaks. “I didn’t know if you… wanted coffee, so I just got you water. And what you always used to order when we came here for lunch.”

“The same trick won’t work twice,” your eyes thin, remembering the dinner you shared nine weeks ago. “But thank you.”

His smile is small, his lips mostly flat, pulled up ever so slightly at the edges. “Figured you needed a bite to eat, but I know you’re just here to talk. Go ahead.”

A meal you’ve eaten a thousand times, one that’s always smelled so fucking good your mouth watered, now smelled… wrong. Different, gross. You feel the familiar curling in your stomach, the same one you’ve felt four times a fucking day for the past two weeks, you grab the glass of water and bring it to your lips before your body forces you to gag. 

Wooyoung, two hands already curled around his sandwich, halts his movement entirely, like someone pressed pause. “You okay?” You nodded mid-sip, swallowing down the water like it’d fix the issue. Slowly, Wooyoung lowers the sandwich back to his plate, “Are you sure?”

All you can get out is a measly “Yeah.” It wasn’t convincing. 

The smell hit your nose again– worse, your stomach flipped, skin going hot, blood sizzling. Panic floods you, heartbeat picking up, you look over your shoulder, finding the bathroom where it’s always been, stored in the corner. 

You can hear ceramic sliding against wood, Wooyoung sliding your plate toward himself. He juts his chin in the direction of the bathroom, “Go. It'll be gone when you come back out.”

You find his eye, being met with understanding so fucking clear you wonder if Yeosang called him. You know he didn’t, he wouldn’t break your trust– there was no time to think about it, you sprinted to the fucking corner with one thought on repeat in your mind: Hold it until you reach the bathroom.

You can barely feel your knees crunch against tile for the entire six minutes you’re in the clean, air-conditioned space. When the wave of nausea washes away and all that’s left is the lingering, mild dizziness and slight embarrassment from emptying your guts in a public bathroom, you wash your hands, cup some water into your mouth to wash out the taste of stomach acid, then take a few steadying breaths before walking outside again. 

It feels brighter, somehow. Loud, music playing, people dressed in business casual keeping the place buzzing, servers running around, yelling orders over the counter. It eases you further, knowing that no one knows, that no one heard. 

When you get back to the booth, he’s quick to let you know that one person knows. He knows. 

With full confidence, he says it like he was the one telling you, “You’re pregnant.”

“Surprise” is all you can say, it’s flat, void of warmth or joy. You fall into the booth, bones heavy, forehead still sweaty. You reach for the water again, sucking down more of the ice-cold liquid, willing it to flush out the disgusting feeling that refuses to leave just yet. 

“Holy shit,” he says under his breath, eyes widening as he sinks into the booth, drowning in brown leather. “How long have you known? How far along?”

You smack your teeth, “I’ve known for two weeks, but I’m nine weeks along.”

“Nine?!” His eyes nearly fall out of his head, leaning forward again, his upper half hanging over the now cleared-off wood. “Have you seen Yeosang yet?”

“I just left.” You prop an elbow onto the table, leaning your temple into your fist, your tone coming out casual. 

Wooyoung’s breath catches, his voice shrinking. “You went without me?”

You nod, “We didn’t really talk about the baby, just that I’m pregnant with one. He told me to call him back with a decision and then we’d discuss.”

“A decision?” Wooyoung’s perfectly maintained brows furrow. “What kind of decision?”

“Whether I’m having my liar husband’s baby or not,” you answer quick, sharp. Your words land like a blow, you watch his face bend, softening into something less excited, less shocked. 

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes finding the table, processing your words, letting them sink in. There's a beat of silence and you can hear the room again, the music, the chatter, dress shoes against the floor, servers yelling orders. You let him sit in the silence, in the thought. 

He looks up again, voice small, nervous, curious, “Are you leaning a certain way, or…?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, Wooyoung. I don’t want to have a baby alone, but I don’t want anything to do with you, either.”

“I know.” His elbows find the table, rubbing his face with his palms, heaving a rough breath into his hands. Finally sinking back into the booth, he takes another pause before he says, “I fucked up bad, and again, I’m sorry. I’ll be here for you no matter what you decide.”

Your face morphs into surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he nods, but he doesn’t smile. “Whatever you want, I want.”

“Damn, fuck you for being a good guy,” you smack your teeth, and his brows furrow, a smile daring to curl his lips. “You’re fucking stupid, but you’re like, morally good. And you’re not helping with my decision-making.”

A laugh pushes through his lips, one relieved and confused all at once. “Did you expect me to flip the table and demand you keep it?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” you shrug, shaking your head. “Not that, but I don’t know, maybe a little push back, I guess. Not that I want that, please don’t do that–”

“I had a friend,” he cuts himself off, “Aurora went through that, I went through it with her–”

“You went through it with her–?”

“No!” It comes out loud, sudden. “No, it was Yunho’s–”

“Yunho’s?” 

“Jesus Christ let me get one sentence out.” He waits for your sheepish nod before he continues, “Yunho got her pregnant before she was ready to have a kid, we were still in school and really close at that time, I helped her through it, the whole thing. Decision-making, actually doing it, I was in the room with her, I was present for the whole process, start to finish. The choice is very much yours.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “How was she… after?”

“Not pregnant.”

“Wooyoung,” you warn.

He sighs, “Not good, but she didn’t regret it.”

You sit back in the booth, sweaty back hitting the cool leather. Your lips scrunch to one side, “It’s too heavy, all of it. I don’t know if I can forgive you for lying to me, Wooyoung.”

“I can’t blame you,” he answers simply with a shrug, like he knows he’s made in his bed and he’s willing to die in it. “I wouldn’t forgive me, either. But please just… don’t forget I didn’t have any bad intentions. I love you and Kyungmin so fucking much.”

Your face finds your palms, elbows propped up on the table, fingers sliding back into your hair. “I know you didn’t, I know, that makes everything so much more confusing. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Take your time, jagi,” he leans forward onto the table, one arm laying across the wood, fingers landing beside one of your elbows, ghosting your skin like he was scared to touch you. “You don’t have to make a decision today. Sleep on it, sleep on it for a few days, for as long as you can.”

Your eyes land on his palm laid open, wanting so badly to put your hand in his own, to feel the comfort only he can give you. You cross your arms over the table instead. 

Throat feeling tight, you will your emotions to stay deep below the surface as you whisper, “I’m tired of making decisions by myself, Wooyoung.”

“I can’t help you with this one, baby,” he frowns, head tilting, keeping his open hand as close to you as he can without touching you. “You know where I stand, how I feel, and you know I’ll be beside you every step of the way with whatever you choose.” 

Your face scrunches ever so slightly, “Will you? Because you not being beside me is what got us here in the first place, Woo.”

He pulls his arm back into himself and you can feel the loss of heat even if he hasn’t touched you. “I have a lot to make up for,” he sounds solemn, but not apprehensive. Confident like he knows he’ll have the opportunity to do it. “I meant everything I said when we went out to dinner that night, every single word. I still mean it, I still want to do everything I can to fix us.”

You swallow down your tears, but they still fill your waterline, heavy and hot and salty. “I don’t know if you can fix us, Woo. I don’t think… I don’t think you can.”

As if he wasn’t going back to work in less than a half hour, tears fill his waterline, too. He tightens his mouth to stop his bottom lip from quivering, but you catch it, and you understand the feeling so fucking deeply it makes your own tears fall. 

You sit in silence, the world resuming around you all over again. Shouts and shoes and bass, filling the space between you, the wooden table feeling a mile long. Too far away, too much space, too much time spent in grief to come back together. Two people with a past and nothing more.

“Alright,” he says after a few minutes, voice distraught. Swallowing down his tears, ignoring the red that’s bloomed across his cheeks, his neck, he acts like you can’t see that you just shattered his entire world. “If you need anything, if you need me to take Kyungmin, whatever you need, I’m a phone call away.”

Guilt swirls, heavy and leaden and too similar to the nausea you’re nearly used to at this point. Immediately you want to take your words back, even if they’re true, even if you mean them, your heart fucking aches, everything aches. He gets up from his side of the booth, walking around to your side, leaning in with one knee digging into brown leather just to press a kiss on the top of your head.

It feels too much like goodbye. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, small enough that you aren’t sure you were supposed to hear it.

Looking up at him, you can’t bring yourself to say it back. He waits for it, lingering just long enough, but he nods with the silence, with the finality of it all, and then he’s gone. Just like that. 

Wooyoung stares at the stack of papers on his desk.

On the first read, his heart was so deep in his ass it almost emptied out on the desk chair beneath him. On the second read, tears fell, so many fucking tears he had to reschedule his one o’clock and his two o’clock meeting. On the third read, he decided you’re creative, serving him divorce papers with the same exact disclosures and framing of the fake-divorce Wooyoung curated over a year ago. 

An hour later, he’s just pissed off that you served him. That you had some random fuck drop off legal documents at his job, where forty other people work in very close capacity. They can all go fuck themselves if they had anything to say about him, about his marriage, but for you to do that to him? You couldn’t have just handed them to him when he picked up Kyungmin yesterday? This must be why you hid from him, why you’ve been fucking hiding from him, sending Kyungmin out to his car before he had the chance to get out of the driver’s seat. It feels petty, childish. Maybe he deserves it.

His jaw clenches harder the longer he stares, molars grinding to the point of near-injury. His fists curl over his thighs, the rest of his body so locked up he isn’t sure if he can even move right now. He has thirty days to respond. Thirty days to process the fact that he’s no longer a married man. Thirty days to try and fix what he uprooted at his job almost four months ago, with the idea that all of his newfound spare time would be going to you. Thirty days to process that he ruined the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

His anger’s gone straight to his head by the time he picks up his phone. Holding it up to his ear, he waits for it to go through before he says, “Can I ask a favor?”

There’s noise in the background, a baby crying, fabric or something rough bristling against the speaker. After a moment of nothing but noise, Aurora’s voice comes through, out of breath as she says, “What’s up?”

“Can you take Kyungmin home with you when you pick up Aden from school today? I’ll pick him up later.”

There’s a pause before she carefully responds, “Yo’s picking him up, but yeah, I’ll tell him. Can I ask why?”

“She served me papers. She’s divorcing me.”

Aurora gasps, “You’re fucking lying.”

Wooyoung runs his free hand over his face, groaning out his frustration, “I need to go over there and talk to her. I haven’t seen her, haven’t talked to her other than a few texts, I don’t even know if she’s still fucking pregnant, Ro.”

“Yes, absolutely, go over there.” Wooyoung can hear her nodding, her voice reassuring as ever, already in plan-mode, search and rescue. “I’m so sorry, Wooyo.”

His heart still laying heavy in the pit of his stomach, he sighs, sitting back in his chair, the tips of his fingers meeting his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, but it’s only been two weeks since I met with her at Genesis. Two weeks, and it’s been almost three months since the night I told her we were still married.”

“You said it felt like the end, though, didn’t it?”

Wooyoung deflates in his rickety office chair. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“It’s either you fight for it, or let it end, Woo.” She sounds as sad as he feels, even if he can hear the thirteen other things she’s doing while talking to him. “But you should definitely talk to her before you do anything.”

He sits with the notion for a second: fight it, or let it end. He’s been fighting it, discreetly for over a year, he only got a chance to do it loud and proud for what, six weeks? Not long enough. There’s so much fight left in him that he nearly gets up from the chair and walks to your office building. Letting it end isn’t even a fucking option.

“I don’t want it to end,” he says, twirling the chair around, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of his office. Eyes landing on the building across the street, he stares at the tiny square that’s yours, wishing he could see you in the room behind the tinted window. 

“I know.” She sighs, then mumbles something cheery to Sunnie before adding, “It might be what’s best for the two of you. Especially if she isn’t having the baby, you’ve already been co-parenting with Kyungmin for over a year, maybe this is best, Woo.”

“No,” the word comes out harsher than he intended. “It’s not about the baby or Kyung, it’s about us, and I’m not letting her go. I’m not giving up.”

Wooyoung can see her frown, her lips pinned to one side, knowing exactly where the giving up part came from. “Talk to her,” she keeps her voice light, positive before her mom-voice comes out, “but don’t go in there with guns blazing, Jung Wooyoung. Fill me in later when you pick up Kyungmin.”

“Thanks, Ro.”

“I mean it, Woo,” she warns. “Don’t flip out.”

“Got it.”

Easier to say than do, when the stack of papers on his desk was as thick as two of his fingers. His teeth grind again, jaw clenching, he decides he’s done with work today, he can finish whatever the fuck he didn’t do today, tomorrow. Work will be here tomorrow, but he won’t have a wife tomorrow if he doesn’t do something. 

He’s already in your driveway when you get home from work. Pulling your car onto the blacktop, your heart pounds in your chest as you kill the engine, legs already shaky as you hop down from the lifted seat. You hear him before you see him, and not one word out of his mouth sounds happy. 

“What is this?”

Comfortable clothes, basketball shorts on his legs, a hoodie over his chest, he holds up the thick file you sent directly to his office. His hair was already blowing in the breeze, long strands flipping over to the other side of his head, framing his face that’s angled in frustration. 

“Papers,” you answer simply, walking around to the other side of your car, opening up the passenger side door for your purse. At least he hasn’t noticed yet. 

“You’re divorcing me?” He follows, standing behind you, voice strained, edged in stress, anger. 

You close the passenger side door behind you, “We’re already divorced, Wooyoung, I’m just making it official this time.”

He follows you up the side of your driveway, through the path leading up to your small porch, speaking with each step. “You couldn’t have just told me? Why the fuck did you serve me at my job?”

You’re the epitome of patience as you unlock your front door, walking inside like he wasn’t steaming behind you. “I didn’t want to speak to you, just like I haven’t wanted to speak to you for the past two months. Nothing new.”

He follows, you don’t stop him. “You could have talked to me about this. You didn’t need to make a spectacle out of me, you know how many people work in my building.”

You spin on your heel, spitting every single word, “You could have told me we weren’t really divorced. You could have told me Aurora named her kid after you and made you the godfather. You could have just been here in the first place and I never would have had to fucking divorce you!”

His jaw clenches, fist curling around the stack of papers at his side. “This could have been as amicable as it was the first time.”

“The first time wasn’t fucking real!” You turn again, heading toward your kitchen. “Leave, Wooyoung. Actually, sign the papers and leave them here.”

He stops on one side of the island, you on the other. He throws the stack on the marble countertop, “I’m not signing them.”

You put your purse down on the counter, staring at him over the space of the counter. “What do you mean, you’re not signing them?”

“I don’t want a divorce,” he says so simply it makes you laugh in disbelief.

“You don’t want one?” Your brows raise, the smile on your lips anything but amused, “Too fucking bad, I do. If you don’t sign then it’ll default and you can’t fight anything.”

“Then I’ll fight it,” he shrugs, whiskey eyes wide and wild, “I’ll fight all of it.”

You sigh, grabbing your water bottle, turning around to empty it into your sink behind you. With your free hand holding your back, one leg holding all your weight, you hear his shoes against the hardwood as he walks around the island. 

“You’re fucking pregnant,” he says it like he can’t believe it. Looking over your shoulder, his eyes are glued to your middle, impossibly wider now, filled with shock, disbelief. He meets your gaze again, repeating himself, “You’re fucking pregnant.”

