🪶

full release list:

key: smut = ✞ | fluff = ❋ | angst = ✦

ot8

hongjoong

seonghwa

in action (seonghwa x reader) ✞

7:36am (seonghwa x reader) ✞ coming soon…

yunho

better (yunho x reader) ✞

dessert before dinner (yunho x reader) ✞

act casual (yunho x yeosang) ✞

yeosang

act casual (yunho x yeosang) ✞

san

fireworks in june (san x reader) ❋ ✦

mingi

our little star (mingi x reader) ✞

wooyoung

jongho

the hitman’s quandary (jongho x reader) ✞

misc. tags:

non-writing related posts: #sweetreasures.doc

fave fics from outside the blog: #recs🤎

reblogs: #treasurequeue

he couldn’t exactly act on these desires; no, hongjoong wasn’t joking when he said seonghwa wasn’t paid to fuck the talent. in fact, it was strictly forbiddened. hongjoong had no desire to complicate his work by fraternizing, dreading the thought of how many brilliant minds were brought down by needless sexual conflict. this did not stop seonghwa, who regularly found himself tongue deep in a hole to whom he would later have to file their payroll. however, he knew that if he wanted to do this right, he had to get you away from prying eyes.

you noticed the way he looked at you—hungrily, full of an implacable lust, like you were less a human and more a delicious midnight snack. it was a far cry from the person you met when you walked through those doors, the one who rid your body of its anxieties with just one warm smile.

you liked this seonghwa more. you held your breath as this seonghwa pushed open the entrance to a dressing room and motioned for you to step inside. lockers lined the wall, each individually marked with a name—undoubtedly belonging to the actors. you were all too familiar with mingi, but you also recognized “yeosang”, an actor whose niche was primarily workplace taboo.

the thought sent a chill down your spine. how on the nose could this get?

chilled air nips at your skin. seonghwa worked meticulously to strip you back down to nothing, letting his fingers graze lightly over your newly exposed skin. for a second, you expect him to take you right then and there. your cunt throbs, its walls having just recovered from being molded into the shape of song mingi.

“i’ll be right outside,” seonghwa informed you, motioning to a single door on the wall that led into a tiled shower. he presses a long kiss to your forehead, “let me know if you need any help.”

with that, he winks, closing the door and leaving you alone with yourself and his words. where had seonghwa expected you to encounter a problem using a shower, you wondered. the while situation frustrated you—he needed to stop with the mind games and get inside you quick.

the water of the shower warmed your skin as your eyes fluttered shut, allowing yourself to relax with the moment. with every pass of the washcloth, you made sure to give extra attention to your reddening areolas, massaging your nipples in a circular motion. a soft gasp escaped your lips, and you are instantly grateful for the cover of running water that masked your sounds of desperation.

“mmm…nngh…” you groaned as the texture of the cloth teased the overly sensitive buds. the water rushed between your cleavage like river water rushing over glistening rocks. the whole scene was so painfully soft and erotic, you made a mental note to include some similar in your next video.

you allowed the washcloth to venture down, stopping to lightly rub the area between your inner thighs but halting just short of the aching nub hidden within your folds. the heat radiating from your eager cunt was enough to fog up the shower doors all on its own, and the longer you spent trying to get yourself off, the more it drove you crazy.

“you okay in there, star?” seonghwa called from the dressing room, barely audible above the shower water. the words came out before you have time to react, though you didn’t care.

“seonghwa…please…help me…”

you didn’t know when seonghwa finally entered the shower, steam obscuring your vision as he kneeled on the floor beside you. you kept repeating those pleas until a hand takes hold of the cloth, slowly extracting it from your grasp.

“it’s okay, my baby angel. let me take care of you, hm?”

there was that distinctive warmth, his maternal nature complementary to the lustful undertones of his mannerisms. placing your full trust in him, he props you up against the tiled wall, separating your legs so your pussy came out in full display.

“what do you want? use your words, y/n.” his tone is firm yet caring. you didn’t know what you wanted—you hadn’t thought that far ahead. you wanted your dumb pussy sucked raw, you wanted seonghwa to pick a hole and pump you full of his seed. seonghwa looked at you expectant, unwilling to move on until you followed his commands.

“need your cock, hwa. please… need you inside me,” you whimpered, legs pressing together as you instinctively sought out some sort of friction. seonghwa forces them back over, positioning himself to wear his heavy cock lied between your folds. he began to move his hips, rubbing his length against your clit in a slow and deliberate fashion.

you let out a sharp cry every time his cock pressed against your entrance. precum leaked from seonghwa’s reddened tip, and he continued smearing it around your hole as if preparing you for his length. seonghwa watches you squirm like a prey animal, taking in the sight of your pathetic and reckless display of need. he was a man who loved taking his time—preferring to draw out his partner’s orgasms with his tongue or his fingers, anything before introducing his beautiful cock into the picture.

but the way you pleaded with your large doe eyes as those vulgar words came from your innocent lips…how could he not give you exactly what you wanted?

“do you think our mingi has loosened you up enough for me?” he was practically singing as his tip slipped into your slick cunt, watching himself sink halfway inside before pulling out completely.

“fuck me, seonghwa,” you began bucking your own hips up as he moves his cock away, responding to your neediness with a light tap on your pussy.

“i need you to be good for me,” he inserts himself back inside, eyes squeezing shut as you reflexively suck his length deeper into your walls. “can you be good for me?”

you nodded your head furiously, droplets of water landing onto seonghwa’s bare chest. he smirks, removing himself again with a harsh pop.

“words.”

“yes, sir.”

seonghwa snaps his hips against yours, cock bottoming out all at once as you screamed into your hand—uncaring of who was listening in. even seonghwa, who knew this was an hr (hongjoong) visit waiting to happen, did little more to silence you than stuff the wrung out rag inside your mouth. all efforts to be discrete—if any—were futile as the sound of his thrusts echoed off the shower walls.

“so tight…you’re so perfect for us, hm? little pussy was made to take cock. natural little cumslut.”

his words traveled through one ear and straight to your cunt. you couldn’t even form a full thought in your head, all cognitive abilities overwhelmed by the sheer desire to be full and feel good. a primative, subconscious need.

seonghwa continued at his brutal pace, taking a hold of your breast like handlebars. his only goal was making you cream all over him—he knew he had to have you when you finally arrived and provided a gorgeous face to the stories mingi kept telling about you. a million dollar pussy, an ass that deserves an oscar of its own. he was pleasantly surprised to see how receptive you were to his advances, leaving you soaked off just his gaze alone before mingi and hongjoong had even entered the room.

“oh, angel. you shouldn’t be so quick to give in like this,” seonghwa chastised, hypnotized by the way his length disappeared within your slick folds, “can’t have just anyone thinking they can touch you.”

“no, no, just for you. needed you so badly, hwa.” you alternated between drawn out mews and staccato gasping, breathlessly moaning out demands for seonghwa to go faster, harder…

your body no longer felt like your own. the sensation spreading throughout you numbed you from head to toe with pleasure. you were about to cum for the second time, this orgasm building to a much faster peak than the last.

he’s breathtaking, you thought to yourself as seonghwa angled you upwards, his tip pressing right against the sweet spot. hongjoong kept him out of view for a reason, and you figured it was jealousy—who wouldn’t want a body this pleasing all to themselves? you could both leave together, make a name for yourselves in erotica as the hottest film duo to see in action. then, you almost couldn’t believe what was happening to you, dick so good it had you planning a future with him.

“‘m cumming again…fuck it feels so fucking good, hwa,”

seonghwa sandwiches a hand between the two of you as he rubs at your clit, you nearly jump back from the sudden overstimulation. “cum for me, star. make a mess all over my cock. feel me on your clit and let go. just relax.”

he talks you through your orgasm, pace slowing down momentarily as you shook beneath him, vulgar swears escaping your lips in choked gasping phrases. seonghwa pulls out, stroking at his cock as he observed you coming down from orbit, kneading at your supple breasts.

“it’s my turn now, pretty angel. can you do something just for me?”

you didn’t have a moment to answer before seonghwa once again has you in his arms. this time, he lowered himself beneath you, positioning his mouth right below the mess that was your leaking cunt. you had taken up the job of stroking his length, spreading your juices and saliva down his shaft. he moans against your clit, impatiently exciting the sensitive bundle of nerves by attaching himself with powerful suction. you took hold of his lean thighs, body still in recovery from how strong the last orgasm had been.

seonghwa giggled as he studied the way you responded to every stimulus. he slipped three slender fingers inside your cunt and you instinctively began to ride his hand while taking his cock into your mouth. and you worked with desperate haste, relaxing your throat around his girth as best you could while he took control.

“cum for me, angel. you can do it,” seonghwa urged, his fingers pumping out of your hole at an unthinkable pace. his chest tightened—he’s definitely close, too. you felt him twitch inside you, coming up briefly for air before sinking down on his length one last time.

with your own release building up, you barely have time to comprehend seonghwa’s staggering movements before the familiar feeling of hot seed traveling down your throat made your own pussy clench around his fingers. for a moment, everything seemed drowned out by the roar of the shower as both of you rode out your orgasms in blissful silence. you let seonghwa fill up as much of your throat as he could before releasing him from your mouth, allowing the access to wash down the drain. seonghwa licked and sucked at your secretions, loving the way it dripped down his chin.

despite the running water, it made you both feel utterly filthy. seonghwa half expected hongjoong to come bursting through the door—though he’s both relieved and a bit disappointed when the door didn’t immediately open to reveal his short/tempered partner.

“god…i’m so fucking happy i decided to come here.” you said out loud to nobody in particular, hands massaging to soothe your aching cunt.

“me too, star. this has to stay a secret though, okay?” by the time you were able to gain a sense of reality, seonghwa was once again crouched beside you, washcloth hovering over you as he began cleaning you off—for real, this time.

you pouted playfully, “you sure? you don’t want to get that on camera next time?”

seonghwa chuckled, growing more endeared by your joviality with every passing second. “i’ll run that idea by the boss.”

if you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading!

masterlist

“one where…we’re both so happy together…and it…and it explodes…and it’s so breathtaking up there…so many colors.” san slurs through his sentence, every word running into the next like a stumbling child.

you lazily reach above your head, hand feeling around aimlessly in the grass until your pinky finger bumped the cold glass of the mostly empty soju bottle. propping yourself up on your forearm slightly, you took the rest of it to the head. you didn’t even wince as the burning liquid traveled down your throat, readily welcoming the pain and the dizzying aftereffects—anything to try and forget this conversation as quickly as possible.

you have heard this same sentiment from your best friend countless times before—it’s his favorite metaphor to describe the kind of relationship he hopes to find himself in one day. in fact, you have heard this spiel so many times that you committed it to memory, practically able to recite the next line before it came out of san’s own mouth.

