After Like

“Wonyoung! Wait—please, I can explain!”

She was already halfway down the hallway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Wonyoung-ah—just stop for a second!”

But she didn’t. Her footsteps were fast and uneven, stumbling like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to run or collapse.

“Please—just listen to me! Wonyoung, please!”

Her back suddenly stiffened, and she turned slowly towards me.

“You kissed her,” she said sharply, her face unreadable by the harsh hallway light.

“No—it’s not what you think—”

“I saw you, Wonbin.” Her voice cracked. “I saw your face. Your eyes were closed, and your hands—were all over her.”

“I wasn’t! She kissed me—I tried to stop her—”

“So you had the strength to carry Rei across the room earlier, but you couldn’t stop Yujin from coming onto you?”

“Wonyoung—I—” The words tangled on my tongue. “You’re right—I messed up, I know I did, and I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. But I really didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t know what to do, so you grabbed a handful of her ass while she stuck her tongue down your throat?” She looked away in disgust. “And you said you loved me? And after everything I said—”

“Wonyoung—” I reached for her hand, but she yanked it back like I had burned her.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she said in a tone that I never imagined I’d ever hear from her. A tone so terrifying and cold that it made my chest cave in.

“I’m sorry,” I said, dropping to my knees before her. The impact shot through my legs, but I barely felt it—everything else hurt way more.

I didn’t know what else to do, it was like my world was shattering in front of me. Everything I’d ever dreamed of actually came true, and yet in just a fleeting moment, it all disappeared.

“Do you think that begging works on me?” she asked.

“You’re right. I should’ve stopped her. I could’ve. I was too stupid. But I swear I’ve never looked at her like that—it’s always been you. I wish it had been you. I wanted it to be you. But it wasn’t, and I was wrong, and I’m just so sorry.”

She didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoung…” I said again, even though I knew she was right. Repeating it changed nothing. Begging was futile.

“Today was one of the happiest days of my life,” she said.

“Mine too.”

“It felt like a fairytale to me.”

“Me too.”

“And you ruined it.”

Her words cut like a dull knife. Sharp enough to puncture a wound, but not enough to end the pain quickly.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Wonyoung. I’m really so sorry.”

She let the silence stretch until it nearly snapped, then looked down at me with her arms folded. "Then prove it.”

“What?”

“If you mean it, then prove it.”

“Okay—I’ll prove it. I’ll do it. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

Her eyes sharpened, and her posture straightened, like she wasn’t even drunk anymore. “Be mine then.”

“I am. I’m already yours, I’ve always been.”

“No,” she said, her voice colder than ever. “Not like that.”

I swallowed hard, my throat closing up. “Then what do you mean?”

She began to circle me slowly. “As of today, you’re no longer my best friend.”

My breathing stopped. “W-what?”

“And you’re definitely not going to be my lover, my boyfriend, or whatever stupid fantasy you had in your head.”

“I-I’m not sure what you’re saying right now—”

“Wonbin.” She leaned down, just enough to meet my eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Answer the question. Are you going to be mine or what? Yes or no.”

“Your what?”

“My slave.”

From the moment those words left her lips, my life was never the same again.

I never thought even in my wildest nightmares that my relationship with Wonyoung would turn out this way. But eventually, it became the only thing I knew.

My routine was simple. Attend class during the day, work my part-time job at the café in the evening, and at night, be available whenever she asked for me.

She was a methodical person, so most of the time, our meetings followed a pattern: right after a concert, a full day of practice, filming a music video or commercial, or after she came back from being away.

The only unpredictable part was the location.

For most nights, it would be at her own apartment in Cheongdam, but there were special occasions where we would meet at a fancy hotel closest to where she was at the time of the text.

“Grand Hyatt. Room 1134. 30 minutes.”

That would be the text. Nothing more.

And for the record, 30 minutes was not a lot of time to get ready and show up. But I somehow always made it work.

In the beginning, I’d panic—make excuses to my friends, lie about emergencies, bolt out of restaurants onto the subway like my life depended on it (because, well, it did).

But eventually, I learned to anticipate her schedule. I started checking her public appearances, rehearsals, recordings, just to narrow down the nights I might get summoned. I memorized her patterns—how she needed me more after long shoots or after arguments with her members.

After a while, I didn’t need excuses anymore. I just disappeared. People stopped questioning it. Maybe they thought I just turned into a psycho. Who was I to say they were wrong?

I also never showed up empty-handed. She never asked, but I knew she expected it: a bouquet of roses, an expensive box of chocolates, a new bottle of wine to try. Something to prove my devotion, my desperation, my willingness to bleed myself dry for her. Like an offering, almost. And that’s where most of my paychecks went.

Chocolate and wine were easy to stock, but roses had to be bought fresh, which made them the real challenge. Especially on short notice. I learned which flower shops stayed open late, which convenience stores carried good wine, which 24-hour places would save me when she texted at midnight.

As for the rules, the basic ones were quite simple. Don’t be late, don’t talk back, follow her orders without question.

But simple didn’t always mean easy. I broke them often, and was always punished accordingly. In fact, I broke them the very same night that I got myself into this mess.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you not to ask questions,” she scolded. “Just do anything and everything I say.”

“Oh, so we’ve already made it to this part of the game.” Yujin smirked.

“You shut your mouth, unnie.” Wonyoung said sternly.

"Scary," Yujin said sarcastically, her eyes locked on mine, waiting to see if I'd crumble or comply.

Wonyoung turned to me, her patience visibly thinning. “Are you going to do it or not? Because if not, you can leave right now.”

“I’ll do it, but—”

“Wonbin.”

“Y-yeah?”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

I felt my throat tighten. Something about her words struck me like a blade, and I felt a sharp, stinging pain pass through my chest.

I turned to Yujin, unable to look Wonyoung in the eyes anymore. “Kiss me again,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Yujin blinked, and then laughed in disbelief. “What?”

Wonyoung sat on the couch in front of us, her posture more refined than ever, as if the alcohol had completely left her body. She said nothing. Just watched.

“Kiss me,” I said again, my voice stronger than before. “Let’s…make out. Again.”

“Well, this isn’t very romantic,” Yujin said, unimpressed.

“Oh, it was supposed to be romantic?” Wonyoung asked, her voice more annoyed than ever.

“No!” I interrupted. “It wasn’t romantic at all, we were just being stupid. Drunk and stupid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Yujin said, biting her lower lip.

“Come on,” I said, inching closer to her. “Let’s do it again.”

“You’re giving us permission?” Yujin's eyes flicked between me and Wonyoung. “Or is this some kind of test?”

“If you’re gonna go after my possessions, do it in front of me instead of behind my back.”

“Ooh—possessions, huh? Don’t agree to things that you’ll regret, Wonnie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Yujin's smile turned predatory as she looked at me. “I guess everyone wins tonight.”

Without warning, she wrapped her hands behind my neck and pulled me close, kissing me fiercely, as if she had been waiting for this moment all night.

My body went rigid, even though I had plenty of time to prepare. Truthfully, I was shocked that Yujin was such a great kisser. The control she had over her lips and tongue were honestly impressive. It felt like I was in complete control by her mouth, so much that I couldn’t even move.

Wonyoung crossed her legs and leaned her back against the sofa. “Don’t be shy all of a sudden, kiss her back.”

Yujin chuckled against my lips. “You're actually okay with this?”

“He said he would do anything to prove that he’s sorry, so let’s see how much of that is bullshit.”

The room spun around me. I didn't understand the rules anymore. I didn't know what was expected or forbidden, but I knew if I asked again, I’d be punished. And I still didn’t understand what punishment meant in her world.

“Go on, grab her ass,” Wonyoung commanded. “Just like you did before.”

“You heard her.” Yujin took my hand and guided it down, pressing my palm against the curve of her soft, round butt, holding it there until my fingers spread and gripped on their own.

“How does it feel? Do you like it?” Wonyoung asked.

I froze. Every answer felt like a trap.

“Are you mute now?”

“It feels… good?” My voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“I asked you if you like it.”

“Yes. I like it. It feels nice and soft.”

“Just pretend she’s not here,” Yujin whispered, her breath warm in my ear. “She loves playing goddess, but she’s just a jealous little brat, don’t be scared of her.”

Wonyoung’s voice cut through her whisper like a knife. “Take her clothes off.”

“W-what?” I stared at her, panic rising in my chest.

But Yujin didn't wait for my hesitation to pass. “Like this.”

Her fingers found the edge of my shirt and pulled it over my head in one smooth motion. Then she kissed me again—slower this time, more deliberate. I didn’t resist. I didn’t know if I even had the right to anymore. Or the will.

My hands moved without conscious thought, pulling her shirt up and over her head. She smiled against my lips, then reached behind herself to unhook her bra, letting it fall at our feet. She grabbed my wrist and placed it over her bare chest, and I felt the weight of her breasts in my hands as my breath finally caught.

I looked over at Wonyoung, my throat as dry as sand.

“Don’t stop now,” she said, recrossing her legs.

Lust crashed over me like a giant wave. I wanted to pretend I was still in some kind of control, that this was still some twisted game I could walk away from—but that lie died the moment Yujin's nipples hardened against my palms. Her tongue danced with mine as if she already knew every inch of me—where to press, where to pull, how to break what little was left of my restraint.

I slid her shorts down along with her panties, and she let out a quiet, teasing moan, biting down on my lower lip before releasing it with a grin.

“There you go,” she breathed. “That’s a good boy…”

My hands moved on instinct, tracing the curve of her waist, and glided over her hips, until my fingers slipped between her thighs. She was already wet, and when I touched her, she gasped into my mouth, arching her body like she never even expected it. Her breath was hot against my cheek, and her head tilted back, exposing her neck like an offering.

I took it. My lips pressed eagerly against her skin as my fingers spread her wetness, slipping through it before pressing deeper. She was already soaked, pulling me in.

“Oh god,” Yujin moaned, her head falling back.. “You better not tell us to stop randomly, because I swear—I’m going to lose it.”

“I won’t,” Wonyoung said calmly. “Do what you really want to each other.”

“Don’t change your mind later when you can’t take it anymore,” Yujin warned.

“Of course. I won’t.”

Then, like something snapped inside her, Yujin grabbed my shoulders and twisted me around, pushing me down onto the couch—right next to Wonyoung. I hit the cushions hard, my heart pounding so loud I could barely think, before I felt her fingers tugging my belt free. In one smooth, reckless motion, she pulled my pants down to my knees.

“W-wait, hold on—”

But she didn’t listen.

Before I could process what had happened, my cock was already inside of her mouth. I looked at Wonyoung in panic, certain that she would stop us, but she was stoic. She didn’t even flinch. She just sat there, perfectly still, watching. Her face was unreadable—there was no shock. No jealousy. No anger. Just nothing.

“You better not come,” was all she said.

“Wonbin, are you coming?” Manager Kim asked, waving his arm.

“Yes, coming, sorry!” I hurried toward him through the maze of cables and equipment cases.

The stadium was deafeningly loud, even from backstage. Thousands of voices were bleeding through concrete walls.

“Alright, listen carefully because this part is kind of confusing. The girls are going to enter from this side, but they exit from the other side in between breaks. But on some sets, they have to exit on this side to get their makeup retouched. So you wait over here, since you can speak English, so if the venue staff have any issues, you can communicate with them. I’ll be on the other side dealing with our new crew. Make sense?”

“Yes,” I lied. It made zero sense in the moment, but everything was happening too fast for me to process.

“Do you have their stuff?”

I held up the box of phones tangled with designer charms and luxury handbags worth more than my semester tuition.

“Perfect, alright, I have to go now, text me if there are any issues.”

While getting my school arrangements in place, I had some free time, so I volunteered to help IVE with their World Tour in America. I thought that just meant tagging along their team and helping with translations, but Manager Kim seemed to really trust me with management things as well, such as coordinating fan events, and helping set their schedules. Or on some days, hold their phones and bags for them while they performed.

Although this job (if you could even call it that since I didn’t get paid) helped me understand the logistics of being an idol more than ever before, there were some things that remained a mystery to me. Like how they changed entire outfits—sometimes even hairstyles—in the span of two songs. I wasn't allowed to be there during costume changes for obvious reasons, but my mind couldn't wrap around the physics of it.

But what confused me the most was that Wonyoung had two phones. Everyone knew she was endorsed by Samsung, so of course she had to be seen with a Galaxy for Instagram posts and brand deals, while her personal phone was an iPhone—that part made sense. What didn’t make sense was how she actually used them.

Sometimes, in between sets, she’d ask me for the Galaxy instead of her iPhone—even when there were no cameras or fans around.

At first, I figured maybe she had KakaoTalk installed on both, and it was just a matter of convenience. But then she’d switch back to the iPhone the very next set, almost at random, like there was some invisible rulebook I’d never read. Was one for family? One for management?

I never had the courage to ask. And honestly, maybe I didn’t want to know. Her unlock pattern was quite simple and not much of a secret since she often swiped it out in the open, so I didn’t imagine there could be anything to hide on that phone. It was just one of those things that went way over my head and there was no point in trying to decipher it.

"Wonbin-ah, something's wrong with my mic—I can't hear myself anymore," Liz said breathlessly as the girls rushed backstage for their break before the encore.

"Channel 3 volume check," I called to the sound engineer. "Her monitor feed might be—”

“Wonbin, Wonyoung’s looking for her phone—”

“Oppa, do you know where Manager Kim is?”

“Wonbin-ah, can you ask them—”

Voices overlapped, demands crashed into each other. At this point, the area was chaos—makeup artists with powder brushes, stylists pulling new outfits from garment bags, security guards barking updates on their walkie talkies about crowd control. In the middle of it all, Wonyoung looked especially drained.

I caught her as she stumbled slightly, pressing a cold bottle of water into her hands while the other girls fanned themselves frantically with whatever they could find.

"Are you okay?" I asked, twisting the cap off for her before she could even try.

She smiled—that soft, genuine one reserved for moments when the cameras weren’t rolling. “I’m okay. I’m just glad it’s almost over. I’m so tired today.”

It caught me off guard. She rarely let her exhaustion show, especially not to me. Not anymore.

“You did really well today,” I said, reaching up to fix a strand of hair that had escaped from her perfectly styled bangs. My fingers brushed against her damp skin, and for a second, she leaned into the touch.

“Were you watching me?” she asked, taking a long sip of water.

“Of course I was.”

“I can’t believe it’s your job now.”

“It’s always been my job to look at you—”

“Wonyoung-ah! Come quickly, you have to change for the encore! We only have three minutes!”

She jerked upward. “Sorry! Coming!”

As usual, whatever little moment we had shattered.

She dropped the water bottle onto my lap and started toward the dressing room, then stopped abruptly.

"Oh—Wonbin! Can you bring me my phone?"

I looked down at the two devices in my hands. "Which one?"

But she didn’t hear me.

I tried checking for messages on both to figure it out, but without knowing her passcode, the home screen was as good as empty. Just then, the Galaxy buzzed in my hand, and I knew that was the one.

“Wonbin, there you are!” Manager Kim suddenly called from behind me. “Can you come help? They’re saying that we’re behind schedule and won’t have time for the fansign afterwards, but that’s completely not true.”

“Oh, I’ll be right there, I have to bring this to Wonyoung—”

“No, come now! She can wait!”

“Wait, stop—Yujin!”

Wonyoung glared at me, more serious than she’s ever been.

“Wonyoung—I’m sorry, I—I think I’m gonna come—”

“Don't come yet,” Yujin said, her tongue flicking teasingly against the tip. “The fun's just getting started.”

“No, please, Yujin, slow down…”

“Like this?” she purred, slowly running her tongue against my shaft.

I didn’t understand how or why she was so good. Granted, my sexual experience was limited to only a couple of people, but this was a level of skill I didn’t know existed. Where exactly did she learn? And with who?

I fell back against the couch, squeezing my eyes shut to fight the overwhelming sensations, but Yujin's warm, wet mouth engulfed me completely, techniques I didn't even know were possible.

"Open your eyes," Wonyoung commanded.

I obliged, and I could see the anger behind her beautiful face that she was trying so hard to mask.

“Does it feel good?” Yujin asked, stroking me while pulling her hair back with her other hand.

Wonyoung crossed her legs yet again. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I said, in almost a whimper. “It feels really good, but I don’t want to feel good anymore. I’m sorry, Wonyoung, I—”

“Why not? I never said you couldn’t feel good, I just said not to come.”

But it was a request that was physically impossible to meet. I looked right into her eyes, staring at the girl of my dreams, the only person I’d ever yearned for with such desperation. And yet right next to her was Yujin’s perfect naked body, oozing with desire, ready to swallow me alive.

“I can’t hold it anymore,” I cried in defeat as Yujin’s throat squeezed me tightly, her soft, wet tongue drawing circles at my base.

“Not yet,” Yujin said, gasping for air. Strands of saliva fell from her mouth, still connected to my shaft. “I wanna feel good too.”

“Yujin—what are you—”

Before I knew it, she had already climbed on top of me, kissing me deeply and passionately. I could taste myself on her mouth and feel the wetness around her lips smearing on mine, but it was the warmer, almost hot wetness below that truly scared me.

I wanted to scream, but my tongue was a prisoner to hers, and my hands had betrayed me—all they could do was hold onto her hips, guiding them towards me instead of pushing her away.

I looked desperately at Wonyoung again, silently begging for help, but she continued staring at us, her lips slightly twitching in a fury she refused to show.

And before I knew it, the heat had completely swallowed me whole. Her walls wrapped tightly around me, gliding smoothly up and down as her hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Oh fuck…” Yujin's breath hit my face between tender kisses.

“Yujin…” I tried to speak, but found no words beyond her name.

She continued grinding on top of me, hands clutching her own breasts as she used my body for her pleasure. It was a sight that was breaking my mind, like my brain was being short-circuited. On one hand, there was nothing more erotic than seeing Yujin in such a primal, erotic state. Her deadly facial expressions as she rode me, combined with her womanly slender body bouncing up and down mine, sent me into a sexual delirium.

But what broke me more was Wonyoung’s stillness. Her posture was still as perfect as always, and her legs were tightly crossed, while she watched us without saying a word. All I could do was shake my head, begging her with my eyes to forgive me.

For what I did, and what I was about to do.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoung…”

I wished I could have told her how I felt. That I wished it was her instead of Yujin. How much I craved only her. How all our memories rushed in to fight back the lust that Yujin had drawn out of me, but to no avail.

The edges of her lips twitched ever so slightly yet again as Yujin jammed her tongue into my mouth to claim me as hers, wetness dripping down the sides of my body.

Wonyoung uncrossed her legs and slowly stood up, and I knew the game was over.

I was going to betray her twice in one night. My body finally fully surrendered.

I closed my eyes, and my arms wrapped around Yujin’s back, pulling her close, thrusting upwards for the first time all night, causing her to moan loudly.

“Harder,” she said, sucking on my lips. “Fuck me harder.”

I squeezed her ass tightly, pumping her with all the strength I had left in my body.

“I’m coming…” I cried. “Yujin…I’m gonna come…”

“No, not yet…keep fucking me like this...”

“I can’t, Yujin, I’m sorry, I’m coming…”

“No, fuck me more. More, more, more!”

“I’m coming…I can’t hold it anymore!”

And then the door slammed behind us, just as all of my essence violently erupted inside her.

My punishment wasn’t anger. It wasn’t screaming, or a slap across the face. Not even a cold shoulder.

It was rules. An additional set of rules—ones much less simple, and infinitely harder to follow.

“I’m not mad, Wonbin. I told you that you could do whatever you wanted to do. Just know that the things you did with Yujin tonight will never happen with me.”

I could still hear her words ringing in my head. Words that cut deeper than any physical punishment I could have imagined.

Because it meant that I was her slave in every way that mattered to her, while completely stripped of everything I craved most.

I could never kiss her, never know the taste of her lips or the warmth of her tongue.

I would never receive any sort of pleasure from her mouth.

And sex was not just forbidden—it was to be erased from my mind. I should never even think about it.

But the most brutal rule of all was that I could never finish while she was in the room. It had to be after she left.

Those were the rules, and Wonyoung was absolute when it came to rules.

That was the ending of the night where everything began.

The night I told my childhood best friend that after all these years, I had always liked her.

But what came after like wasn’t love.

It was ownership.

And she completely owned me.

I eventually packed my bags and moved to Seoul for school, and our routine continued without fail. I followed her rules carefully, always there when she asked, always doing what she wanted, never talking back or question her authority.

I thought I would dread those messages, that the sound of my phone buzzing would feel like a death sentence being passed, but instead, I began to crave it. The silence between texts felt like suffocating, and every new order was oxygen.

The more I served her, the more addicted I became. To her scent, her taste, her voice, just everything about her.

By day, I was her assistant manager—fetching water, carrying bags, shielding her from the chaos of crowds. By night, I was her toy. Something to be used, to be bent and broken, to prove over and over that she owned me.

It was the only life I knew. And, terrifyingly enough, the only life I wanted.

But little did I know, there was another rule. One that came much later on.

Whenever she was out of town, our agreement didn’t simply cease to exist, nor did I receive a break.

“Whenever I’m not there, you belong to my members. Serve them like you would serve me.”

I understood exactly what that meant. My body wasn’t even mine anymore. It was a currency she could spend, or loan, or deny to anyone she pleased.

I’ll be in Taiwan for the weekend.

Yujin and Rei are fighting over you. I don’t pick favorites, so I’ll let you choose.

A pause. Then another line.

Oh, and be a good boy.

End of Chapter 3.