#yangyang

JOHNNY: dominant. size kink. orgasm control. johnny’s biggest thrill comes from knowing he’s too much for you. too long, too thick, too deep. but still watching you take every inch like you were made for it. he teases you until you’re begging, smirking as your legs twitch and hips squirm under the weight of his palm. nothing makes him hornier than hearing you gasp when he first presses in, the way you whimper out his name in disbelief at how full you feel. he’ll coo in your ear, chuckling softly as he says, “you can handle it, baby. you always do.” he doesn’t move until you ask him to, and even then, he’s slow. dragging it out, making you beg for each thrust. he has a habit of overstimulating you without mercy. one orgasm isn’t enough. not for him. he needs to see how many times he can push you over the edge before you’re crying into the sheets. his favorite thing is holding you down after you’ve already come, just to keep fucking you with that same smooth rhythm, his fingers stroking over your overstimulated clit while he keeps whispering how good you’re doing for him. he uses pet names like they’re part of his rhythm. “good girl. just like that. give me another.” and he always gets it. eventually.

TAEYONG: dom-leaning switch. rope bondage. mirror sex. taeyong is all about control. but he’s delicate with it. he loves beautiful restraints: thick red rope across your thighs, wrists tied softly behind your back, the intricate knots resting gently against your skin like decoration. he takes his time, sometimes longer tying you up than actually fucking you, and murmurs about how pretty you look like this. he wants your trust. the way you surrender to him is what makes his cock twitch, not just the act itself. every inch of your body is his to explore when you’re like this, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity. he’ll edge you, overstimulate you, all while running soft fingers across the silk-tight ropes like he’s playing an instrument. he’s obsessed with seeing you. taeyong fucks you in front of mirrors as often as he fucks you on the bed. his hand fits perfectly around your jaw, tilting your face toward the reflection while he presses into you from behind. he whispers into your ear, asking what you see, forcing you to look at the way your body trembles every time he thrusts deep. his voice is quiet, but strict. “don’t look away.” the way your eyes flutter under his command has him groaning against your neck, fucking you harder just to keep that ruined expression in your reflection a little longer.

YUTA: degradation. hair pulling. breeding kink. yuta doesn’t fuck you like you’re fragile. he wants your makeup smudged, your voice gone from screaming his name, your legs shaking from how rough he gets when you beg for more. he’s vocal, sharp-tongued, and merciless. his dirty talk leans toward degradation, but never in a way that feels hollow. he calls you names because he knows it gets you wet. his hand is constantly in your hair, tugging your head back so he can spit in your mouth and tell you how much of a mess you are. “look at yourself. crying already? pathetic.” he says it with a smile, because he knows you love it. the breeding kink is constant, primal. he presses you into the mattress, body heavy over yours, murmuring about how good your pussy would look dripping with his cum. he doesn’t pull out. ever. not unless you beg for it. even then, he pretends he’s going to finish inside you just to watch your face twist in panic-pleasure. when he’s close, he wraps your legs around his waist, thrusts hard and deep, and groans about how tight you get when he says he’s going to fill you up. “that’s what you want, isn’t it? fuck. greedy little slut.” it’s filthy. it’s possessive. it’s addictive.

TEN: exhibitionism. mirror kink. shibari. ten likes being seen. he performs even in private. he ties you up and fucks you in front of a full-length mirror, hands on your thighs, eyes on your reflection. he loves the symmetry of it. the way your body trembles under his, the sounds you make, the glossy heat in your eyes. “watch us,” he whispers. “look how good we are together.” he gets off on your reactions. on how messy he can make you. on how desperate your moans sound bouncing off the mirror, ricocheting through the room. his love for rope isn’t just about restraint. it’s about art. he takes his time with the knots, lacing them across your chest and thighs like you’re his canvas. it’s ritualistic, almost reverent. he makes you pose for him after, still tied up, naked and exposed. sometimes he doesn’t even fuck you right away. he just watches you squirm, blush, twitch under his gaze. “you don’t even know how hot you look like this, do you?” when he finally takes you, it’s with all the buildup of a practiced routine. like he’s waited his whole life to ruin you in this exact way, at this exact angle, while you cry out in front of your own reflection.

DOYOUNG: sub-leaning switch. praise kink. overstimulation. doyoung is the type who blushes at praise but still begs for it. he thrives when you’re on top, hands pressed against his chest, hips rolling while you ride him slowly. he’s sensitive, vocal, and gets overwhelmed easily. but that’s part of the appeal. you can ruin him with soft whispers and a vibrator. he’ll hold your hips, mouth open in shock every time you move faster, moaning your name like he’s about to fall apart. when you kiss him and call him your good boy, he completely melts beneath you, clinging to your body as he fucks up into you with trembling desperation. he doesn’t know when to stop. if you push him past his limit, again and again he’ll cry for it. overstimulation is his favorite form of torture. you can make him come once, wait a few minutes, then wrap your lips around him again until he’s sobbing and shaking and whimpering about how it’s too much. his voice breaks in the prettiest ways. “please- fuck, i can’t- it’s too- too good, please.” you can drag another orgasm out of him just by stroking him slow while he cries. the more you praise him, the harder he comes.

KUN: service dom. impact play. soft control. kun doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his control is quiet, gentle, unwavering. he ties your wrists with velvet ribbons, kisses each one, and tells you to breathe through it. he touches you like he’s sculpting something out of you, coaxing your pleasure out with patience and precision. he loves making you come with his hands. thick fingers curling just right, knuckles slick, wrist steady. he watches your face the whole time, moaning softly when you arch into him, whispering things like “that’s it, baby. you’re doing so well. let go for me.” but there’s a rough edge under all that sweetness. when you beg for more, when you need it harder. he delivers. he likes spanking. his palm cracks against your ass, sharp and deliberate, followed by his fingers soothing the sting. “you can take it. i’ve got you.” he’ll press kisses to your shoulder blades while pushing your face into the mattress, fucking you slow but deep, each thrust punctuated by a soft command. kun doesn’t fuck to dominate. he fucks to protect, to possess, to worship you with discipline. and when it’s over, he unties you with shaking hands, holds you in his lap, and murmurs about how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.

JAEHYUN: exhibitionism. mirror sex. choking. jaehyun doesn’t mind being watched. in fact, he likes it. he has no problem dragging you into the nearest empty room during an event, lifting your dress and bending you over the counter while he keeps one hand in your mouth and the other down your panties. he’s rough but quiet, eyes flicking toward the door every time someone walks by outside. it makes his cock twitch. the thrill of getting caught, of being inside you with your moans muffled into his shoulder, is a drug he can’t quit. he’s obsessed with mirrors. jaehyun pulls you into hotel bathrooms, sits you on the counter, and fucks you while making you watch. his hand curls around your throat, thumb resting gently against your pulse while he groans about how pretty you look like this. “look. eyes on the mirror. don’t hide from me.” his grip tightens just enough to make you lightheaded, just enough to make your legs tremble around him. his voice gets lower, more breathless, the closer he gets. and when you finally meet his eyes in the glass, he loses it completely.

WINWIN: power bottom. size kink. temperature play. winwin is quiet, but he’s not submissive. he lets you take the lead, sure, but it’s an illusion. he’s in control without needing to say it. when he lies back on the bed, legs spread, cock flushed and hard between his thighs, he doesn’t ask you to ride him. he waits. confident you’ll give in. and when you do, when you sink down on him and he stretches you open inch by inch, he smiles. slow, smug, lazy. “you needed it that bad, huh?” he doesn’t move at first. lets you fuck yourself on him while he watches, barely lifting a finger, until the urge to take over becomes too much. he likes temperature play. dragging an ice  cube down your chest while you’re tied up. warming his hands under your shirt and sliding them between your legs until you whimper. the contrast makes him hard. he likes watching you flinch, gasp, beg for more. and when he finally fucks you properly. hips snapping up to meet yours, hands gripping your waist, voice low in your ear. it’s with all the power he’s been holding back. you’re never really in charge. you just think you are until he flips the script and leaves you shaking in his lap.