“fireworks are beautiful even after they’re gone.”

you wish you had the balls to challenge san on his long-held delusions of a romance that was both hot and everlasting—especially after seeing your friend dive headfirst into failure after failure that followed the same pattern every single time: san meets a person, he swears to everyone within earshot that this time he’s finally found “the one”, he scares them away with his constant conversation about marriage and the possibility of starting a family, he spends the night crying in your apartment living room whilst shoving spoonfuls of pistachio ice cream in his mouth.

“that’s enough,” you state firmly, yanking the nearly empty pint out of San’s admittedly weak grasp. “you’re going to get sick, dude.”

san could hardly fight back, watching helplessly as you return the sweet treat to its spot in the freezer. a grimace flashed across san’s lonesome face as he emerges from his position on the ground, attempting quite miserably to steady himself. he winces in a manner that made it evident to you that his stomach was starting to churn from a mixture of overindulgence and depression.

“i miss him so much…” san whimpers.

“please sit down before you vomit on my rug,” you instruct, voice sympathetic though you couldn’t possibly be more annoyed—at your friend, at his ex, at yourself for allowing san back into your apartment for this same song and dance.

san falls backwards onto the leather couch, resting his head in your lap. instinctively, your hand moves to run its fingers through san’s soft mess of chestnut brown hair. you glance down at san’s face—glistening with the tears he refuses to wipe (how else was he supposed to show how agonized he was over losing minhyuk?). you roll your eyes, partly peturbed at how dramatic san was being about his fourth breakup this year. you can’t help but notice how much his mannerisms mirrored that of his family cat, byeol.

you keep the television droning on for background noise as san bemoans the dissolution of his relationships. some older drama is airing reruns, one that the hopeless romantic choi san surely knows the name of but you couldn’t care less about. on the screen, a couple confesses their undying affection for one another—their subsequent kiss plays repeatedly from at least a dozen different angles, all in slow motion. san howls again.

“minhyuk was a fucking jerk, anyway,” you attempt to reason with the heartbroken kitten on your lap.

san’s ears burn crimson almost instantly at the sudden admonishment of his ex boyfriend. you both knew the statement wasn’t exactly wrong—after all, the catalyst for the breakup was san giving into his worst judgement and going through minhyuk’s phone only to find that he had been meeting several women behind san’s back. there was no argument, no begging and pleading, no tears. not until a knock sounded at your door and you found san standing in the hallway.

“don’t say that,” is all the pushback san could muster.

“well, you wouldn’t be here if he were able to keep his funky dick in his pants.” you retort.

“i wouldn’t be here if i weren’t so damn nosy,” his voice tightens as more tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes.

you want to take san’s head in your hands and scream, who cares about the massive violation of privacy he committed? san had a suspicion and every right to know. minhyuk had become very standoffish in the last few months of their relationship, and you couldn’t bear to hear san cry over why it would sometimes take hours to get a response from his boyfriend. it killed you to see him flounder about for an excuse to your mutual friend circle about how minhyuk was simply “busy and distracted”.

neither of you know how long it had been since san’s arrival, nor how long you two have been sitting in the silence of the living room with nothing but the sound of your decorative wall clock. the drama had ended, and san shuts the television off upon the first chimes of the nightly news theme song.

you open your mouth to speak—about what, you weren’t sure. maybe to suggest san get the hell out of your place so you can get some rest for work tomorrow. maybe to suggest that you both move to the bedroom as its growing far too late for san to catch the bus home.

“we went shopping for rings, you know.”

you swallow harshly. you hadn’t known.

“nothing…we were just looking…it was nothing too serious.”

“he went with you?” you’re just a bit bewildered with the revelation—having never once viewed minhyuk as the type of man to settle down this early in his life. that is part of the reason why you had known the two wouldn’t last long—after all, it takes a person who is equally as terrified of commitment to recognize the telltale signs of another.

san sniffled, “it was his idea.”

he didn’t have to say it completely, you know how significant that was for san coming from one of his partners. usually, they abandoned ship as soon as marriage was brought up—opting to view san as nothing more than a fling to last a couple of months before it was off to the next. and who could fault them? very little about san’s appearance automatically lent him to the stereotypically picture of a family man; his body was well-maintained after years of diligent exercise in the gym—a quest he had taken on to better his health. when he wasn’t showing off his gorgeous dimples in a full tooth smile, his face was stern and intimidating, his cheekbones sitting prominently atop his face in a way that forced his cheeks and lips into a constant pout. his dating profiles (san’s first mistake, he knows) are filled with pictures of him out on the town, dressed head to toe in bespoke suits that he had tailored to look the part for his big fancy important business job. he posed with glasses of expensive champagne, looking to the world like a jet-setting professional who was only in the dating game for a little fun.

so, imagine the shock—you figure—when these potential partners get past the first date and realize that this intense, gorgeous man was as soft as the good lord made them. his smile betrayed the perception of his personality, with his crinkly half-moon eyes and perfectly rounded cheeks. he always spoke politely, a direct product of his strict upbringing, eagerly presenting himself as the ideal marriage candidate on the rare instances in which one of his partners would even bother bringing him home. it wasn’t as if san couldn’t be casual—indeed, many of his interim intimate encounters were with individuals who he would much rather fuck for a single night and never have to think about again. the problem? once san had it in his head that someone was the one, that was it.

“i’m so sorry, san,” you finally speak up, mind searching for the right words and falling just short, “i had no idea it was that serious.”

you wait for a response, but san’s arm slumps to the ground limply from where it had been resting against your knees.

he has fallen asleep. on your lap.

you huff before shoving the sleeping figure. san falls to the ground with an almost amusing thud.

“jesus…” he mumbles.

you toss a throw blanket towards your friend before stating, “you’re welcome to stay, if you want. i’m heading to my room.”

ding!

you snore deeply, the force threatening to shatter the already integrally weak windows of your- apartment.

ding!

ding!

you rub at his eyes, the unforgiving brightness of the morning sun beginning to reveal itself through your eyelids with every pass of your fist. your phone is going off relentlessly with text message alerts and—judging from the presence of sunlight blasting its way through the closed bedroom curtains—it is way too fucking early for this to be happening. you consider simply ignoring the mysterious messenger, turning your back towards the phone and taking in just a few more hours of slumber before your roommate was due to wake up and force you both to start the day. but the possibilities enter your mind, regardless—what if this is your manager asking you to come in today? defeated, you reach for the phone on your nightstand, silently cursing how much you needed this dumb job.

crisis averted—it’s san. you check the most recent of the barrage of messages your friend had sent.

what if this means he wants to try again!!!!!!!

you shoot up in your bed, mind fully awake and alert as you scroll frantically through the rest of the messages. san typed excitedly about a “him” who had responded to a text that was sent the night before, followed by screenshots of the conversation and a bunch of excited adorable animal stickers from a pack that you still can’t believe san would waste his money on.

these are about minhyuk. crisis back on.

slow down don’t say anything back to him meet me at seonghwa’s in an hour DON’T SAY ANYTHING

you throw back the covers and race to the bathroom, flipping on the cold water as you attempt to wash your face and brush your teeth and style your hair at the same time. in the distance, you can hear your phone go off twice, and silently hope to yourself that san hadn’t done anything unthinkably stupid in the short amount of time it took you to search the basket of clean but unfolded laundry for a decent shirt to wear.

fully dressed, and presentable to a certain degree, you return to the room to put on a pair of sneakers and search for your transit card. absentmindedly, you retrieve your phone to unlock the screen—your stomach dropping as you took in the new messages from san.

did you even read the picture idiot

we’re going to lunch right now. i’m in his car LMAO

admittedly, you could only bring himself to skim through the screenshots san had shared in their chat. the thought of your friend—who just a mere three weeks ago had been crying to the point of dry heaving over some scumbag of a man—getting back together with that scumbag of a man almost makes you nauseous in a manner you don’t quite understand.

they’re driving in a car together. doing and talking about god knows what. before you can stop yourself, you dial san’s number in a last ditch attempt to bring this impromptu meeting to a halt. it rings promisingly for a few seconds before heading straight to his very full voicemail inbox.

desperately, you try once more. it doesn’t even ring this time around.

do not disturb because we are about to eat (animated sticker of a cat about to enjoy a bowl of spaghetti)

will let you know how it goes!!!!

fuck. fuck. you bring your arm back, fully prepared to launch your phone across the room as hard as you could, before sparing a thought to how expensive that would be to replace and how it would only serve as yet another reason to hate minhyuk. but you know your options are limited; san has you saved as an emergency contact, and maybe this situation was just severe enough for you to ignore this very clear boundary san had set by setting his ringer to silent. you could also hop on the train like originally planned and search every single lunch spot within a 10 mile radius of san’s place. both are equally insane.

so you opt for the third option, lying on your bed and checking your notifications anxiously every ten minutes to see when the date concluded and to read the final verdict.

three hours pass with zero sign of san. your roommate yunho peeked his head in through the door a couple of times to make sure you were awake and more importantly, alive. despite his best intentions, the gesture proves increasingly annoying as time continued progressing without an update from your friend.

“a walk, that’s all i’m asking for. no longer than a half hour. a couple of times around the block, maybe?” yunho sits on the foot of your bed, tapping at your thighs as you bury your face in a pillow as a futile measure of blocking out his voice. you want to protest—more than that, you want to tell yunho to go get fucked—but the weather has been alarmingly pleasant for an otherwise record breaking humid summer. when yunho had initially moved in, his sunshine-filled personality immediately caught your attention. he loves to chat throughout the day, inquiring on the littlest aspects of your life as you both perform mundane but necessary tasks around the apartment. you should have expected, then, that finding you distressed and pent up in your bedroom would make yunho all the more determined to figure out what was going on. more than a year later, you cursed the day you ever decided to hang those interest posters up around town.

“you know what? sure. fine.”

“oh my god okay just give me a second to grab my shoes and—“ yunho springs up from the bed, racing out in his excitement without even allowing himself to finish his sentence.

before you know it, you are accompanying your roommate as he runs errands around the city. no, this was not the plan he had proposed, but as the two of you entered each shop to peruse its wares, you find yourself grateful for yunho’s persistence. you even manage to score free lunch out of the arrangement, after your roommate glanced over to comment on how “sickly” you looked.

the fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead as the two of you sat in a booth at some fast food chain. the food is nothing in comparison to seonghwa’s cafe—the fries criminally overpriced and underseasoned—but the sustenance was more than enough to keep you going back for another handful.

