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some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
there are people with genders you will never comprehend and people fucking in ways you will never understand and people making art you just don't get and that shit RULES
this applies even to the genders you think are cringe or "why cis people dont take us seriously" and kinks you think are gross and scary and the art you think is disgusting and pornographic btw
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where you’re not just watching the latest video of the hottest porn channels - you’re becoming a part of it… or a bunch of stories where you team up with some of the top trending pornstars and models, and help them create their nastiest video yet. the twist: until now, they’ve filmed strictly solo. you’re about to become their very first special guest - the special guest some of them actually trust enough to show their face to
PROLOGUE ⋮ PLAYLIST ⋮ MASTERLIST
꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ leave a comment or an ask if you want to be tagged and notified for my kinktober event
please, keep in mind !
this event is strictly 18+ and minors are not allowed
most drabbles contain roleplay; everything is consensual and planned out beforehand; check out the prologue when it’s out if you’d like to find out how it all starts, or you can skip straight to day 1
all of my works are smut and written with fem!reader
as always, each drabble will have its own content warnings listed so you know what to expect before diving into it. please, don’t read anything that you don’t feel comfortable with!
who are you filming with first? check the catalogue to see your schedule…
pairing: non-idol!gunil x fem!reader | professor!gunil x student!reader
genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 2.8k words
✎… sub!bratty!reader, brat taming, spanking, light humiliation (f!rec), light degradation (f!rec), praise kink, dry humping (a table?), begging, oral sex (m!rec), food play (usage of whipped cream), pet names, power play (reader uses sir a few times)
a.note ! happy birthday gunil ♡ | this is initially written as a spin-off but feel free to read it as a standalone story
( masterlist )
The knock comes six minutes after midnight.
When he opens the door, Gunil has a pair of glasses in his hand, and a mild look of panic on his face.
“Happy birthday, Professor.”
You’re standing there, smirking, with a paper bag tucked under one arm and a box of strawberries in the other. You’re dressed casually and yet… everything about you right now is suggestive enough to keep Gunil’s thoughts nowhere near professional or academic.
“Wine, chocolate,” you smirk, lifting the box with a teasing raise of your brow, “strawberries and whipped cream.”
He swallows hard, then speaks up soft and weak.
“You can’t just come here without—”
You slip past him, stepping into the apartment like it’s yours. Gunil sighs, shutting the door quietly.
He told you so many times… you have to be careful - especially the following three months while you’re taking his class.
Your gaze lands on the books stacked unevenly on the coffee table, a half-drunk tea next to them.
“So you were just going to spend your birthday like this?” you ask like you’ve just seen something wrong or concerning, glancing at him over your shoulder as you set the bag on the table.
“It’s just another day,” he says dismissively. “And I have classes tomorrow.”
He turns to the kitchen and you use the moment to observe him in his space - something that will never stop being interesting.
He looks the same, and so different at the same time. He seems less like the man who stands at the front of a lecture hall and more like someone who exists in a more quiet, slow paced world. However, he still moves deliberately like him - the fancy professor - even barefoot, with sweatpants and a hoodie.
He pulls out two glasses and pours the wine.
Then, for a brief second he hesitates before walking over to you. Pouring wine to a student is probably not appropriate at all… having a student at his apartment because he’s having sex with them is already bad enough, though.
You swirl the wine in silence as you face each other. You bring the glass up, feeling his eyes on your lips; how they watch them part around the edge as you take a slow sip.
“Well, it’s not just another day anymore,” you murmur, setting down your glass with a quiet clinck.
He follows suit as you lean closer, gripping on the edge of his hoodie. Your gaze drops to his mouth.
“What?” you ask softly. Your lips tug into that devilish little smile he’s seen too many times now; it means trouble. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Gunil scoffs though he knew where this was going. This… this attitude, the same one from those few nights at the villa when you ended up in rooms too close for comfort; when you used the same shower, consumed too much alcohol and touched each other in the riskiest moments of the night… it’s what got you under his skin in the first place.
“That’s okay,” your grin grows, “I’m down for a threesome, anything for the birthday boy.”
That gets him.
Gunil’s hand moves up, firm fingers catching your chin, tilting your face to his in one swift motion; not rough, just intentional.
“Birthday boy?” He repeats; his voice is almost amused but his smirk is anything but that - it’s crooked… challenging. “Is that what you’re calling me tonight?”
“Sorry,” you tease, “would you prefer sir?”
His thumb presses lightly against your bottom lip, silencing whatever you’re planning on saying next.
“You look good by the way,” he muses, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, “casual… I like it.” He observes how you light up from the compliment before commanding: “Strip.”
Something feels different... You feel it in his tone laced in tension, and you feel it even more clearly when your hands shift to undo your pants without thinking twice.