You look down, frowning as you realize the dress you put on this morning wasn’t the tiny, almost invisible bump from your insane fucking husband. Of course he noticed. “No shit,” you say as you flip your empty water bottle on the rack to let it dry, completely unphased. Turning to face him, you hold the fabric tight to your belly as you admit, “Eleven weeks now.”

Slowly, one of his hands covers his mouth, his brows furrowing as he stares at the tiny bump that could be confused with constipation beneath your dress. It’s only seconds before his eyes turn glossy, then he takes a step forward hesitantly, waiting for you to stop him.

He stops himself instead, voice shallow as he asks, “You’re keeping it?”

“Kyungmin wants a sibling,” you shrug. “He said he wants someone to play Fashion Runway with at home.”

Wooyoung’s smile is slow as it takes over his entire face. His eyes meet yours, still glossy, full of tears that you aren’t sure are fully happy. “Thank you,” he whispers before his voice gets louder, more sure, his hand still wrapped around his jaw in awe. “Thank you so fucking much. Thank you.”

“Touch,” you say as your arms find your lower back again, a smile threatening to creep across your cheeks. “I know you want to.”

He closes the distance between you, hands out as he takes two steps forward, softly laying them over your belly. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”

“I’m doing this,” you remind him, voice firm, full of indignation, “by myself.” You point your chin towards the paper on the counter, “The papers are waiting for you.”

“You think I’m signing them now?” He pops his brows. “Can we at least talk about it? Especially now, you’re– that’s my kid inside you.”

Your face falls flat, his hands still on your belly. You swat him away as you snap, “There’s nothing to talk about, everything I want is in the packet. I think I’m being pretty fair.”

“You’re being a copier.” His top lip lifts. “Everything in that packet is what I decreed in the first place. At least be original.”

“Stop being funny.” You cross your arms. “Sign the papers.”

“No,” he responds, crossing his arms back. “Now what?”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you huff, turning around, walking towards the living room. 

He follows, “Can we wait? Put a pin in it or something? Come back to it later?”

“Wait for what?” You ask, plopping down on the couch casually, a relieved breath escaping you as you settle in the plush. “Wait for me to push the thing out?”

“It’s not a thing,” he argues as he sits on the opposite side, one leg bent up, his arm stretched along the back. “That’s my daughter in there. I don’t think you should do all of this alone.”

“Well that’s not really up to you, is it?” Your elbow meets the back of the couch, holding up your head. “How do you know it’s a girl? I haven't done the test to find out the gender yet.”

“Stop seeing Yeosang without me,” he frowns, “I want to come, I want to be there.”

“You had your chance to be here.”

“I was there for every appointment with Kyungmin and you know it,” Wooyoung argues, sitting a little straighter. “I’m serious. That’s my baby, too, and I want to be there.”

You groan, head falling back into the cushions. “Fine, Wooyoung. My next appointment is on Monday at nine.”

“Thank you,” he nods, “I’ll pick you up.” After a pause, a moment of silence from you, he adds, “I still don’t think you should do this alone.”

You pick your head up just to snap, “I’d rather do it alone then do it with you.”

“Ouch,” he winces, “I was good to you when you were pregnant with Kyungmin, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, followed by a tired groan, letting your head fall back into the cushions again, he’s right. “I know, I remember. I think all the meetings with my lawyer are getting to my head.”

“Why now?” He asks, voice softer, all the anger, amusement from earlier, reshaped into vulnerability. “You’ve had time to divorce me, why do it now?”

You turn your head to see him, what part of his face you could see over the cushion. “I thought we were in agreement the last time we spoke. I thought that was it, and we were moving on.”

“That was only two weeks ago, jagi,” his voice is still soft, comforting as he moves a little closer, inching himself toward you, using one hand to push the cushion down where it blocked your vision. His eyes are clear now, his expression level, serious. “Do you really want to do this by yourself?”

The slightest pout bends your bottom lip. “No,” you answer honestly, “I wish you never told me that we were still married. I could’ve gotten over the Aurora thing, you broke my trust, but that’s doable, y’know? I can get past that. Keeping our marital status a secret is… detrimental. I wish you never said anything. I want you here. I want to do this with you, Wooyoung.”

He’s shaking his head before you finish speaking, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it, and I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.” His voice cracks as he says, “Please let me fix this. Please let me at least try.”

You stare at him for a second, seeing the determination behind his eyes, the heartache, the love he always wears like a loud accessory when he’s looking at you. Something that’s never changed in the fifteen years his eyes have spent on you. You have every intention of going through with the divorce, every fucking intention to be done with it. Be done with him. 

You don’t know what part of you sighs and looks away. “I spent a lot of fucking money on that attorney, Wooyoung.”

He’s quick to answer, giddiness threaded in his words, “I’ll pay for it.”

Your palms meet your face, rubbing at your tired eyes. It’s so frustrating, him coming here and jumbling up everything you’ve been so confident about. Two weeks of meetings, of phone calls, of paperwork, of finally landing on the track of being actually divorced. Again. Hearing the seriousness in his voice, the confidence, knowing he meant everything he’s said in the past few months, all of that combined with the hormones swarming your body and the baby fucking growing inside you.

You groan out, “Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening again. You’re impossible to divorce.”

“You won’t regret it,” his words are excited, all jumbled together, “I swear to god you won’t regret it, I’ll be so good to you and Kyungmin and the baby oh my god we’re having another kid–”

Your hands leave your face, paused in mid-air, brows furrowed as you glance at the man who’s still your fucking husband, “Where is Kyungmin?”

“Aden’s,” he shrugs, “I needed to talk to you and he couldn’t be here for it, not when I didn’t know how it was going to go.”

“Good,” you say through a relieved breath. “He has fun there.”

“They’re good to him,” Wooyoung’s voice is smaller, apprehensive, “Yunho and Aurora.”

“I know,” you agree, “I don’t hate them, Wooyoung. I was pissed at you, big fat liar, not them. Your college girlfriend doesn’t make me jealous, either.”

He stifles a snort, looking down to his lap, “Sounds like something a jealous person would say.”

“Don’t piss me off,” you argue, but a smile tugs at your lips, “my hormones are raging and you’re the only person here to take it out on.”

He laughs at that, a genuine belly laugh, his body sinking into the cushions as he physically relaxes. “I missed you.”

You raise your brows, “Yeah? I don’t think I’ve said one nice thing to you in weeks. Months, maybe.”

He turns his head to you, a lazy grin on his cheeks, “You can say something nice now.”

You look up to the ceiling, lips scrunching in thought, “Hm, weird. Nothing’s coming to mind.”

“You’ll think of something eventually,” his smile doesn’t leave, his tone finally settling into something comfortable, casual as his gaze lands on the details of your living room across from him. After a moment of silence, his head turns to you again, “Are you actually gonna file to dismiss the divorce?”

It’s your turn to smile again, one as mischievous as his signature smirk, “You think it’s that easy? That I’m not gonna make you work for it?” You watch his face morph into something like fear before adding, “You have thirty days, Woo.”

The smell of coffee and food wakes you up.

And the sound of a tiny voice that’s suspiciously far away.

Fear surges through you, jumping out of your bed, racing out of your bedroom and down the main staircase of your house like you were still your high school’s track star. Calling your son’s name, panic searing through your tone, you come to a hard stop in the entryway to your kitchen at the sight before you. 

“Morning, mommy,” Kyungmin grins, sitting in his Minecraft pajamas at your kitchen island, a full fucking breakfast half-eaten on the plate in front of him. Beside him is your husband, dressed for work, suit on his body, hair styled back, ready for the day like he’d gotten ready upstairs. 

Your hand lands over your heart, adrenaline winding down, are you dreaming? Is this a dream? 

“Morning, wifey,” Wooyoung grins, and all you can do is blink. He slides the mug of coffee in his hand over the kitchen island, toward where you stood, “Sorry for breaking in, but at least I made coffee. I brought over some stuff.”

Your brows furrow, slowly stepping closer until your hands wrap around the mug, assessing if you can feel the warmth. “I can’t tell if I’m awake right now.”

Wooyoung laughs, turning on his heel, grabbing the reusable grocery store bag you didn’t even notice sitting on your counter. “You’re very much awake.”

“Why are you here?” You ask before bringing the mug up to your lips, blinking away the crust in your eyes. Before taking a sip, you ask again, “What time is it?”

“Six forty-five,” Wooyoung says casually, so casually you feel confused like this was normal and you’re forgetting something so regular. He turns again, placing the bag between you. 

“Daddy said he brought you gifts,” Kyungmin sounds too awake for it to be so early. He usually didn’t wake up for another fifteen minutes, and usually your alarm goes off at six-thirty. He made your coffee, even if he was drinking it already, it’s your coffee, how you make it, how you order it. 

“Gifts?” You ask again, meeting Wooyoung’s warning eye, popping a brow. 

“Gifts,” Wooyoung repeats with a roll of his eyes like they aren’t really gifts at all, that’s just what he told Kyungmin. “Groceries,” he says, wrapping his hands around the handle of the grocery bag, “I figured I’d come over and make dinner for you guys a few times this week, if that’s okay. Oh, and flowers.” He turns, grabbing the vase you didn’t even notice sitting beside the kitchen sink, an arrangement of all your favorite flowers, your favorite colors. “Spring is nearing, so… flowers.”

Lips parted, eyes wide and blinking, you don’t know what to say, there’s not a single word that comes to mind other than a very unconvincing, “Thank… you?” 

Wooyoung looks like he’s trying to hide his grin, lips folded inward, cheeks straining not to show his giddiness. “Small stuff, nothing crazy. Effort.” 

“Effort,” you repeat, paired with a slow nod. “Groceries.”

God, why was this like pulling teeth?

“Thirty days,” he points toward you to remind you of your deal before starting to pull groceries out of the bag, as if you’d forgotten. Part of you did, even if it happened three days ago.

“What to expect when you’re expecting,” you sing through a contented sigh, mindless as you pull out a stool to sit on, forgetting who else is in the room. 

Kyungmin quickly reminds you he’s very much present by asking you, “What’s expecting?” He glances at Wooyoung, “What are we getting? Are we getting a dog?”

“No,” you respond quickly, “no dog. We’re getting…” You glance at Wooyoung with a look that says help. 

You asked Kyungmin how he felt about having another sibling, not that he was getting one. It was too early in the morning to drop a bomb that huge, especially if he didn’t take it well. 

Wooyoung’s forearms meet the counter, leaned over the island, eye to eye with your son who’s still glancing back and forth between you with curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “Want me to come over later? I’ll make dinner and help you with vocabulary homework. We can play the multiplication game again.”

“Yes!” Kyungmin shouts, piercing your still-asleep years. “Will you make my favorite?”

“Duh,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a smile, like he was already planning it. “Don’t tell mommy,” he whispers, “but there’s ice cream in the bag with your name on it.” 

Your smile grows watching Kyungmin’s eyes light up, flaring with excitement and sheer fucking joy before he whispers his agreement. Heart wrenching at the sight of the two together, Wooyoung and his miniature twin, you have to look away to not fall into the rabbit hole of what it would’ve been like if you never separated. 

A spiral you’ve been down too many times before. 

You sip your coffee while watching Wooyoung maneuver around your kitchen like it was still his. Putting groceries away where they belonged, keeping conversation with you and Kyungmin about your day ahead, you tried to let yourself exist in the same space without feeling completely confused and slightly weirded out about the normalcy of it all. 

Coming unannounced, bringing groceries, flowers, telling Kyungmin he’ll be here later without asking you but instead expecting you to be okay with it… as much as the rabbit hole of what-ifs calls to you, you have an eight year old son who doesn't need to be confused. 

“Time to go get dressed,” you say to your son with a small smile that you know Wooyoung is seeing right through. Slowing his movements, coming to a standstill on the other side of the island in preparation for the conversation he knows is coming, he nods toward Kyungmin who looks at him like he’d keep him home from school. 

After quickly realizing this wasn’t a special day and his father was just here for no apparent reason, he scoots off his stool and makes for the staircase with a gruff. He definitely thought you were going to keep him home, and the three of you were doing something today. The thought makes your chest feel heavier.

When he’s out of earshot, you quirk a brow at your husband, “What are you doing?” 

He’s quick to respond, “You gave me thirty days. Today’s day one.” 

“So you break into my house?” You whisper-shout.

“I still have a key,” he points to the hallway leading to the front of your house, where you know his key is sitting on the table beside the front door. “And technically it’s still my house, too.” 

“Don’t give me technicality bullshit,” you huff, “it’s seven in the fucking morning and you woke up our son for breakfast completely unannounced. You don’t think that’ll confuse him?”

“Confused? I'm his dad,” he argues, “and he woke up on his own, I didn’t wake him up. My plan was to have you wake up first and be all excited that I was bringing you goodies.” 

“Goodies,” you quirk a brow, “flowers and food?” 

He smacks his lips. “I thought it was cute.” 

The snort that escapes you is completely involuntary. Voice half-amused, the fight isn’t quite gone from your soul as you say, “You can’t just come here unannounced, Wooyoung.” 

“You gave me thirty days,” he says, dumbfounded. “Are we gonna repeat last time? Fuck until you consider seeing me in daylight?” You scowl, but he doesn’t let up. “This is asking a lot, but just go with it, please. I know what I’m doing.” 

“You know what you’re doing,” you repeat, mocking him, “my ass.”

“I thought the flowers would butter you up at least a little,” he turns, grabbing the vase, then places it in front of him, lowering his body so just his pouting face was visible on top of the colorful, blooming petals. “They’re pretty, just like you.” 

That pulls a laugh straight from your chest, shaking your head, “You’re beyond helping, Jung Wooyoung. Down to your soul you’re batshit insane.” 

“Only for you,” he’s grinning now. “Wouldn’t do this shit for anyone else and you know it.” 

And you do know it, as much as part of you wishes he was bothering someone else at seven in the goddamn morning. Rolling your eyes, you turn, “I’m going to get ready for work.” 

“Can I come watch?” 

“No, but you can take Kyungmin to school.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Monday at nine came and went with surprising ease. Not that you thought Wooyoung would act ridiculous at your doctor’s appointment, but you didn’t think he’d be as normal as he was. A blood test, an NT scan, he stood by your side through the whole thing, nodding and joking with Yeosang as if the doctor didn’t know about anything going on between you. And technically, he didn’t– not the details, at least, the only surprise he showed was the glimmer of shock in his deep chocolate eyes upon opening the door and catching Wooyoung looking through his cabinets. 

“Beautiful Monday,” Wooyoung sighs with nothing but unadulterated joy, grinning ear to fucking ear with his eyes closed, standing still on the sidewalk in front of his SUV as he lets the sunshine beat down on his skin. “Your levels are even, I’m gonna be a girl dad, I just found out I’m psychic, everything is good in the world.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Everything?”

He cracks one eye open, “Am I missing something?”

“An open civil case,” your lips are tied up on one side with an evil smirk. 

Wooyoung opens his eyes to scowl, then pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Before he moves to the driver’s side, he asks, “Do you need help getting in?”

