Annyeongz One-shots

72. It girl ( 2 )

Yujin’s new solo comeback was in pre-production. The title track leaked internally as a sleek, bass-heavy R&B-hip-hop hybrid—dark, seductive, lyrics dripping with desire and dominance. Management called it “sexy hot,” the kind of song that would push his image from charismatic leader to full-on heartthrob. During the concept meeting, one of the producers floated the idea casually:

“A collab MV with Jang Wonyoung could be fire. Her visuals, your chemistry from last time… it’d break records.”

Yujin kept his face neutral, nodding like it was just business. Inside, his pulse spiked. He’d already told her—late-night text two days earlier: *New song dropping soon. They’re talking collab MV. You in?*

Her reply had been instant: *Tell me when and where. Secret spot?*

So here they were.

Yujin’s private studio—tucked in a nondescript building in Nonhyeon-dong, soundproofed, no cameras, no staff after 10 p.m. He’d rented it years ago for late-night producing sessions. Tonight, the lights were dimmed to warm amber, only the glow from the monitors and a single floor lamp. The air smelled faintly of his cologne and fresh coffee.

Wonyoung arrived at 11:15 p.m., slipping in through the back entrance in an oversized black hoodie (his, stolen months ago), mask pulled down, cap low. She locked the door behind her, exhaled, and smiled—the real one, soft and unguarded.

“You’re early,” Yujin said from his rolling chair in front of the mixing board, legs spread casually, black tee clinging to his shoulders from the earlier workout.

“You’re impatient,” she teased, dropping her bag and kicking off her sneakers. Barefoot now, she padded over, hair loose and slightly wavy from the humidity outside.

He spun the chair to face her fully. “Sit.”

She perched on the armrest instead—close enough that her thigh brushed his. The contact was deliberate. Electric.

“Play it,” she said softly.

Yujin hit play.

The beat dropped low and slow—deep 808s, sultry synths, his voice layered husky over the hook: *“Girl, you know what you do to me… slow it down, let me feel it…”* The pre-chorus built with breathy ad-libs, the chorus exploding into something addictive, hips-moving rhythm.

Wonyoung listened with eyes closed, head tilted, lips parted slightly. When it ended, she opened her eyes—dark, intense.

“It’s dangerous,” she murmured. “Sexy. Fans are going to lose their minds.”

Yujin leaned back, smirking. “That’s the point. Management wants a female feature in the MV. Suggested you.”

Her brows lifted. “And you said…?”

“I said I’d think about it.” He paused. “But I already knew my answer.”

She laughed quietly. “Bold.”

He reached over, fingers brushing her knee—light, testing. “Show you something else.”

He pulled up a folder on the second monitor: reference videos from choreographers. Short clips, professional dancers demonstrating possible chorus sections. All partner work. All *very* hands-on.

First clip: male dancer behind female, hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips hard, pulling her back into a deep grind. Hips bouncing together—slow, then sharp snaps. His palms flat on her lower stomach, fingers splaying dangerously low.

Second: girl in front, guy dropping to one knee behind her, hands gripping her thighs from the inside—thumbs pressing into soft inner skin, pulling her legs apart slightly as she rolled her hips down onto him. Bounce. Bounce. Tension thick.