You feel it in the way you listen with head tilted in his direction. You listen closely, the way you do during his classes. You love the way Gunil speaks - every word of his is always chosen carefully and precisely, earning respect without demanding for it. However, in the secret moments between you, you can hear there are things he’s not saying out loud.
“You’re going to take everything off except your panties,” he continues in a stable but deeper voice, “and you’re quietly going to turn around and bend over this table.”
You move onto removing your top, failing at hiding the small, playful twitch of the corner of your mouth.
As your clothes fall to the ground one by one, Gunil’s lingering gaze heats up your naked skin; the air rapidly gets charged by his attention, by his lust and all the tension erupting from this experience that’s equally new to both of you.
You turn around, adjusting palms on top of the table - obedient as never before. Gunil assumes you’re just as surprised with this new version of yourself too.
Before you can catch it, you let out a soft gasp.
His mouth begins to scatter wet kisses all over your shoulders. Then, wherever he can reach. The contact of his lips turns from gentle and unhurried to more unrestrained as his palms glide along your bare frame; his nails giving light but thrilling scratches as they go up and down your hips.
You sway your lower half, left to right, wanting to express your satisfaction by wiggling your ass at him.
As a result, Gunil strikes both your cheeks, harsh and fast. The silence cracks from the sharp slapping noise along with his command: still.
“Apologise,” he drops his heavy palm on your skin a third time, “for being a bad girl.”
This time, you fail to suppress a whimper and Gunil bites his lip at the arousing sound.
“Bad? I… I don’t remember being bad.”
That artificial confusion in your voice… the way you use your words teasingly in order to push his buttons further, he can guess.
He lifts a hand, not stopping the amused smirk from stretching on his face - you can’t see him, you’re facing the kitchen windows.
Few more slaps jiggle your cheeks, stronger and louder than the rest. They have you wincing, your whines going thinner… submissive.
“Alright,” you give up, “maybe I do act bratty sometimes. But bad…”
Gunil sighs quietly; mostly at himself, because he’s unable to stop himself from caressing you right away, noticing the area earning a pink tint.
“You’re a brat,” he disagrees, rubbing the warm spot in slow circles. “You keep calling me for inappropriate reasons at work… insisting on getting what you want after I tell you it’s not the right time… should I continue?”
“I’ve never seen myself as a brat,” you trail off as he directs two fingers toward your clothed clit. Wetting your lips, you tilt head to the side, grounding yourself in the light sensation. “Just someone who always gets what they want.”
“I see,” Gunil acknowledges your words while tugging at your string; the feeling of your skin, warm and already slightly wet, has his speech softening. “But that’s not appropriate behavior.”
Your breathing catches at the sudden contact between his fingers and your pussy lips. It’s light and brief yet enough to shoot a thrill of excitement through your core that’s already burning with desire.
“At the end of the day,” he swiftly turns his voice firmer again, “I’m your professor. I’m the one who knows how you should behave, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” you agree, fast, like this is a question that doesn’t require thinking. “You know best.”
“I don’t mind letting you do whatever you want to me tonight, sweetheart,” Gunil teases the shell of your ear with his lips, “but I need you to understand when you’ve crossed a line.”
A new slap strikes your already heated cheek, and you bite your lip, whimpering at the stinging thrill.
“You probably watch porn,” he says suddenly, “you’re aware what happens to bad girls when they keep disobeying, right?”
You shut your eyes, focusing better on the voice behind you; the tone of the composed, strict professor you know is wrapped around his sentences again, arousing you more and more.
“I’m aware,” you answer and for that: you get smacked. Twice on your right cheek and once on the left. Your head drops as another indicator of your defeat. “They get spanked.”
“Correct. What else?”
Without a warning, Gunil drags your panties to your thighs.
“They,” you speak carefully, “get fucked… rough.”
“Mm,” Gunil lets out a sound of contemplation, still catching the subtle cheekiness in your voice, though. “That’s what you want right now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you almost sigh dreamily at the idea. “I’d love that so much.”
Gunil places a palm on top of your burning skin, giving it a steady slap soon enough. He dismisses your confession and continues with the questions, letting his hand rest there for a moment; as if he wants you to wonder when exactly it’s going to lift in the air again.
“What else happens to bad girls?”
“They’re not allowed to cum if they’re not told to.”
He nods silently, though that’s not something he’s feeling the desire to do with you.
“And they have to beg for it,” you add; maybe you’ll earn something more besides slapping if you give more answers. “They beg a lot.”
For your frustration - his hand moves away completely.
“Gunil?” you whisper, trying to make out his movements. You could just tilt your head, glance over your shoulder, and yet you don’t… “Sir?”
“I’m here, baby.” He says softly, stepping back just once. “And how would those things make you feel?” He asks, palming himself at the view of your appetising pussy lines.
Your panties are still where he left them - around the middle of your thighs, - making his mouth water.
“Sexy,” you respond after a brief pause.
Because you’ll be doing all of those things for him.