“I’m only twelve weeks.” You roll your eyes again, something you’ve done so many times in the past week you think your eye muscles are now made of steel. “She’s gonna be big, though, I can smell the back pain from here.”

You and Wooyoung climb into his car at the same time and you grimace when the stale heat engulfs you whole. “Holy shit, turn on the AC.”

“What’s the back pain feel like?” He asks, turning on the car, hands immediately shooting for the knobs to put the air conditioning on full blast. “Similar to standing on your feet all day?”

You pull your seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place. “It’s usually in my lower back, kinda like boob-carrying back pain, but worse. Like having a watermelon strapped to your front all day, you’re in a constant arch, it burns and you can’t really do anything for it if you’re out and about.”

He winces like he can feel phantom pain in his back. Turning to you, face solemn, he asks, “Do you think it’ll be better or worse since it’s your second time?”

You shrug, “Give me a month or two and I’ll have the answer for you.”

The air finally turns somewhat cold and you sink into the seat like it was a blessing from the heavens, it starts washing the heat off you, dusting away the idle air. Eyes closed, head lolling towards your husband who starts pulling out of the parking spot, you ask, “What are you making for dinner tonight?”

Wooyoung snorts, “That’s all you care about? We aren’t gonna debrief how we’re having a girl and the fact that I was right?”

“First time being right in your life, you must be excited,” you peek an eye open to tease, and he looks at you with his face bent up in offense. 

“Rude,” he scoffs in response, but it doesn’t hide the amusement in his tone. “I never even said I was coming over tonight. Should we tell Kyungminnie he’s gonna have a sister?”

You can feel the heat of shame crawling to the tips of your ears for assuming he’d be over tonight. He came over twice last week, and did just as he promised, made dinner, let Kyungmin have his ice cream, then helped him with homework and played the multiplication game that you found yourself inadequate at playing. It’s been a long time since you’ve done third grade math– Kyungmin multiplied the numbers faster than you did.

Wooyoung’s been… strangely aware. First and foremost, with what he’s been cooking the three of you for dinner. Balanced meals, healthy but still delicious, things you enjoy eating now that the wave of constant nausea has let up. Careful with what he says to Kyungmin, never hinting towards there being more to the picture than you’re letting on, reminding Kyungmin he was coming over for him and him only. In a kind way. In an unsuspecting way. A way that kind of made you feel sour, even if you knew the reason behind it, even if you didn’t want him to say anything else. Hormones. 

It’s been too easy to slip into routine, to find comfort in him being around. Having eyes watching over you, your son, to feel safe in a way you haven’t felt in so long. It’s different than the weeks you spent sleeping with him, you haven’t so much as kissed him in the past week, you haven’t given him eyes, not a single sexual remark or joke has been made from either of you. It’s been strictly domestic, a husband coming home from work, a husband cooking dinner for his wife, a father doing homework with his son. You hate that you’ve been loving every goddamn second of it.

“Sure,” you respond with only half of your consciousness attached to it, too in your head to give him your full attention. 

He side-eyes you, popping a brow. “Sure? You’re about to tell your son he’s gonna have a sibling, and all you can say is sure?”

“Well, are you even gonna come over?” It slips out before you can think about it, sounding impatient. Almost desperate. Irritable in the way that means you’re hopeful. 

Coming to a stop at a red light, Wooyoung glances at you in the passenger seat with the quickest-spreaking smirk he’s ever worn. Like an accusation, all too proudly he says, “You want me to come over.”

There’s heat on the apples of your cheeks. Unconvincingly, you defend yourself, “No.”

“Yes,” he argues, his smile mischievous. “You like having me there. Admit it, you miss me.”

“No!” You sit a little straighter, brows furrowing, voice pitched and so obviously lying your entire body fills with embarrassment. “I just like not having to cook.”

“Sure,” he doesn’t sound like he agrees. Turning back to the road, to the light that turns green, he cruises forward with two hands on the wheel.

“You clean my kitchen.” You sound too defensive. “And you’re helping Kyungmin with his homework. And you did my laundry last night. Three things I no longer have to do if you’re there.”

“Right,” he nods, brows furrowing, bottom lip bending over, looking like he agrees but you both know it’s pretend. Sarcastic, even. Leaning his head towards you but not looking at you, he says, “Just say you miss me, baby. I won’t make fun of you for it. I miss you too.”

You swear under your breath, arms crossing, head turning to look out the window. You do miss him, you’ve missed this part of him for so long, the part you didn’t get to see the last time you were trying the whole Wooyoung-comes-around-again thing out. Maybe you should have started here last time, instead of getting caught up in the way it felt to have him inside of you again. 

You might miss that most of all. 

You shake off the thoughts, eyeing Wooyoung in the barely-there reflection in the window, his smirk still present. Still incriminating. Still proof that he knows you better than you know yourself. 

“It’s still not enough to call it off,” you mumble, so quietly you aren’t sure if he’ll be able to hear you. But he does, with how his smirk falters, his lips settling into a line. It didn’t feel as good as you thought it would to say the words. 

“I know,” he responds, voice softer now, all amusement gone. “Trust me.”

You frown, guilt settling into cracks you didn’t know were there. He lied to you, kept things from you, then threw them at you like a fucking bomb and expected you to come out of the other side unharmed. You shouldn’t feel guilty.

But you do. To soften the blow, you turn again, arms uncurling from your chest, hands landing in your lap with a sigh, toying with your fingers. Voice coming out uneasy, you ask, “So… you wanna tell Kyungmin?”

“If you’re ready for it,” he fakes a smile, a bending press of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can wait a couple weeks, ‘til we’re out of the danger zone. You’ll be in your second trimester next week.”

Your cheeks heat at the awkwardness you created when there’s never fucking been awkwardness between you, like, ever. “That’s smart,” you say, not at all convincing, pulling your lips together. “Will you still come over tonight?”

His head turns to the left, arms crossing over one another as he makes a turn, and even though you know he’s driving the both of you to work, it still feels intentional. “To make you dinner, clean your kitchen and do your laundry?”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. You deserved that one.

“To spend time with your son,” you try, turning your head to face him, sounding optimistic. “And your daughter… And your wife.”

His demeanor cracks with that, a smile blooming across his cheeks, and it settles something in your chest. Smiling back, you lean a little closer, “You can brag to everyone at work about your psychic abilities.”

“I hand-picked that fucking sperm,” he says, full of conviction, picking back up the discussion you’ve had twice now like you never put it down. “I knew exactly which one was fertilizing that egg, jagi. I knew it.”

And you really can’t stop–nor do you want to stop–the easygoing laugh that spills from your lips, nodding along, agreeing with him. “I know you did, I believe you.”

“I’m at the store.” 

“What store?” You ask into your phone, twirling your hair around one finger, knees bent up to your chest on the couch.

“The store,” he responds like it was the only answer, his voice clipped through the speaker of your phone. “I’ll be there soon, let me check out.” 

“What are you getting?” You ask again, lowering your hand in front of you, examining your nonexistent manicure. You need one. 

“Things,” he answers, voice tight. Your top lip curls, eyes finding the ceiling. “I’m literally checking out now, I’ll be home in ten minutes.” 

You sit up a little, sly grin curving your lips, “Well what if I need things from the store?”

He swears under his breath, “Baby, why do you think I’m here? I already know what you need.”

You watch Kyungmin on the living room floor, belly pressed flat to the rug, feet dangling in the air as his little fingers work his tablet better than you ever could. 

Your cheeks heat, smile growing, “You have no idea what I need, Jung Wooyoung.” 

Kyungmin whips his head around, “You’re talking to daddy? Is he coming over?”

“Yes, he’s coming over,” you answer Kyungmin just as Wooyoung barks into your ear, “You’re a fucking pervert.”

You laugh, picking up the same piece of hair to twirl around your finger again. “See you soon.” 

“When I get there you better—”

You hang up the phone, sly smirk still warm, etched into your cheeks. All week it’s felt like you have an itch you can’t fucking scratch, an itch you want Wooyoung to scratch, but he won’t even try to reach it. 

You think the hormones might be blinding you, maybe taking over your entire nervous system. Maybe your hormones were in charge of your brain entirely at this point.

Texts, phone calls, other than the three times he’s been over this week already, it’s like dangling a treat in front of a dog who doesn’t fucking want it. Close proximity is driving you insane, you think, or maybe it’s just the effect of having Wooyoung around, acting so normal and so domestic it’s sinking you deeper into the fantasy of what could be. What could’ve been this whole time. What you miss so badly. 

You pick yourself up off the couch to the kitchen, needing something to do with your hands to get your mind out of the gutter, where it’s seemed to have taken permanent residence. Why doesn’t he want you? It’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since Monday night, like as soon as you noticed the lack of sexual tension, it showed itself like it’s been waiting in hiding.

Ten minutes of washing the dishes, all from Kyungmin’s school lunch and the lunch you brought to work, Wooyoung was walking through your front door as promised. You heard Kyungmin yell, Wooyoung’s excited greeting, and then your son’s following giggle that you’re convinced could cure anything. 

It’s only seconds before he makes his way to the kitchen, you look over your shoulder as he sets two reusable grocery bags on the marble island, a soft smile already on his sculpted, bronzy cheeks. 

“Wow,” he starts, already amused, “not leaving the dishes for me?” 

You turn off the faucet, grabbing a dish towel to dry your hands on before turning around, your coy smile tucked to the side. “Thought you might want a break from scrubbing my Tupperware.” 

Dressed in business casual, clothes a little wrinkled, hair disheveled like he ran his fingers through it forty five times today, you don’t hide the fact that your eyes are scanning every single inch of him. With the way his smile spreads, how his eyes lower, you know he can see right through you. It’s not like you’ve hidden it well— or tried to. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were buttering me up now,” his thick brows wiggle over his mismatched eyes. 

A small sound of amusement is all you can conjure before taking a step towards the island, pressing your forearms against the marble, leaning over your crossed arms. “What’s in the bags?”

“Things,” he answers, eyes sparkling with mischief. You thin your eyes, moving like you’d start opening them yourself, but he stops you with a palm facing you. “Stay away from my things, I know what you need and where they go. Go sit down or something.”

You stand up straight, crossing your arms over your chest, scowling. “No, I’m bored and I want to know what things are in the bags.” 

He laughs under his breath, “You’re bored?”

“I’ve been waiting,” you huff, “you took a long time at the store.” 

“Look at you,” he muses, “you’re pouting.” 

“So?” Your head tilts. “Maybe I am pouting.” 

His brows raise before he starts digging into the first bag, pulling out produce while he shakes his head, “Look how the turn tables.”

You’d laugh at the joke he’s made a thousand times if you didn’t know just how true it was. He’s supposed to be the one proving himself to you and with every passing day you’re losing the ability to hold onto your certainty, your hormones driving you to near insanity, your will as strong as thread at this point. There’s a tiny voice inside you that reminds you you’re not above begging for it. 

And yet he gives you nothing. 

“For you,” he says casually, pushing a bag towards you and two bottles. Quirking a brow, your hands find the things, holding them up to read the labels. 

“You said you were running low on prenatals,” he explains as he continues emptying the bags, not even looking at you. “Plus epsom salts for a bath, I read online somewhere that the soap is good for pregnancy, there’s herbs in it that soothe aches and make you sleepy or something. Figured it could help the back pain before it really starts.” 

Your eyes flicker upward, watching him as he empties the bags like it was no big deal. Thick, focused brows, veiny hands moving fluidly, a singular strand of hair thickened by product laying over his face, you can feel your heart beating. When your silence hits him, he glances upward, meeting your stare, and he pauses his movement to ask, “What?”

You shake your head, just once, barely anything more than a small movement. “Nothing, I just… I’m lucky. And I appreciate you.”

One brow raises, smirk rising on the same side of his face, “Now you’re really buttering me up.”

You laugh because it’s funny, but your heart throbs in your chest like it knows that Wooyoung is in front of you, like it beats only for him and it’s waiting for your mind to catch up. 

Your mind is far past catching up. You walk around the counter, steady feet bringing you to his side, and you force yourself between him and the counter to wrap your arms around his middle. Your arms squeeze tight, burying your head in his chest, forehead meeting right where his shirt is unbuttoned, your skin pressed against his. 

Spicy, woodsy, a hint of outside… sweaty, just a little. In the way that makes you want to eat him. But you don’t let your mind drift just yet, savoring the smell of him, the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, how he feels in your arms. 

It takes him a second to process, but his arms wrap around your back, engulfing you in his hold as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head in the same exact spot he did three weeks ago. When you thought it was over. 

How the fuck could you ever think it was over?

Mumbling into his chest, coming out muffled, you say, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He doesn’t need a second to process that, the words coming out before he could think about them, he doesn’t need to think about them. Never once did he have to think about them, not with you. 

Your grip loosens a little, but you don’t let go. He seems perfectly content holding you to him, flat palms sliding up and down your back, a smile you can’t see quickly crawling across his cheeks.

Finally looking up, into his whiskey eyes burnt by the dim lighting of the kitchen, you whisper, “Thank you.”

He’s looking at you like you’re his entire world. Like nothing before this moment has ever mattered, and nothing after it will matter either, because right now it’s you and him and that’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Anything for you.” He leans down to press a small kiss to your forehead. “You know that.” 

A smile tugs at your lips, “Anything?”

He smacks his lips, “Don’t ruin the moment, that was sweet.” 

Your grin spreads, head dropping until your forehead meets his chest again, hands falling from around his back to drop down to his hips. “Why is it always me?” You look up again, lashes fluttering, “It’s always me who’s begging to get in your pants.”

His face morphs into cockiness, his shoulders shrugging casually, “Guess I’m that good.” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out like a laugh as you smack your palm against his hip, “I’m serious, Wooyoung. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

His amused smile falls, hands sliding down to your hips, pushing your back against the counter. He keeps himself close, eyes scanning your face, gaze dropping down to your lips. Small, quiet yet full of lust, he asks, “You think I don’t want you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening. Your hands fly up between you, pressed against his chest as you stutter over your thoughts, “A- um, a little, kinda.”

His head drops down to your neck, the curve of his nose ghosting against the shell of your ear and your whole body shivers in response, back arching against the counter. 

He keeps his voice low, “You don’t realize that I think about fucking you every time we’re in this kitchen?”

Your heart picks up speed, breath going heavy and ragged, body twitching as he speaks like he’s fucking touching you. All you can mumble is his name, soft but drenched in arousal, fingers clutching onto his shirt.

“Lifting you up on this counter,” he drawls, voice like honey, hands reaching for the marble, arms caging you in. “Just like I did a few months ago, except I think about taking it slow this time, teasing you until you’re begging. Touching you until you’re crying for it.”

Your skin touches, his lip against the spot below your neck; his breath warm and inviting, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand, goosebumps raise on your skin. The smallest noise escapes you, pitched and needy, you’d be embarrassed by it if the arousal wasn’t intoxicating.

He brings his face back to yours, so close your foreheads are almost touching.

“Look at me.”

You do, eyes full of anticipation, his lips so close you could taste them. He grins.

Then he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek and moving off of you like nothing ever happened. Sliding the bags down the counter so he can keep unloading groceries, you blink at him, dumbfounded, terrorized. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper-yell. 