JUNGWOO: sub-leaning switch. service kink. begging. jungwoo is eager. not just to please you, but to be told exactly how to please you. he’s the type to kneel between your legs, wide eyes glancing up for approval, lips parted like he’s ready to worship. when you touch him. run your fingers through his hair, press his face where you need him. he moans so sweetly you almost forget how filthy it is. he eats you out like he’s starving. tongue slow, patient, reverent. it’s not just about making you come. it’s about making you feel adored, like your pleasure is sacred and his only purpose is to serve. he’ll beg, softly at first-“please let me taste you, please let me make you feel good.”but the longer you tease him, the more desperate he gets. his voice breaks when you make him wait. when he’s tied to the bed, cock leaking and untouched, watching you take care of yourself instead, he practically cries for it. “i’ll do anything, anything you want, please-” and when you finally ride him, he thanks you. breathless and trembling, he holds your waist like it’s all he has left, whispering how perfect you feel and how lucky he is to be yours. he wants to be used. he wants to be ruined. he wants to be good for you.

XIAOJUN: praise kink. possessiveness. dirty talk. xiaojun fucks like he loves you and owns you at the same time. he praises you constantly. soft at first. “you’re doing so well,” “look at how perfect you take me”. but as he gets rougher, the praise turns desperate. “that’s right. take it. take all of it. fuck, you’re made for this.” he moans against your neck, his voice raw and open, hips moving in deep, full thrusts that leave you breathless. he makes you feel so wanted it’s dizzying. like you’re the only body he’s ever needed. but he gets jealous. possessive. if he sees someone else touching you, even innocently, he drags you back home and fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. his hands are firm on your hips, fingers digging in, his rhythm punishing but still filled with affection. “no one else gets to see you like this,” he says, thrusting harder, watching your face crumble beneath him. “say it. say you’re mine.” and you always do. because under all that filth is devotion. and when he kisses you after. sweaty, breathless, still inside you. it feels like you’ve been marked in more ways than one.

HENDERY:  roleplay. brat tamer. fear play (consensual). hendery’s playful in the most dangerous way. he’s the kind of guy who’ll start something in public. his hand on your thigh under the table, pressing against your panties with a smirk. and act innocent when you squirm. he’s into roleplay. likes scenarios where he pretends to be someone else. someone in charge. someone who caught you doing something bad and needs to teach you a lesson. he ties you up in character, calls you names with a twisted grin, fucks you deep while whispering the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. it’s a game. but he plays to win. he’s interested in pushing boundaries. consensual fear play. the edge of danger, the illusion of something darker, the kind of sex that makes your heart race not just from pleasure but from the thrill of it. he’ll pin you down, growl threats you know he won’t follow through on, keep your wrists bound while he grinds against you slow and cruel. “you should’ve thought twice before teasing me.” and when it’s over, he always brings you back. soft kisses, warm blankets, a trembling apology that doesn’t really need to be said. because he knows how to take care of you. even when he’s being a monster.

MARK: dom. breeding kink. emotional degradation + praise. mark’s dominance doesn’t come from experience. it comes from instinct. from the way he reads your body. from how desperate you are, and how good it feels to finally give in when he takes control. he’s gentle with his words, rough with his hips, one hand gripping your waist while the other slides up to choke you soft. his favorite position is you on your back with your legs pinned to your chest. he likes being close. watching your face when he fucks you slow, then watching it fall apart when he starts pounding into you without mercy. and when you whimper that it’s too much, he only presses deeper. “you said you could take it. so take it.” mark’s a little twisted when he’s deep in it. he degrades you like he’s in love with you. voice shaking, forehead pressed to yours, cock throbbing inside. “look at you. can’t even think straight, huh? just want me to fill you up and fuck it out of you?” he has a breeding kink he’s shy about until you’re under him, whining and begging to be stuffed full. then he breaks. his thrusts get messier. his breath stutters. “gonna come in you. gonna ruin you.” and when he finally finishes, hips locked tight, he holds you there like he needs to stay inside. like his come in you means you’re his now. his voice shakes. his hands tremble. but the way he fills you? that’s deliberate.

RENJUN: possessive dom. dacryphilia. overstimulation. renjun likes control, but not in the way that screams for attention. it’s subtle. deliberate, precise. he reads you too well. the tilt of your head, the hitch in your breath, the tremble in your thighs when you’re trying to hold it. it turns him on to know he’s the only one who can push you there. he’s the type to have your legs locked around his waist, whispering in your ear about how no one else will ever fuck you this good. he doesn't raise his voice. he doesn’t have to. his words are sharp enough. his hips are relentless. and he likes it best when you’re crying for him. it’s not sadistic. he doesn’t want to hurt you. he wants to see you overwhelmed. body overstimulated, head spinning, tears clinging to your lashes while he kisses them away. “pretty when you cry,” he murmurs, voice breathless as he grinds deeper. he keeps going until your body can’t take it anymore. even then, he doesn’t stop. not until you’re sobbing into his neck and begging for mercy between orgasms. it’s not about being mean. it’s about being unforgettable. he’ll ruin you with a hand around your throat and a mouth full of praise. soft, sweet, and just cruel enough to keep you coming back.

JENO: primal dom. bondage. manhandling. jeno has the kind of strength that makes your breath catch. it’s not just physical, though the way he can throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing does something to you. it’s in how confidently he uses his body, how steady his grip is on your waist, how easily he pins your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trails down your thigh. he likes watching you struggle a little, like a caught thing. it makes him feral. especially when you act like you can handle it. he gets off on pushing your limits, both physically and mentally. just to see that moment when the fight leaves you, and all that’s left is need. he’s into restraints. leather cuffs, belts, thick rope tied quick and tight. he binds you because he wants your full attention. wants you squirming, helpless, panting into the pillow while he takes his time. every thrust is deliberate. every word is low and growled against your neck. “stay still. i didn’t say you could move.” if you act out, he’ll flip you onto your stomach and make you beg for forgiveness with your face in the sheets. his hands are everywhere. controlling, bruising, possessive. he marks what’s his and leaves you trembling for hours after.

HAECHAN: switch (dom-leaning). overstimulation. cockwarming. haechan doesn’t dominate with brute force. he does it with attitude. with a sharp tongue, a hand fisted in your hair, and the type of cocky smirk that tells you he’s already won. he’ll tease you until you’re shaking. hold you down and grind against you for what feels like hours, whispering shit like, “is this what you wanted? you’re so easy, it’s pathetic.” and the worst part is, you are. he makes you needy. makes you cling to him, beg for more, cry from how much he gives and how much he withholds. overstimulation is a game to him. you can’t come without permission, but once he gives it, he doesn’t stop. “again. you’re not done yet. not until you’re ruined.” but when he switches, it’s dangerous in a different way. he crawls into your lap and rides you slow, cockwarmingly slow, whining through gritted teeth while refusing to speed up. “you wanna come so bad, huh?” he gaslights you mid-thrust, calling you desperate even as he’s the one clenching down and crying from the pressure. he’s a brat when he bottoms. mouthy, teasing, bold. but always gives in eventually. especially if you break him the way he breaks you: slow, relentless, full of praise and punishment. no matter what role he’s in, he stays in control. he’s not just here to fuck. he’s here to fuck you up.

YANGYANG: switch. thigh riding. overstimulation. yangyang is greedy. greedy for your body, greedy for your attention, greedy for the way you fall apart when he keeps going after you’ve already come twice. he’s a switch in the truest sense. confident on top, cocky and in control, but absolutely down to be used if you take the lead. he’ll let you ride his thigh, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other traces circles over your clit. he grins when you gasp. “keep going. don’t stop until you come.” he loves watching you get off on him, loves how messy you get when you lose control. he’ll make you do it again. and again. until you can barely speak. he overstimulates you like it’s second nature. he won’t stop even when you start crying, not unless you say the word. “you’re okay,” he coos, even as his fingers keep pumping. “you can take it.” and he doesn’t ask you to make it pretty. he likes the tears, the broken sounds, the way your legs shake when he pushes one more orgasm out of you. his voice stays calm. smug. gentle. he makes it impossible to tell whether he’s being sweet or cruel. maybe both. either way, he’s not done until you are.

JAEMIN: corruption kink. praise and filth. aftercare obsession. jaemin gets off on making you fall apart. especially if you’ve never done this before. or if you’ve done it before, but never like this. he wants to hear you say it. how much better he is, how no one’s ever fucked you like he does. the idea of corrupting you makes him feral. he’s the kind of guy who’ll walk you through your first orgasm with soft praise and degrading filth in the same breath. “you feel that, baby? that’s your body begging for me. so sweet, so wet, so fucking perfect. no one else gets to see you like this.” and the more wrecked you look beneath him, the more obsessed he gets. he’s tender with his aftercare in a way that makes you ache. it’s almost jarring, how filthy his mouth is when he’s fucking you and how gently he wraps a blanket around your shoulders after. he brushes your hair back, wipes your tears away, kisses your fingers while you try to come down. “you did so good. i’m proud of you.” if he makes you cry during sex. overstimulation, rough words, the overwhelming feeling of being completely undone. he’ll cradle your face afterward like he’s never going to let go. the contradiction is addicting. you crave it before you even realize you do.

CHENLE: bratty switch. voyeurism. phone sex kink. chenle is cocky, loud, and doesn’t care who hears. if anything, he wants people to. he gets off on the idea that someone could catch him with his hand between your legs in a public place. bathroom stalls, the back of the van, against the wall of a dressing room with your moans muffled into his shirt. he doesn’t need full-on sex to get off. he just needs you to look at him the way you do when you're about to fall apart. he’ll whisper shit in your ear while you’re trying to keep a straight face in front of others. “you’re shaking. they can see that, you know.” he’s got a phone sex kink he doesn’t even try to hide. he calls you at night when he’s hard and whiny and too far away to do anything about it. “i can’t sleep. talk to me. tell me what you’re wearing.” his bratty energy comes out when he’s frustrated. when you tease him or hang up early or leave him hard on purpose. but he crumbles fast. if you moan his name and say you need him, he’s already rutting into his fist and gasping for breath. “fuck, i miss your pussy. i’d fuck you so good right now. i’d make you scream.” he’s a tease, but he breaks easily under the right touch.

JISUNG: obedient sub. hand kink. power exchange. jisung is all nerves and flushed cheeks at first, but he wants to give in. he’s just scared of getting it wrong. if you talk him through it. kiss his temple, tell him he’s doing well. he turns to mush in your hands. he follows orders with wide eyes and shaky breaths. “like this?” “am i doing okay?” he doesn’t want to take control. he wants you to take it from him. he’s most comfortable when he’s on his knees, hands behind his back, waiting for your next command. and when you praise him? he gets hard instantly. he has a hand kink he doesn’t understand but can’t deny. he stares when you touch him. trails your fingers down his chest, stroke his cock with slow, open-palmed movements, trace your thumb over his lips. it’s hypnotizing to him. you holding his jaw when he’s sucking you off. you gripping his hair when he moans too loud. you wrapping your fingers around his throat while he whimpers for more. he wants to be used. wants to make you feel good. and when he does? he’s glowing with pride, practically begging you to let him do it again.

SION: soft dom. oral fixation. possessive praise. sion wants to make you feel taken care of. physically, emotionally, and sexually. he has an oral fixation that’s more about intimacy than control. his lips find their way to your neck, your collarbone, your thighs, and finally between your legs like it’s instinct. he eats pussy like it’s a language he was born fluent in, like he’s worshiping something sacred. there’s no rush. he kisses your clit before he licks it. breathes in your scent with a low groan. and when your fingers tangle in his hair and you tell him not to stop, he moans into you like he’s the one coming. he’s a dom, but a gentle one. his possessiveness shows in how he speaks to you. soft, firm, with a hand around your waist and his voice warm in your ear. “mine. all mine. say it.” he’ll stroke your cheek, slide inside you slow, and tell you how good you’re doing with every thrust. even when he’s fucking you hard, his praise is constant. it’s obsessive in a way that feels safe. like he’d never let anyone else see you like this, touch you like this. when you fall apart for him, trembling under the weight of his body and his words, he kisses you through it. “so pretty when you break for me. you’re perfect. you’re mine.”

YUSHI: brat. teasing. light impact play. yushi knows exactly how hot he is, and he uses it to drive you insane. he’s mouthy, smug, always testing your patience. it’s a game to him. he’ll push your buttons with a cocky smile, roll his eyes when you get serious, and whine about your rules even as he breaks them. but the moment you pin him down, and tell him to stop? he folds. “i was just playing,” he says, but his voice is breathless, and his cock is hard, and he’s already spreading his legs wider. he wants to be punished. he just doesn’t want to admit it first. he thrives off teasing. if you take it slow. drag your fingers along his thighs, hover just above his dick, whisper filth in his ear. he’ll start squirming, fists clenching in the sheets. he begs with attitude, voice full of whines and curses. “fuck, just touch me already. what are you waiting for?” and when you finally give in, and ride him without mercy, his whole act shatters. he moans for it. cries for it. and when you ask him who owns him, he answers fast, no hesitation. “you. fuck, it’s you. only you.”

JAEHEE: quiet dom. restraint kink. voyeurism. jaehee is dangerous in the quietest way. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. his dominance is calm, measured, almost clinical. he ties your hands behind your back and kisses your forehead before leaving the room. makes you wait on your knees, naked and aching, until he comes back and decides you’ve earned his touch. and when he touches you, it’s slow. focused. a single fingertip over your nipple, down your stomach, between your thighs. he learns your body like a study. not just what makes you cum, but what makes you beg. he has a voyeur streak he doesn’t talk about often. he loves watching you touch yourself while he sits back in a chair, legs spread, arms crossed, commanding every movement. “two fingers. no cuming yet.” he watches your body twitch and your breathing hitch with sharp, hungry eyes. if you disobey, he makes you do it again. and again. until you’re wrung out and ruined. when he finally fucks you, it’s possessive, purposeful, deep. “no one sees you like this but me,” he says, voice low as he wraps a hand around your throat and fucks you slow. “and no one ever will.”

RIKU: switch. overstimulation. praise + begging. riku might look quiet, but when he gets control, he’s unrelenting. he knows how to read your body. knows exactly when to slow down and when to ruin you. he’ll straddle your hips, pin your wrists gently above your head, and thrust deep and slow until you’re trembling under him. then he starts talking. “you feel that?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, voice low and dangerous. “you’re clenching like you want more. beg for it.” he loves the push and pull of control. when you try to take over, only for him to flip the script, hold you down, and fuck the fight right out of you. but riku breaks just as beautifully. if you edge him, ride him slow, kiss his throat and tell him how good he’s being. he starts falling apart. “please, please, don’t stop, i’m close..” he can’t handle your praise. his hips twitch when you call him perfect. his fingers dig into your waist when you say you own him like this. he’s vocal. messy. the kind of switch who wants to ruin and be ruined in the same night. whether he’s making you come over and over until you’re crying, or gasping through his third orgasm with tears in his eyes. he’s at his best when you’re both wrecked together.

Liu Yangyang was your best friend. Not the casual kind who lent you notes once a semester and waved in lecture halls, but the kind who knew you liked strawberry milk in your coffee even though you claimed you hated sweet drinks.

The kind who showed up to your apartment at 2 a.m. with greasy fries and a Powerade because he “had a feeling.” The kind you secretly, shamefully, maybe just a little bit—wanted to fuck.

But Yangyang? He saw you as just a friend. Just a girl who wore baggy hoodies and stole his socks, who cursed too much and watched horror movies like they were lullabies. He didn’t know the version of you that other people paid to see.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You were a camgirl.

Not because you wanted to be forever—but because tuition was murder, your scholarship only covered so much, and frankly? You were good at it.

A few hours a week. Lingerie. Sometimes toys. Always a mask. Always a fake name. Never in person. You were careful.

And Yangyang? He was never supposed to know.

“Dude,” he groaned, flopping back on your dorm bed, legs dangling off the edge. “If Professor Jin assigns one more group project, I swear I’m gonna commit a crime.”

You didn’t look up from your laptop, fingers dancing over your keyboard. “You mean like not showing up to half your lectures already?”

“Low blow.” He kicked your thigh lightly with his socked foot. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You bringing your ass to film club later?”

He shrugged. “Only if you promise to actually pay attention this time. Last week you were glued to your phone.”

You stilled for a second.

Last week’s stream. You had just finished a pretty intense session—your most generous subscriber, P1nDown, had sent a massive tip. You’d thanked him with a custom video. The rush afterward was addictive. You couldn’t stop checking for his next message.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just had stuff.”

Yangyang tilted his head at you like he was trying to read behind your words. He was always good at that—getting too close, asking too little, and seeing too much.

The problem with secrets was that they lived everywhere: in the way you avoided his gaze when a notification popped up on your phone, in the way you kept a second folder on your laptop labeled “Taxes” that definitely wasn’t about taxes.

You had a system. You were careful.

Until you weren’t.

It happened on a Tuesday. The air was heavy with pre-storm heat, your dorm Wi-Fi was shot, and you had an econ assignment due by midnight.

You didn’t think twice when you texted Yangyang.

you home?
need to borrow ur laptop, mine’s dead.
i’ll bring iced coffee?

Yangyang💕: only if it’s that trash vanilla almond shit you get
Yangyang💕: door’s open

You snorted and headed to his place. His dorm was across campus in the international student housing building—cleaner, nicer, quieter. Typical.

He wasn’t home when you got there. You let yourself in, dropped the coffee on his desk, and booted up his laptop.

That was your first mistake.

The tab was already open when the browser loaded.

It wasn’t porn—not exactly. It was a paused video. Full screen.

Your video.

You blinked, brain buffering.

It was you—wearing the navy lace teddy you’d bought for your two-month streaming anniversary. Knees parted. Lips parted. Fingers wet. Eyes half-lidded under your crystal-studded mask. The words “Thanks for the love, P1nDown 💋” were scrawled in text across the bottom.

And in the top-right corner?

The account name was logged in.

L.Yang99

Your stomach dropped.

No. No way. No fucking way.

You slammed the laptop shut like it had burned you. Your chest felt tight, ears ringing.

Yangyang… was your top subscriber?

He came back ten minutes later, earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat.

“Hey, did it load okay? Wi-Fi was—"

“You’re P1nDown.”

He froze mid-step. Slowly, he took his earbuds out.

“…What?”

You stood, heart racing, pointing at the laptop like it was a crime scene. “Don’t lie. Your tab was open. My video. Your account. Logged in. I saw everything.”

Yangyang went still. Then exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“You knew it was me,” you whispered.

“I figured it out a while ago.” He looked at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. “Didn’t mean to find it. I was just scrolling and… I saw the mole on your inner thigh.”

Your breath hitched.

He’d noticed that?

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have watched. But I couldn’t stop.”

You swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, by the way, I jerk off to your streams every other night and tip you more than my rent’? That’s not exactly best friend behavior.”

Your face flushed. The words should’ve made you angry. Ashamed. But part of you—the part that had fantasized about Yangyang’s hand between your thighs, about him seeing that side of you—lit up like a fucking firecracker.

“You’re my best friend,” you said, throat dry. “This could ruin everything.”

He stepped closer. “Yeah. Or maybe it changes everything.”

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Just stared at Yangyang like he was a stranger wearing your best friend’s face. Your throat was dry, stomach twisted, but your thighs were clenched tight and warm in a way that made you furious at yourself.

This was wrong. He was Yangyang—the boy who used to spoon-feed you ramen when you were too hungover to move. The boy who held your hand through every mental breakdown. The boy who, for the last six months, had been your highest paying subscriber—without you knowing.

And now, he was just standing there. Looking at you like he’d seen you naked a hundred times.

Because he had.

“You saw everything,” you murmured.

“You’ve been seeing everything.”

Yangyang looked wrecked—flushed, eyes glassy, tongue darting out nervously across his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“And you still came over like nothing happened? Let me crash at your place? Let me sit on your bed when you—when you’ve watched me—?”

“I didn’t do it to be creepy,” he cut in, voice strained.

“It wasn’t some plan. I didn’t even know it was you at first. But once I did, I just— I couldn’t stop.”

You backed away a step, pulse erratic.

“So you just kept watching. Tipping. Getting off to me. While pretending to be my best friend.”

“Don’t say it like that.” He stepped toward you, hands open.

“It wasn’t pretending. I’m still your best friend. I just…” He exhaled shakily.

“You were so confident. On camera. It didn’t feel like you were just performing. It felt real. Like you wanted it.”

You did. You do.

But admitting that felt like throwing a match into a pool of gasoline.

“I don’t show my face,” you muttered. “You weren’t supposed to know. That wasn’t you I was performing for.”

“I didn’t care. I still don’t.” His voice dropped.

“I just wanted to see you. All of you. Even the parts you think you have to hide.”

Your skin burned. Your heart pounded. But something deep and hot and twisted inside of you ached at those words.

This was Yangyang. He was the only person you’d ever trusted with your ugly. With your midnight breakdowns and your shame and your softness. You never imagined he’d want the other part of you too.

But maybe he had all along.

“You’ve tipped me over two grand,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Yangyang laughed weakly. “Yeah. I might’ve had to ask Xiaojun for rent last month.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

He nodded.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

Yangyang stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t move.

“I liked making you feel good,” he said.

“Even if you didn’t know it was me. I liked knowing I could do that for you. That I was your favorite.”

Your breath hitched. “You were my favorite.”

“I still want to be.”

The air between you snapped like a live wire.

He reached out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. You didn’t pull away. Your eyes searched his—unsure, trembling, but needy.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” he whispered. “Every time you moaned someone’s name on camera, I pretended it was mine. Every time you said ‘good boy,’ I imagined it was me you were teasing. Touching.”

Your knees buckled.

“Yangyang…”

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His thumb grazed your cheek. “But if you don’t—tell me what you do when you know I’m watching.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t take your clothes off. You didn’t let things go further than they should.

But you let him stay.

On the floor beside your bed, blanket over his shoulders, eyes locked on you like he could read every filthy thing you’d ever streamed—and still wanted more.

The next few days were weird.

Not bad weird. Just hot and slow and buzzing with tension that you didn’t know how to handle.

Yangyang came over to your place more. He brought snacks. Teased you.

Caught your eye when you leaned too far forward in a low-cut shirt.

You caught his eyes lingering too long when you stretched in your shorts. He never pushed, but the air between you was never innocent again.

He never brought up your streams. Never asked when your next one was. But one night, you checked your page, and your private inbox lit up.

P1nDown:
if you’re going live tonight
can i request something special?

You:
what kind of special?

P1nDown:
just want to hear you say my name
once
just once

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Then typed:

You:
only if you ask nicely.

You didn’t say it on the stream.

You thought about it. Played with the idea. Even put on the red lace bodysuit—the one that always made you feel like a weapon.

But when the tip came in—$500, and the caption “Please, baby. Say it for me.”—you only smiled at the camera and whispered, “Not yet.”

You were going to make him earn it.

You didn’t mean to tease him.

Okay. Maybe you did.

Just a little.

The night you wore the red lace on stream, Yangyang didn’t speak to you for a full day.

You didn’t blame him. You were his best friend—his favorite streamer—and you’d stared directly into the lens, lips parted and plush with gloss, and whispered, “Not yet.”

He knew it was for him. And you knew what that did to him.

The silence only lasted until the next night, when he showed up at your door with a bottle of soju and a six-pack of mango sparkling water like nothing had happened.

“Movie night?” he asked, eyes dark.

You nodded. “Movie night.”

But neither of you made it to the end of the movie.

You were sitting on your bed, laptop on your lap, one foot tucked under you. Yangyang was next to you, scrolling on his phone, his body angled slightly toward yours. Close enough that your knees brushed when you laughed. Close enough that your whole body was on alert.

It was suffocating. This weird electric buzz in the air that never left anymore.

When the movie ended, the silence lingered. Heavy. Heated.

You cleared your throat. “I have a stream tomorrow.”

Yangyang’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Haven’t done one since… you know.”

His lips quirked. “Since you found out I’ve been jerking off to you?”

Your face flamed. “Yangyang.”

“What?” he leaned in slightly, gaze

locked to yours. “You asked.”

You licked your lips. “You could’ve just pretended you hadn’t seen it.”

“I didn’t want to pretend.”

A pause.

“Do you still…watch?” you asked.

His eyes darkened. “Every time.”

Your breath caught.

“Do you…” You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “Do you touch yourself to me?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, slow and devastating.

“Do you want the truth?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward, and this time, there was no space left between you. Just heat. Just tension. Just the past year of him pretending and you hiding and all of it boiling over.

“I’ve come to your voice more times than I can count,” Yangyang whispered. “To the sound of you begging, moaning, teasing. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You whimpered. Literally whimpered.

“And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice ragged. “It still wasn’t enough.”

Your body moved on instinct. You dropped the laptop to the floor, barely heard it hit the carpet, and grabbed his hoodie, fisting it in your hands.

He didn’t wait.

Yangyang crashed into you like a storm—mouth hot, hands possessive, tongue sliding into your mouth with months of pent-up hunger. You moaned into the kiss, your back hitting the mattress as he pushed you down and slotted himself between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“You should’ve said my name on stream.”

Your laugh broke on a moan as he kissed down your neck, hands already slipping under your shirt. He tugged it off, eyes darkening at the sight of your bralette.

“This the one you wore in the birthday stream?” he asked.

You flushed. “Yeah.”

“I came so hard to that video.” He licked a stripe between your breasts. “Still do.”

“Yangyang—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”

You did.

And he lost it.

His mouth moved lower. Hands under your waistband, dragging your shorts down in one smooth motion. You gasped when his tongue traced your hipbone.

“I always wondered what you tasted like,” he murmured. “Thought about it every time you opened your legs on cam. Wondered if you got wet just for the camera—or if you were already dripping before you hit record.”

“I’m always wet,” you whispered.

“Thinking about who’s watching.”

“You mean me.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “I didn’t know. But maybe part of me hoped it was.”

He growled low in his throat. “Fuck. You’re evil.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh. Your stomach. The crease of your hip.

“Yangyang—”

“I want to taste you,” he said. “But I want to hear you first.”

You blinked. “What?”

He sat back, legs sprawled, hoodie riding up just enough to tease the waistband of his boxers.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “Like you would on stream. Like you do when you think about me.”

You should’ve hesitated. But you didn’t.

You spread your legs, fingers dipping between your folds, and started slow. Deliberate. The way you always did for your top-paying subscriber—who, as it turned out, had always been this close.

Yangyang watched with wide, dark eyes. One hand down his pants, gripping himself hard.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re even prettier like this in real life.”

You whined as your fingers circled your clit, thighs trembling already.

“Did you ever think about me?” he asked, voice low. “When you streamed? Did you ever think about what it’d be like if Iwas the one tipping you? Watching you?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Always.”

That was all it took.

Yangyang was on you in seconds, lips on your throat, hand replacing yours between your legs. He slid two fingers into you, fucking you slow and deep while your mouth fell open.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes—please, please—”

He yanked off his hoodie and pants in record time, eyes locked to yours the whole time.

And when he finally sank into you?

It was everything.

It was soft moans and whispered names and the sound of his hips hitting yours.

It was him biting down on your shoulder, whimpering, “You feel so fucking good.”

It was you wrapping your legs around him and crying out, “Don’t stop—Yangyang, please—”

And when you came?

You didn’t hold back.

You said his name.

Over and over and over.

Just like he’d always wanted.

“You’re still wet.”

Yangyang’s voice was low, right against your ear, as his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh under the table.

“Yang—someone might see—”

“I want them to.”

You squeezed your thighs together, pulse pounding.

You were in the library.

At the back corner table where you and Yangyang usually studied, hidden behind stacks of textbooks and his laptop. You were trying to write an essay while he claimed to be “editing photos” for his class—which clearly translated to “see how wrecked I can get you without anyone noticing.”

You wore a skirt. That was your first mistake.

No panties. Your second.

Letting him come with you today, even after he whispered “You’re not allowed to cum again until I say so” last night—your third.

His fingers grazed the slick heat between your legs again, slow and deliberate.

“You were moaning so pretty for me last night,” he murmured. “Now look at you. Dripping in a fucking library.”

You bit down on your pencil.

“If someone comes back here—”

“Then you better keep quiet.” His fingers

slid deeper, just shy of slipping inside.

“Be a good girl.”

Your hips bucked instinctively, and Yangyang grinned.

“You like being edged like this, huh?” he whispered. “Been thinking about it all day, haven’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He moved his fingers faster, but still shallow. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to torment.

“Bet your subscribers would love to see this,” he said. “You all spread out at a library desk, stuffed full of my fingers, trying not to cry.”

“Yangyang—”

“You’d put on a good show, wouldn’t you?” His lips brushed your temple. “Let them tip while you beg to cum. But I’d be the only one who actually gets to touch you.”

Your walls clenched hard.

He leaned in close, voice like velvet and venom.

“Say it.”

You whined under your breath. “Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

You turned to look at him—flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“I’m yours.”

And then—only then—did he let you cum.

Later that night, you were back at your place. Still sore. Still dizzy from the orgasm he wrung out of you with two fingers and a threat.

You didn’t plan to stream.

But something burned inside you.

A need to push the line. To play again.

To see if he’d crack.

So you went live.

Red lace. Lights low. Fingers already glistening.

It was supposed to be short. Just a teaser stream. Something to keep the top tippers active. But then someone new joined.

"S!nner773". You’d never seen the username before.

He tipped $300 within five minutes.

Then $200 more.

“Tell me how wet you are, baby. Want to hear you moan.”

You smirked and kept going—figuring Yangyang was probably watching silently like he always did, getting off knowing only he had actually been inside you.

But then your private inbox pinged.

From P1nDown—Yangyang’s account.

P1nDown:
log off.

You blinked.

Another tip from S!nner773 rolled in:

“Spread it wider, babygirl.”

Then Yangyang messaged again:

P1nDown:
now.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

You hesitated. Just one second too long.

And the next thing you saw was your door swinging open.

Yangyang walked in—chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes locked on your still-streaming body on your laptop screen.

“You ignored me.”

You scrambled to pause the stream, heart in your throat.

“Yangyang—what are you doing—?”

He slammed the laptop shut.

“You’re mine. You said you were mine.”

“I—I was just putting on a show, I didn’t even respond to the messages—”

“You let someone else talk to you like that. Tip you like that.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Wetness already pooling again between your thighs.

“I’m not mad you streamed,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t tell them who you belong to.”

“Yangyang…”

“Get on the bed.”

You froze. “What?”

“You wanna act like a toy for strangers?” His voice dropped. “Fine. But I’m the only one who gets to play with you.”

Your legs moved before your brain caught up.

Yangyang stalked toward you, dragging his hoodie off. “Tonight, you don’t cum until I say so. Again.”

You whimpered.

And then—he made you show him everything.

Made you keep the red lace on. Made you read the anonymous tips aloud while he edged you again and again. Held your wrists above your head while he fucked you open with his mouth, his hands, his cock—and all the filthy words he never dared say before.

“You gonna moan his name, baby?” he hissed. “Or mine?”

“Yours,” you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“Yours—Yangyang, please—”

“Then don’t ever let anyone else think they can touch you again.”

He didn’t let you cum for nearly an hour.

And when he finally did?

You moaned.

And he didn’t even care if the neighbors heard.

It was just another night in voice chat.

You weren’t even gaming—just talking while Jeno aimlessly clicked around on a puzzle game and you scrolled social media in bed.

Your voice was soft in the quiet.

“You ever think about what life would be like if we didn’t meet?”

Jeno paused. “Uh, yeah. I’d probably be way more boring.”

You smiled faintly. “You’d still be famous though.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t have someone sending me memes at 3 a.m. or reminding me to eat.”

You chuckled.

“So I’m your meme provider and personal health coach now?”

“Exactly. And moral support. And emotional damage controller.”

You hesitated, voice turning quieter.

“I’d still choose to meet you… even if I knew you’d break my heart someday.”

He didn’t respond right away.

You heard him shift in his seat, clicking something aimlessly.

“You’re weird tonight,” he mumbled, like he didn’t catch the weight of your words.

You just laughed it off.

You told yourself it was enough.

But it kept happening—these little moments that chipped away at your resolve.

Then came the night everything changed.

You’d always suspected that one of Jeno’s fellow streamers, a popular female gamer named Karina, had a thing for him.

The flirty remarks, the way she laughed at every word he said—even the ones that weren’t funny—yeah, you noticed.

You never said anything. It wasn’t your place.

But it stung.

Especially when their fans shipped them hard online.

Edits, fanart, clips—everywhere you looked, it was “Jeno x Karina”.

That night, you were just hanging out off-camera, curled up on his couch while he streamed a group collab. You weren’t supposed to be part of the stream. Just quietly scrolling on your phone, handing him a drink now and then, and keeping him company like you always did.

“Jeno,” Karina giggled over voice chat, “if we win this round, you have to go on a date with me.”

Chat exploded instantly.

OMG DID SHE JUST—

👀 👀 👀

OMGOMGOGMGOGM

U GO GIRL LMAO

Jenrina CONFIRMED???!

You tensed, glancing over at Jeno.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Nah,” he said casually. “I’m already taken.”

That alone was enough to make the chat go feral.

But then he looked over at you, grinned, and with one arm, pulled you right into the camera frame.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” he said, as if it was no big deal.

“My girlfriend. We’ve been together for a while.”

Your eyes went wide. “Jeno—”

He cut you off with a smile.

“I know we kept it lowkey, but... I figured it’s about time. She’s the love of my life, and I’m way too lucky to keep pretending she’s just my friend.”

The stream exploded.

WHATTTT??!!

NO WAY YOU KEPT THIS A SECRET—

SHE’S GORG WTF

JENO?? MY HEART 💔💔

WTF HE’S SO GONE

IM CRYING WE LOST HIM

Karina laughed awkwardly in her cam window.

“Wow, uh, okay! Didn’t expect that. Congrats, you two.”

But the flash of embarrassment on her face was hard to miss. Especially with nearly a million live viewers watching it all unfold.

Jeno didn’t even blink. He was still looking at you, eyes soft.

Then he read a chat message out loud: “Bro, she’s so pretty. You lucky AF.”

He smirked at the screen and pulled you closer, your cheek pressed against his.

“She’s all mine,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“And I’m not sharing.”

Your face burned, and you tried to hide it, but the chat was already blowing up again.

By the time the stream ended, both your names were trending worldwide.

And despite the chaos, the teasing, the panic in your chest... You’d never felt more seen.

But then again, it was all a lie anyway.

Then came that movie night. Just you, him, and a film that left both of you a little too quiet.

Halfway through the romantic drama, you noticed him wiping at his face.

“Wait… are you crying?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“N-no, this is sweat,” he said quickly.

“My eyes are just sweating.”

You softened. “It’s okay. I cry at this scene too.”

Jeno glanced at you, voice unexpectedly quiet.

“Do you think that kind of love is real? The forever kind?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s rare. Most people are too scared to say how they really feel.”

He stared at the screen for a long second. 

“That’s dumb. If you love someone, you should just tell them.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Unless they don’t love you back.”

Neither of you said anything after that. The silence spoke loud enough.

So finally, during one of your usual late-night hangouts, you cracked.

“Maybe I like you more than a friend.”

It slipped out.

Jeno froze.

You waited.

And he said nothing. Just blinked, glanced away, and mumbled something about getting more chips.

So you ghosted him.

“Still no reply?” Chenle asked, glancing at the group chat. “Dude, he’s been MIA for almost a week.”

“I called six times,” said Hendery. “Nothing. Straight to voicemail.”

Yangyang sighed, chin in hand. “He didn’t even tweet a ‘taking a break’ message. His fans are freaking out.”

“He left me on read,” Haechan added dramatically. “Me. That’s betrayal.”

Jisung frowned. “What if something happened to him?”

Taeyong tried to stay positive. “He’s fine. Probably just... I don’t know. Figuring something out?”

Chenle stared at the group chat, almost tipping over in his seat when he noticed Jeno’s icon blinking with ‘typing’.

“HE’S TYPING!!!” he yelled. The guys quickly opened the chat and waited anxiously for Jeno’s message.

And finally, he replied.

“Sorry guys. I’m fine... physically anyway. Just have something to figure out. Ttyl”

Jeno did. He finally did.

Sitting in his dark room, lights off, half-eaten ramen forgotten beside his keyboard, Jeno stared at the ceiling.

You said you liked him more than a friend.

And he didn’t say anything.

He started pacing, mind spiraling.

Why did he always reply to your texts within seconds and answer your calls before the third ring, when with others it took him at least 2 business days to respond—or sometimes he just forgot altogether?

Why did he drop everything, even mid-stream, when you needed help?

Why did it bother him so much whenever you were with other guys? Why was he suddenly willing to leave his house just to hang out with you, when everyone knew he barely ever went out before? Why did he spend so much effort choosing random gifts for you?

Why were his tears reserved just for movie nights with you, and never anyone else?

Why was he quick to dismiss anyone trying to flirt with him?

Why did you make him feel like home?

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

“I’ve been in love with her all along.”

He grabbed his hoodie and ran out into the rain.

You weren’t expecting anyone, especially not him—soaked to the bone, hoodie heavy with rain, sneakers squelching against your doormat.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath. “Please open the door.”

You froze. Then unlocked it, heart racing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“You’re—Jeno, you’re soaking wet!”

“I don’t care.”

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, aching, like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t realized he loved you.

You stood frozen until you pushed him back, wide-eyed and breathless.

“What the hell was that?!”

Jeno exhaled sharply.

“I love you.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

“I’m serious.” His voice cracked. 

“I didn’t realize it until you stopped talking to me. Until you disappeared. And then I started thinking about all the times I dropped everything for you, and how I hated seeing you with other guys, and how you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe… like home.”

He laughed, dry and bitter. “I’m academically smart, but I’m so goddamn clueless. I didn’t get it...”

You blinked away tears. “You ignored me when I confessed.”

“I didn’t mean to. I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid I’d lose you. But then I lost you anyway, didn’t I?”

He stepped forward slowly.

“I couldn’t stream. I couldn’t eat. Every time I looked at my phone and saw no messages from you, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

“You made me feel like a fool,” you whispered. “Do you know how hard it was to say that to you?”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I know now. And I’m sorry… for making you feel like your feelings weren’t important. They are. You are.”

You looked at him, your idiot of a best friend, soaked from head to toe because he just realized he loved you.

“Why are you like this?” you said, voice shaking. 

“Why do you only figure things out when it’s almost too late?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because I’ve never had to fight for something I wanted… not until you.”

Your heart cracked open.

You threw your arms around him, not caring that he was dripping wet. He tried to pull back, worried.

“You’re gonna get sick,” he murmured.

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his.

“I don’t care. I missed you so much, you stupid idiot.”

He finally smiled, eyes glassy.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You leaned in and kissed him softly. This time with no fear, no confusion, just pure, quiet relief.

Later, inside, wrapped in a blanket, you teased, “So... are you finally going to tell your chat why you’ve been MIA?”

Jeno smirked. “Yeah. I’ll say, ‘Sorry I disappeared. I was too busy realizing I’ve been in love with my best friend for like, 6 years and only figured it out when she ghosted me’.”

You burst out laughing. “They’re gonna roast you.”

“I deserve it.”

he felt hot. needy. it had been a while since he was this alone—and just the thought of it turned him on even more.

his fingers slowly traced the growing bulge between his thighs while his right hand worked the mouse with precision, scrolling through adult sites, searching for the video that would finally ease the burning tension in his gut.

he freed his erection with a simple pull—pants pushed down to his hips, shirt hiked up just enough.

he started slow, stroking his length up and down. small, breathy moans escaped his lips. he didn’t even bother muting the video; he wanted to hear the actress’ high-pitched whimpers fill the room. leaning back into his chair, he picked up the pace. all he could focus on was the girl’s bouncing breasts and the filthy wet sound of skin slapping against skin as she was pounded from behind.

it felt too good.

he did this almost every night, but tonight... tonight felt different. something about the loneliness, the silence—it made everything more intense.

the video ended, but yangyang wasn’t done. not even close. he clicked through the suggested videos, impatient, and chose another.

his head tipped back as he groaned, completely lost in the heat, the lust curling tight in his stomach, the climax building slowly—deliciously.

he was so close.

until a notification blinked on his screen.

it was a message from you.

“do you have the photos yet?”

ah. the photos.

yangyang had helped you with a photoshoot for your instagram feed a few days ago. nothing serious—just a few soft shots, sweet poses, and since he had a professional camera, it made sense to ask him. all he had to do was connect the camera, transfer the files, do a light edit, and send them over.

like the multitasker he was, he left the video playing, stood up, still hard and hanging, and rummaged through the desk drawer for the camera. with quick hands, he plugged it in. one hand editing your photos, the other wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping with more urgency now. wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him, curses and moans slipping past his lips.

the filthy background noise filled the room—moans, wet smacks, filthy talk.

but his eyes?

his eyes were on you.

on the screen, your soft smile, the way you posed so innocently.

then—another message popped up.

“i’m like three minutes away from your house, lol. gonna stop by to see the pics.”

but yangyang didn’t read it.

lust had swallowed his mind whole. he kept editing. kept jerking. faster. harder. he was almost there, his release right on the edge of his tongue. breath shaky. fingers quick.

until the door burst open.

“hey, yang—!”

white lines shot across his stomach.

his body jerked, muscles tense, panting hard. he turned his head.

and there you were.

frozen.

a hand still on the doorknob, face lit up by the room light, smiling... for half a second.

then the smile vanished.

your eyes dropped. to his cock, still wrapped in his hand. then up—to the screen.

your photo.

from the shoot he took just days ago.

a sharp “SORRY!!” and the slam of the door brought him crashing back to reality.

he sat there, chest rising and falling, his face burning red. a deep crimson shadow spread across his cheeks.

but—fuck. instead of going soft, his cock throbbed even harder. shame only made it worse. the embarrassment turned him on.

he cursed under his breath, yanked his boxers and pants up, slammed a key to mute the sounds, grabbed a tissue, and wiped off the mess on his abdomen.

“y-y/n! w-wait!” he called, fumbling with his clothes, rushing out after you.

there you were—back turned, stiff, humiliated.

and fuck, seeing you like that? it only made him harder.

being caught jerking off?

embarrassing.

but being caught by you?

something else entirely.

you turned, face flushed red. he didn’t know what to say. how the hell was he supposed to explain he was editing your photos while jerking off—but not because of them?

“l-listen, what just happened—it's a misunderstanding. i mean, yeah, i was editing your photos. but i swear i wasn’t doing it because—”

“oh, really? you’re such a pervert! you were jerking off to my pictures!”

“n-no!! it’s not like that—” he stammered, the bulge in his pants making it hard to even think clearly. “i was doing... other stuff,” he emphasized awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

and of course—you had heard the filthy sounds echoing from his room.

“so you weren’t touching yourself because of me?” your voice—soft, tinged with disappointment—cut deeper than a slap.

“n-no... no, i wasn’t…”

“why not?” you said, voice quiet, hurt, maybe even angry.

his eyes widened. what the hell were you saying?

he stared, hoping he hadn’t just imagined it.

but no—you really had said it.

“c-can i… would it be wrong if i asked to see it?” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. your face turned, avoiding his eyes, your own burning with embarrassment.

“w-what…?”

you crossed your arms with a pout, refusing to say it again. yangyang’s eyes slowly traveled down your body. you were wearing a black off-shoulder long sleeve top that subtly hinted at your cleavage, a short gray denim skirt, and soft white ankle socks. on your feet, kun’s indoor slippers looked comically out of place with the rest of your outfit—but somehow, they added to the charm.

"can you... show me how you do it?" your voice was soft, hesitant.

a curved, wicked smile spread across yangyang’s lips.

"oh no… you’re really perverted. you want to watch your friend touch himself, huh?"

"you did it first!" you snapped back, cheeks burning. "touching yourself to my pictures like it was nothing—"

yangyang chuckled and sat back down on his swivel chair, while you stayed frozen in the middle of the bed, sitting on your knees. he turned the chair to face you, spreading his legs a bit before slowly pulling his pants back down. he lifted his shirt and held the hem with his teeth to keep it from falling.

that move alone made your breath hitch. the way his toned stomach glistened—maybe from earlier—was almost too much to take in.

"i need to get in the mood first… you don’t mind, do you?" he asked with a teasing tone.

you blinked, not understanding what he meant at first—until he turned slightly and played a video on full screen. a blonde girl in seductive lingerie moved sensually on a bed, soon joined by a man whose hands roamed all over her.

"yeah... that’s better," he whispered, but his eyes never left you. even with the explicit video playing, it was clear the thing turning him on most was sitting right in front of him.

he freed himself again, his length thick and veiny, flushed a deep red. you swallowed hard, eyes glued to him.

"y/n, you really are a pervert..." he murmured in a deeper tone as his hand began to move slowly, deliberately. the moans from the video filled the room, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"i-i’m not..." you whispered, thighs pressing together to ease the growing ache between your legs.

"do you like what you see? because i definitely like what i’m seeing," he said, his voice low and almost dangerous. something warm and wet was starting to pool beneath your panties, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

your skin broke out in goosebumps when you heard the soft grunts escaping his mouth. his head tilted back slightly, one hand holding up his shirt, the other working between his thighs, faster now.

your bra rubbed against your sensitive nipples, making everything worse. your body felt flushed, hot under your skin, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the room temperature or the way yangyang was looking at you—like he was losing himself in you.

"let me see you, y/n…" he murmured, voice full of need. "touch yourself for me too."

his words felt like a command you couldn’t disobey.

you pulled up your skirt, rolling it up to your waist, you discovered your panties, pastel pink ones, small, with lace and cute little bows.

"fuck..." he groaned the moment he saw you. his hand moved faster, his breathing heavier. "touch yourself. i want to watch you too."

he could see the darker spot forming in the center of your underwear—a clear sign of how turned on you were. your fingers moved gently over the fabric, and you gasped softly at the contact. even the lightest stroke was enough to make you feel weak.

your fingers caressed your sensitive area over the fabric. you gasped at the electric sensation — just the simple touch was enough to make your legs tremble and desire surge through your body.

you kept stroking yourself through the cloth, this time with more intention. spreading your legs a little, you caught a glimpse of yourself in that position — and just the sight sent a jolt of heat straight to yangyang’s length.

“take off your panties, sweetheart.”

you slid your panties aside just enough to reveal your swollen, glistening folds. “god...” yangyang whispered, completely mesmerized. this moment was more intense than any of his fantasies — and his fantasies were wild, as expected from someone so deliciously perverted.

with two fingers, you traced your core from top to bottom, drawing out soft moans of pleasure. when the fabric started to get in the way, you slipped the panties off in one swift motion — a motion yangyang watched breathlessly, swallowing hard as his eyes drank in every second.

now your legs were open, completely exposed before him. your fingers moved frenetically over your clit, already swollen and throbbing, pulsing under every stroke — desperate for your touch, aching for his. you slid lower, teasing your entrance before pushing a finger in, and a loud moan tore from your lips, raw and involuntary.

yangyang mirrored your pace, eyes narrowing with fierce desire. he was close, too close — but he wanted to wait for you. he wanted to fall with you, at the exact same moment.

“put another one in, love. i want to see you with two fingers inside,” he begged, voice cracking with lust.

and because his wishes were commands, you slid in a second finger. your body trembled from the stretch, the overwhelming sensation forcing out helpless moans, as if no one else existed in the world but you and him. it felt too good — the situation, the build-up, the way yangyang was right in front of you, stroking his cock with his jaw clenched, the very sight of it enough to make your mouth water. you needed more. more of him, more of this.

the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. you quickened your rhythm, fingers slick, desperate, chasing the high that had been building endlessly. you wanted to fall over the edge. to unravel. to feel something more.

“y-yanggie... a-ah!!! i'm gonna come—i'm gonna explode, god!” you moaned, body arching as the wet, obscene sounds filled the room. chop, chop. every squelch echoing your pleasure, feeding his hunger. beneath you, a slick pool of arousal formed — a sight that drove yangyang insane.

“let's finish together, baby—let's come together, fuck, yes,” he groaned, increasing his pace despite the ache in his wrist. the pleasure of cumming with you was stronger than the pain. everything around him blurred, adrenaline rushing wild through his veins. and as you clenched your lip between your teeth, trying to hold on just a second longer, he swore he saw the most erotic vision of his life.

your fingers reached as deep as they could go, and in that moment, it felt like you'd touched heaven. a wave of heat flooded your face, your mouth parted, a thin trail of saliva slipping from the corner of your lips. then, without warning, you released — a stream of wetness bursting out of you, your climax crashing through your body, marked by a loud, broken moan that sounded like music to his ears.

he came too, spraying his cum high into the air, staining his pants in the process. but he didn’t care. nothing else mattered. as you collapsed back, breathless and undone, your body trembled with aftershocks — tingling, overstimulated, electric. it had been... perfect. the sight of your best friend touching himself for you, eyes fixed on every movement. and you, touching yourself for him, all the while wishing it was yangyang's fingers inside you instead.

yangyang couldn’t look away. he watched as your juices continued to drip from your pussy, the sight making his mouth water. the hunger hit him hard.

he dove between your legs without a word, burying his face in your soaked heat. his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue slid up your slit, slow and deliberate — hot and hungry. each stroke of his tongue made your body twitch, breath catching in your throat, and you could only gasp, still sensitive, still open for him.

“a-ah!!! y-yanggie—!!!” you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation. it felt so good — too good — but at the same time, incredibly embarrassing. “i-it's dirty there!” you moaned, face flushed deep red from the shame. you instinctively tried to pull away, but his strength was greater than yours. he held you down with ease, his low grunt sending chills down your spine as he leaned in again, so close that even his breath kissed your sensitive center.

“you taste and smell amazing, i still can’t believe you’ve been hiding this part of yourself, y/n…” he murmured against your skin.

his tongue moved deliberately now — gliding over your outer lips, circling your clit, teasing every inch of you. the touches were soft, wet, and slow… extracting the sweetest moans from your mouth. you tried to stifle them with your hands, but he noticed. he noticed everything.