Gunil hums to signal you that he’s heard your answer. It doesn’t mean he approves of it, though.
“I’ll have to punish you differently then,” he muses. “You’re not going to learn your lesson by feeling sexy, baby.”
Your mind begins to race as you ponder what he might be up to - unsuccessfully. This version of him is new. You can only anticipate his actions patiently.
“Do you want to cum tonight?”
The question follows with a sudden touch from his fingers; light, teasing rubbing against your slick folds. Due to the moisture the movements back and forth are almost effortless.
“Yeah,” you moan softly, “I do… please—” your breath suddenly falteres as he slips one of them, inspecting you by massaging your gummy walls. “I’m so wet, I need you.”
Wet? No, you’re soaked.
Gunil swallows. The more he twists and curls his middle finger inside you, the more noises you create - lewd squelching, desperate whining, your feet shifting uneasy.
He drags it out, clearing his throat before speaking. His hands bring your underwear up.
“Use the table.”
You still silently as you register what he asks of you. A strange sensation bubbles inside you, curling around your train of thought as you stare at the wooden edge.
It feels… slightly embarrassing.
“Rub yourself till you cum.” Gunil specifies, walking toward the small living area. He settles on the couch comfortably. “I’ll stay here and watch.”
You nod, taking a slow breath. Your palms are slightly jittery but deliberate on top of the surface, your crotch suddenly lined with the edge.
But you can’t do anything until you ask…
“You’re going to let me touch you after this,” you turn your head, locking eyes with him across the room, “right?”
Gunil can’t deny… the neediness dripping from your question, the one he notices inside your gaze in the form of a spark just before you look away - it arouses him immensely.
For now, he thinks he might be able to keep his composure long enough to see you get off, though.
“I’ll consider it as I watch you.”
The last thing you see before glancing away is him slouching back in a casual manner, but his gaze, remaining intense on you.
Memorising that image, you close eyes and press yourself against the wood. Your hands are propped in front of you on the table, keeping you steady as you adjust one last time, finding the spot and rhythm that work best.
The friction feels nice, kind of relieving since you’re already soaked and in need of touch.
Few more sways of your hips and warm delight starts to spread through your veins. You build a nice speed, keeping your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. For some reason, it feels too soon to moan…
“Harder.”
You lean over some more, turning your moves from timid rubs into persistent motions.
“Why are you suddenly shy?” Gunil snickers lightly at you. “I’m sure you’ve done better than that.”
After registering his condescending comments, your muscles tense, fixating on grinding against the edge. The rush blooms irresistibly under your skin, pulling out those first suppressed sounds from your throat. Every next rub feels better than the rest, causing the fabric of your panties to stick against your folds.
“There you go, much better.” he suddenly approves, his voice a seductive mixture between calm and intense.
You swear, every time he opens his mouth, the air around you grows thicker; the pleasure curling low in your core harder not to chase. Your movements back and forth turn addicting, the feeling they bring - disorienting.
And all of it - due to his presence filling the room like heat; the words, laced in humilliation, you never thought you’d hear from his lips.
You quicken the speed, the dark patch on your underwear expands, staining the dark wood.
“Oh God…” you whine; the last bits of embarrassment you had are now erased. “Gunil, please— just fuck me, I’ll be good.”
You keep moaning his name, your breaths growing harsher as you do, but he doesn’t say a word.
Instead, he watches your little show silently. The pleasure he gains goes straight into his core, causing him to give his erection light sqeezes.
“Faster.” He grunts, unable to look away. “Ride the table like a dirty brat.”
The rhythm of your hips magnifies, resembling the ways you’ve chased your climax settled on his lap. Your thighs start to feel slightly sore, your arms too, but you barely have time to register the pain when you’re this near.
Gunil rises on his feet. Without a warning, he cuts the distance, stepping behind you. His left hand settles on the side of your waist, the other one crawls to your mouth, pushing two fingers inside.
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” His lips mutter at your ear, dragging more heat across your skin. “You thought you had control over me, but look at you now… I haven’t even touched you.”
You want to tell him that you’re about to cum, you want to scream it, but his fingers force themselves deeper on the back of your tongue and all you do is gag pathetically.
“This is what you get,” he shifts his half-lidded eyes only to see a thick string of saliva hanging from your bottom lip. “You’re just a spoiled brat with a pretty face, aren’t you? How did I even let you pass last semester?”
And just like that, your moans crack, the climax rushes through you like a wave - hot and dizzying.
Your body jolts as all your nerves lighten up on fire; the same moment Gunil pulls his fingers away, leaving you panting like you’d just sprinted a mile.
With wobbly legs, you take a step back. Both your mind and vision are clouded, but you can still guess what’s about to follow when you turn to see him tugging the elastic of his sweats. His cock, thick and erected, is out; in need of relief.
His tip, tinted in red, is oozing impatiently. Once he glides his fist along the length, the shiny essence of his precum gets smeared all over his skin, his thumb brushing over the head lightly.
You got your lesson. Now, it’s time he gets his pleasure. And you’re more than willing to give it to him. You don’t just want it, you crave it.
However, things unfold not how you expect them to.
He orders you to kneel with an open mouth.
“Yes, sir.” You purr sweetly.
“Wider,” he insists, dismissing your naughty tone as he reaches for the can of whipped cream. “Yeah, just like that.”
The soft hiss has your stomach swirling with excitement. A second later you feel the cream landing lightly onto your tongue. He sprays just enough, short and precise.
You stay perfectly still, breath shallow as you wait.
Gunil’s gaze lingers on your face, curious and hungry. His spare hand slides to your jaw momentarily before gripping his dick and lowering it.
Before you know, half of him is deeply into the cold sweetness, his masculine taste mixing with cream and saliva.
“Don’t move, just close it,” he murmurs, tense; shifting his hand at the back of your skull to press you against him; the smooth, quick action comes with a loud moan from his lips. “Fuck— that’s a good girl.”
A moment later, you gasp for air softly, looking up at him with a pleased curl on your lips. The praise feels just as yummy.
“Now,” Gunil glances at the white mess staining his cock, “clean it up.”
! please do not repost, copy or translate my works
! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i'll defend fanfic for my whole life. like the joy it brings is genuinely transformative and indulgent in a way unique to the genre. it isn't meant for a market, it isn't meant to be sold or marketed. it is born out of such care and passion for a media that one must write and must share it, so other folks can enjoy it to. for no other reason than love and joy. do you know how special that is? especially in our current social and political climate.
for a while, you thought your new coworker’s charms meant that he’s a difficult person, someone who’s too cool to be working behind the counter of the movie theatre, but after a silly trade of harmless secrets, you start calling him a friend, not suspecting that with each new secret you exchange, the term friend slowly shifts its meaning
✎… coworkers au, friends to lovers trope, sub!reader, sexual acts in public, exhibitionism kink, pet names, hickeys (f!rec)
“Okay, okay, now it’s your turn.” Shotaro murmurs, bringing back his focus on stacking the popcorn tubs.
As if that’s gonna help the embarrassment that has risen to his cheeks fade quicker.
You’re still grinning, leaning your hip against the counter beside him, unable to stop yourself from taking secret glances while he’s not looking.
His smile is still just as charming, even after he’s told you one of his most humiliating stories - one from few years ago, back when he’d just started dancing. It took place in the studio, and almost no one knows about it except few people who were there to witness it; and now - you.
You look around the lobby as you try to think of a secret of your own. It’s the usual Friday night buzz at the movie theatre, but that’s not what distracts you from going through your memories quicker, but your coworker Shotaro - his contagious chuckles that get lost under the hissing soda machines, his attractive side profile that tempts you to lay eyes on him again and again.
“Alright, uhm…” A final giggle escapes you before you pull yourself together and get back to the game.
The idea of ending up in an awkward silence with him sometimes terrifies you.
It’s nice that somehow you unintentionally made this little game stick around. It started off as a silly way to fill time during his first week here, a way to break the ice and get to know each other. But without either of you really meaning to, it became a thing whenever the work hours slow down.
It’s also a small - or maybe not so small, after all, - part of the process of you falling in love with him.
You turn to him, lips pressed together. You’re not sure how he’s going to react to this one.
“When you first started here… I thought you were kind of an asshole.”
The surprise settles pretty quickly on Shotaro’s face. His eyes widen slightly when he looks away from the huge pyramid of popcorn in order to look at you.
The next second, his brows gather together but not in offense, just pure curiosity.
Before he says anything, you rush to clarify.
“I mean, uhm before we started actually talking. For a while, I just assumed, you know? You kind of had that… too cool for this place vibe. But turns out, I was wrong. You’re not an asshole.”
You pause, wondering what he could be thinking, but you only see that same unreadable look he tends to give you when he’s trying not to smile too much.
“Then what am I?” He asks quietly.
You shift slightly against the counter as he keeps watching you. The eye contact has your heart skipping while you do your best to maintain it without getting distracted from the conversation. He makes it seem such an easy thing to do - peering into someone’s eyes, someone who you secretly desire.
He makes it seem like the most effortless process, yet, here you are, with palms sweating and pulse racing.
“You are… the opposite.” You reply, shrugging shoulders in attempt to bring some casualness in your tone.
“So, nice?” Shotaro asks before bringing back his gaze on the task in front of him. There’s a ring of intrigue in his light voice, as if he’s suspicious of something.
“Yeah,” you nod, “you’re not as intimidating as you seem.”
“This is a first.” He says as a soft smirk tugs at his lips; nobody has ever told him something like this before. Maybe because he’s never met such an interesting person like you in a very long time. “Are you disappointed that I turned out to be different than what you thought I was?”