He looks at you casually over his shoulder, “What?” 

“You’re an asshole,” you spit, “you’re such a fucking asshole.” 

He cracks a smile at that, going back to his groceries, "Didn't I tell you to go sit down ten minutes ago?” 

All you can do is scowl, all the way back to the fucking couch where you tuck your knees up to your chest.

Kyungmin looks over his shoulder from the floor, wearing raised, curious brows as he asks, “Wanna play with me?” 

Friday has been your favorite day of the week since you could remember. In college, it meant classes were over, you had your weekends free to drink your bodyweight in liquor and party anywhere and everywhere without the looming dread of classes in the morning sitting on your shoulders. When you started working, Friday’s clockout time called to you at a mere seven in the morning, reminding you that when you go home, you get to change into a cocktail dress and your clubbing pumps and go out with the girls from your office. When you met Wooyoung, Friday meant that you got to spend your weekend with him, partying, fucking, learning each other down to the bone.

When you got pregnant the first time, Friday meant you got to go home and sleep.

Now you’re pregnant a second time, and Friday no longer means you get to go home and sleep.

You get to listen to your eight year old with a chronic case of the zoomies, especially after an abnormally warm day full of sunshine that radiates upcoming spring, instead of being tired, he’s ready to share all the adrenaline he’s felt all day with you. And you love it– every single second of him racing around your backyard with a widespread grin, shouting giggles that could cure any foul mood you’ve ever been in, but you’re especially tired today, and you don’t have it in you to do anything but sit in your patio chair and watch.

“Mommy, play with me!” He shouts across the lawn, the sound piercing your eardrums even if there’s yards of breeze intercepting it. “Let’s play Runway,” he starts, feet bringing him closer to you, dropping the bat he was just swinging against the tee you still owned because he aged out of tee ball just one year ago. “It’s like Fashion Runway, but instead of Fashion, we walk.”

You can’t help yourself, the snort that rips from your nose is inevitable. “You wanna walk with me?”

“Runway, mommy,” he corrects you, a hand on his denim-clad hip. Jeans and a tee shirt, one you realized an hour ago is stained with the condiments you put on the sandwich from his school lunch. “You have to walk like you’re walking down a runway, and I’ll judge it. One is bad, ten is good.” 

Your brows raise over the sunglasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, amused and actually interested, “Oh, is it a competition?”

Kyungmin smirks, “Yeah, and I’m gonna win. You go first.”

“Excuse me, mister runway model,” you say, pushing yourself off the patio chair by the armrests. You think you’re nearing popping, your belly definitely… protruding now. Not big by any means, at your fourteen weeks of pregnancy, but you think you’re almost visible. Obvious. Maybe. You wonder how Kyungmin hasn’t said anything yet, when he usually asks a thousand questions if you style your hair differently. 

Kyungmin sits in the patio chair after you’ve stood up, and claps his hands together as you walk through the lawn, standing facing him just a few feet away. “Okay mommy!” He yells from the chair, “You can walk now.”

Damn, impatient, too. You flip your hair over your shoulder, one hand on your hip, and conjure up the sassiest walk, imagining yourself on a runway, putting in effort for the sake of your kid. The same kid who loses his fucking shit, clapping and giggling like it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. 

When you walk up to the edge of the stone patio, Kyungmin is still giggling, but he says, “It’s good that you’re not a model, mommy.”

You scoff, standing straight, but the laughter that comes from your back door sliding open steals both of your attention before you have the chance to talk back to your son. 

“Daddy!” Kyungmin squeals.

Wooyoung walks onto the patio, grinning like he knows he wasn’t supposed to see that but he loved every second of it. “What do you mean? That was the best model walk I’ve ever seen.” He’s eyeing up Kyungmin now as he says, “Tell mommy she could be a model before you hurt her feelings.”

You try to interject, “He didn’t–”

“You’re a good model, mommy,” Kyungmin says, and he almost sounds like he means it. “You should see Aden do it,” he pushes himself up off the patio chair, “he does it like this.”

You’re shaking your head as you walk towards Wooyoung, ready to greet him, but Kyungmin’s screech of “Look!” has you turning right back around. 

Your jaw drops as your son puts his hand on his hip and sways his hips as he walks toward the patio. You scoff, “You just did exactly what I did!”

Wooyoung snorts from beside you, “He might’ve done it better than you, jagi.”

“What number?” Kyungmin asks, grin as wide as his eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle when his quick moving feet bring him right to you. “Judge time.”

You bend down and press a kiss to his sweaty hair, “Ten. What’s my number?”

Kyungmin’s eyes slide to Wooyoung, and out of your peripherals you can see Wooyoung holding up ten fingers. Your son giggles, looking back at you, “Nine.”

“Y’know what?” You bring your palms to his cheeks, squeezing, “I’ll take it.”

“Let’s play again,” Kyungmin squeezes you a little tighter, making you choke out a noise. “Daddy has to walk this time, too.”

“I think that’s a beautiful idea,” you smirk, side-eyeing your husband from beneath your shades. Expecting pushback, his grin turns feline. Your brows raise.

“Scared of a lil’ competition?” He wiggles his own brows, “I’m about to win, just so you know. Kyungmin, you’re going down.”

“I’m gonna win,” Kyungmin fights back. “Mommy’s gonna lose, though.”

“Damn, was my walk really that bad?” You ask, brows coming together as you turn to Wooyoung. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He leans closer when Kyungmin runs off into the lawn, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I thought it was perfect. Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” you’re smiling already, and you know the flush on your cheeks isn’t from the afternoon sun anymore. It’s his fourth time here this week and it’s only Friday, by this point there’s not a bone in your body that isn’t okay with it. The opposite, actually, staring at him in his business-casual clothes, dress pants loose and elongating his strong legs, dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked on one side, sleeves folded up to his elbows. His pants black, his shirt a deep gray color, the silhouette, the colors, it all contrasts against his build and his sickeningly sweet-looking skin, making you salivate. 

This is the third day in a fucking row that just looking at him has made you weak in the knees. You’ve been curbing your cravings well enough since last week against your kitchen island, you’ve kept a safe distance since, not looking at him for too long, you don’t want to risk the rejection that you still aren’t sure was rejection, again. But the more insatiable your thirst grows, the more it feels fucking impossible, especially when he looks like that, when he’s doing tasks for you around the house, when he’s making dinner and eating it with you, when he’s showing up at your house right after work with his belt already off and his shirt halfway untucked.

You’re still not above begging. He’s still not giving you an inch. 

Kyungmin walks first, as attitudey and sass-filled as you imagined it would be, and both you and Wooyoung shout ten. You walk next without an ounce of embarrassment, and Wooyoung shouts ten, but Kyungmin shouts eight. Then Wooyoung walks, using his hips like he had a rope attached through his belt loops pulling him forward, like a real fucking high-fashion model. 

With your jaw pressed to the stone of the patio, you yell, “You motherfucker, why are you good at this?”

“Mommy!” Kyungmin shouts, disapproving of your swear.

A belly laugh leaves Wooyoung, head dipping down, palms clutching his stomach before they land on his knees in a doubled-over crouch. You scoff, “I’m serious, what the hell is going on? Do you have a history in modeling that I should know about? Something else you’re hiding?”

“I think… nine,” Kyungmin says from your side, ignoring you with his hands on his hips, brows slanted, hiding his smile like he knows Wooyoung’s walk was perfect but refuses to outright admit it. 

You snort, “That was a ten if I’ve ever seen a fucking ten.”

Kyungmin shouts again, “Mommy!”

“Stop swearing, you’re bothering the boy,” Wooyoung ushers a hand in Kyungmin’s direction, face still bent up in laughter, tight from trying to hide his smile. Just a moment passes of his lips tucked between his teeth before he laughs again, “I’m sorry– I’m sorry, that was so fucking funny.”

Kyungmin’s voice is stern as he warns, “Daddy.”

“I’m sorry!” Wooyoung shouts, his palms flying up in defense, laughter still laced in his words. “Come on, let’s go inside.” 

Kyungmin makes for the door first, mumbling like he didn’t think you’d hear, “I told you mommy would lose.” 

Wooyoung catches up to you in a light jog, one hand pressed to the small of your back as you cross the threshold to walk inside your kitchen. Your head snaps sideways at the touch and he looks blissfully unaware at how the heat from his palm shoots electricity up your spine, reminding you of just short of a week ago, his arms on the counter behind you, caging you in, whispering nasty shit in your ear…

There’s happiness in the air, bleeding between you and him and your son, even the girl growing steadily in your belly. You don’t want to ruin it by sinking your mind to the gutter, where it was a week ago, how you sulked the entire night and yet he still left your house with a kiss to your cheek and a smirk on his lips. He won’t fucking give in and your body is reacting to every look, every touch like a livewire. 

He meets your eye, mischief twinkling in chocolate, he knows. You take a quick step forward, too fast for his hand to stay on your body, it’s purposeful.

“Homework, dinner, showers, bedtime,” you mumble under your breath as if you needed to remind yourself of the schedule, using it like a bucket of cool water, the words ice in your veins.

And that schedule you continued to repeat to yourself all night. Homework was swift with Wooyoung’s quick-working mind helping Kyungmin, and other than making dinner, having him here to help with math was something you desperately needed and never even thought of. Third-grade math was a nuisance to you, mortifyingly irritating, and sometimes you remember that it's just going to get worse. More complicated. It’s been a long time since you’ve attempted long-division and you’ll avoid it at all costs if you can.

You ended up ordering takeout, the three of you sat on the floor of your living room, eating from containers on the coffee table, watching the movie playing on the TV across the room. Frozen, again, for the thirteen-millionth time, more than once Kyungmin began singing along, and you instinctively sang along with him, then Wooyoung, too. You think the three of you might know this movie word for word. 

By the time the end credits were rolling onto your screen, your back was pressed to the edge of the couch, your head lolled onto the cushions, eyes half open. You supposed singing along to the movie took the last bit of energy right out of you, exhaustion sitting heavy on your chest, your shoulders. 

Kyungmin was still wide awake, bouncing from watching his favorite movie yet another time. Sitting beside Wooyoung on the floor, his legs thrown over Wooyoung’s lap, his head turned sideways, towards the screen across the room, you could barely hear his fast-moving mouth about how much he loves Elsa. How he wanted to be her, have her magic, ice powers, how he wanted a sister like Anna– all things you’ve heard a thousand times before, but they landed differently this time, and as Wooyoung’s head turned sideways to look at you, you know you were both thinking that you hope to give him a sister like Anna.

His gaze lingered, though, taking in your half-awake state, low-lidded eyes, slouched body that you’re sure did not look comfortable. It was, at least, as comfortable as it could be for movie watching on the floor.

“Shower time,” Wooyoung rips his gaze from you to look at Kyungmin. Your son whines, pulling his legs from Wooyoung’s lap to roll over on the floor. Wooyoung’s face stays straight, an unmovable force, “Come on, you’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

“I already feel good,” Kyungmin whines, “I’m clean. I showered last night.”

“Are we gonna have the stinky conversation again?” Wooyoung asks, amusement playing in the line of his lips. “Mommy’s gonna cry if she gets a whiff of you.”

You crack a grin at that, even if Kyungmin refuses to take the bait. He sits up, arms stretched out behind him, brows slanted downward as he asks, “Can’t I shower in the morning?”

“No,” you interject, “you already don’t want to wake up in the morning, I’m not fighting you to shower.”

“I won’t fight!” Kyungmin counters. “I’ll get up, mommy, I promise.”

“I don’t even believe that,” Wooyoung reaches forward, grabbing him by his ankles and tugging the boy towards him. “Go shower.”

Kyungmin giggles as his butt slides against the floor, toward his father. “Can I eat ice cream after?” 

“Sure,” Wooyoung nods. “But only if you smell clean. Remember to wash your hair twice, with shampoo.”

Kyungmin stands from the floor just to scowl at his father, “I know how to wash my hair.”

Wooyoung just raises his brows like this was an argument they’ve had before, one you have no knowledge of. He doesn’t respond, though, and Kyungmin doesn’t argue as he turns for the staircase, running two steps at a time so he can get to his dessert as fast as humanly possible.

Wooyoung wastes no time as soon as the shower turns on. He slides closer to you, eyes zeroed in on your tired expression as he asks, “Why don’t you go take a bath?” 

You pop a brow, “Are you saying I smell, too?”

“I’m saying you look like you need to relax,” he says smoothly, easing you with a soft smile. “I’ll get him ready for bed, ice cream and all.”

Like it was meant to be or something, you yawn. Your back arches, arms stretching over your head, neck turning away from Wooyoung. “I don’t feel like walking all the way up there.”

“I’ll carry you?” You turn back to see him grinning, playful, eyes flaring amusement. You can see his collarbones beneath the collar of his shirt, fully untucked now, his pants that were once pressed now wrinkled and littered with tiny balls of fuzz. “I’ll even start running the water for you. Use the new soaps I got you, see if you like ‘em.”

“I’ll wait until Kyungie goes to bed–”

“I’ll put him to bed,” Wooyoung cuts you off. “And by put him to bed I mean I’m gonna close the door and let him fall asleep on his own, like a big boy.”

You roll your eyes, smile growing, “Are you gonna drill that into me forever?”

“I’m not drilling anything else into you,” he responds, too quick for him not to have been waiting to use that response. 

Your face falls, lips bending into a frown. “I know,” you respond, a bite to the words, sounding like that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “Why not?”

“Because we tried it the other way already,” he slides down on the floor, head lolling backward, mimicking the way you’re sitting. “That didn’t work, so I’m using my thirty days wisely. No sex until you have a ring on your finger again.”

“They’re upstairs, on my dresser,” you say, jutting your chin towards the staircase. “Go get them, I’ll put them on.”

He side-eyes you. “You know what I mean, asshole.”

“Oh, now I’m the asshole?” You sit up a little. “You’re the one who won’t fuck your wife.”

“Because you’re only my wife legally,” he mumbles, voice quieter. “I want to have sex when you want your husband, because I’m your husband, not because you just want to have sex. Does that make sense? I think I confused myself.”

Your palms find the floor on either side of you, pushing upward until your legs are under you before you stand up straight. Tilting your head, ignoring his rambling, you ask, “Has your lawyer called you?”

“No,” his brows furrow as he lifts his head. “Why?”

You shrug, “Just wondering.”

He was right, you did need to fucking relax.

The smell of lavender and chamomile fills your bathroom, steam fogging the white gold-lined mirror on your marble vanity, turning the once crystal-clear glass shower door cloudy. Bubbles surround you, popping every few seconds, swirling with each slight movement of your body. Your neck stretches over the back end, eyes closed, body submerged beneath the water that teeters on the edge of hot. You’ve already drained some water and refilled the white, ceramic tub once, not wanting to escape serenity just yet. It’s been too long since you’ve properly relaxed without worrying about work, your husband, your son, anything. Everything. 

You were content on staying here, letting your body soak in the water, in the sweet smells, for as long as you possibly could. The first your eyes have opened is when you hear a hand on the door handle, pushing it open quickly and then closing it even quicker. Wooyoung walks in, eyes on you as soon as you’re in view, silently crossing the bathroom in a few long strides before crouching beside the tub. 