“this is about san, isn’t it?” yunho inquires, eyebrow cocked as he looks intently at the neutral expression on your face. he doesn’t know much about san besides what you have told him, their interactions limited to the mornings where yunho would awaken to find san curled up on the couch after yet another pity party.

you nod, taking a long sip from the glass of tea in front of you, its surface slick with condensation. “he’s meeting up with his boyfriend…or whatever, i don’t know.”

“and how do you feel?”

“about what?” across from you, a group of friends giggle amongst themselves, their voices traveling all throughout the room as you struggle to focus on the food and the man right next to you. suddenly, the atmosphere is painfully obnoxious.

“about them seeing each other again.” yunho states as if already well aware of the outcome of today’s outing—they were back on. deep down, you know he’s correct, but you don’t want to entertain him with an answer. a feeling of discomfort and resentment bubbles within your core, but you have no idea what is bringing on this slurry of negative emotion. or rather—you don’t yet have the words to admit it.

yunho senses something about your demeanor that finally puts his interrogation to a halt. somewhat of an empath, he is very keen on reading other’s in a way that both scared and intrigued you. the rest of the meal is spent in an uncomfortable silence.

the chair beneath you vibrates as your phone rings in your bag. miraculous, though you remain uneasy—especially when you read the caller id as it flashed across the screen.

“hello?” you answer timidly. yunho motions behind him, indicating that he would step out to grant you privacy.

san is incomprehensible between the babbling and sobs that punctuated each sentence. you try your best to calm him down, mentally preparing to race to the nearest station in case the situation necessitated a quick escape. yunho shoots you a concerned look through the window.

“minhyuk told me….he wants to me to get the rest of my things tonight…he said he’s done.”

your heart breaks at the sound of san’s distress, but a secondary, more shameful feeling rises from your chest as it starts to set in what his words mean. they’re done. over. you’re elated, though you can’t outwardly show it. you give yunho a thumbs up—the situation is under control.

“sorry to hear that, san,” you speak in as comforting of a tone as you could manage. i told you so, you wanted to say. why didn’t you listen to me earlier? why did you expect anything different to come from this? you keep your mouth shut, listening on as san’s sniffling escalates once again into full blown sobs.

“what do i do…what do i do…” he laments. you imagine your friend rocking himself in his high rise apartment, far too successful of a person to waste his time with a no-life like minhyuk. the imagery is depressing and pathetic, and serves as just another reason to despise your friend’s ex-boyfriend.

you think for a brief moment before suggesting, “you could still meet me at seonghwa’s. i’m out with yunho right now, but we should get there by the time you do.”

san agrees, hanging up the phone feeling slightly better than he had at the beginning of the call. you bring the idea up to yunho, who you found leaning against the restaurant window caught up in his own affairs.

“hmm,” yunho’s eyes shift, as if searching for something in his surroundings. “you go ahead, y/n. i’m going to finish shopping and then head to mingi’s house.”

he sends you off alone, and you prefer it this way.

the bell chimes, alerting the man wiping down the counters to your prescence. he greets you with a characteristically warm smile, waving his rag around and motioning for you to take a seat wherever you liked. seonghwa opened his cafe shortly after you all left college, putting his international relations degree to great use as he served up homemade muffins and meticulously ground coffee to eager patrons. in return, they regal him with stories of their own workdays or chat to themselves as he listens in, positioned at his espresso machine with his back turned.

between the little group that consisted of seonghwa, san, wooyoung, and yourself, seonghwa would be the “mother”. he is always the person all of you came to with anything—to settle a debate, to solve a problem, to lend an ear or a shoulder. you immediately found yourself at ease as soon as you walked through the heavy wooden doors of his cafe—painted an inviting viridian green and adorned with fancy golden accents. you take a seat at the usual table, watching as people pass by to look inside and take in the atmosphere.

seonghwa brings out two steaming cups of americano—san’s favorite, though you prefer something on the sweeter side.

you pause, “two?”

“san told me you guys were coming.”

figures.

seonghwa takes a seat across from you in the booth, shoulders propped up on the table as he rested his head in his hands. he’s waiting for news of some sort, in that gossipy way of his. you shake your head and lift the cup to your lips—you have nothing to offer.

a large figure staggers by the window facing the street. his face is obscured with the hoodie of his sweatshirt—a strange choice, considering the burning hot temperature outside—but you and seonghwa both know exactly who it is.

the door opens, san enters shortly after.

“come here, big guy,” seonghwa rises from the seat to engulf san in one of his signature hugs. san readily accepts, squeezing seonghwa so tightly that he makes an audible groan.

“how are you feeling?” you ask, sliding the second americano cup towards your brooding friend. he shrugs, his mouth itching to say more but his face contorted in pain. if he speaks, he’s going to start crying again.

seonghwa asks the two of you to wait a moment before disappearing into the back, leaving you to face san on your own.

“we went ring shopping, y/n.” his voice is meek and rough, evidence that he had spent a lot more time crying than you initially believed.

“there will be more. you’re going to find somebody, i don’t see why you need to be in such a rush.” you worry that your annoyance is obvious, but san buries his face in his arms, undoubtedly thinking about how he didn’t want others, he wanted minhyuk.

“you just don’t get it,” san says, muffled as he speaks directly into the table. seonghwa reemerges from the kitchen carrying a plate of scones, setting it down between the three of you before settling back into his seat.

“then help me understand! please! because from where i’m standing—thank you,” seonghwa sets a scone on your plate, “where i see it, this man has lied to you, cheated on you, and didn’t even apologize.”

“i know—“

“do you? you’re sitting here crying and i’m willing to bet minhyuk hasn’t thought about you once since the break up.” your voice is getting louder, your mannerisms more exasperated. seonghwa looks at you, resting a hand on san’s shoulder as the younger male’s lip begins to quiver.

“what y/n means is, you deserve more than to beat yourself up over someone who does not care about you.”

you co-sign seonghwa’s statement with a nod, hoping that maybe your more reasonable friend is able to knock some sense into san’s head. but he seems unwilling to relent, pushing the scone aside and slumping back against the booth. another customer walks into the cafe and seonghwa excuses himself to serve them.

“if i were you—“

“that’s the thing,” san stares at you, his eyes glossing over and taking on a much darker vibe than before. “you’re not me. you have no right to tell me how i should and shouldn’t feel. all you have to fucking do is listen to me, is that so hard?”

“why are you talking to me like this?” you are visibly taken aback by his change in tone, growing increasingly frustrated with his stubbornness knowing how much of your time you have sacrificed comforting him on your living room floor.

san rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. confrontational. “admit it, y/n. you never liked minhyuk, even before he cheated on me.”

“none of us did.”

“sure, but you were the most vocal about it. you wouldn’t shut up about him. none of you think i can take care of myself, like i’m some sort of fucking child!”

you try not to scoff at his incredulous behavior, “why the hell are angrier at me than the piece of shit who actually hurt you?”

“i hate him! i hate him! are you happy? what hurts me even more is you looking at me as if i should have known the entire time!”

seonghwa glances over as the conversation gets more heated, hurriedly moving through the transaction so he can return to his role as peacekeeper. san stands to his feet abruptly, open palms slamming down on the table with enough force to send the plates clattering against the wood.

you sit for a second, watching san’s shoulders as the rise and fall with his unsteady temper. unsure of how to proceed, you simply don’t. there wasn’t much to argue anyway—you hadn’t been the most supportive friend when it came to this relationship. honestly, there was no worse feeling than when san came prancing into the room announcing that he has found yet another “lover”. amidst the rest of your friends celebrating and congratulating san, you stood out like a sore thumb with your lips pressed into a thin line in a sort of faux smile.

seonghwa noticed first. wooyoung, shortly after. the way your attention would wonder whenever san recounted his latest date. the way you never seemed to be too interested when given the chance to meet haseul, or jinyoung, or…who was it this time?

“just say something, dumbass,” wooyoung would prod, jokingly nudging your arm as you downed yet another shot of soju while san cuddled with who-gives-a-fuck on his couch during a get together. but tell him what? that you were a shitty friend but it’s okay because you wanted him more than anyone who would hit him up on a dating app?

you feel something wet hit the side of your hand, breaking you out of a trance. then another. all at once, your face feels tremendously warm and your body forces a sniffle. being yelled at and crying in the middle of a public coffee shop is the last thing you need right now, and had not been in the cards when you arranged this meeting. san looks down at you, his face a mixture of frustration, sorrow, and panic.

seonghwa appears at your side, though he can sense his efforts come a bit too late. you hurriedly collect your things, eyes fixed on the table, too embarrassed to confront either of your friends.

“well, i work third shift tonight so i should probably get going,” you lied, pushing through seonghwa as he attempted to keep you at the table. san remains frozen in place, the food on the table remained untouched.

seonghwa calls out behind you, “okay, honey, let me know when—“

“i will!” you exclaim as the door shuts behind you.

don’t wait up. sleeping at mingi’s tonight. love you xo

yunho’s text comes through just as the show you were watching wrapped up. watching being a strong word, as you stared rather mindlessly at the screen while the noise offered a very welcome respite from your thoughts.

love you xo

the nonchalance with which he wields those words is a bit unnerving. or maybe it was a sweet gesture, and you are just feeling especially bitter tonight.

3 injured as police work to clear a 4-car pile up along the freeway tonight. if you are traveling north, make sure to follow the designated detour signs to avoid long waits in traffic…

you were never a big fan of the news. the tragedies of the world weren’t anything you wanted to think about, but its better than thinking about san. his face plagues your thoughts when you close your eyes, his sunken expression and his cheeks flushed from crying after meeting minhyuk. minhyuk, the name left a bitter taste on your tongue even when you refuse to speak it out loud. this was ultimately his fault, you reason—no other breakup has sent a ripple through your friend group the way he had. if only they hadn’t gone fucking ring shopping…

someone knocks at the door. your brow furrows—yunho is out tonight and won’t be coming home. you aren’t friendly enough with the neighbors for them to be dropping by this late at night. the mysterious figure knocks again. and again.

“y/n?”

you wince. it’s san—of course, it’s san.

but you don’t answer, the words trapped inside your throat out of immense guilt. this is the perfect opportunity to right those wrongs, to get back on the footing that the two of you had been on for as long as you could remember. this was also the perfect opportunity to run away and hide under the covers, saving this issue for tomorrow to handle.

but the shame wins out; you can’t run away a second time.

san barely allows you a second to gather your bearings before practically jumping on top of you, muscular arms wrapped around your waist as if you would float away should he let go. he smells extremely clean—he always does—his skin radiating the scent of the rainforest-y waterfall indicative of those men’s body washes you buy from the grocery store. san had also changed his clothes, arriving in a much more comfortable and far less depressing white sports t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

“…how did you know i was home?” you ask, breathless from the sudden embrace. as san releases you, you finally notice the bag of takeout in his hand. it’s from a small family restaurant the four of you used to frequent in college—one located almost 45 minutes outside the city.

san rubs his neck sheepishly, a light blush spreading across his face, “it’s thursday night.”

right. you don’t work on thursdays.

you move aside to allow the male entrance into your place. he removes his shoes and sets the bag down on the table, his movements methodic and comfortable—this is just as much his apartment as it was yours. notably, the tension is gone from his demeanor. you watch as he sits on the couch, flipping through the channels until he settles on yet another romance drama rerun.

