Kenji

You never thought you'd ever resort to making money from OnlyFans.

Yet, bills had a habit of piling up faster than you could pay them, and your part-time job simply wasn't bringing in enough to keep up with everything.

Eventually, desperation outweighed embarrassment, and creating an account had seemed like a much easier decision than actually posting on it.

You started off carefully.

A few pictures in revealing outfits. Bikinis, short skirts, and carefully positioned photos that showed just enough without showing everything. At first, you treated it almost like a joke.

Then, one night, you became a little braver.

One picture of your tits was all it took.

The response had been immediate. Suddenly, people were paying attention, and for a while, the money actually helped. It wasn't enough to completely change your life, but it was enough to take some pressure off whenever another bill appeared.

Unfortunately, people got bored easily.

After a while, even the more revealing pictures stopped bringing in the same amount of attention. Your account was still making money, but not enough to live comfortably from, and your followers had become increasingly vocal about what they wanted next.

More.

More than pictures. More than carefully posed photographs and teasing angles.

In much simpler terms, they wanted to see you get fucked.

Unfortunately, getting creative wasn't particularly easy when you had a roommate.

You hadn't told Kenji about the account.

As far as he knew, you simply disappeared into your bedroom every night at around eight o'clock and locked the door behind you.

You were careful about what you posted, limiting yourself to your bedroom and occasionally the bathroom so that nothing identifiable from the apartment ever appeared in the background.

It didn't exactly leave you with many options.

Still, you had no intention of letting Kenji find out.

You weren't entirely sure how he would react to knowing that his roommate was making money from posting explicit pictures online.

Kenji was difficult to read.

He was quiet, focused, and frustratingly independent. His parents had raised him to handle things himself, and apparently, he had taken that lesson very seriously.

He paid for the apartment, rented out the spare bedroom to make some extra money, and handled his finances with the kind of responsibility you could only envy while staring at your increasingly late bills.

He was studying medicine, too.

Which meant that, eventually, he probably wouldn't have to worry about money nearly as much as you currently did. Once he had his degree and started his career, his future seemed relatively secure.

Meanwhile, you were struggling to get your rent together.

You had found his accommodation listing after being refused a place in on-campus housing due to overcrowding. Compared to everything else available around the city, the spare room had been surprisingly affordable.

It wasn't particularly luxurious, but it was comfortable, close enough to college, and considerably cheaper than most of the other options you had found.

That was how you ended up living with Kenji.

The two of you weren't close.

You spoke in passing, occasionally exchanged a few words in the kitchen, and knew enough about each other's schedules to avoid constantly getting in one another's way. But you weren't friends.

You didn't spend time together, and neither of you had ever made much effort to change that.

Kenji had barely even welcomed you properly when you first moved in.

He had opened the door, introduced himself, helped you get your things inside, and then immediately explained that he had a midterm he desperately needed to study for before disappearing back into his room.

That had been Kenji.

Polite enough, but distant. Mysterious, in a way.

Which was exactly why you had absolutely no idea what he would think if he discovered what you were doing.

Maybe he'd be against it. Maybe he'd tell you there were easier ways to make money, or that you should simply take on more hours at work.

Then again, Kenji didn't seem particularly judgmental. Money was money. At least, that was what you hoped.

The problem was that Kenji already knew. Of course he did.

Every night, almost exactly at eight o'clock, you locked your bedroom door. From the living room, Kenji could occasionally hear the faint sound of your camera going off, and eventually, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

A few suspicions turned into a little searching.

A little searching turned into him finding your account.

And Kenji would have been lying if he claimed he hadn't spent some time scrolling through the pictures that were publicly available.

He had also noticed something else.

Your rent was late again.

And around the same time, the comments beneath your posts had begun asking for more than the content you were already making.

So, last night, Kenji finally told you that he knew.

You had expected the conversation to be mortifying.

Honestly, it had been.

But Kenji had been surprisingly calm about it. He hadn't acted disgusted or judgmental. Instead, he had simply pointed out that your rent was late and told you that he was willing to give you another week.

At least he was always relatively chill about that kind of thing.