“Care to join?” You ask, head turned toward him. 

He cracks a smile, head dropping down to huff a laugh under his breath. It’s empty, like he had something on his mind. His hands reach over the side of the tub, bronzy fingers playing in the warm water, “Do you like the soaps? The salts?”

You nod, “Mhm, ‘m very relaxed.”

“Good,” he nods, lips scrunching to one side. He had more to say.

“What’s up?” You ask, searching his face for the answer before he had a chance to verbalize it.

He takes a beat. “We haven’t talked about it,” he finally says, eyes meeting yours, pupils big and dilated. “Us. At all, not once during these past few weeks.”

“Okay,” you say assuredly, then readjust. Sitting up a little taller, using your hands pushing against the bottom of the tub, the water covers just above the apex of your breasts. “Let’s talk.”

He swallows, eyes dancing across your face, your shoulders, like he’s fighting for his life to not let his gaze drop past your collarbones. You smile. 

“Where’s your head at?” he asks, forcing his gaze upward. “Do you wanna do this?”

You lean over the side, throwing an arm along the edge of the tub, laying your cheek on your forearm to look up at him. “Do I wanna do what?”

He shifts, sitting on the floor, legs bent, criss-crossed. He keeps his face close to yours, just slightly below you. “Be with me,” he wonders, “have another baby with me.”

You crack another smile, one so genuine it takes over your entire face. “I’ve wanted to the whole time, dummy.”

“Don’t toy with me, jagi,” his lips fall to a line. “Be serious. Are we doing this or are we not?”

You sigh. “You know,” you start, twisting your legs, the fluid noise of water sloshing following. “That day you brought me the soaps, the gummies, things I didn’t ask for but you know I needed…” Wooyoung nods, eyes twinkling with optimism. “It reminded me what kind of man you are. Who you used to be, before your priority became work–”

“I told you–”

“Let me finish,” you cut him off, eyes stern. He nods. “Even though you weren’t here, I know it was for Kyung, for me. I knew it, and even though I divorced you–the first time–I hoped you’d fight it. That you’d fix everything as soon as I brought up divorce, admit your wrongs and fucking grovel or something.” He frowns, but you don’t give him a second to respond. “I’ve missed this part of you. I’ve missed the part that’s present, that supports me as a partner and not just a checkbook. That’s what matters to me.” His frown deepens, eyes glazing over. You lift your head, reaching for humor, “Crybaby.”

“You’re the crybaby,” he counters, but a smile tugs at his lips. He wipes two thumbs under his eyes as he says, “Don’t forget we have to send two kids to college.”

You bark out a laugh, a genuine laugh. “We’ll figure it out. I just want— all I’ve ever wanted is you here, Wooyoung.”

He leans forward, pressing a short, sweet kiss to your lips. Keeping himself close, barely a millimeter between your faces, he whispers, “I will be.”

“Good,” your smile grows, “because I called my lawyer like, two days ago. I think we need your signature before the judge can sign off on the motion.”

He snaps his head backward, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Why would I lie?” You laugh a little, leaning your chin on your forearm again. “Are you really that surprised? I thought I’ve been making it pretty clear.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly in disbelief as he stutters, “I don’t– I guess, I don’t know. You’re pregnant.”

Your eyes droop in a scowl, “Are you about to call me horny and hormonal?”

His lips tighten, trapping his smile, “No.”

You laugh again, leaning back into the tub, letting your head lay against the ceramic. “I love you, idiot. I don’t want to do this without you, you’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” his bottom lip bends over in a pout, eyes glossy all over again. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, baby. I swear to God I never had bad intentions with any of it.”

“I know,” you mumble, reaching your hand over the side of the tub. He tangles his fingers with yours, squeezing your wet palm, reveling in the silence, the shifting, the togetherness both of you fucking ached for. You smile, eyes twinkling with the idea, “Do you wanna go get my rings?”

He beams, muttering an excited yes before he pushes himself upward. It takes him all of seven seconds to run out to your bedroom, connected to your bathroom, to grab your wedding band and your engagement ring from the ceramic box atop your dresser and to run back into the bathroom. The movement was so Kyungmin you couldn’t help but laugh when he knelt beside the tub again. 

Wordlessly, you hold your left hand out, and he slides your wedding band on your ring finger first, a silver ring encrusted with diamonds. Then your engagement ring, a simple silver band, at the center a recently polished diamond set with four prongs. You hold it up to the dim light of the bathroom, admiring how the diamonds catch the amber hue, sparkling, shining, immediately regretting ever taking them off. 

“You really did a good job,” your head tilts in admiration. “I’ve missed this fuckin’ rock.”

He snorts, lifting himself up and over you, planting both hands on either side of the tub as his upper half stretches over the side, pressing his lips against yours. Your other hand leaves the water to cup his cheek, savoring the taste of him, home. Knowing it was real this time, knowing you were choosing this. Him, all over again. You deepen the kiss as the feeling blooms, pushing your tongue between his lips, using your hand on his cheek to bring him closer. 

“I love you,” he says into your mouth, voice cushioned by the remnants of relief.

You moan the softest sound of pleasure into his parted lips, “I love you.”

You feel him smile against you, one mischievous and him. “Should we consummate our renewed marital status?”

Keeping your hand on his cheek, you push him away a singular inch, popping a brow. “You really have to ask me that?”

“Mm, I know,” he leans forward to kiss you again, his outstretched arm leaving the ceramic to hold your cheek, running a thumb over your skin. “All that blood pumping down there, I’ve been so mean, denying my pregnant wife.”

His hand falls to your neck and you gasp, legs twitching in the water. You don’t have it in you to respond, already lost in the way his touch feels, just a few months without him should be nothing compared to the year you spent apart. But you weren’t pregnant then.

“Come to bed,” he purrs against your lips. “As much as I’d love to fuck my wife in the bath, I’d rather spread your legs as wide as I can get ‘em.”

The idea makes you snort, “How flexible do you think I am?”

He plants another kiss to your lips before responding. “Doesn’t matter. I’m stretching you out anyway, aren’t I?”

You pull the plug from the drain with a roll of your eyes before Wooyoung helps you up by your arms, then grabs the white towel that sat folded on the toilet lid. Holding it open for you, he wraps you in white cotton until your back is pressed to his chest, his arms snug around your front, fingers still holding the towel closed. 

Leaning into him, his scent, his warmth, even if you’re already standing in your home, it’s never felt more like it. Quietly, you mutter, “I missed you.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head instead of responding. You tilt it to the side, looking up at him, his beautiful, sculpted face you’ve spent fifteen years loving. Clear skin, soft and smooth, whiskey eyes, the freckle perfectly centered beneath one of them, there’s a wrench in your gut and it hurts. You love him so much it aches.

Wordlessly, you press your lips against his, and it relives the ache ever so slightly. Til’ death do you part, he’s yours, he always has been, he always will be. And like he’s confirming it, his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands leaving the towel to turn you by your hips, the cotton falling to the floor. Your arms reach over his shoulders, back arching into him, your bare front pressing into his clothed one, you didn’t care.

“Easy,” he mumbles into your mouth. “Let me get you on the bed first.”

You respond by kissing him harder. Your mouths move melodically, your fingers finding the soft, ebony locks on his head, his palms leaving your hips just to start undoing the buttons on his shirt. You help him push it off his shoulders, panting into his mouth as your fingers dart for the button at the hem of his slacks, fingers sliding the zipper down. 

He grunts when your palm meets his clothed length. “Jagi,” he grits out, chest heaving. “Baby, fuck– wait.”

“No,” you huff, kissing him again. Fingers meeting the elastic of his briefs, you push them over his hips, gripping the base of his length and tugging.

He groans, breaking away just to suck in a harsh breath, his abdomen flexing.

“Fuck me.” You’re staring up at him, and you’re positive you look crazed; eyes wide, unblinking, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving.

He doesn’t seem to care. He pulls your wrist from his cock, bending at his knees to scoop his other arm under your legs, lifting you in one quick motion. You stop yourself from yelping, arms swinging around his neck, holding on for dear fucking life as he opens the door with the hand that was supposed to be cradling your back.

So strong, the realization shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He lays you down on the bed, wet body soaking the comforter, neither of you care as he gets his pants, his briefs off his body, crawling over you. He keeps his voice quiet, barely above a whisper as he says, “What do you want?”

“You,” you quip, breathless. “Inside, inside, please.”

He studies you for a millisecond before he moves. Palms splayed over the underside of your thighs, he pushes them upward as he leans down between them, tongue poking out to lick a stripe through your folds. Hissing quietly, you watch his mouth bend, angled cheeks sucking in before he parts his lips in the smallest O to land a glob of spit on your core.

Grip loosening on your thighs, he sits on his calves, taking one hand to the base of his cock, smearing the spit along your folds. You release a breath, eyes screwing shut, fingers curling into the sheets, reminding yourself you need to be silent.

“Take a breath,” his voice is damn near silent, too. You obey, sucking in deep as he prods at your entrance, releasing the breath as he pushes in, agonizingly slow. You open your eyes to see his face twisted up in pleasure, jaw slack, muscles flexed, veins protruding in his sculpted arms.

You curse under your breath and he opens his eyes. “So good,” he whispers, sheathing himself fully, cock buried to the hilt. “Nothing fuckin’ feels like you.”

Your head tilts a singular degree, “You have much to compare me to?”

His lips flatten, eyes following suit. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Your lips bend in a smirk, legs spreading further. “Move.”

“Be nice,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “Been awhile.”

“Gonna cum if I’m mean?”

He bends at the hips, elbows landing on either side of your head, arms close enough that you might as well be scooped beneath his elbows. His forehead pressed against yours, he whispers, “Gonna cum if you’re nice, too.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Lay there,” he smiles, then presses a short kiss to your lips. “Let me take care of you.”

When he starts moving, it takes everything in you not to moan. Not to squeal, not to squeak, not to cry. Jaw falling open, brows furrowing, your fingers fly to his arms, nails cutting crescents into his skin. 

“Oh my god,” his voice is low, quiet and ragged, his head dipping into the pocket of your shoulder. Your legs wrap around him, the smallest whimper escaping your mouth, in chorus to the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out. Instead of the loud slapping of skin against skin, it was raw, a quiet, creamy noise filling the quiet room, each grind of his hips to the same beat as your breathing. 

It’s almost worse than being fucked mercilessly. Caged beneath him, body a livewire, arching and jerking just for every movement to be stopped, forced into stillness, it’s almost worse. You’re panting, hips fucking back into him, toes curling over the expanse of his back, the pit of pleasure in the base of your gut spreads heat through each limb.

“Woo,” you pant, “I need, I need– oh my god.”

His lips find your neck, but he doesn’t pick up speed. Cock curving upward, massaging against your walls, his tongue spreads flat against the curve of your neck, lips closing over the stripe of spit. Mumbling, so quiet it’s a murmur, he says, “You need me.”

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut, fingers clawing into his arms harder. Your body tightens, muscles strained, but he rocks into you with the same rhythm, unbothered by your body clenching. “I need you– I, I love you.”

His teeth find your skin, a rumble of a groan melting into your neck. “I love you.”

“No,” you urge through a hiss. “I love you.”

His hips rock a little harsher, a twitch in his rhythm. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you’re whimpering, “I love you, I love you.”

He picks up speed, cock still brushing the spot on the inside of your walls. “Say you’re mine, jagi, ‘h my god.”

Your hips tilt, breath turning ragged, voice rising in pitch as your pleasure blooms. “I’m y-yours, I’m yours. Always will be.”

He lifts his head to press his lips against yours messily, tongue slipping into your mouth, hips grinding into you, pulling you closer to the line he drew for you. The one he made for you, because you’ve always been his, and he’ll always be yours.

His hands cup your cheeks, pulling his lips from yours, hips never once breaking their rhythm. His cheeks cave again, lips pursing, and you open your mouth in waiting. A droplet of spit dribbles slowly from his mouth and you catch it on your tongue, never once taking your eyes off of him, unblinking, letting him see that you’d take anything he gave. He watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Mine.” He sounds on the brink, his voice a quiet, hardened thing. “Cum for me.”

It doesn’t take long, not when your feet hit the mattress, pushing your hips upward, allowing him to hit that spot in perfect rhythm. After a week or two of denial, you’ve been on the cusp since he’d walked inside the bathroom.

“So perfect,” he says. It’s primal, how he stares at you coming undone around his cock, jaw pried open and eyebrows knitted together. “I fucking love you.”

You can feel him twitching as you clench around the width of him, nails slicing into his skin, hips jerking wildlessly under his own. He keeps you pinned as he reaches down, picking up a thigh to push it upward, knees spreading to fuck into you harder without slapping his hips against you. 

You whimper, overstimulation looming, pleasure unending and all-consuming. “Wooyoung– Wooyoung.”

“Close,” he grinds his teeth. “Fuck, need to fill you up, jagi. Need to fill you up.”

His words make your hips rise to meet his, small squeaks escaping as his other hand finds your hair, knuckles finding purchase in your roots. Not hard, but enough, claim in another form; he needed it, needed you, in any way he could get you. Any way he could have you. 

“Cum,” you cry. “Please, please please. I need it.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you!” Your fingers find the duvet beneath you, curling into the plush, nerves beyond fried. Rambling, your voice a winded whine, “I love you, please fill me up, cum inside me until I’m leaking, made me feel so good, Woo. Need it inside.”

He moans, and it’s small, but it’s verbal. Cock twitching, hips losing rhythm, his abdomen clenches as he finally unravels, painting your insides with ropes of white-hot heavy warmth. You sigh in relief, in the warmth, the comfort of his release like an embrace. 

He lets go of your thigh to reach for your cheek, pressing his lips against yours. Whispering into each other’s mouths, mumbles of I love you and thank you and I missed you, over and over and over, all between kisses and tastes of each other’s tongues.

It feels like forever that you stay like that, far past his cock softening inside you, his release leaking out, ignoring the tickle as it races for the duvet beneath. You didn’t care, not with his lips on yours, your hands in his hair, his scent in your nose, the world could end around you and you still wouldn’t fucking care. Like stitching time back together, seam by seam, when you’re both wearing flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you finally part with lazy grins and cheeks aching from giggling. He kisses down your chest, two of his palms splayed over your tummy, peppering a hundred, a thousand kisses to the skin circling your belly-button.

“I’m so excited,” he says, like he’d been waiting to say it. “I can’t wait to see you bursting, belly all full ‘n round. I can’t wait to have another.”

He lays his head on your stomach, body stretched out on the bed. Your hand finds his hair, scratching at his scalp as an easy sigh falls from your lips. “Me too,” you smile, and you mean it. “And I’m excited for you to be here. Normalcy.” 

His fingers dance over your skin, featherlight, his cheek pressed to your tummy. “Can I move back in tomorrow?”

A quiet laugh tumbles off your lips. “We’ll take it slow, we have an eight year old who notices things, Wooyoung.”

“He literally wants me to live here,” his eyes slide upward. “He’ll be happy.”

“We’ll talk to him,” you nod in confirmation, fingers continuing to scratch in his hair.