“we should talk…” you start, fiddling with your cuticles behind your back.

“we will,” san says, though his casual nature does little to put you at ease. he offers you a sympathetic smile, “y/n, i’m not mad at you. i was never mad at you.”

it didn’t seem that way earlier, you think to yourself, the sound of his palms hitting the table resonating in your ears like the echos of a cave.

san motions for you to join him on the couch, and you acquiesce cordially. this is what you wanted—you reason—you and san hashing things out and finally being friends again. but why is your stomach tying itself up in knots worthy of a scout badge?

“there were so many signs from the very beginning and i willfully ignored them,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. san takes hold of your hand, preventing you from picking at the skin any longer. “i guess…i just hated myself for wasting so much time.”

“he led you on, san.”

“i know.”

a brief and uneasy pause.

“but i need to know what’s going on with you, y/n.” you swallow, unable—and unwilling—to meet his profound gaze. you wonder if its too late to call the night off and send him out, but his vulnerability tugged at your heartstrings and tears played at the corners of your eyes. this has to happen, eventually.

you inhale sharply, mind dizzying as if all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. your ears start ringing, your mouth starts moving but you don’t exactly hear the words coming out. nothing feels real except for the feeling of san’s hand on top of yours.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” san inquires, voice quivering. what did you say? was it that serious? you shake your head, unable to process the situation unfolding in front of you.

is this how you pictured yourself confessing to san—after a massive, public argument following an uglier public breakup? in fact, you were fully prepared to spend the rest of your life standing by the wayside. you were y/n, the one who has been by san’s side since the two of you were in diapers. it feels like you were always meant to be nothing more than this, and the thought of sabotaging your place in his life terrified you more.

san lays out a spread of food before you, though you had yet to notice he had even risen up from the couch. in your daze, he hands you a bowl of kimichi jjigae, its intoxicating scent directly breaking whatever spell the moment held over you. the two of you eat in a comfortable silence, allowing the food and nostalgia to remedy the hurt and nurse your hearts back to health.

“do you remember that one urban legend back in high school?” san asks, stirring around the vegetables in his own bowl.

“which one?” you reply mid-mouthful.

“the one about the fireworks festival.”

if two students meet up during the summer fireworks on the school’s rooftop, they were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. you remember it vividly, the two of you standing there as the sky illuminated with showers of beautiful sparks before fading away into foggy gray residue just as quickly. neither of you planned on being up on the roof together, nor were you even aware of the other’s presence until you heard someone’s shrill voice shriek his name from behind you.

it was san’s girlfriend—a student whose name escapes you at present and who probably hasn’t thought about you in the years since then. you turned around, eyes meeting san’s as his girlfriend flung her arms around his shoulder. the two of you held each other’s gaze for a brief moment before san broke first, looking down to greet his girlfriend who chattered excitedly in his ear.

at the time, the legend had never even crossed your mind. at the time, the idea of dating san would have made you turn up your nose in disgust as an unfamiliar feeling ate away at your core. though the blessings of the universe weren’t meant for the two of you, anyway. it was between him and the beautiful girl clinging by his side.

“i love you too, you know.” san whispers.

you hadn’t known.

all at once, san rests a hand beneath your chin, bring you closer into an inevitable kiss. it’s electrifying, sending all of the nerve endings on your entire body into overdrive. he handles you with the tenderness one would reserve for a fragile porcelain doll. the kiss is full of promise, and hope, and the slight spice of house secret chili marinade.

everything made sense then, san’s metaphorical desire to chase a romance that reminded him of the display of lights that decorated the city that night.

for a second, you swear you could hear those fireworks going off in the distance.

[A/N: it’s done 🎊 if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! this one is a lot longer than i’m used to, but it was a nice challenge and i’m happy with how it turned out. seonghwa birthday post should be out soon, and then some other pieces currently on the backlog.]

as of writing, im almost at 100 followers! (edit: we’ve reached 100!! thank you so much!!!). i had pretty big ideas for what i might be able to do to celebrate such a milestone, but once again…i hadn’t really anticipated it happening so soon 😭 so please accept my sincerest gratitudes and i promise to work hard so that you all continue to stick around!

even when you were strangely secretive over the “work” documents you brought home every night. proprietary information, can’t have it falling into the wrong hands.

even when jongho came home one night and you spotted the droplets of blood embedded in his white sneakers. a work accident, some waiter dropped a glass and got blood everywhere while cleaning it up.

even when you and jongho found yourselves passing each other on the street during a night where you told each other you would be too busy with work. and you both pretended not to notice.

then an email reached your inbox. the target was wanted for taking out a high ranking official within your organization. he was a handsome man in his mid 20s, done up beautifully in the photos, an expensive bespoke suit resting on his muscular body. you knew it was him, but it was a far cry from the disheveled, exhausted individual who returned home to you every night.

surprised wasn’t the word for it. though in the eye of your hurricane of emotions lied a tinge of….admiration? you were impressed—he held out for this long, and you may have never known had you two been spared by the dice of fate. you wondered what photos they sent him, whether your boyfriend thought you looked just as enticing.

and you didn’t have to wonder for much longer—not when jongho came barreling into your shared apartment, a look on his face that bordered on determination and lust. he flashed his weapon and tossed it aside, landing perfectly on the entryway table. tonight, in some twisted way, he’s willing to show you mercy.

“on the floor. now.”

you smirk, pushing your chair back from the kitchen table before lowering yourself to the ground. your arms were up in a mocking surrender pose, your eyes daring him to step closer.

and fuck, did he look amazing in that very moment. even face near certain death, you had to admit your boyfriend was incredibly sexy when he was bossy.

jongho pushed your legs apart with his foot, your knees sliding across the linoleum with the help of your black lace stockings.

“you should probably just kill me, jongho.”

he stared down at you, unwavering. his head cocked to one side, his hand removing the belt wrapped around his waist. jongho looked ravenous, and as the night progressed, it became more apparent that his next meal was you.

“i could,” he pushes his foot against your clothed cunt, pressing down on your clit with just enough pressure for you to make out every ridge on the sole of his shoe. “but that wouldn’t be as fun.”

he quickly grasped both of your wrists in his hand, tying them together with his belt before wrapping it once more around a slat on the kitchen chair. you knew as well as he did that this wasn’t enough to restrain you completely, but you weren’t going to resist.

and he just wanted to watch you squirm.

with you secured, jongho joined you on the floor. he hurried to remove your panties—drenched with excitement at your boyfriend’s change in demeanor. he wrapped one hand around your neck before positioning the other between your eager thighs. the heat was practically radiating off of you as he hovered right before your folds. you fought the urge to move your hips closer to him, in search of any kind of friction to relieve you.

“here’s the deal.”

“mhm…”

“you have intel i need. intel you know will also get you killed if i find out.”

you nod. duh. touch me already!

now that he knew you were a hitman like himself, it was immediately obvious what drove you into this line of work. murder was only secondary to the thrill of acting out and not getting caught. you were an adrenaline fiend. if jongho had to guess, the nights where your stamina was at its highest—where the two of you had the freakiest, mustiest sex for what felt like hours—were likely when you were coming home from a successful job.

so naturally, you could only think about getting your juices all over jongho’s well-manicured hand, loaded gun a few hundred feet away be damned.

jongho rolled his eyes; this probably wasn’t a good idea.

“you talk, i leave. you squirt, i shoot. we have fifteen minutes.”

“what happens after fifteen minutes?” your chest movements betrayed your voice—though calm—as it rose and fell rapidly with your quickening heart rate.

jongho pursed his lips. “i shoot.”

wordlessly, you widen your legs for him, hooded eyes never leaving his own. if the moment weren’t so dire, jongho could have laughed.

he hoped you didn’t sense the way he hesitated before slipping one of his fingers inside your heat, his thumb working your already sensitive clit using the slick of your arousal. your eyes fluttered shut and you instantly released a high pitched whine. he applied a bit more pressure to your neck, taking in the way your body temperature rose and your heart beat inside your veins.

jongho knew you understood the serious nature of your current predicament; you both had your lives on the line. you both had people to protect. jongho had committed an egregious offense by taking out one of yours. and worst of all, someone who paid your bills. you should be enraged, or possibly frightened, but jongho couldn’t exactly parse what you were feeling at all. he was getting extremely hard watching you fuck yourself stupid on the fingers of a man sent to kill you.

“mingi knows your guys planted the car bomb. it had that dumbfuck wooyoung written all over it. what else is he planning?”

your legs quivered as you struggled not to lose yourself completely in ecstasy. jongho was up to three fingers, the timer down to seven minutes. he angled his hands to apply more pressure to the more sensitive, spongy areas on your walls. another wave of arousal dripped onto the linoleum.

“answer my fucking question.”

“fuck you.” you spat, cackling as your saliva made impact with his face.

he tightened the hand around your neck, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head as you tensed up.

“god. what a whore. last day on earth and you wanna spend it soaking up my hand, like the dumb slut you are.”

he released you just as the muscles in your began to weaken. you took a deep breath, the elastic around your core wound up with impossible force.

you had something against jongho that he would have never accounted for, at least not consciously. put simply: your body. jongho praised you constantly, saying you were the best fuck of his life. he’d never tasted a pussy as delicious as yours, never fucked a cunt that took him so well and left him wanting more. and more. and more. until you could no longer feel your legs and every subsequent orgasm sent you closer to a coma.

it was no secret that you were quite known for it, using your…assets…to gain intelligence and trust from your targets. jongho could play all he wanted, but you were willing to bet on your award winning pussy. this man would rather abandon his work completely and accompany you on the run for the rest of his life if it meant getting to feel your thighs wrapped around his head as he drowned tongue-first under your sweetness.

fuck it. he isn’t going to kill you. he couldn’t if he tried.

three minutes.

jongho licked his lips instinctively. his movements became robotic, as if following a ritual from muscle memory. he was slipping. his dick fought at his zipper, and he couldn’t ignore it. he watched as your perfect tits bounced with every pump and wanted nothing more than to release them from your shirt and latch his mouth onto your engorged nipple. as much as he didn’t want to take you out, he desperately needed to see you come undone in his grip. he needed to milk himself in your sloppy wet cunt like a fucktoy, listening as you squelched around his girth and took him like the filthy slut you were.

that was how he played, you thought, smiling to yourself. that was your man. he made no further attempt to gain any more attention. instead, he watched as drool slid the length of your tongue and tricked down your chin. he wiped it off, sticking his thumb inside his mouth and sucked it clean.

three minutes would be over any second now, you reasoned. still, you had not cum and grew more frantic by the second. your words were incoherent. a tiny puddle had already formed beneath your curvy ass. jongho’s hand threatened to fall asleep, his hands coming slightly pruned and covered in your tasty secretions.

the phone goes off. jonghp ripped his hand from you cunt. your body burned for orgasm and then…nothing. he ruined it.