“don’t hide your pretty voice, y/n. i want to hear you,” he growled, voice low and rough. “fuck, i want to hear you scream.”

he looked up at you then — eyes dark, mouth glistening, shamelessly buried between your thighs. the sight alone made your core clench, your heart pound harder. you were so turned on it was dizzying, yet too shy to say it aloud. when his nose grazed your clit, you let out a squeal you didn’t even recognize as your own.

he kept devouring you for minutes that felt like eternity, and somewhere in between your cries, your moans turned into whispers of how good it felt. any traces of embarrassment had melted away. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him closer, voice barely audible.

“yang…”

“yes, baby?” he murmured, looking up at you with glistening lips and hungry eyes, waiting.

“…i want to suck you,” you whispered, turning your face away in shyness.

he let out a low chuckle, the sound wicked and full of mischief. “you want what? say it clearly, love.”

yangyang was enjoying every second — savoring your flustered expression, your trembling voice. he knew how to ruin you, how to make you squirm with embarrassment… and you felt it, that creeping self-consciousness wrapping around you again, even as desire burned hotter inside.

“i want to suck your cock,” you said — no hesitation, no shame. your voice rang out firm, clear, hungry.

yangyang’s breath hitched, eyes widening at the sudden shift in you — bold, dominant, devastatingly seductive. he felt his cock twitch, throbbing painfully hard at the sight of your confidence, your desire no longer hidden behind flushed cheeks or shy glances.

you pushed him gently back onto the chair, guiding him with soft hands until he sat. then with your hands you leaned on his thighs to make space between them in a very sensual way, facing him, your movements slow and deliberate. your ass remained raised, skirt bunched around your waist, your pussy still glistening and dripping — an open invitation, even as your attention turned entirely to him now.

you slid down between his legs, nestling there like you belonged, hands gliding up his thighs with featherlight touches. his cock stood proud, flushed and wet at the tip, and your fingers traced along his shaft with reverence — worshipful, but teasing.

yangyang swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. the way you looked up at him while stroking him gently… fuck. like he was something sacred, something you'd been dying to taste.

“i want to be good for you, yanggie…” you whispered, voice soaked in lust, in devotion, in something so tender it nearly undid him.

he groaned, one hand reaching to brush your hair back behind your ear, his fingers shaking slightly from anticipation. “you already are, baby… you are so good…”

your tongue flicked out, teasing his tip, collecting the precum before dragging a slow, wet line down the underside of his cock. he let out a low moan, hips bucking slightly, but you pinned him with a firm look — not yet.

you kissed along the base, lips soft and hot against his skin, taking your time, your fingers still stroking him in rhythm. then, with a sinful smile, you wrapped your lips around the head and began to take him in, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.

“fuck, fuck— y/n…” he hissed, his voice breathless, wrecked. you hummed around him, pleased by the reaction, by the way his thighs tensed and how he gripped your hair just a little tighter.

you wanted to ruin him. you wanted to taste every drop, every sound, every trembling breath that left his mouth.

just as your lips wrapped around him, slow and warm, yangyang reached for the edge of the desk with one hand — the other moved to quietly disconnect the camera, his eyes never leaving you. then, with calm precision, he switched it to video mode, and pressed record.

he had to capture this — you, in all your beauty, in all your power. the way your eyes looked up at him, so hungry and soft at once. the way your lips moved with intention. it was art.

“god… you look so perfect like this,” he murmured, almost reverent, his voice hoarse and low, like the words were being pulled straight from his chest.

you felt your cheeks warm, a wicked little smile tugging at your lips even as you kept him deep in your mouth. you pulled back slowly, your tongue teasing his tip, your hand continuing the rhythm below. then, with a playful glance at the camera in his hand, you adjusted a loose strand of hair behind your ear, tilted your chin slightly — just enough to show your best angle — and asked, sweetly:

“do i look pretty, yanggie?”

your voice was soft, laced with mischief, and your eyes sparkled with the kind of confidence only you could carry mid-act.

he groaned like your words alone could finish him.

“you look... like sin,” he whispered. “like a dream. my dream.”

your lips curled in satisfaction, but you didn’t stop. you dove back in — lips, tongue, hands — working in harmony, now with the knowledge that he was watching you twice: in real time, and through the screen.

you made sure to keep the rhythm steady, purposeful, your movements fluid and mesmerizing. every now and then, you stole a glance at the camera, letting him see your pride, your power. you were putting on a show, but it was real — this was real.

and god, he was falling for you all over again with every second.

his breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling as your rhythm became more intense, more focused. you felt it — the way his hips twitched slightly, the soft curses spilling from his lips, his hand tightening around the phone.

“shit, baby— i’m close,” he groaned, voice cracking at the edge of control. “i'm gonna—”

but you pulled back just enough to speak, voice sultry and breathless.

“no… not yet,” you whispered, licking your lips. “i want you to finish inside me.”

his eyes widened, the rawness of your words shooting through him like lightning.

“you sure?” he asked, barely managing the question, his voice all gravel and want.

you nodded, already rising, turning around with a confidence that left him breathless — your skirt still bunched at your waist, your skin glowing in the dim light, your body moving like a dream. slowly, you guided him back inside you, straddling him in reverse cowgirl, your movements fluid and steady, your hands gripping the arms of the chair for balance.

yangyang’s jaw dropped open as you began to move, your back arched, hips rolling — a rhythm both powerful and sensual. he adjusted the camera in his hand, angling it to capture everything: the way you rode him with control, the curve of your spine, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again.

“fuck… you’re unreal,” he moaned, the camera shaking slightly in his hand from the way his body trembled. “you feel so good, baby—”

you looked over your shoulder, lips parted, breath heavy, hair a little wild.

“i want you to remember this. every time you watch that video…” you said in a voice barely audible over the rhythm of your bodies, “i want you to remember how i chose this. how i chose you.”

and then you moved faster, your moans turning into whimpers, your body clenching with pleasure. he gripped your waist with his free hand, losing himself in the feeling, the sight, the sound of you falling apart on top of him.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck—” he growled.

“do it,” you whispered. “inside me, yanggie… i want all of you.”

just when you thought you were both about to finish together, yangyang surprised you — his hands gripped your waist and with one fluid movement, he pulled you off him and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. you gasped, startled, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he walked toward the bed.

“not like this,” he murmured against your ear, breath warm, voice hoarse. “i want to see all of you… when we finish.”

he laid you down gently at the edge of the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the fire between your bodies. without letting go of the moment, he tossed the camera aside — it landed somewhere out of sight, still recording, but forgotten. right now, all that existed was you and him.

his eyes never left yours as he aligned himself again, the tension between you snapping like a drawn bow. your hands reached for him, your body arched in invitation. the pace this time was deeper, slower, more intimate — like he was memorizing the way your bodies met, the way your breaths tangled in the space between kisses and gasps.

you whispered his name like a prayer, your nails digging gently into his back, and he answered with soft moans and words you could barely catch — praises, desires, promises tangled in the haze of pleasure.

your legs tightened around him, urging him closer, deeper.

“i’m right there,” he breathed, eyes searching your face. “with you. just hold on…”

you nodded, lost in him — in the feeling, in the heat, in the connection that pulsed stronger than anything else.

and then the moment hit — not just the physical rush, but something bigger, something that made your whole body shiver. your hands clutched at him, your voice trembled, and as he followed right after you, everything around you blurred, melted, disappeared.

for a few moments, there was nothing but silence, breathless and glowing.

he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms without a word. your heart still raced, but it was softer now, steady in his embrace.

as you both got dressed slowly, still catching your breath and feeling the lingering sensitivity, yangyang bent down to pick up the camera from the floor. when he lifted it, he noticed the small red light still blinking.

“it’s still recording,” he said with a soft laugh, shaking his head with a mischievous smile. “guess it caught more than i expected.”

you giggled too, hiding your face with your hands, caught somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. he glanced at the screen for a second before turning to you with that teasing look in his eyes.

“do you want a copy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “i can send it to you… along with your edited photos, of course.”

you bit your lip, amused, and nodded. “what if we upload it?” you teased, winking at him.

yangyang fell silent for a moment, clearly surprised. a light blush crept onto his cheeks, but his smile returned just as quickly.

“only if we keep recording more,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice low and tempting. “so you can build a full collection… upload whatever you want.”