He purrs, the vibration tickling your belly, making you twitch. “I love you,” he says softly, a pause before he adds, “wifey.”

Your grin spreads at the nickname. “I love you too.”

From the top of the staircase, you see him dressed in oversized charcoal at the bottom, kicking his sneakers off his feet while throwing his phone, wallet and keys on the entryway table. Skipping down the stairs, you forgo greeting him, whispering, “Be quiet, he just went down.” 

“He’s eight,” Wooyoung whispers back, “you still tuck him in?” 

“He begs me to,” your brows knit together, “he doesn’t beg you?” 

“No,” his lips spread in a grin, “he’s a big boy at my house.” 

You scoff, “Shut up, he’ll always be my baby.” Leading him into the living room, you keep your voice low, louder than a whisper, “We have to be quiet.” 

“You have to be quiet,” he corrects you, tone teasing, smirking as you lay back on the couch. The TV is on but muted, the lamp in the corner coating the living area in dusky orange even if the sun had gone to sleep hours ago. 

“I am quiet,” you pout as he crawls over you, wasting no time, crouching between your parted legs, a hand falling to the back of the couch for purchase as he pecks a short kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t tease tonight,” you grab hold of his hoodie, pulling him close enough for your lips to touch, “I don’t have it in me to fight for it.” 

He smiles, kissing you again, parting your lips with his own, hands moving to the armrest to keep him steady as he lowers his hips into you. You gasp into his mouth at the friction, your tiny shorts doing nothing to shield you from his weight. 

“Then don’t fight,” he moves to kiss your jaw, your head tilts to let him in, his breath is hot against your skin, “lay there and behave for once.” 

Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, pulling him back up to kiss you deeper, head lifting off the pillow, calves hooking over the back of his thighs. He makes a grumbled noise, tongue licking into your mouth like he was searching for something, one hand falling from the armrest to tug at the hem of your hoodie, pushing it upward. 

“Off.” 

One word, a singular order, you sink further down the couch after pulling it off your body in a rush, throwing the pillow beneath your head to the floor, giving him space to plant his elbows above your shoulders. 

“Don’t wait,” you murmur into his mouth, “I can take it.” 

He hums, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he answers, “You don’t know how to take it.”

“Then I’ll fucking learn,” your feet tug at his sweatpants, spine bending toward him, “get inside me.”

“Antsy,” he sits back on his knees, pushing his sweatpants and his briefs down in one quick motion. “Like I haven’t been fucking you right or something.”

“You haven’t been here in a week,” you argue, pushing your shorts down to your ankles, kicking them on the floor, “you haven’t been fucking me at all.”

“I had our kid for four of those days,” he pulls your thighs over his, sliding his cock through your folds, “I didn’t see you at my door after he went to bed. On his own, might I add.”

You loose a shaky breath as his tip collides with your clit, hips bucking up towards him, “Shit, I was busy, Wooyoung. What about those three days then?”

He pauses, glancing up at you, “You serious?”

“Yes?” You blink, “What were you doing? You had Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

He laughs, lining himself up, holding his breath as he pushes inside. Your lips part in a silent scream, head tilting backwards to dig into the couch cushions, hands clawing at your own thighs for something. He stills once he’s fully seated, chest heaving, veiny forearms reaching for your ankles. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grinds out, voice tight with restrain, pushing your knees up to your chest. “Careful what you say, wifey. Might think you want me for real.”

“Regretting,” you squeak, eyes screwed shut tight, “s’big.”

He’d laugh again if your pussy didn’t look so pretty trying to keep him in. Walls fluttering around the base of him, your clit pulsed, begging for attention already, he started a slow, deep grind of his hips, making sure he filled you up all the way with each one. 

“So wet for me, mommy. Didn’t even have to touch you,” he keeps his palms splayed on your thighs, bearing his weight as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the arch of your foot that dangles in the air. 

You whimper, face scrunching in pleasure, core clenching around him, he kisses up to your ankle, grazing his teeth against your skin, your hands shoot for his wrists, his forearms, just to hold them. Forcing words out, you say, “Been waiting for this, for you.”

“A whole week,” he picks up the pace, voice leaning into condescending, “must have been so hard.”

Your breath catches, eyes rolling back, a soft moan tumbling off your tongue, “Fuck, ‘t was. It was.”

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “or I’ll stop.”

“You won’t stop,” you mutter, fingers tightening over his wrists, a challenge. 

At that he stills, sitting back on his calves, leaving just the tip inside. “I won’t what?”

Jaw clenching, your hips follow him, he lays his palms over bone to keep you still. You stay like that for a moment, a game of chicken, eyes locked on his that stare at you expectantly. Obedience, silence, submission, he loves you bratty, he’s a brat himself, but when it comes to fucking you open on your couch just past nine at night, he expects you to listen. 

“Fine,” you shift against the cushions, “fine, you win.”

He pulls you onto his cock by your hips without a word and you have to slap a hand over your mouth to force yourself silent. The angle, the ease in which he mounted you onto him, your eyes slammed shut, gasping out a broken sound into your palm, he fills you up perfectly, carving into you like you were built to take him and him only, it’s war to not cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck,” under his breath, low, he tells you how good you feel in one blurted word. You roll your hips against him, meeting his thrusts, curved cock dragging along the front of your walls with each grind. 

“More,” you plead, grabbing for him, “kiss me.”

He crawls over you, elbows beside your ears again, pressing his lips to yours with a softness reserved for you. His hips slow, your ankles crossing over his back, pushing his hoodie up with your heels just to feel more of his skin against you. 

“Yes,” you whisper, breathing the same air, bodies moving together now, “just like that, daddy.”

His forehead meets yours, a quiet noise of pleasure rumbling from his chest, “‘m not gonna last.”

You kiss him again, tongue slotting between his lips, hands tugging at his roots, body moving in the shape of his, the only thing you can hear is your breath singing in harmony and the slick sound of your bodies conjoining. 

Six weeks of Wooyoung breaking you down on your couch, your kitchen counter, your living room floor, once against the wall just outside of your hallway bathroom. You don’t know what it is, you haven’t spoken any more of what it means, what comes next, the only thing you know is that you can’t stop. 

“Want me to fill you up? Fuck you full?”

You’re nodding, tongue catching on his lips, delirious with pleasure, your body ached for him. Burned for him. Only him. Always him– till death do you part.

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, voice pitched and whiny. 

His hips stutter, he tucks his head into your neck to muffle his groan, fingers tightening in your hair that’s sprawled out around your head like a blanket. Losing his rhythm, his slow deep strokes turning shallow, quick– chasing a high he found so easily with you. 

Your toes curl over his back, chin tipping up when you feel the warmth spread, the heaviness, the feeling was indescribable. Claimed, owned, like he was marking his territory, it made your stomach swirl with affection, enough to pick his head up by his hair and kiss him again. 

Your hips rock, he whimpers. “T-too much, jagi, no.”

So warm, you glide against him, too slippery for there to be any resistance. The sound you make is small but it says everything you can’t, that you need more, you aren’t done. 

“D’you wanna sit on my face?" You hold his flushed cheeks instead, doe eyes staring up into his dilated pupils, begging. He shakes his head, “Can’t fuck you again, can’t.”

“Pussy,” you smack your teeth, “are you serious?”

“I’ll make you cum in under three,” he feeds you a peck of his lips, “promise.”

“Mommy?”

Both of your heads turn toward the staircase, the small voice that couldn’t see you from the platform at the top. It takes all of a millisecond for you to push Wooyoung away from you and jump off the couch.

“Coming!” You call, grabbing your shorts from the floor. Pulling them up your thighs, clenching hard to keep Wooyoung inside, you hiss at your ex, “Don’t fucking leave, you owe me.”

“Yes, mommy,” he nods, grin amused and lazy, “duty calls.”

You run up the stairs to find your brown-haired boy standing at the top, one of his fists rubbing at his eye, his favorite Frozen pajamas already pulled up and twisted at each and every hem. Before you have a chance to speak, he asks, “Who’s here?”

“No one,” you speak quietly, softly, turning him around by his shoulders, guiding him back into his bedroom. “Come on, baby, bed time.”

Five minutes of staring at the ceiling feels like a fucking lifetime until his tiny breaths turn slower, deeper. Creeping out of his bedroom once more, closing his door even softer than you did the first time, you nearly sprint down the steps to find Wooyoung still half-clothed.

“Now what if I brought him down here?” You stand before the couch, hands on your hips. 

“Why the hell would you do that?” He quips, leaning forward to grab you by the hips, pulling you back down to him. “He’s asleep?”

“Out like a light,” you throw your arms over his shoulders, taking your spot in his lap. “You promised me something.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” His brows raise and the question takes you by surprise.

Wiping the smirk off your lips, your arms lower a little, disarmed. “Sex?”

“Yeah,” he sits up a little, shifting where you sat on his lap. “We’ve been sneaking around for over a month, I haven’t pressed the date thing because you’ve never been one to break your promises and–”

“You were serious?” You push your brows up to your hairline, cutting him off. To make it clear, you repeat, “You seriously want to take me on a date.”

His head cocks to the side, “You didn’t think I was serious? Of course I want to take you out.”

“We’re divorced,” you argue, leaning back, adding space between you.

“I’m aware,” he says, as if he really means no shit. “You’re on my lap right now, I’m still dripping out of you, are you planning on fucking me after the sun goes down for the rest of our lives?”

“Not for the rest of our lives,” you shake your head a little, brows knitted together, confused.

“Oh, then until you’re over it?” He blows amusement through his nose. “We made a tiny human who’s upstairs right now and I’m suddenly disposable?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you rub your palms over your face, sucking in a deep breath. “I just thought this was, like, an agreement. I didn’t think either of us wanted anything more, I’m sorry if I misread the situation.”

“We’d have a chance to talk about it if you didn’t kick me out as soon as you came.”

“Wooyoung,” you gasp sharply, offended, “I do not do that.”

His brows raise, forgoing a verbal response. You think back on the past six weeks, remembering each and every night you’ve shoved him out of your front door as soon as he pulled his pants up, the memories flash through your mind like a medley. Your lips flatten, cheeks heating, guilt and shame forming in the pit of your belly. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, just above a whisper. 

“You really don’t want anything more?” 

He sounds wounded and your heart cracks beneath your ribs. His brows are upturned, mismatched eyes rounded out, pink lips still swollen from earlier almost pouting. You swallow, taking a second to be honest with yourself and your feelings… This works. The last six weeks have worked so effortlessly, so easily, you’ve been spending your days bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so fulfilled you haven’t even considered what comes next. If anything comes next. 

“I haven’t been this happy in awhile,” you reply honestly, “I think I don’t want to fuck anything up, our sex life wasn’t this consistent when we were still married, it’s nice.”

His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you closer to him, a small smile forming on his full lips. “All I want to do is take you out one time, jagi. We don’t have to put any pressure on it, let’s just go out for dinner, have a few drinks and talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve just talked.”

It puts a smile on your face, too. You run a hand through his hair, locks of coal soft between your fingers, “Okay, let’s go this weekend.”

His face lights up, “Really?”

You snort, “Yes, really. I’ll get a babysitter for Saturday and–”

“I’ll bring him to Yunho’s,” his hands slide up to your waist, under the hem of your tank, leaning forward until his chest brushes against you. “He hasn’t seen Aden in awhile, maybe they can have a sleepover.”

Your hands find the base of his neck, pulling him flush to you, “A sleepover?”

Wooyoung’s lips find yours, a small kiss, his hands traveling upward, cupping your breasts beneath your tank, “Maybe we can have a sleepover of our own.”

You gasp into his touch, brows furrowing in pleasure, “Please.”

“You can have me all night,” he reaches for the hem of your tank, pulling it swiftly over your head before his hands go right back to toying with your chest, pressing his thumbs over your nipples as he says, “We can fuck in our big, comfortable bed, all night if you want to. Just like old times.”

You moan softly, quietly, head going fuzzy like he’d cast a spell on you, “Let’s go up there now.”

He keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward, tongue poking out to circle over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly. You suck in a sharp gasp, face twisting in pleasure, hips grinding into him beneath you, “Fuck, Wooyoung.”

“Saturday,” his voice is low, gravelly, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Tonight you get to ride my face.”

You can’t argue. Not when he brushes his nose over your spit-soaked nipple, giving you a perfect view of the curve of cartilage, already imagining bucking your hips against it. 

Immediately you’re climbing off of his lap, pointing to the rug beneath your feet, “On the floor.”

“Whatever you want, mommy.”

“Damn.”

It’s loud enough for the neighbors to hear. On your porch, fist over his lips, his brows are scrunched like he can’t believe his eyes, he looks you up and down three times before he whistles. 

You snort, rolling your eyes, pulling your front door closed behind you. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”

He steps backwards, down one of your cement stairs, watching as you bend over slightly to lock your front door. Voice amused, he continues, “All dressed up for lil’ ole me? The dreaded ex?”

You turn around with a smile, “I’m keeping my word.”

His hand goes over his heart, frowning, “That hurt.”

“Shut up,” you shake your head, fighting your amusement as you move to step down, following him, he keeps his feet planted where he stands, an unmovable force.

Then he cracks a grin. “What, you’re not even gonna kiss me hello?”

You cross your arms over the front of your dress, sleek and red and hugging every inch of your body you want to be hugged. You got it on sale, an outfit you’ve been saving for the right occasion, you can’t believe tonight, of all nights, is the night you took it off the hanger. 

You can’t believe you pulled it out for Wooyoung. 

“Good things come to those who wait,” you sing, “if you’re on your best behavior maybe you’ll get a kiss goodnight.”

He groans, head tipping backward, eyes squeezing shut, “You’re gonna make me hard.”

“I hate you,” you laugh, pushing on his chest, making him tumble backward a step. You follow him down the staircase, towards his still-running SUV in your driveway, “Where are we going?”

He said to dress nice, two days ago in a short text-exchange that started off with you asking if he forgot to drop off Kyungmin’s backpack, which you found in the corner of your living room approximately nine seconds later. Two texts back and forth before he reminded you of your date tonight, that he’d already made the plans with Yunho and Aurora, Kyungmin would stay over at their house tonight to have a sleepover with their son, Aden.

Yunho was Wooyoung’s friend from college, living only fifteen minutes from where you lived on the outskirts of the city, suburbia with a good school district, which is where Kyungmin had met their son, Aden, the second of four. You wondered how they did it, you had your hands tied with only one. 

“It’s a surprise,” he walks to the passenger side, opening the door for you. 

“Wow,” you raise your brows, “such a gentleman. Who even are you anymore?”

He holds an arm out for you to grab as you climb in, “I’m just a husband taking his sexy ass wife out to dinner, that’s all.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct, “ex-wife.” 

He leans against the door with a smile, “Whatever you say.” 

He looks good. Dress pants on his legs, tailored, all his dress pants are. A button-up, rolled up on his veiny forearms, showcasing his tattoo, the top two buttons undone. Dressed in all black so his golden skin gleams in each pocket where it shows, fuck he knows how to dress himself and God it pisses you off. His hair is styled, down, tucked behind his ears, it frames his face effortlessly, beautifully, part of you wants to ask if you can make a pit-stop in the backseat.