“No.” You remain silent for a few seconds, and then, something that’s been dripping from his voice, unfamiliar but exciting, shoots a sudden boldness into you, and you add: “I’m into nice guys.”
Shotaro doesn’t get a chance to reply.
At the exact same moment, a group of loud teenagers stop at the bar behind you, calling for your immediate attention. He only curls his lips silently, clearly having a hard time taking his eyes off you.
You can perfectly read his mouth, though. This isn’t over yet.
It’s around 1:30 AM after your closing shift. The streets are empty as you and Shotaro walk beside each other on the sidewalk, enjoying the hush of the late hour and warm summer night.
“You really don’t have to walk me home, it’s like… ten minutes away.”
“But I enjoy it.”
You stop in front of your apartment complex, turning to Shotaro to see him grin softly. It’s time for him to call a cab. Unlike you, he lives across town.
But what he says next doesn’t have to do with any of that. What he says instead is something you would’ve least expected to hear tonight.
“Will I be an asshole if I ask for a kiss?”
You take a quiet breath as the corner of your mouth twitches agreeably.
Shotaro is already tempted to glance at your lips but he resists. He doesn't break attention from your eyes as though he's trying to get to your answer first.
“Depends on how you ask.”
“Is there a right or wrong way to ask for a kiss?” He flashes his eyebrows at you, matching your teasing right away.
“I fear there is.” You respond almost in a whisper, simultaneously holding back from pulling him by the shirt to erase his signature smirk with your lips.
Shotaro sighs softly, playing it as if he’s suddenly faced with a challenge.
Though, you can see he's not afraid to stare at your mouth anymore. Standing in place, he observes your lips closely, how they part slightly, illuminated by the golden glow of the streetlights.
Once he looks back up, you realise that no matter which part of you he’s studying in this current moment, it would without a doubt, feel intimate. It’s frustrating when you’re doing your best not to dismiss all your principles - like never making the first move when you have a crush on someone.
Oh, you kind of… already did today.
“I’m afraid that if you keep teasing me like this I’ll stop being so nice.” He finally speaks up, and his voice dips lower, fueling the tension between you.
He wets his lips, seconds away from dropping the flirting and just grabbing you.
However, this is too entertaining. He likes it that you’re making him chase you. He can only imagine how much sweeter the reward would feel on his tongue by the end.
“Then stop asking so many questions,” you respond at once.
And before you can even grasp it - Shotaro crashes his lips against yours.
The truth is, he wasn’t planning on kissing you tonight. He was going to wait just a little longer, but you made that impossible.
In a matter of seconds, the kiss deepens, and you feel a wave rising in your body. It washes off every reasonable thought in your mind - about the fact you're still outside in the middle of the street, that it’s past midnight.
Lost in the arousing rush that erupts with each next movement of his lips, you accidentally lurch back. Shotaro is quick to tighten his arms around you though, pulling you closer. Your bodies are flushed, excited, pressing harder against one another...
“Can I…” He breathes against your mouth.
“Just touch me, please—“
“You’re so cute.” A chuckle of amusement brushes against your lips; the slight rasp it comes with has you wanting to kiss him again instantly. “How did you know what I was about to ask?”
“Stop with the questions, Taro.”
Your hands shift at the back of his neck, hinting at how much you need this.
Just now you realise that you somehow found yourselves in the shadowed corner just beside the front door of the building - half-hidden from view, but not completely out of sight.
“Do I talk too much?” His one hand slides down your waist then shifts to your ass. He doesn't grab it properly though, - he knows that's what you're waiting for so he only lets his palm rest there.
“Mhmm,” you hum, pressing your head back against the cool wall.
Shotaro leans forward, lowering his voice even more.
“Then, I guess I can’t tell you how hard I am right now because of you.” His other hand cups the side of your face as he moves to speak at your ear. “Your lips are driving me fuckin’ crazy.”
You almost moan when he suddenly grips on your butt cheek, roughly, to emphasise his statement.
Then, not a moment later, his soft lips start to nibble on the side of your neck, heating you up further. Making it impossible to ignore the rush that’s looming low in your tummy.
Delightful sighs begin to slip from your tongue as the contact from his mouth goes from soft smooches, to intensifying bites that toy with your sensitivity; you fall so deeply into bliss that you can’t tell exactly when one of your hands travels down to his crotch.
The second you apply some pressure, Shotaro snickers against your bruising skin.
“Curious, hm, baby?”
He brings his eyes on your face; they’re gleaming with lust and provocation. A light you haven’t seen inside them before.
You bite your lower lip, enjoying the seductive shift in his expression. The continuous rubbing of your palm is enough of a response on its own already.
“I am too,” he whispers with a mischievous curve on his lips.
Resting his forehead against yours, he confidently changes the direction of his dominant hand then swiftly unzips your pants.
The sound of the zipper in the dark sends a shiver down your spine - one that has you anticipating what would follow despite the possible risks.
Your breathing picks up as you feel his bold fingers sneaking under your panties, exploring the area through measured circles.
“Ah, you feel so nice…” he murmurs, “bet you taste good too.”
You watch his tongue peek out, running along his lips briefly; with their plumpness and sensual touch, you can only imagine how amazing they’d feel if he goes down on you… if he wraps them around the bundle of nerves he’s in the middle of caressing right now.
It doesn’t take long for your composure to crack; the sounds pile up in your throat with each following rub on your clit, desperate and whiny.
“Taro—“ you mewl as you slowly open eyes to scan your surroundings; from here, you can still see the quiet street stretching out and that heightens your adrenaline.
Luckily, there’s no sign of existence except the two of you, tucked away in this dark corner.
“Focus on me.” He mutters with a hint of demand; his touch strictly maintains the rhythm he noticed that you like. “You dirty girl… looking if there’s someone out there who can see you? Want an audience?”
It’s so obvious how immensely this is turning you on. It’s written in every small twitch of your face - he can see the euphoria, and he can hear it too. Last, but not least, he feels it - it’s spreading on his fingertips, making them stickier and smoother.
“No,” you mumble, seconds away from moaning which only turns Shotaro’s smirk even wider. “Fuck— I’m getting close…”
Shotaro’s gaze temporarily flickers to your hips and the way you’re unable to stop them from shifting.
“Yeah, I can tell, baby…” He closes his eyes for a moment, slipping half of his middle finger into your entrance before bringing it back up. “You’re so wet, fuck… perfect for my cock.”
His free hand moves up to press against the wall behind you while the one inside your underwear speeds up - not a lot, just the perfect amount to push you near the edge.
His lewd words heat up your face one by one as he’s still just a breath away.
“Gonna cum for me, hm? Baby, I really want to see you…” He keeps on cooing, stirring the hot wave inside you. “Show me how you cum, and I’ll tell you a really fun secret. Tomorrow’s my turn, right, pretty?”
As the pleasure rises dangerously inside you, both of your hands clench at Shotaro’s shirt, holding onto the last bits of self control you have.
Until the overwhelming thrill spreads in your system, and you hurry to wrap arms around him, grasping onto his shoulders as your knees almost give up on you.
Your figure shudders against his still frame; your final moans send a thrill of pleasure right through his core, causing Shotaro to suppress a groan of his own.
“Fuck,” you pant quietly at his ear; in disbelief of what just happened.
You feel his hand easing up the pace while you calm from the rush until it completely stops and slips away.
After shooting a quick look behind his shoulder, Shotaro brings the same fingers that just made you cum and shamelessly closes lips around them.
“That was…” you murmur but not enough words come to your clouded mind at the moment so your unfinished sentence is left hanging in the air.
But then, Shotaro meets your eyes, and after swallowing your exciting taste, he decides to make a quick, casual suggestion:
“Really nice of me?” His lips stretch as he tucks hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m a nice guy, after all.”
! please do not repost, copy or translate my works
! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed
a.note ! if you reached the end: thank you <3 most of this was initially written last year for another group, but it wasn’t working the way i wanted it to, so eventually i left the story to collect dust in my notion. until last night when i stumbled upon it again only to realise how well it would fit taro if i just changed up few details here and there… i hope you enjoyed the read :’)
i actually never ever want AO3 to be censored bc nothing is more fun than reading the tags on a fic and going “huh. didn’t know there was a market for that.”
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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol!youngk x hair stylist!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
♡ genre/warnings: slight angst, fluff (soon! in pt 2)
♡ word count: 2,152 words
♡ author’s note: i went to day6 concert 2 weeks ago and now im officially a myday HAHA i love them sm. i wanted to write for them (specifically wonpil) but i got this idea first so here's the first of a twoshot (maybe more?) for youngk :") also pls forgive me i havent wrote in eons so im v dusty but day6 songs give me great inspo!! also ty pinterest for the great pics <3
♡ listen to: still there by day6
//
“Thank you for joining us today, Young K. Wow – bassist, vocalist, lyricist, composer extraordinaire, Kang Younghyun from the globally-renowned band Day6, is here in the studio with us today. Young K, welcome.”
“Thank you, and thank you for having me. It’s great to be back here to promote our new album.”
“Let’s get straight into it, shall we? Here’s an exclusive listen to the highlight medley of Day6’s new album, Band-Aid.”
The cameras go off, as Young K and the interviewer exchange pleasantries amongst the voices of Day6 in the background. As the highlight medley finally drew to a close, applause filled the studio.
“Wow, wow, wow!" The interviewer, a long-time colleague of Young K from his days as a radio DJ, clapped his back in awe. “Just – the musicality, the lyricism, everything came together so nicely. Young K, you’ve outdone yourself, yet again.”
“I couldn’t have done it without the members, of course. We all had a hand in creating this album.”
“Young K, always so kind; so humble. Tell us,” He leaned in, as though he was about to expose a big secret. The cameras zoomed into the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa, a replica of a cozy living room. “What’s your secret? How do you manage to write banger after banger?”
Young K laughed politely, shaking his head. “There is no secret.”
The interviewer gasped, faking annoyance. “Stop it, tell us! We must know, MyDays want to know – where do you find inspiration to write such heart-wrenching and soul-touching rock ballads? You’ve been told in the past that you write as though you’ve been through multiple divorces – is that true?”
“Hyung!” YoungK laughed at that comment, recounting that particular interview. “You know me well enough to know that I have not, in fact, been married or gotten divorced.”
“Then how? We are all at the edge of our seats, dying to know. Those words, those lyrics – they must come from somewhere.”
“Well, if you must know…” Young K mulled over his words as comfortable silence fell between them. The soft instrumentals from their title song played in the background as he thought carefully about his response. “I consume a lot of media. Books, movies, videos, poetry… Everything inspires me. I take time to immerse myself in art so I can draw inspiration from it and create my own art. Of course, the members and I bounce off each other’s ideas and energies as well. Even something as simple as a walk in the park or a trip to a café can bring about unexpected scenes that can be inspiration for a tune or melody, which can eventually become a song on one of our albums.”
“Wow…” The interviewer clapped his hands in amazement once more. “Of course, as expected, you’re a true artist. Although… is there really no one special in your life that inspires you to write these songs? A girlfriend, or a crush, perhaps?”
“Hey…” Young K tutted, playfully shoving his colleague. “Like I said, you know me, there’s nothing like that.”
//
Your scissors rested heavily against your palm as your fingers carded through her hair, re-evaluating the length with great consideration.
“Eonnie!” Your current client, Seulgi, gasped. “Isn’t this…”
Her words trailed off as she raised her phone towards you.
The moment you laid eyes on the video, you hushed her.
“Ah, so it is him…”
“Seulgi, please, you need to stay still, otherwise the cut will be uneven.” You muttered, your mood turning sour at the slightest mention of him.
“With you as my stylist? I don’t believe it. You’d never let me walk out of here without my hair looking absolutely immaculate.” She retorted. “How long has it been, a year?”
You gently fixed her posture before picking up a chunk of hair on her left side, diligently snipping away to give her face-framing layers. You mulled over her question, purposely making her wait. Sometimes you regret confiding in her. The lesser people knew about whatever happened between you and Young K, the better. “Hmm, a year and a bit.” You responded nonchalantly.
“Do you still think of him?” She asked, full of curiosity. She was half-paying attention to Young K’s live-streamed interview, half-listening to your replies.
You considered this for a moment. It was a hard question to answer. In some ways, you had moved on. Your waking thoughts were no longer consumed by him. You took down the shared photos stuck on your fridge. Your head no longer turned at every indication of a customer walking through your salon’s doors, hoping that it would be him. You could finally listen to Day6 songs without having to skip over his parts.
And yet…
You still kept his unopened messages in KakaoTalk, unwilling to delete them. His hoodie from the previous world tour occupied a permanent space in the very edge of your closet. The bungeoppang vendor in front of your salon never stopped asking about ‘the tall, handsome young man’ whenever you bought a bag of red bean stuffed-pastries on cold winter days. You had to walk a different route every morning towards your bus stop to avoid the convenience store you frequented together on one too many late date nights filled with soju and ramen. Even now, as the harsh winter transitioned into spring, you couldn’t bear to throw away the plane tickets you kept from your trip to Jeju two autumns ago.
“Y/N eonnie?”
“Hmm?”
“I think he’s talking about you.”
You scoffed, combing through Seulgi’s soft locks.
She persisted. “I’m serious – didn’t you two go on that trip to Jeju? He’s talking about it now.”
//
“I love travelling, but personally for me, the purpose of the trip really matters. Say, for example, a trip I take with the members for a performance is vastly different to a holiday.”
“Of course, that makes sense. You can relax properly on a holiday because it’s not work.”
“Yes, and that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy touring and seeing MyDays from all across the world. But the intention is different. There’s a lot of things on my mind when I’m on tour – do I have all my music equipment? How am I gonna play this particular song, or what adlibs should I do for this performance? Questions like that constantly pop up in my head, and it’s hard to quiet them down.”
“Yes, you want to perform and do your best.”
“Exactly, but the trips that I take for leisure, that is my true healing time.”
“You mentioned going to Jeju?”
Young K nodded, pausing for a drink of water. “Yes.”
“Tell me about that trip. What did you do? Did you still think about music?”
“Well, it was very healing. In fact, it was one of the only trips I’ve taken in the past few years where I could truly let loose and be myself. I think that’s why I could come back and write all these songs.” Young K admitted.
“Ah! So you wrote songs for this album on that trip two years ago?” The interviewer asked, intrigued.
Your breath hitched, fingers pausing its work on Seulgi’s hair.
“Not all of them, no. Since the start of Day6 I’ve realised how important it is to be constantly writing, constantly thinking of new songs, to ensure that we have melodies ready, on the go, that we can pull out at any time. So subconsciously, I’m always thinking about music.”
“Wow, as expected of a talented musician like yourself.”
Young K laughed it off humbly. “No, but seriously, it is so helpful to have a few melodies in the arsenal. Inspiration can strike at any time, and an unfinished melody could turn into a song at the drop of a hat.”
“Right, it’s almost like it was waiting for the right timing to come into fruition.”
“Yes, and that happened to me several times in Jeju.”
“Which songs did you finish on that trip, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Bits of the title song were written in a little hut next to the sea.”
Your breath hitched at the mention of the hut you stayed in with YoungK. The linen bed sheets, your tangled bodies, the smell of fresh saltwater and lingering scent of Hallabong oranges – the memories crashed over you in relentless waves. You set your scissors down as you and Seulgi watched YoungK’s interview with unwavering concentration, hanging off every single word.
“So we have Jeju to thank for this wonderful title song! Anything else?”
A sad smile flashed across Young K’s face. You blinked, and in the next second, it was gone. Young K, ever the camera-trained idol, buried his true feelings and memories under layers of professionalism.
“Songwriting has several stages to it.” Young K explained matter-of-factly, eyes wandering into a distance. “Melt Down was already near the stages of completion, and only needed a tiny push to get it over the line. Other songs like Help Me Rock&Roll had started a long while ago, so I brushed off the dust and progressed it further.” He paused for another sip of water. “She Smiled and Still There… I didn’t finish them until much later, but you could say they were conceived during that trip.”
The interviewer let out several gasps, praise after praise falling off his lips at Young K’s talent and creativity. As the conversation meandered towards more mundane questions such as Day6’s touring schedules and their plans for the upcoming year, you found it harder and harder to listen to his voice.
“Eonnie…” Seulgi’s voice was soft.
She set her phone down and handed you a tissue. Unknowingly, your cheeks were stained with fresh tears. “Ah, thank you, Seulgi…” You always had your suspicions that those songs were related to your time together, but hearing him admit it out loud triggered an emotional response deep within you.
“What happened?”
“Honestly… I don’t really know.” You sighed deeply. “Things just kept getting in the way. He’d be busy, and so was I, and we kept fighting over the same things, over and over again. Until one day, I just… I don’t know. I stopped answering his messages. And I guess he stopped trying to reach me.”
“Oh, Y/N…”
“I messed up, didn’t I? I’m so messed up…” You dabbed the corners of your eyes before they were filled with another round of tears. “I let him go…”
“No, it’s not all your fault. Relationships go both ways. If anything, he’s equally as responsible.” Seulgi reminded you, pulling you into a comforting hug. “Also, it’s never too late to fix your mistakes.”
You hiccupped, lips forming into a pout. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course not, look.” She nudged you to watch the television which was coincidentally playing the highlights from Young K’s interview that just ended.
The timing was immaculate.
“Tell us, Young K, do you have any advice for those who resonate with your songs, especially the heartbreaking ballads? What do you hope MyDays will take away from your songs?” The interviewer asked his final questions.
“Comfort, of course. We hope that Day6 songs can provide comfort to anyone out there who is hurting.” Young K turned to look at the camera with a sincere, piercing gaze. “No matter what happened in the past, just know that you and that person both tried your best. Sometimes things don’t work out for various reasons – perhaps it’s incompatibility, or maybe it’s timing. Call me a romanticist, but I believe that love conquers all. We have a song called The Power of Love, don’t we? Time heals all wounds, and maybe with a bit of luck, everything will turn out okay. Until then, Day6 and our songs will be right here with you.”
Seulgi shook her head at her fellow idol in mock disbelief. “I can see why you fell for him, he has such a silver tongue. Even I was convinced – and I work in this industry!”
“Me and all the other MyDays, I’m really not that special when it comes to vying for his attention.”
“Are you joking?” Seulgi laughed at your denial. She cocked her head towards your phone, buzzing in front of the mirror. “You owe me 5 bottles of soju if he just texted you.”
You rolled your eyes, fingers shaking in trepidation as you picked up your phone.
//
[12:09pm] yk: hey, i know it’s been awhile. sorry it took me so long, but what are the chances that you’re free tonight?
[12:09pm] y/n is typing…
[12:10pm] yk: dinner’s on me.
[12:10pm] y/n is typing…
[12:11pm] yk: and drinks
[12:11pm] y/n: ok
//
“I should’ve bet more soju!”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay off alcohol before your comeback?”
“Who cares? There are other more important things in life, like seeing my best friend and genius hairstylist happy.”
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