Once you had managed to recover from the embarrassment of knowing your quiet, mysterious roommate had not only discovered your account but had apparently looked through it, you explained the situation.

The pictures simply weren't bringing in enough money anymore.

Your followers wanted something different, and since you weren't exactly willing to keep escalating what you posted alone, you had planned to pick up extra shifts at the café and somehow make up the difference.

That should have been the end of the conversation.

Instead, an idea appeared. Neither of you said anything at first.

You simply looked at each other.

And somehow, you both seemed to understand exactly what the other was thinking.

Videos didn't have to include a face. They definitely couldn't include Kenji's face.

The idea of him finishing medical school years from now, only for one of his future patients to suddenly realise that their doctor was the guy from a porno they watched once, was enough to make the two of you immediately agree on that.

Still, the idea itself was ridiculous.

You were roommates.

You barely knew each other.

And involving yourselves in something like this had the potential to make living together unbearably awkward afterward.

Then again, maybe the fact that you barely knew each other made it easier.

Hookups were always simpler than actual relationships. There were no expectations, no promises, and no reason to pretend that either of you wanted something more than what was directly in front of you.

It also didn't mean you had to become exclusive.

Trying it once didn't mean either of you suddenly belonged to the other, or that you couldn't continue seeing other people outside of whatever strange arrangement this was.

It could simply be one video.

One attempt to see whether your followers were actually willing to pay for what they had been demanding.

Nothing more.

Except the response was immediate. By the following morning, the video had already reached thousands of views.

And the money?

Nearly a thousand dollars had appeared in your account overnight.

You handed Kenji his rent the following morning during breakfast, along with something extra as a thank you for being in the video with you.

He had looked genuinely surprised by the amount. Apparently, neither of you had expected the video to be quite that successful.

For a few minutes, the two of you simply continued eating as if nothing had happened.

As if the previous night had been completely normal.

Then Kenji cleared his throat.

"You know, uh..." He began, swallowing the last of his cereal before adjusting his glasses. "...if you ever need any help again, I'd be happy to give you a hand with it."

You stared at him.

Was he serious?

Kenji—the quiet, mysterious med student who spent most of his life studying and barely spoke more than a few sentences to you on an average day—wanted to do it again?

You'd be lying if you said it wasn't good sex.

Because fuck, he had been amazing.

Maybe medical school had something to do with it.

He knew more about the human body than most people your age probably did, and apparently, that knowledge had proven considerably more useful outside of a lecture hall than you would have expected.

Still, it was difficult to believe that he actually wanted another video.

You never imagined that you would ever end up making money from OnlyFans.

At first, it had seemed ridiculous whenever the idea crossed your mind. But then the bills started piling up, your part-time job stopped stretching as far as it needed to, and eventually, desperation outweighed embarrassment.

Creating an account had been easy enough. Posting the first picture had been significantly harder.

You started carefully.

A few photos in revealing outfits. Bikinis. Short skirts. Pictures taken from angles that suggested more than they actually showed.

It was harmless enough, or at least that was what you told yourself. Then, one night, you became a little braver and posted a picture of your tits.

Nothing too much, but way more than previous images.

Yet, the response had been immediate.

Suddenly, people were paying attention. Money began appearing in your account faster than you expected, and for a while, it genuinely helped.

Not enough to make you rich, but enough to take some pressure off whenever another bill arrived.

The problem was that attention never lasted forever.

After months of posting increasingly revealing pictures, your subscribers began wanting something new.

Your account still made money, but not enough to live comfortably from, and the comments beneath your posts were becoming increasingly demanding.

People wanted more than carefully posed photographs. More than glimpses and teasing angles. In shorter words, they wanted to see you get fucked.

Unfortunately, getting creative wasn't particularly easy when you had a roommate.

You hadn't told Kenji about the account.

As far as he knew, every night around eight o'clock, you simply locked yourself in your bedroom for a while. You were careful. The bedroom and bathroom were the only places you ever used, making sure nothing identifiable appeared in the background.

You had no intention of letting your roommate accidentally discover what you were doing.

Especially not a guy like Kenji.

Because Kenji was practically the opposite of you when it came to organisation.