It’s a thirty minute drive, filled with the same soft rock playing from his speakers, he talks over it the whole time. From Kyungmin to work to his apartment, which he nags at you that you still haven’t seen the inside of, the conversation is as easy as it always is. Bickering, of course, but you’ve been bickering since you were twenty-two. Fifteen years of partnership, of friendship, of learning each other down to particles and atoms, awkward silence has never existed between you. 

A fancy restaurant, one that just opened in the city, dim lighting and red velvet and black leather, you couldn’t tell if you were supposed to eat dinner or each other. Side-eyeing Wooyoung as the hostess brought you to your table, the moment she left you quirked a brow, “Is this foreplay?”

He grabs the drink menu, “It can be if you want it to be.”

So shameless it makes your lips part. “Are we in a restaurant or a sex club?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a restaurant,” he doesn’t look up over the menu, “but we could make it a sex club if you want to make it a sex club.” You snort, reaching over to steal the drink menu from his hands. He scoffs, “No way you’re reading that as if you aren’t gonna nurse one margarita until it’s tequila-water.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, “maybe I’m in the mood for something different.”

You quickly scan the specials, the list of bottles they carry, different brands of wine they have. Pursing your lips, you quickly realize you’re not in the mood for something different. 

Shoving the menu back into his hands, you mumble, “Fine.”

He laughs, a high, amused giggle, “You’re so predictable.”

“You just know me,” you huff, “not predictable.”

When the waiter comes by, Wooyoung not only orders his beer, but he orders your margarita, too. Casamigos, salt on the rim, you don’t correct him because you’re as predictable as they come. Your cheeks heat up anyway, you might be predictable but he remembers and it sends a streak of heat up your spine. Whatever. 

You’re reading the menu, or trying to with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, seeing words but not ingesting any of them. Maybe you should just let him order your meal for you, too.

“What’s bothering you?” He asks, and you glance upward like he’s ripped you out of a trance.

You purse your lips, shaking your head a little, defensive. “Nothing.”

“I’ve known you for over a decade,” his lips curl at the corner, “I’ve lived with you, I’ve loved you, you’re the mother of my son. Is it so crazy that I know you? One year spent apart out of fifteen is nothing.”

You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you forgot he knows you down to your thoughts, too. A small sigh escapes you, “Do you wanna start now? Before there’s even any food on the table?”

He leans forward, smile mischievous, “Hey, there’s bread.”

You push air out of your nose, amused as you sit back in the upholstered chair. “It’s just stupid. We’ve only been divorced for a year, and look at us. We’re in a sex club that has a kitchen.”

His lips thin before he answers. “Did you really think we’d stay separated?"

“Yes?” Your head tilts with the question. “Did you not?”

“No,” he answers honestly, “I’ve been working on myself a lot this past year. All the time spent away from you, Kyungie, it’s given me space that I never wanted. Space I’ve filled with things to better myself, for him, for you.”

“What, did you get a promotion or something?” You quirk a brow, “Work stuff?”

He smacks his teeth, “I went to therapy.”

“You went to therapy?” Your brows meet your hairline, “Like, the couch and everything?”

“No, she made me sit on the floor,” he muses. “She actually has a brown, leather chair. She helped me figure a lot of my shit out, that way when it was time for me to propose the idea of us seeing each other again, it’d be different. I’d be different.”

“Woo, I had no idea,” your heart picks up speed in your chest. “I didn’t even know that you were this… bothered about us separating, to be honest.” 

His face scrunches up in disbelief, “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m serious!” You argue, “The divorce process was so smooth, I guess over time I got it in my head that it was smooth because it was mutual.”

“It was never, not even for a second, mutual.”

“You made it easy,” you shrug, picking up your margarita, taking a sip. “You never told me the details, I only knew what I found out from your mother. She never mentioned therapy.”

“You knew what I wanted you to know,” he sets his menu down in front of him. “It’s not like we were exactly on speaking terms, you didn’t give me the opportunity to fix anything while we were still together, either.”

Your stomach churns. “I gave you a lot of chances, Wooyoung.”

“Not enough,” he argues, not sternly, earnestly. He picks up his beer. “You gave up on me.”

“I gave up on being a single mother in my own marriage,” your voice is low, quiet. Your throat feels tight. 

The waiter comes, Wooyoung orders for the both of you, something you would’ve chosen for yourself. Your thoughts are too loud for you to pay it any mind. 

“I’ll have to live with the fact that I made you feel that way until the day I die,” his face is solemn, his words so honest your heart feels like stone in your chest. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, setting us up for our future, setting our son up for his future. For a long time I couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough for you.”

“But you understand now?”

He nods, “Strangely enough, you making that deal with me at the conference, about having San speak, it might’ve been the final piece that put everything together. I feel like I can see it clearly now, and it feels so fucking stupid looking back.”

“Yeah?” Your lips curve at the corners, “Did your therapist enjoy my ultimatum?”

“I think she thinks we’re childish,” he laughs a little, “she doesn’t say that, but I can kinda feel it. Like we’re still kids playing at being adults.”

“We are,” your smile widens, “but now I keep wipes and snacks in my purse instead of lipgloss and condoms that we never used.”

“Don’t talk mommy to me right now,” his face scrunches together like you pressed your foot against his crotch. “We’re still in public.”

You stare at him over the salt on the rim of your glass, taking a sip of your margarita before you mumble, “I don’t think anyone here would be bothered.”

“I want to try again,” he wipes the smile off his face, voice a little louder, stronger. “Just to lay everything on the table, I’ve been wanting to try again and if a hookup at a work conference is the start of it unfolding, then so be it.”

You take a second before responding. “Do you really feel like I gave up on you?”

“Yes,” there’s no room for uncertainty, the agreement is crystal clear. “But I know I pushed you to that point, and I know in the end it was my fault. I should have been around more to help you. Just to have been there.”

Your bottom lip quivers, he catches it as soon as the first twitch tugs at your mouth.

“No, no crying,” he reaches his hand across the table, searching for yours. You tangle your fingers with his, his palm warm, fingers encasing your hand within his own perfectly like you were made for each other. “If you’re open to trying again, to giving me another chance, it’ll be different this time. I’m different, but I still love you, I still want to be beside you.”

You wipe at your eyes before tears fall past your waterline, “I love you too, but I did my makeup for this.”

“And it looks beautiful,” his lips curve, “but it’s just gonna get ruined later, anyway.”

“Why would it–” You meet his eye, the mischievous glint. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Hopefully I’m lucky and you will fuck me.”

“Is sex all you think about?” You laugh, then tease him, “Is that all I’m good for?”

He glares across the table, “Too soon.”

“You’re the one who said we were gonna roll around in my bed all night.”

“Once upon a time, it was our bed,” he releases your fingers to point at you, “and I know it’s lonely in that big ass bed without me.”

“Who’s to say I’m lonely?” You taunt, “Maybe there’s been plenty of men warming my bed since we separated.”

“You,” he says it like it’s obvious, “at the conference you said there was no one else, so unless you lied, you’ve spent over a year alone, in that bed, playing with yourself and wishing it was me.”

You think everyone in the restaurant could hear the gasp that erupted from your chest. Wooyoung’s head tips back in laughter and you curse under your breath, whisper-shouting, “We’re in public, Jung Wooyoung.”

“The mom-voice makes it funnier,” he’s still laughing, a hand over his mouth, “scolding me like I’m five. Fuck, do you remember when Kyungmin drew all over the wall in the living room? With fucking Sharpies?”

You groan, digging your head into your palms, elbows propped up on the table. “Still to this day I fucking hate the feeling of Magic Erasers.”

“You sounded just like that,” he takes a deep breath to control his laughter, then puts on his best you-voice to mock you. “Jung Kyungmin, we color in coloring books, not on the walls.” 

The memory makes you smile, even laugh a bit under your breath, “It’s only funny now because I got the Sharpie off the wall.”

“It was funny then, too, trust me.” 

The food comes hot and perfect, neither of you speak for the first few bites, until Wooyoung catches you staring at his plate, at his food. Mid-bite he pauses, popping a brow, “Want to try?”

You smile, and he smiles back, reaching over, fork in hand. The sound that leaves you is almost fitting for the restaurant you’re in. “I like yours,” you mumble, putting on your best doe-eyed look, making him snort. 

“I’d be mad, but I’m too nostalgic,” he hums, satisfied with a smile on his cheeks he reaches over to grab your plate, switching it with his own. “Can I pretend I ordered mine for the sole intent of giving it to you?”

“No,” you hum happily, “it’s better that you gave yours to me. More romantic that way.”

He shakes his head, “First day back and you’re already spoiled.”

“Technically I still haven’t agreed,” you shrug, eyes on your food, about to take another bite before you realized Wooyoung had paused entirely. Looking over the table, you giggle at his deadpanned face, brows flat, lips flat, his entire face flat. 

“Not funny.” He tightens his lips again. “Are you agreeing? Do you want to give me another chance?”

“Is this an immediate answer kind of thing?” You ask, food still halfway to your mouth, “Or can I get back to you on it?”

He purses his lips like he’s deciding the answer for himself before he gives you one. Eventually, when your bite is swallowed, he answers. “I guess you can think about it.”

“You guess?” Facing your plate, your eyes flicker across the table. 

“Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting?” He doesn’t sound aggressive or forceful, or like he’s urging you towards an answer. “I had you for fifteen years and I just spent over an entire year without you.”

“You say that like I didn’t spend a year without you, too,” you argue, “you aren’t alone in that feeling, Wooyoung.”

“I just want my life back,” his voice settles into something just above a whisper, too raw for the crowded restaurant. “I want you, I want Kyungminnie, I want to come home.”

You swear you can see an entire year of pain in his eyes. Chocolate that’s usually melted, milky sweet, a delicacy, is deepened into something dark; hardened with time spent apart, changed with a life lesson that needed to be felt in order to be learned. He’s the same but he’s different, you can feel it, you know it. 

All you can do is pray he doesn’t disappoint you again.

He keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home.

Quiet for once, the calm before the storm, you use the silence to think about your time spent apart, how it affected you. He was right, alone in your king-sized bed, but more than that you’ve learned so much about yourself in the year spent away from him. Kids fresh out of college, thrown into the workforce, pregnant before your first paycheck, court-signed documents without a big party to follow, your adult life has been spent entirely by his side. 

You’ve learned strength. You’ve learned to trust yourself. You’ve come to fall in love with yourself, by yourself, the you that wasn’t half-Jung. Despite the tears, the nights drowning in self-doubt, of not knowing what the next day would look like, you did it. 

And now he’s back, and he promised that he changed. 

You don’t know whether or not to trust the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you don’t know if it’s nerves or a gut-feeling. But when you turn your head to the side, to the man you’ve spent fifteen years loving, adoring, his chiseled jaw and his curved nose and the veiny, tattooed forearm that’s attached to the steering wheel, it’s easy to admit that you want him to come home, too. 

You missed him. You miss him, and he’s beside you. 

You miss him making the bed in the morning, having coffee on the pot downstairs, already prepped for you. You miss him shoveling the driveway in the winter, mowing the lawn in the summer. You miss him taking out the trash. You miss him fixing a toy when Kyungmin breaks it. You miss him doing your fucking taxes. You miss him doing the dishes after you cooked dinner, you miss him stealing the dishes out of your hands when he cooked dinner.

You miss the mundane things. 

You miss the way he kisses you goodmorning, when he gets home from work, before bed, randomly, mid-day on a Saturday. You miss him making Kyungmin laugh. You miss the way his skin feels on yours, the way he finishes your thought before you’ve finished it, the way he makes it so easy to believe that it’s possible to love another human so much. 

You miss him present most of all.

“If I agree,” you speak into the silence, his fingers add the slightest pressure onto your thigh. “You swear you’ll be around?”

“Yes.” The word is final. “I’ve made the changes already. You’re my priority.”

You don’t answer, you let the words sink in. It’ll take time, learning to believe him, learning to trust his words again, but something settles in your chest, in your gut, something calm. It reminds you that you can still be yourself, you can still be strong, you can still trust yourself, you can still be in love with yourself– but he’s here to love you, to trust you, to lean on you for strength, too. There’s something about it that’s comforting, that’s right.

The house is dark when you walk through your front door. You forgot to leave the lights on, the lamp in the corner of the living room, the one above the kitchen sink. So scatterbrained about being out with Wooyoung, about your kid sleeping at someone else’s house, you huff a curse as soon as the darkness welcomes you home. 

While you turn the lamp on, without a word he’s in the kitchen, turning on the other above the sink. 

And for some reason that’s enough. 

Maybe it’s how he looks, doused in twilight, standing in the kitchen he designed. Shadows finding home in the structure of his face, the tattoo on his forearm, the veins that swirled around it, blending into the vines, rippling each thorn of the rose. Maybe it was just the fact that after all this time, seeing him here, in your kitchen that you left exactly how it was the day you kicked him out, reminded you just how deeply you love him. That even though you’ve spent a year apart and you’ve learned to love so much about yourself, the part of you that you love most, is the half of you that’s him. 

You hope he feels it as you kiss him, standing in the space between the two counters, the long, skinny walkway between the sink and the island. Your arms around his shoulders, his find your waist, sliding down to your hips, then behind you, taking two fistfuls of your ass. 

You squeak into the kiss and he turns you, scooping under your thighs to lift you, placing your ass on the kitchen counter. You don’t break the kiss, feet hooking around his back, fingers curling into his roots, tongue sliding between his lips like you were the one coming home. 

He hikes your dress up, warm palms searing the skin beneath fabric, slipping under the hem just to rest there like he couldn’t deny himself feeling you any longer. You’re panting into his mouth, sizzling under his touch, you whisper, “I need you.”

He pulls away, putting an inch between your faces, “Here?”

“I don’t care where,” your hands find his cheeks, holding him close, “I need you, Jung Wooyoung.”

His eyes flicker over your features like he’s reading your thoughts and it takes him all of a second for his fingers to dart to the hem of your dress. You lift yourself so it pools around your hips, reaching forward for his button-up, getting only three unbuttoned while his fingers work the button and zipper of his pants. Both of you panting, heartbeats uneven, your feet stretch to reach the opposite counter, palms planted on the one you sat on, shifting yourself to the edge as Wooyoung frees himself from his briefs.

Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, tasting remnants of your lipstick and his saliva on your tongue. The lack of a rebuttal from him, of snarky, taunting comments– this was different than him filling you silently on your living room couch. One hand moves your thin, lace thong to the side as the other grips his length, prodding at your entrance, making you gasp. 

He fills you quickly, slipping inside with barely any resistance, the two of you moaning out in relief and pleasure. He grumbles out a curse, reaching the hilt, hands finding your hips, fingers bruising into your skin.

“Jagi,” he whispers. “Wanna give you a baby.”

Your eyes meet his and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like nothing else matters except you and him, like the outside world melted away, like you haven’t built and ruined a life between you. Like it was fifteen years ago and you’d just opened the first page of your love story. 

“Do it, then,” you whisper back, eyes glossy, throat tight. “Give me one.”

“Can I?” He asks, face stone, as if you couldn’t feel his cock twitch inside you. He wasn’t asking permission, he was questioning the possibility.