“that’s the time.”

“shit. joykill!” you panted, frustrated with your body for not coming fast enough. jongho ignores you completely, untying you from the chair in one moment before flipping you over in the next.

he tightened the belt once more and held on like a leash. you knew the drill—pressing your head to the floor, though that didnt stop jongho from shifting his weight to keep you down.

he worked his furiously red cock from the prison that was his boxers. there was a blatant dark spot in the jeans where the precum wet him up.

“dumb fucking slut. you’re not willing to die for wooyoung, you just wanted to squirt. make a mess of a kitchen we rent.”

your hole quivered tremendously—you could practically feel jongho sliding his majestic member so deep inside your walls you could feel it on your throat. you were about to milk him for all he was worth. jongho stares down your sex, exposed to him from the back.

he knew it then: he couldn’t go through with it. not with you right here, falling apart into avas he slid perfectly into your cunt, ginormous midshaft rubbing against your insides, you leaned to throw one arm around jongho’s shoulder while resting your back against his chest. he began to move, wasting no time before setting off at an unimaginable pace to orgasm.

you gave jongho a soft kiss on the lips. he seizes the opportunity to snake his hands under your shirt and flick at your nipples. a chorus of shushed affirmations joined the symphony of skin on skin that played out on the kitchen floor.

so much for a successful hit job.

(end)

you arrived an half hour earlier, wanting to gain your bearings before being presented with whatever business opportunity awaited you. seonghwa met you at the door.

“of course,” seonghwa replied following your brief self introduction. he seemed kind, reliable, and had already set off at work to make you more comfortable.

“what do you do around here…seonghwa?”

he gestured vaguely at the makeshift office surrounding you two. “behind the scenes stuff.”

you expected this answer the least. seonghwa was probably the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life, and you were baffled as to how khj studios bagged someone like him when he could very easily be a mainstream celebrity. and then he tells you he’s only there to do paperwork?!

“i’ve known hongjoong forever. he said i was the only person he trusted with his money,” seonghwa leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. lying in his lap was a manila file folder, a couple sheets of paper notably sticking out from the sides. you could barely make out its text but you figured it must have something to do with you.

this was an audition, after all. and you couldn’t believe your luck.

mingi contacted you first. or rather, daddylongdick99. your eyes rolled when the message first arrived inside the inbox. it wasn’t abnormal to receive an influx of emails after you posted a new video—usually invitations for collaborations, desperate pleas for you to cream on them, or otherwise incoherent strings of words typed by a man who undoubtedly had one hand wrapped around his dick.

in actuality, daddylongdick99’s message hadn’t piqued your attention enough to open it. days passed without any response from your end. mingi was growing impatient—what was taking you so long? the letter was beautifully written and quite provocative. mingi knew you were at least somewhat aware of him, your circles running close in this industry niche. what more did you want from him, proof that he was the real deal?

the next day, he sent you another message. it was the first to show up when you checked your inbox for the day, and you were unexpectedly pleased to see the familiar username. the body of this message was empty except for two images. neither of his face—mingi hadn’t thought that far ahead. image one was a mirror shot: a figure sat on the bed, thick and rideable legs spread. his cock rested lazily against his chiseled abdomen. it was gorgeous, well groomed and reaching just above his belly button despite only being somewhat aroused. the flash from his phone obscured his upper body in the mirror.

in image two, the figure was lying down. the mirror replaced with his large hands choking his cock. his fingers were adorned in black and white silver rings. the camera flash reflected vividly off of the slick surface of his member, which now stood fully erect. shaft perfectly straight and longer than average, you noticed the vein pattern on the underside seemed tailor made to provide the perfect texture along anyone’s inside walls. the motion of the photo showed he was mid stroke, aided with a substance that looked equally of lube and semen.

daddylongdick69 was far from an exaggeration.

mingi’s plan technically worked—you still had zero idea who he was (and he’d be the first to acknowledge the apparent hubris of believing you would just from the sight of his penis). but you remembered the first message you brushed off the other day, quickly searching through your inbox to locate it.

upon spotting nothing more than a block of text, you were disappointed to say the least. but a name at the very end stood out to you. the fine hairs on your neck perked at their roots.

“song mingi. signed under khj studios.”

your breath hitched. kim hongjoong was an established indie pornographer, lovingly nicknamed “erotica’s darling”. his operation was relatively small, but he dominated when it came to producing depictions of sexuality akin to a choreographed dance. where the characters were as integral to its enticing style as the stars who portray them. you adopted a similar philosophy when you began filming, and had spent quite some time honing your skill for framing intimacy and intercourse in a way that told stories.

you knew of song mingi—one of khj’s principle actors. unfortunately, not enough to recognize the sight of his magnificent cock. but due to hongjoong’s secretive entry process for new talents, his roster was pretty small. it was rumored that hongjoong had to handpick you himself—his current team consisting potentially of people he met in bars or through random hookups. in any case, you were in awe at how in synch everyone was in delivering hongjoong’s art into the world.

the truth was far simpler. hongjoong wasn’t the most trusting person in the world, but he wasn’t in the cia either. to become a khj studio performer you kinda just had to be in the right place at the right time.

and there you were.

seonghwa briefly glanced at the clock on the wall—3:21 PM—before turning his attention back to you. he thought for a second, pushing himself up to his feet and walking to a corner of the office. there was a stationary camera set up on a tripod. removing the camera, seonghwa instructed you to sit on the couch in front of him.

“oh classic! the casting couch.” you quipped playfully. seonghwa laughed again. you were growing to like his laugh.

“i’m just getting your profile together with a few pictures. mind removing your clothes?” he uncapped the cover from the lens.

you raised an eyebrow quizzically, a bit alarmed by his urgency. you hadn’t even talked to hongjoong yet. you didn’t even know whether he was willing to give you the time of day.

sensing your uncertainty, seonghwa rested a comforting hand on your thigh. “you have something special. he’s going to love you.“ you both exchanged affirmative nods before you arose to strip.

it wasn’t exactly embarrassing to stand before seonghwa naked. your videos regularly garnered thousands of views—you sort of assumed most people in your niche have already seen you in a much more intimate state. but the way seonghwa looked at your body as he moved around you with his camera was deliberate and careful. he instructed you into various positions, each pose focused on different silhouettes and angles. seonghwa maintained a distance from you, as if photographing a one of a kind painting, too scared that any sudden movement would tear a hole in the precious canvas.

but you remained nervous nonetheless—as the afternoon progressed, you slowly realized how important this meeting was. if you wanted to build your credibility in the industry, this was it. and yet the exclusivity shrouding hongjoong in mystery left you with a thousand questions. you had yet to hear from anyone what you were meant to do today.

after a couple of shots, seonghwa had you sit down normally, knees together and facing him. he instructed you to look natural, explaining that he wanted to take the profile portrait. you followed his directions perfectly, though you had no idea what to do with your face, opting for a neutral but approachable expression.

to your surprise, seonghwa reached out to caress your cheek. he ran his thumb over your plump bottom lip, gazing down at you with a warmth you couldn’t quite place.

“still nervous?”

“no…”

“then where’s that smile, sweetheart?”

the door opened and in walked two new individuals, both of whom you knew without introduction, and both of whom looked down at the two of you with puzzled expressions.

“i don’t pay you to fuck the talent, hwa.” hongjoong remarked, annoyed. seonghwa capped his camera, rolling his eyes in your direction at his boss’s temperament.

mingi extended a hand to shake yours, “that would be my job, actually! nice to meet you.” you half expected someone with the username daddylongdick99 to carry himself with insufferable audacity. but mingi was very sweet and incredibly talkative, filling up most of your downtime while hongjoong and seonghwa deliberated over your pictures.

he knew a lot about your work. “i really loved the way you used gold to symbolize innocence. no matter what your character went through, her soul was never tarnished.”

“exactly…like pure gold.”

mingi nods enthusiastically.

you realized it right then—that these people understood your art just as much as they did hongjoong’s. you agreed to perform a scene with him, infinitely more comfortable now that you felt seen. mingi quickly stripped off his own clothes to match your state of undress. the two of you continued your discussion like old friends who casually arranged to meet for lunch.

“we’re sort of short on time right now. how ready are you?” hongjoong pointed at you, once again commanding everyone’s attention in the room.

“ready? i mean…very?” you shot a confused glance at mingi.

“he wants to know how wet you are, doll.”

“ahh.”

you didn’t even need to touch yourself to know you were soaked down to the cushion, but you inserted your hand between your thighs anyway, fingers glistening as they reemerged. hongjoong, seemingly satisfied with the state of your arousal, suggested knocking out two tasks at the same time—he would interview you and get a sense of your strengths as a performer while mingi worked to acclimate you to the size of his cock.

you perched yourself over him, positioning his tip to your entrance. it was on the larger end of cocks that have been inside you, though it wasn’t insanely intimidating. just as you steadied yourself to lower down, hongjoong began his interview.

name. hometown. years of experience. typical background information. you answered as clearly as possible, your mind alternating between hongjoong’s questions and the increasing fullness in your core. mingi’s eyes were fixed on yours, gauging your pain levels while rubbing comforting circles into your clit.

mingi was almost deceptively large, but you managed well. hongjoong asked whether you thought cum had any merit as an artistic medium on its own. sure. you lowered yourself a couple more inches.

“gah-fuck. yellow.” you inhaled sharply, stilling yourself. mingi took a hold of your waist, preparing to pull out though you hadn’t indicated that you wanted to stop completely.

“sorry…i…” the telltale signs of a blush bloomed from your cheeks. “you felt so good on my clit, i almost squirted.” you admitted, sheepishly.

the boys let out a collective sigh of relief. mingi couldn’t have felt prouder of himself, even after hongjoong smacked him on the side with a piece of mail within arm’s reach. after giving them the okay, you relaxed your pelvis before taking in the final few inches of mingi’s cock.

mingi sat upright to hold you against his chest as he bottomed out, instinctively whispering words of praise in your ear as he felt your walls adjust to his size.

“my babydoll did so good for me. so good.”

you moaned in gratitude.

“i knew you would. your sweet little cunt was made just for me, hm?”

as he spoke, seonghwa retrieved the tripod from its corner. he set it up right in front of you two—standing alongside hongjoong behind the camera.

hongjoong fiddled around with some video settings, “think of this like a screen test.”

mingi carefully reversed your positions on the couch with you now lying beneath him, his cock still resting pretty between your soaked folds.

“i want to see how well you two look together, and i want to see how quickly you can adapt to a scene.”

you and mingi nod eagerly.

“sometimes my vision isn’t exact. i need all of my performers to know when to improvise and keep the scene realistic.”

“in other words,” seonghwa shoots you a knowing wink, “he wants you to make up for his indecisiveness.”

hongjoong opted to ignore seonghwa’s snide comments, instead placing you and mingi in a scene within his work in progress production. you were a grieving woman who had lost your boyfriend years ago. as you fall into a depression, his friend remains by your side to support you during your journey to acceptance. once devoid of libido, you rediscover your sexuality with his help and decide in the end that loving him won’t replace your relationship with your boyfriend.

the most important part was portraying the intercourse in this scene as an outpouring of emotion. hongjoong motioned for mingi to set out on his pace before hitting record.

it didn’t take long for you to sink into character. you grasped at mingi’s hair, bringing him down into a deep kiss.

“fuck me, mingi. i want to feel you.” you gasped. he slowed down just a bit, allowing his length to take in the softness of your pussy and the way you clenched so perfectly around him. tears of pleasure threatened to spill over as your mouth dropped open, choking out a long moan.

“how is it now, doll? can you feel me?”

every fucking inch.

in an instant, he saw that spark in your eye—you were fully immersed. the details you worked into the scene left him in awe; your movements became more hesitant and unsure, in your grief you couldn’t possibly give yourself over completely to the pleasure. especially not with someone who meant so much to your deceased boyfriend. suddenly, your ears reddened. the lewd sounds of sex, the sweaty skin on skin, mingi’s moans as you fucked up against him and the involuntary force guiding your hips to chase your high—all of it was so embarrassing to your character.

hongjoong took notice, as well. he was no longer viewing the scene from the monitor hooked up to their camera. at some point, he had begun watching you intently. mingi was right, you were perfect at this. out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his partner. seonghwa’s hands cupped his jeans, undoubtedly attempting to hide the growing outline of his aroused cock from witnessing the scene before him.

mingi, overcome with a growing desire to protect and care for you, quickened his pace. every thrust a promise that he will always love you just as much as your boyfriend had. you trusted him enough to pin you down to the bed you shared with your boyfriend and fuck you senseless, but not enough to give him your heart? the thought made mingi tear up, and soon the both of you were bucking into each other desperately, whimpering through sobs, releases imminent.

“gonna cum…shit…gonna cum for you, doll. you feel so good around me. so ready for me.” mingi leaned in to suck on your jaw, searching for anything to ground him. he knew the most natural ending of this scene would be to cum inside of you. but he felt himself slipping—mingi never got pussydrunk on the job. cumming inside of you would cause something in his brain to snap.

your walls pulsated around him as your release came over you, soft “thank you”s pouring from your lips as you rode out your orgasm on his cock. mingi thanked his lucky stars that you came first, and was just about to end the scene before you leaned down next to his ear.

“please. please cum in me. make me yours.” you begged as you continued fucking yourself on his cock. he clenched his abdomen, but it was all too futile. for once, mingi couldn’t focus on the scene nor your acting. he was about to make you his.

“i love you,” was all he could manage before you felt him shoot load after load into your cunt. his semen mixed with your juices as it pooled onto mingi’s lap. as the two of you stilled, you took a second to rest your head on mingi’s chest, the faint vibration of his heartbeat tickling at your ear.

seonghwa was the first to break the silence. “well?” he prodded at hongjoong. “how was it?”

“i don’t know, ask yourself. this dork nearly came before either of you.” hongjoong retorted.

mingi carefully lifted you up from his lap, the sudden emptiness sending a chill down your spine. seonghwa removed a robe from a coat rack nearby before kneeling down in front of you. that same warmth on his face brought you down from your orgasm with ease. he took you by the hands and smiled.

“you were just amazing, our little star. now let’s get you cleaned up.” helping you up onto your shaking legs, he wrapped the robe around you and led you to a shower room across the hall.

hongjoong tossed a similar robe at mingi, not caring to be as delicate with his employee as seonghwa.

“where the fuck has talent like that been hiding?” he exclaimed exasperatedly once the two of you were out of earshot. mingi rubbed at the sweat on his chest with the robe before slipping it around his shoulders.

“dude, i told you she was good.”

“and you!” hongjoong continued, his volume growing louder at the opportunity take a dig at mingi. “i love you. i love you.”

mingi’s head fell in his hands at the mocking reminder of his brief moment of vulnerability.

“fuck off.”

part two

a quick text (hey dude im on the couch. about to go live for a bit 👍). yunho immediately reacted to the message with a thumbs up of his own. formalities settled, yeosang opened the group’s streaming platform to begin interacting with fans.

“hi, atiny! did you guys arrive home safe from the concert?”

messages flooded in as fans joined his live. they remarked on how amazing the show was, how sad they were to miss it, how beautiful yeosang looked with no makeup on, how they could hardly wait to see what was next for ateez. yeosang beamed at the camera, acknowledging them one by one as if greeting old friends.

“sorry if you hear running water in the background. yunho is washing up, i wanted to talk to you all before going in after him.”

as if on cue, yunho began to sing loudly from the shower, an incoherent mixture of random words and a melody he was making up on the spot.

how does he still have so much energy TT

LOL happy birthday oppa!!

is yuyu joining the live later?

yunho was nothing short of entertaining, priding himself on his ability to make people smile by acting like an utter fool. sure, their manager would undoubtedly scold him later for being so loud this late at night in the dorms. but for now, yeosang chuckled as atiny continued reacting to yunho’s ridiculous antics.

tonight’s live followed the typical routine—he delivered a few behind the scenes stories from finale rehearsals, including a particularly hilarious moment where mingi ended up dropping his cane during arriba and nearly tripping over it. hongjoong joked that if he kept this up, he would need a real cane soon. eventually, mingi’s name was changed in their group chat to “grandpa”. he answered a few questions and vaguely dodged a few well placed spoiler baits. he showed off his freshly dyed hair and basked in the praise that came pouring into the chat.

twenty minutes lapsed before the shower water finally shut off. yeosang, far too engrossed in yet another story, failed to notice when the bathroom door opened and his roommate emerged.

“oh, my bad. are you still live?”

yeosang finally looked up from his screen and spotted yunho standing in their hallway, soaking wet and completely uncovered. he leaned against the wall as if carrying on the most normal conversation in the world. yeosang jumped in terror, covering the cameras on his phone by hugging it close to his chest.

“duh! oh my god atiny this man is crazy.” he calmed down a bit, cautiously lifting his phone to confirm that the camera was indeed still facing his own beautiful and fully dressed being. atiny knew the drill by now; they playfully asked if yunho had walked in wearing his underwear. yeosang evaded their inquiries in a way that made it super obvious that this was exactly what happened.

of course, he couldn’t tell them the situation was far more complicated than they’d imagined. that he was fighting to keep his attention away from yunho as he strolled over to the clean laundry pile and dug around for a towel. away from the fine drops of water that clung onto his lean muscles like delicate glass accessories before wetting the carpet beneath his feet.

as he spoke, yeosang thought he was relatively successful at hiding his shock when yunho set the towel down on an armchair across the room before resting his bare ass on top. on the contrary, atiny informed him through the chat that his cheeks were turning a deeper shade of crimson with every passing second.

yunho must be very nice to look at like that 🙂‍↕️

yeosang what do you see right now??

is this how it feels to live with yunsang…

“no, no, it’s not that, it’s just…”

yunho sunk deeper into the armchair, playing with the pretty pink nipples that perched erect on his broad chest. yeosang doesn’t want to notice the cock resting semi-hard on yunho’s thigh—but he does.

yeosang slides further down the couch, careful to keep yunho out of range “i’m used to it. we’re roommates, after all.”

“it’s my fault. i forgot to grab a towel before washing up!” yunho exclaims from the chair, his tone steady as he stroked his cock. “you don’t mind if i stay here, right?”

yeosang shook his head. “not at all. be my guest.”

yunho smirks as he continues playing with himself and listening to yeosang talk with their fans. he’s more animated this time around, probably overcompensating for how flustered he got upon yunho’s arrival. suspect nothing, atiny. just two friends hanging out in their living room. yunho made zero attempt to hide the lewd noises as he spread the leaking precum down his shaft, or the soft sighs when his thumb ran over a sensitive area on his tip.

doesnt it sound a bit….naughty over there?? 😂

“oh, haha.” yeosang feigned sarcasm, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner. now more than ever he was grateful for the more adult tone he was allowed to take with his fanbase, where jokes like that were commonplace rather than cause for concern. “my mom brought homemade japchae over to celebrate our last show. if only my roommate would eat a little quieter over there.”

laughing emojis flooded the chat. atiny were seemingly satisfied for his very on the fly response. yunho smirked and raised his eyebrow at an embarrassed yeosang. japchae? seriously? yeosang ignored him, opting to answer a few more questions. yunho quickened his pace around his shaft, his stomach hollowing as he squeezed his abdominal muscles to stimulate his perineum against the plush towel. it was clear the conversation was winding down, with yeosang prepared to announce his leave soon.

he imagined all of the atiny gathered in yeosang’s live. surely a few thousand, all of whom his roommate had to entertain while yunho propped his thighs—chiseled from a lifetime of dancing—in full view on the arms of their living room chair. his mouth hung open as his release threatened to spill over from his core. he didn’t know which excited him more—cumming in front of yeosang while his fans were none the wiser, or the growing tent in his roommate’s jeans.

“please don’t tell seonghwa i shared this…if i get a call later, i’m never telling you anything again.” yeosang joked as he waved at the camera, his eyes scanning the rapidfire chat messages begging him to stay for a few more minutes or maybe even hours. he made up some bogus excuse about having a schedule in the morning. yunho whimpered into his palm, tears hugging the corners of his eyes as he struggled to swallow back moans.

“do you have anything you want to say before you— or we…go?”

yunho uncovers his mouth just long enough to choke our a barely audible “i love you, atiny.” before ejaculating onto his stomach—semen streaming out in continuous thick ropes, warm and sticky to the touch. yeosang quickly turned the live off before anyone had the opportunity to question what had just happened, as he didn’t have much time himself. his boxers had just reached his knees when he fell to the ground, hand working furiously towards his own orgasm.

“seeing me jack off in front of atiny got you that hard?”

“shut up. god, please.”

“dude look at you. any longer and you were gonna come in your fucking pants.”

yeosang started in retort before the words get caught in his throat. they both knew yunho wasnt exactly incorrect, and in many respects, yeosang probably looked more pathetic down there on the floor than yunho had sitting naked as fuck on their chair.

“FUCK.” yeosang’s stomach contracted reflexively, his orgasm overtaking him in powerful waves. he felt the warmth of semen dripping down his fingers.

“you are such an idiot, bro.” yunho’s voice was much closer than where yeosang last recalled him to be. he tried to calm himself down, his chest eventually settling back into its normal breathing rhythm. when he opened his eyes, yunho was dabbing at the carpet in front of him with his towel.

“the smell is going to be a bitch to clean out.”

yeosang exhaled, “says the person cleaning it with an ass sweat towel…”

yunho considered yeosang’s remark for a brief moment before tossing the towel back towards their laundry pile. they figured it would be best for seonghwa to handle it.

(end)

“remind me again why i do these things?” you inquire, lifting at the sides of your blindfold to take another peek at him. yunho’s back was turned as he fiddled around with some utensils in a drawer.

yunho giggles, “because you love me! now where is that…funky looking…the one you use to spread frosting.”

“a spatula?”

“sure!”

you groan, lifting up the blindfold completely before sitting up on your elbows to face your boyfriend. “please don’t use my work shit for sex.”

“i’ll buy you a new one, i promise.”

a brief pause. “in the rack nearest the fridge.”

you could practically see his tail wag as he skipped over to the fridge, collecting both the spatula and a brand new container of buttercream vanilla frosting off the counter.

of course, you had spent the entire morning slaving over an actual cake for yunho’s birthday—decorated in beautiful spring colors to celebrate both the arrival of the season and your lover into the world. but when you arrived home from work, yunho immediately sprung up from the couch to greet you with his own ideas.

“down, boy! heel!” you exclaimed, playfully swatting at the man who had taken you into arms and attacked your neck with little kisses. “how about after dessert? i’m peckish.”

wordlessly, he broke away, a faint trail of saliva following his reddened lips as he stepped back to look you in the eye.

neither of you considered yourselves particularly vanilla as a couple—sure, the two of you weren’t fucking in the dressing room, but that doesn’t mean the conversation never came up. which is why you weren’t exactly surprised to hear when he vocalized his request to test out something he had been wanting to try: food.

“you look so fucking amazing right now.” yunho mumbles, setting his supplies down on the table. he gets excited just thinking about your body. the pliant tissue of your thighs dip into the imprints of where his fingers grip onto you. yunho takes a deep breath, scared that he might release in his pants before the frosting lid even comes off.

an occasional draft of cool air blows into the kitchen and softly grazes at your erect nipples. you shiver under the darkness of the blindfold, relying on little more than the sounds of his actions and the sensation of his touch to predict his next move. you feel vulnerable. and so aroused.

he removes his hands and a soft whine involuntarily escapes from your throat.

pop

click

yunho pries the lid off and lets it fall to the table. he lifts the covering from the frosting, the sickeningly sweet aroma of vanilla and sugar quickly filling the dining room. he takes two fingers and scoops out a hearty serving, slowly lowering his frosted-covered fingers to your left breast before trailing down to your stomach.

you groan at the stimulation against your sensitive nipple. the fats in the frosting provide a surprisingly effective barrier from the cold air and your pussy clenches at the temperature change.

yunho leans over the table, holding onto your waist for stability as he positions himself right over your breast—taking a second to admire both his gorgeous partner and his work. he isn’t the most patient person when it comes to his libido, wanting nothing more in this very moment than to rip your panties off and bury his face inside your heat. but he notices how frustrated you get as he hovers over you, the wet spot on your panties growing darker against the blushed hues. if the suspense was getting to him, it was surely destroying you. he enjoyed witnessing the conflict within your body as you struggled not to squirm.

he starts around the areola, tonguing a circular pattern around your nipple as he lapped up the delectable frosting, stopping frequently to suck down until the skin turned a slight red. you yelp, both hands flying up to grasp at his hair. yunho chuckled before carefully detangling your fingers from his locks, intertwining them with his own instead.

“hey. doing okay?”

you exhale shakily, “yes. i don’t know. please just fuck me, yunho.”

normally, yunho would praise you for being so open and vocal about what you wanted him to do to you. but it seems your exasperation was also a part of his little birthday show.

he continues on starting from the belly button. yunho’s tongue steadily licked up your torso, taking a moment to appreciate the unique landscape of rolls and patches of fine hair. he detours to kiss at some stretch marks, hoping to send the message that there was nobody more special in the world on this very night than you. he smiles against your skin as you whimpered in response.

“yunho-”

“you know what would make this taste even better, my love?” yunho slips a finger underneath the narrow strip of fabric covering your entrance. you were soaked, your juices dripped off of your thighs leaving a slick sheen on the surface beneath you. he presses it inside to the first knuckle, teasing at your hole and taking pleasure in the way it drove you crazy.

“please, please, please…” you repeat softly, a mantra of desperation aimed at nobody in particular. you aren’t sure what you want him to do—finger you, pound you, eat you. he pulls his finger to the right, opening up your hole wide enough to stick another finger inside. he begins to move, pumping his hand at a painstakingly slow pace. you were desperate for friction, but he wasn’t quite ready to give it to you, needing to prepare you for the next step.

you feel as he removes his fingers from your pussy, bringing them up to his mouth before eagerly shoving them past his lips. he always said you were the sweetest person in the world, and he meant it. he licks between his fingers in an attempt to collect every last drop.

yunho picks up the spatula from the table and places the flat side against your folds. he plays with the milky secretion, smearing it around the blade as he presses against your engorged clit. then, he places the spatula in the jar, stirring your slick into a silky mixture tailor made for yunho’s palette. once more he scoops some frosting onto his fingers and spreads it on your inner thighs. much rougher this time.

yunho pulls you down the table until your ass rest on the edge. you listen as the legs of a chair scrape against the faux wooden floor, stopping right in front of you. yunho takes a seat and leans forward to guide his tongue over the haphazard spread of frosting. he’s getting hornier and messier. yunho’s cock had been fighting against his zipper from the moment you agreed to become his pre-dinner treat. he contemplates removing his own clothes to ease the tension, but he also knows the one thing stopping him from jumping onto the table and stuffing you full of his cock is the durable denim of his jeans.

the frosting mixed with the sweat dripping from your thighs leaves a salty aftertaste as yunho continues to enjoy his “meal”. he bites down on your flesh, running his tongue over the teeth marks to soothe any irritation.

“so good to me. ‘m so hot right now, yunho. yunho.” somehow you make your way back into his hair, pushing down slightly as he ravishes your other thigh, stopping just short of your quivering folds. he eyes your clit and blows on it to elicit a reaction. the repetition of his name falls off your lips as you scream, back arching in agony as you ache for more stimulation.

yunho couldn’t wait any longer, diving towards your heat as he slurps up the sweet and musky slick. he pays critical attention to the clit—visibly touch starved—sucking at the bundle of overactive nerves and grazing your nub with his teeth. you mindlessly shove your pussy closer to his face, rubbing your clit on his nose while his tongue explores your spongy walls.

“cumming. yunho ‘m gonna cum. harder. fuck—wait, too hard…SHIT!” you crashed just as yunho had taken to vacuuming your delicate clit again, flicking at it furiously as you soak his chin in pleasure. you continue to shake when he rises to look at the result of his work: your completely fucked out expression and precious, flushed cheeks.

yunho has no idea when his cock ends up in his grip. he rubs comforting circles on your stomach to bring you down from orgasm, stroking his veiny girth at a similar speed. he’s seconds away from coming into his hands, highly aroused by the thought of you entrusting your body to him on his birthday. sticky, clear precum pools in his hand as he passes the tip. he squeezes his shaft tighter, feeling the substance squish through his fingers as he imagines you—any part of you—wrapped around him.

“babe?”

“hmm?” he moans, pace unbroken.

“would you…uh…like any help?”

you and your boyfriend laugh. scheduling conflicts left him heading home right as your head hit the pillow for the night. coupled with a particularly high sex drive, yunho was more than accustomed to getting himself off in the bathroom at the thought of you. even now, as you lie beneath him in physical form, glistening from sweat and displayed in full nudity like an enticing entree, just knowing that you were in his life and so caring, kind and loving was sending him straight to orgasm.

“here, have a taste.”

yunho opens the container and scoops the remaining frosting into his hand. cautiously, he takes his cock, spreading the white sugar just beneath the corona. eyes still covered, you sense his footsteps walking the table’s perimeter as he approached where your head lay. his thumb plays at your bottom lip, motioning for you to part them, and you eagerly comply. the unmistakably distinct taste of his tip—a bit metallic, he subsists solely on red meat—transitions suddenly as your tongue meets the vanilla frosting waiting further down his shaft.

you moan in delight, the vibrations playing at his glans. yunho wants so badly to thrust his hips as the warmth of your mouth enveloped his cock, but he knows he must now return the favor of your unwavering patience by remaining still as you bob your head up and down his shaft, tongue swirling as it laps up the frosting, teeth slightly grazing the underside. you release him with a loud pop before pushing yourself up the table until your head hung over the side.

you were inviting him to fuck your throat. yunho seized the opportunity without a second’s hesitation. you took him so readily, so eagerly, the walls of your throat seemingly stretched just far enough as to allow no other cock to pass but his. he liked to think he trained you up well from the person he met all those months ago, and his heart begins to swell with love as he watches you suck him clean as if it were nothing. the rubber band deep within his stomach bursts as he gives out one last thrust, emptying himself inside of you. as he carefully slides his cock out, a trail of semen follows behind as he spurts another load onto the roof of your mouth.

you take a second to clear your throat—and your head. yunho stumbles to lean against the wall behind him, his breathing laboured as if he had just completed a half marathon. removing the blindfold from your eyes, you scan the room in search of your boyfriend before spotting him crouched on the floor, ears red as ripe tomatoes.

you exaggerate licking your fingers, “no you were right…this is good…”

yunho chuckles. its the only noise he can manage in his post-nut haze. you push yourself from the table, taking a mental note of how much bleach you were going to need to properly sanitize your one shared eating space.

stomachs growl in unison.

“i have the ingredients for seaweed soup in the kitchen,” yunho offers up, embarrassed to know you were only this hungry because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

you clap excitedly, “i’ll get it started!”

A/N: this was not meant to be this long. it started out as a bedtime drabble because i didn’t want to be awake for the concert stream, ended up with several thousand words and i still missed the stream. thank you for 100+ notes on better 🙏 i’m still relatively new to writing smut, so i appreciate feedback and suggestions on what you want to read. if you’ve made it this far, you could start by voting in this poll as to which unfinished work you would rather read first!

i’m also getting a taglist together! if you are interested, please fill out this form!

yunho scoffs, just loud enough for you to hear over your desperate panting.

it had started out a simple punishment. the two of you had gone to visit his friends on a casual outing. nothing more than dinner at san’s place and a movie while you all gathered inside the living room. yunho had you positioned on his lap as the couch and armchairs quickly filled up with occupants. dinner was amazing (courtesy of wooyoung) and the movie was just interesting enough to capture everyone’s attention.

everyone except mingi, who had become notably preoccupied with the way your skirt rode up to reveal the plump midsection of your thighs.

and yunho, who couldn’t help but notice his friend noticing.

he knew you weren’t at fault, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to teach you a lesson, anyway.

“you’re gonna cum already? just from this toy?” he growls into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and straight to the sensitive nerve endings on the tip of your raw clit. the rabbit attached to your dildo maintained a constant, rhythmic vibration around the bud. yunho’s mouth waters, eager to hold you on his tongue and treat himself to your delicious juices, but he can’t let you know this. the sheer display of dominance and control is what turned you onto him in the first place. if you knew how easily he too could get pussydrunk simply from your wetness dripping down his chin…

“p-please, yunho. let-let me cum. need to.”

yunho feigns a sad expression, lip jutting out in an adorable pout. “ya sure? princess might be too sensitive for daddy’s cock…”

“no…won’t…” you struggle to find the words amidst the pleasure.

“no can do, princess.” his other hand kneads at your supple breast, threatening to leave a visible bruise with his grip. “can’t cum now. you don’t want to spoil your appetite, do you?”

you shake your head furiously, much to his delight. he positions the dildo upwards ever so slightly into the bumpy flesh of your walls, applying pressure in a way that made your breath hitch and a whine escape from your throat. a skill he picked up and developed throughout the year and a half you two had been together.

he knows you’re going to cum regardless of his permission; at this point, your eyes had retreated to the back of your head and your jaw laid slack, revealing your soft pink tongue and the droll glistening against your cheek. you were completely thoughtless, your only concern being the high that burned at your core and felt more inevitable by the second. he leaned forward, sending the toy deeper inside you. cautiously, he decreased the movement of his hand to kiss you, wanting to at least feel your plush lips against his before his fingers sent you crashing.

he moans into the kiss; he knows his affirmative sounds drive you just as crazy as his body. your hips—which had to begun to take up their own tempo in the absence of yunho’s stimulation—begin to stutter and he feels your back tense up against his chest as your arms tremble.

you’re holding it in. despite how every single part of you screams out to yunho that you want to release right then and there.

yunho chuckles, clear of your intentions though you were too embarrassed to vocalize them yourself. “did i scare you?”

“wan’ your cock too, daddy. don’t wanna s-spoil…fuck…” you pause momentarily, tightening your core to chase away the wave that hung over you. he smiles, satisfied with this answer and the huge boost it dealt to his ego. he shouldn’t even have complained in the first place, of course the silicon fictitious penis in his grasp would never measure up to the veiny, stunning beauty hidden within his boxers. you would never pass up a chance to ride yourself dumb and drench his stomach in your slick.

so, he decided, you had suffered enough. slowly, he removed the toy from your gasping hole. the matte pink finish coated with a whiteish slime and the intoxicating scent of you. he brought the toy up to his mouth and licked a stripe down the side, flicking his tongue off the tip as he collected your secretions. he kissed you again, the two of you sharing in the aftermath of your punishment and anticipating the bliss of your reward.

“you were right,” you exhaled, throwing your shaking legs around yunho’s hips and teasing the tip of his cock with your slick folds. “i do taste good.”

“aren’t i always right, babygirl?” yunho smirks. and you both know it to be true, as the combination of his cock finally filling you up and the suction of his mouth around your hardened nipples sends you spiraling into orgasm within minutes. he held onto your waist tightly as you collapsed into him, sending you both falling to the mattress.

he’s still fucking into you, despite the way your body jerks with each thrust as it sends your overstimulated core into overdrive. instinctively, you try to escape from his grasp. “yunho-shit. oh, fuck. fuck. baby, hold on. mm think i need to p-pee.”

your words muffled in yunho’s ears. the newfound confidence he obtained from having made you release so quickly was enough to excite him, and now he was after his own high. he held you against his chest, your hands mindlessly grasping at his flesh as another orgasm built up inside your core. he groaned at the feeling of your walls squeezing around his girth, the grip of your pussy catapulting him into his own orgasm. you relaxed into his body, the urge to urinate no longer concerning you as your brain took on a new objective. the fullness inside your core began to dissipate as your second release arrived, your head too fuzzy at the thought of being pumped full of your loving boyfriend’s seed to notice the growing wet sensation against your ass. yunho jolting up on your shared bed was enough to pull you back down to earth, though. as he stared down at his lap, your cheeks began to warm with a slight blush.

“did you just squirt?”

you shrug sheepishly.

“fuck.”

not in the entire duration of your relationship had you ever done anything like this. yunho’s chest burned with pride—no dildo on this planet could ever make you feel as good as he can, and this just proved it.

you had hardly finished gathering your own thoughts (and yunho had hardly finished painting your walls with his load) before he flipped you over onto your back, positioning his semi-hard cock back at your entrance.

“do you want to try that again?”

(end)

A/N: extremely horny rn but now isn’t the right time. so im essentially masturbating by typing all of this out while waiting to leave for a doctors appointment.

it is not healthy to go about your entire life assuming that you will see the worst of someone eventually.

this is true for anyone you meet: an idol, a family member, a friend, and a complete stranger. i’m exhausted by all of the Hot Takes admonishing those who feel a sense of loss, sorrow, and disgust upon finding out that someone who they were led to trust could potentially be capable of doing something as heinous as what is being alleged against taeil.

“you don’t know these people” you’re correct! i most certainly do not.

“don’t put these people up on a pedestal” nobody is doing this by virtue of simply being a fan.

“as a boy group stan you should always keep in mind that men are shit.” are you starting to see my issue, yet?

you are not naive or stupid for believing the best in someone, even if this is a person you have never met and will never know on a more personal level than as a fan of an idol. i am exhausted with the seemingly popular belief that its somehow healthy or normal to navigate through life operating under the assumption that everyone around you has the capacity for violence and harm. it is not healthy. as a survivor of sexual abuse and harassment, one of the first things i had to regain over my life was a sense of control and sanity. this meant ridding myself of the fear that i could be re-victimized at any moment. statistically speaking, it was always a possibility. but realistically speaking, i was doing far greater harm to myself throughout my recovery when i was afraid of the men around me.

if you are an nctzen, if you are taeil biased, do not feel bad about being blindsided by this. do not start assuming that the other members must have been aware, or must be involved, or must have committed some crime of their own; that is simply not how the real world works. if you are a fan of boy groups, keep your standards high but do not view this as a reason to be hyper vigilant of the people you stan. do not assume the worst until they present you with the worst. expecting people to be decent is not idolizing someone. its when you refuse to hold them accountable to the actions that they have done that you cross the line between being a fan and being an enabler.

why is this important to keep in mind?

we as kpop stans are in a particularly unique position. we are consumers of a byproduct from a culture that is undergoing a severe women’s rights crisis.

just recently, a series of telegram groups were discovered in which hundreds of thousands of users created and shared artificial explicit materials (deepfakes) involving women and young girls spanning from kindergartners to university students to adults; family members, classmates, coworkers, etc. the figures of the perpetrators involved could potentially be as high as 300,000 individuals, and a overwhelming majority of those in these chats are believed to be men.

this incident is coming right off the tails of another, more infamous group of telegram rooms nicknamed “the Nth rooms”—where a number of men helped to orchestrate one of the largest cases of digital sex crimes in south korean history, victimizing over a hundred women and young girls for the purpose of disseminating violent sexually explicit materials.

even before the original Nth Room case, korean women had more than enough reasons to fear for their safety; molka (hidden camera) crimes were on the rise, with over 30,000 cases being reported between 2013 and 2018. korean women were being assaulted and killed in their homes and on the street for no reason (significantly high femicide rates are still an issue in south korea today). women were being prosecuted over the mere belief that they may be involved in the country’s feminist movement—experiencing professional repercussions over accusations such as reading a book, having short hair, or making a gesture. in the wake of this anti-feminist backlash, it became increasingly common for men to voice their discomfort for what they believe to be “radical” measures taken by korean women to ensure their safety and improve their futures. see, for example, rapper San-E who wrote a diss track towards feminists and is still able to walk these streets relatively unharmed due to his position of privilege.

the notion that you should always assume that every man you meet is a potential sex criminal or a misogynist is harmful simply because that is the exact reason why korean feminists have been working so hard to change the legislation surrounding sexual crimes for the last two decades. the ultimate goal of gender equality is having that reassurance that no matter what gender motivated crime is committed against you, you will be entitled to justice through the courts and free of the stigma of being a victim in society. korean women want to be able to interact with their brothers and fathers without worrying about ending up in a deepfake video. korean women want to be able to venture outside their homes at night without fear of being followed and abducted. korean women want to be able to use the restroom at work without having to check the stalls for microscopic recording devices. the idea that you should be weary of those around you and those who have gained your trust is detrimental to your mental health, and with this knowledge, korean women have been actively working tirelessly to ensure a future where they will not have to worry about this.

it could be your faves, but theres no guarantee that it will ever be or that it will never be. rather, work today to uphold the standard that women should be protected and hold those who have violated their rights as human beings to the full power of the law. keep the names of those who have suffered or died from violent crimes against women alive and their stories in the media. south korean feminists are asking for our help in spreading the news about the recent deepfake Nth rooms, because they are facing silence and noncompliance from domestic media outlets to do their due diligence in investigating this matter.

they are suggesting that you take korean news articles surrounding the deepfakes, or korean feminist posts discussing the telegram groups and any events that are being planned to protest for women’s rights, and run them through a translator if needed in order to share them with english speaking news media. the idea is that as long as international eyes are on the atrocities being committed against women in the country, the korean news cannot suppress their voices.

here are the twitter accounts that i know of who are taking the risk to share their stories and that of other south korean women:

link to profile

link to profile

link to profile

link to profile