Focused, disciplined, and frustratingly responsible, he had been raised to be independent and seemed to have mastered adulthood considerably earlier than most people your age.

He paid for the apartment himself, rented out the spare bedroom to make the cost more manageable, and handled his finances carefully enough that he never seemed particularly worried about money.

His medical degree only added to the impression that he had his entire future planned out. He'd become a doctor, treat people for the rest of his life, and be content with that.

His mysterious, quiet personality fit the degree he was working in. He never said too much, almost giving off a 'shy' vibe until you really speak to him. You've realised he's just introverted.

You had found the room online after being unable to secure a place in student accommodation due to overcrowding. Compared to everything else available around the city, Kenji's spare room had been surprisingly affordable.

It wasn't luxurious, but it was comfortable, close enough to campus, and considerably cheaper than most alternatives.

That was how the two of you ended up living together.

You weren't particularly close.

You spoke when you passed each other in the kitchen, occasionally exchanged small talk, and knew enough about each other's schedules to avoid constantly getting in one another's way.

But you weren't friends. You didn't spend time together intentionally, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in changing that.

Which was exactly why the thought of him discovering your account had been mortifying.

Unfortunately, Kenji had already discovered it.

He had noticed the routine long before you realised anything was suspicious. Every evening, almost like clockwork, you disappeared into your room and locked the door.

Occasionally, he could hear the faint sound of your camera through the wall. At first, he hadn't thought much about it. Then curiosity had gotten the better of him.

A few suspicions eventually turned into a little searching, and eventually, he found your account. He'd be a liar to say he didn't spend a while going through it; the pictures that were available for free, at least.

Kenji had never mentioned it.

Not until last night.

You had expected anger. Disgust, maybe. At the very least, an uncomfortable conversation about what you were doing under his roof.

Instead, he had calmly informed you that he knew.

Worse still, he knew your rent was late again.

Embarrassment had barely begun to fade before he offered you another week to come up with the money. After recovering enough to explain yourself, you admitted that the account simply wasn't earning what it once had.

Your subscribers were losing interest, and you were planning to take on more shifts at the café to make up the difference.

That should have been the end of the conversation.

Instead, somewhere between discussing your lack of money and the increasingly demanding expectations of your subscribers, an idea quietly appeared.

Neither of you said anything at first. You simply looked at each other.

Kenji understood immediately.

After all, there were ways to make content without revealing someone's identity. A camera could be positioned carefully. Faces could remain hidden. Nothing about the arrangement would have to leave the apartment except the finished video.

Because hell, imagine going to your doctor 5 years down the road and you remember his face from that one porno back in college? Shameful.

The idea was ridiculous. Potentially awkward..

And probably capable of permanently ruining whatever comfortable arrangement the two of you currently had.

You were roommates. Neither of you had ever considered the other that way before—or, at least, neither of you had admitted it.

Still, trying it once didn't have to mean anything.

It didn't mean either of you wanted a relationship. It didn't mean you suddenly belonged to one another, or that either of you had to stop seeing other people.

It could simply be one video, uploaded anonymously, to see whether the response was worth the embarrassment. It could be deleted again if it flopped.

A business decision. That was all.

At least, that was what the two of you kept telling yourselves as he strapped the camera to his chest. It was a harness around his torso, the camera under his chin to perfectly cut out his head and only show his lower body.

His shirt was already off, so right now, all it could see was the hard planes of his abs. Abs which you hadn't expected a nerd like Kenji to have. Maybe you should stop listening to stereotypes.

He crawls onto the bed before pausing at your open legs. He's kneeling, gaze briefly roaming over your partially-naked body. "What way are we gonna do this?" He asks, as if it's a performance.

Well.. it kind of is. But it's also just sex, too.

His fingers click 'record' on the camera, knowing that they could likely edit out any pre-planning conversations and only clip the good parts.

Then, he leans down, forearms pressing against either side of your body and caging you in. "Do you want it rough and fast, or slow and steady, gorgeous?" He grumbles roughly, his glasses briefly sliding down his nose.

Holy shit. Is Kenji actually fucking hot? And good at sex?

Maybe this was going to be a good idea, after all.