Counting in your head, you wait a moment to reply, “Yes. Slim, but yes.”

He grins ear to ear, that same shit-eating grin he wears when he gets what he wants whether he fights for it or not. Then he moves, a shallow, promising thrust, grinding into the deepest spot inside you, making you hiss out a curse. 

“Have to fill you,” his eyes find your meeting, watching himself as he barely thrusts, keeping himself buried. “Nice n’ deep. Make sure it takes.”

Your head dips backward, arching into him, skin catching on the glossiness of the counter you’d wiped down before you left the house. “Please.”

He grunts, fingers searing your skin, picking up his pace. “Fuck, need to see you pregnant. Belly full of my fuckin’ kid.”

“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathy, shaky, full of arousal as you moan his name, it makes him grunt out a curse, hips slapping against yours, reverberating through the room, bouncing off the stainless steel appliances. 

His hands on your hips use the strength of his arms to lift you, pulling you off the counter with too much fucking ease. He slips out of you before your feet hit the floor, but he’s back inside you as soon as your back presses against the cool wood of the kitchen floor, freshly mopped this morning, knowing he’d be here tonight. 

His lips are on yours, your legs hooked over his back, panties thrown somewhere you didn’t care to see. His shirt is open, still over his shoulders, trapping you between the open panels like it was shading you from something, anything that wasn’t him. 

His hair feels silken between your fingers as you tug at his roots, keeping him as close as possible, never close enough. Murmuring words into each other’s lips, the sound of his skin hitting yours muted it, like the two of you were stuck in a time-warp, a lovesick bubble you entered fifteen years ago. 

Pressure builds with each thrust, your moans growing in pitch, and Wooyoung keeps his eyes on yours, his bottom lip touching yours, assessing, watching, feeling, waiting for you to crest your peak without any stimulation to your clit. His eyes flare when your breathing catches, keeping his rhythm unfaltering, his angle locked, muttering yes, yes as you approach the high only he can give you. 

He groans when he feels the pressure blow, as you clench around him, the heels of your feet digging into his back, he catches your lips between his own to feel everything, all of it, all of you. 

The silence says everything. You’re stuck in euphoria as his cock drags over that same spot inside you, his head dropped down to your shoulder, your nails clawing at his back as he takes you for everything you’re worth. Every drop of pleasure, every emotion, you handed everything over to him, put it in his palms, let him cradle it– had you ever even taken it back for yourself?

“Gonna give you a baby,” he mutters into your skin, voice jagged like the edge of a blade, a man slicing a promise into your skin. “Gonna give you a girl this time. Pretty like her mama.”

“Yes,” it’s a whimper, a plea. “I love you, please– I love you.”

He grunts, heavy and rough, hips smacking yours with fervor, picking up his pace, weighting his thrusts. He picks up his head, palms finding your cheeks, holding your scrunched up face between them before he presses his mouth to yours, and you can taste the I love you too on his tongue.

Into his mouth, weak, soft, you utter, “I missed you.”

And why the admittance brought tears to your eyes, you aren’t sure. But they fell to his thumbs and he seemed to understand even if you didn’t, kissing you deeper, tongue slotting into your mouth as if he was soothing your scars. 

He finished inside you with a low grunt that vibrated through you and into the hardwood beneath, cock hilted, buried so deep you weren’t sure where you ended and he began. You wanted to stay there, full of him, in the bubble you’d fucking missed being in, but his phone ringing on top of the counter had you both moving before you could breathe. 

“Yunho,” is all he said before he pressed the phone up to his ear, still panting, brows furrowed. You stood up, dress falling over your hips, thighs wet and legs jelly, you leaned an arm over the counter for stability, silent enough to hear Yunho on the line.

Yeah, he threw up… Asking for you… Rory took his temp, he has a fever… He’s on the couch now… Okay, see you soon…

Wooyoung hung up with a sigh, “Rain check for rolling around in our bed?”

You cracked a smile, “What’s your schedule looking like on Monday?”

Wooyoung snorts as he tucks himself into his slacks, fingers working his buttons, “I’ll drive.”

Aurora had the door open before you’d made it up the steps of their front porch. “Sorry for cutting the date night short.” 

Her sad smile was full of apology, she had one arm on the door as she held it open for the two of you. Pajama pants on her legs, slippers on her feet, her oversized tee that said Nasara University had one shoulder cut off. Hair tied in a bun on top of her head, bare-faced, so effortlessly gorgeous you felt self-conscious even if you were still in your red dress.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Ro,” Wooyoung replies. “Yunho said he’s on the couch?”

Ro. A nickname you haven’t heard before. Storing the info for later, you followed Wooyoung inside, taking note that their house was full of everything warm and cozy. Toys littered the floor, picture frames on the walls, nothing was tidy or put together. Not dirty, but… Lived in. Like six people lived here and not one of them was hiding the fact. The TV on and playing an old cartoon from when you were all kids, three out of Yunho and Aurora’s four sat on the living room floor just before Kyungmin who was curled up on the couch, blanket covering his body. 

You stayed back while Wooyoung crossed the room, saying hi to the kiddos before scooping Kyungmin up in his arms. Aurora spoke while you watched him, “Yunho’s upstairs with the baby, she woke up when the kids started screaming about throw up.”

“Sorry,” you scratched the back of your head, cheeks flaring heat. You hoped you didn’t smell like sex. You also hoped she wasn’t thinking about the fact that you and Wooyoung are divorced and together right now. 

But she just waved her hand, “Please, don’t be. She’s a terrible sleeper anyways, and all four of them were playing dress up in June’s room. She was bound to wake up sooner or later.”

“Dress up?” You cracked a smile. 

“June has the time of her life dressing up her siblings,” she smiled with you, “and I think Aden enjoys it more than she does. They call it Fashion Runway, and Kyungmin was the star tonight, just so you know. June and Aden said he’s their new muse.”

You snort, not a lick of surprise on your face, “I need to see this.”

“You guys should come over more,” she offers, looking at Wooyoung as he returns with your gray-faced son’s head on his shoulder. “We should do the things the cool families do, hangout while the kids hangout, conjoined vacations and shit. We live so close and we never do anything.”

You look at Wooyoung who nods like he was brushing her off. “Yeah, sure. Don’t you wanna wait til’ Sunnie gets a little older?”

Her brows furrow, “No?”

“Sunnie’s a cute name,” you turn to her. “I didn’t know that was her name. How old is she?”

“Her first birthday is next month, I invited you guys, he didn’t tell you?” Her brows furrow further as you shake your head. Her eyes thin as she glances at Wooyoung, “Sunnie’s short for Woosun. Named after her godfather who apparently doesn’t want to come to her first birthday party.”

You will your face into staying neutral, like you knew Wooyoung was Aurora’s daughter’s godfather. “Woosun’s a gorgeous name.”

“Yunho came up with it,” her smile is proud, and if she could see yours, the one you’re hiding behind your stone features, you think she might be terrified of you. Your eyes find Wooyoung’s and he looks as gray as Kyungmin, face dropped, fear rippling in his chocolate brown eyes. 

“Thanks again for taking care of him, Aurora.” You barely hear her response as she gives you a side-hug. She smells clean, like grapefruit and vanilla, a hint of baby formula like she’d just finished feeding Woosun. Woosun. 

You don’t speak until after Wooyoung buckles in Kyungmin, your son still somehow knocked out in the backseat, head lolled to the side. Wooyoung tugged on the seatbelt twice, making sure it was locked, keeping him in place. You see the glitter on him then, on his eyelids, his cheeks, his hair, he’s in clothes that aren’t is. God, did he throw up on his own clothes? You didn’t even notice, nor did you ask for his clothes back. You’d have Wooyoung text her tomorrow.

Seated in the driver’s, he flips the engine, eerily quiet. Waiting for you. So you start. 

“I thought Yunho was your friend from college.”

He takes a steadying breath before he speaks, “He was, is. But I’ve always been friendlier with Ro.”

“Ro,” you repeat, lips scrunching together. Your head shakes slowly, “Define friendlier.”

“Baby, we went to college together–”

“Don’t baby me,” you snap, keeping your voice quiet to not wake up your son, “you just tried to give me a daughter and then I find out you’re the godfather of someone else’s?”

“I was going to–”

“You were going to tell me nothing,” you snap again, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “You used to fuck her, then? In college? Is that why we’ve never hung out with them?”

“It was more than that,” his voice is defensive, curt. Your lips snap shut, eyes widening a fraction. “We were together for a while, but it was… complicated. Everything about that time was complicated.”

“She named her fucking kid after you,” your voice is quiet but not any less venomous. “You know everything about me. Everything. And after fifteen years, I’d expect to know everything about you. Why keep it a secret?”

He keeps his eyes on the road, even if they blaze with emotion; fear, guilt, shame, remorse. “I don’t know if I can even explain it, she’s– she’s special. Different from a girlfriend or a hookup, we went through a lot of tough shit together.”

Eyes widening further, throat tightening, you can taste the salt lining your eyes. Your voice comes out hoarse, “She’s so special that you couldn’t tell your wife about her?”

“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t make you feel like this. She’s married, happily, with four kids. If you knew our history you wouldn’t want me around her.”

“And that’s more important? Being around her? Than me knowing the truth?”

“No,” he shakes his head tight. “No, it’s not. I spent a lot of time at their house while we were separated, and the three of us got really close again–”

“So that’s why she said we should all hangout,” you laugh a little, it’s dry, lacking amusement. “She wants to know what the wicked ex-wife that divorced you is like.”

“No,” he counters, voice raising, exasperated. “I never said anything bad about you, fuck. After the conference I talked to them, and she needs a girlfriend. I basically pimped you out to her, to be her friend.”

“Pimped me out to a girl you used to date. Fuck. Go through tough shit with.”

“We weren’t close during our marriage,” he argues, eyes flickering up to check on the still-sleeping Kyungmin through the rear-view mirror. “I sought them out after you divorced me, I needed a friend, and I knew Kyungmin and Aden were in the same class, I– they helped me.”

“Your ex-girlfriend and her husband helped you. Did they invite you into their bed? Help take your mind off your sad, divorced heart?”

“I’m not going to talk until you stop seeing red. Calm down and then speak to me like an adult.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the window, and let the tears fall. 

Kyungmin lay on the couch, asleep again after another round of emptying the contents of his stomach into the same stained bowl you use for popcorn on movie nights. You and Wooyoung sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, staring at him. So small, his face looks so peaceful, in a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep. He changed your lives eight years ago. Forced you into an adulthood you weren’t prepared for, the greatest blessing you didn’t ask for. A gift. 

“Think he has the flu?” Wooyoung asks after too long of staring at the boy you created in silence. His hands stretched behind him, legs in front of him, body sagged with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.

“Maybe a stomach bug,” you reply through a sigh, sitting with your arms curled around your knees. “Time will tell. If his fever’s still up tomorrow, I’ll take him to the doctor.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’m his father, I want to.”

You swear, it’s grumbled, irritated. You can still feel the stickiness between your thighs, almost like it’s taunting you now. Telling you good job, you get to have another baby with a liar!

 “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Wooyoung’s voice is grave. “Aurora is harmless. I don’t love her, I’m not into her, there’s nothing left between us but friendship.”

“You’re missing the point, Wooyoung. It’s not about her, it’s about the fact that you kept it from me for fifteen years.”

“It wasn’t relevant for fifteen years. But it’s relevant now, and I’m telling you.”

“Because you were put in a situation where you had to tell me,” your head snaps to the side, glaring at him. “You should have told me when we had the whole exes conversation over a decade ago, or maybe when you found out Aden was in the same class as Kyung, or when she named her daughter after you, or when she made you the fucking godfather. You had a million-and-one chances to tell me.”

Wooyoung sighs, “It was a wound I didn’t want to reopen back then, but I should have. I’m sorry.”

“It feels wrong,” you look back at Kyungmin, a frown on your lips. “Knowing you had a relationship with these people deep enough for them to name their child after you, and I don’t know any of it. It makes me feel like I don’t know you, like there’s a side of you that you’ve kept from me all these years.”

“Do you want to know the full story?” He glances sideways, and the look you give him is an obvious yes. He sighs, “Fuck. Alright.” 

And you sit there, for an entire hour as he reveals a side of himself that you’ve never gotten a glimpse of. Partying, threesomes, Aurora, men– so many men, and even though that part didn’t take you by surprise, it did make you wonder. The tough shit was about her, Yunho surprisingly, her father, her own personal issues that Wooyoung had adopted like his own and helped her through. Living with his cousin, switching his major, supporting his mother, all the fucked up people who went to his university that married each other. You wondered how well they turned out. 

“Her and Yunho, made for each other. Their kids were a blessing, and they started younger than we did. Then kept fucking going.”

It made you laugh a little, and as the sound hit his ears, he finally cracked a small smile. Glancing at you, he muttered, “I did love her, I loved everything about her. But our relationship, me in her life, it was for a purpose, y’know? And when it was fulfilled, after I’d done what I was… destined to do or whatever, her life got a lot better. She got better. Everything got better, actually.”

“You were all too young for all of that shit.” It’s all you could say. All you could muster up seeing Wooyoung’s life twenty years ago pass through his eyes, listening to him describe it like it happened yesterday. 

“I know,” he heaved a sigh, laying back on his elbows. “But then I met you and I thought it was my turn to be happy. To feel like I had it all figured out.”

“Then I got pregnant.”

He laughed, a rich, light sound. “Then you got pregnant.” He sat in silence for a moment, glancing at your son on the couch, before he bit his lip in contemplation. “I have something else to tell you. Since we’re being honest.”

Your heart dropped, skin feeling icy-hot. Nervously glancing at him, your voice comes out shaky as you ask, “What?”

“We’re still married.” 

You blinked. “No we’re not.”

“Yes we are.”

Fingers meeting the floor on either side of you, you shook your head, warning, “Wooyoung.”

“That’s why the divorce process was so easy,” he isn’t looking at you, his eyes stay on Kyungmin, unblinking. “Because I never filed for it.”

“I filed for it,” you counter.

“With my lawyer,” his eyes meet yours. “Who I paid generously not to file.”

“What? I–”

The walls felt like they were closing in. He continued, “I thought it was hasty. That you would regret it, or that you didn’t mean it, or that I’d fix it, I don’t know. I couldn’t stomach the idea of us not being together, so I faked it.”

“You pay me child-support, Wooyoung.”

“I know,” he shrugs, lips thin. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think we’d stay apart forever.”

You stare at him for a moment, a thunderstorm brewing beneath your skin. “Get out.”

His head snaps to the side, eyes wide, “What?”

“Get out,” you repeat, firmer. “Get the fuck out.”

“Wait– Let me explain, I–”

“Jung Wooyoung get the fuck out of my house.”

“I love you,” he argues, voice strained, turning his entire body to face you as you start standing up. “With my entire heart and soul. I can’t live without you any longer, without him, please talk to me– please talk this out, please–”

“I’m filing first thing tomorrow morning,” you bite, voice so fucking harsh and venemous you can’t believe it came from your lips. “With a different lawyer, my own fucking lawyer. You better hope and pray that I’m not fucking pregnant.”

sorry lol my masterlist & plum's masterlist

You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor.