devilhuntingslayer

[devilhuntingslayer]

Hi!

Please please please write Yuna as stepdaughter for your lips series. She's my favourite idol and she's so hot. I just want her to look up at me with her beautiful eyes while I teach her how to suck my dick.

Also, please use pictures of her when she had red hair. Thank you!

Lips #21

(Yuna X Male Reader) Wordcount: 9916 words

The ring of the doorbell cuts through the quiet house. Yuna jolts slightly and brushes a strand of red hair from her cheek as she glances up from her phone. Her mom is still at work and her stepdad won’t be home for hours. And she knows the package can only be hers.

Her heart gives a little jump.

Barefoot, she pads down the hallway, tugging her oversized shirt lower over her thighs as she reaches the door. The sunlight spilling through the frosted glass makes her pulse quicken. She knows exactly what she ordered. But now that it is actually here, the reality feels different. When she opens the door, the delivery man gives her a polite nod, holding out a plain brown box with a printed label. Nothing about it betrays the contents inside. Yuna’s lips curve in a small smile as she signs for it. She’s careful not to meet his eyes too long, afraid he might somehow guess what she ordered.

“Thanks.”

She clutches the box to her chest as soon as it is in her hands. The door clicks shut behind her and she leans back against it for a moment, feeling the weight of the package. Her first toys. She has been curious for so long. But actually holding them now sends a rush of heat through her stomach. She presses the box tighter against herself and quickly heads toward her room, eager to unwrap what she’s been waiting for.

Yuna drops the package onto her bed and climbs up after it. Then she crosses her legs beneath her. For a moment she just looks at it, biting her lip. Her fingers tremble a little as she digs through the packing tape with a kitchen knife she grabbed on her way up. The flap pops open and her breath catches. Nestled inside, wrapped in layers of protective plastic, are the two shapes she has been fantasizing about for days. She peels the wrapping back slowly, savoring the reveal. The first toy is sleek and curved. The dildo, heavier than she expected when she lifts it out. Her cheeks warm as she tests the weight in her hand. Her mind is already picturing what it would feel like. The second toy makes her pulse quicken even more. The magic wand is larger, almost intimidating with its rounded head and smooth white body. She runs her fingertips over the surface, imagining the vibrations thrumming against her skin.

Yuna’s mouth goes dry. She sets them both side by side on her blanket, staring down at them with wide eyes. They look almost innocent, but Yuna knows what they were meant for. What they can do to her. Her thighs press together and she realizes she is smiling. Nervous but excited.

Yuna wants to just dive into her new experience right now. But she wants this to feel different from all the nights she’s hurriedly touched herself under the covers. This is her first time with real toys. It deserves to be special. She slips off the loose shirt and tosses it aside. She gets off her bed and walks toward her dresser. She opens the top drawer where she’s hidden the other secret delivery that has come yesterday. A delicate set of lingerie. Black lace. Threaded with hints of satin ribbons.

Her fingers linger over the fabric before she lifts it out. The bra cups her perfectly when she slides the straps over her shoulders. The panties cling snugly to her hips. The sheer lace is close to being see through. Her breath catches at her reflection in the tall mirror by the closet. Sexy.

Yuna turns slightly to admire the way the lingerie hugs her curves. Her long hair tumbles loosely over her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed with color now. Half from embarrassment, half from excitement. She gives herself a small, shy smile in the mirror.

Her heart beats faster as she skips back to her bed. The toys wait patiently on the blanket. Yuna eases herself onto the mattress, lying back against the pillows as she smoothes her palms over the lace, letting herself relax and feel the moment. She curls her legs up, making herself comfortable. The excitement bubbles higher inside her. Tonight isn’t just about curiosity anymore. She’s ready to discover new things about her body.

Yuna’s hand slides down over her stomach, over the lace of the panties. Her fingers press lightly where she already feels warmth gathering. It is familiar. This is the way she always starts. But tonight it feels different. The lingerie, the toys lying so close within reach, the silence of an empty house… it all makes her shiver. She slips her hand beneath the fabric. Yuna touches herself slowly, closing her eyes as the pressure builds. Her breaths grow shallow and her thighs tense up. But instead of rushing to the end like she usually does, Yuna pulls her hand away, already gasping softly. Not yet.

Her gaze falls to the dildo waiting on the blanket beside her. She bites her lip, reaching for it with a mix of excitement and hesitation. The smooth weight of it in her hand makes her pulse jump. Sliding her panties down her legs, she spreads herself open and presses the toy against her entrance. The first push makes her gasp. It is fuller, heavier than her fingers have ever been. She eases it in slowly, savoring the stretch. But when she tries to take more, her body protests. Her lips part in a whimper as she pushes harder. Only to realize she can’t manage more than halfway.

“Too much…”

Yuna whispers, visibly frustrated. Her cheeks flush with both effort and disappointment. She pulls the dildo back, her breathing already uneven. But the need inside her hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it has grown sharper. Her eyes dart to the wand. With trembling hands, she picks it up and switches it on. The sudden hum fills the room. She touches the head lightly against herself and the reaction is instant. A shock of pleasure that makes her cry out rushes through her body and her hips jerk up. The vibrations are overwhelming. Way stronger than she imagined. Yuna presses harder, grinding against it. Her moans grow louder as waves of sensation crash over her. Her free hand claws at the sheets, her legs trembling as the wand pushes her further and further until she can't hold back.

Yuna’s climax suddenly tears through her. More intense than anything she’s ever felt by her own hand. She gasps and shudders as she rides it out. She clings to the toy until the last pulse fades and she collapses back against the pillows. The wand slips from her fingers, buzzing softly against the blanket. Yuna lies there, chest heaving, eyes wide in shock. She has never, ever climaxed like that before. Her body is still twitching from the force of her orgasm.

She thinks she is now satisfied. But the moment her breathing evens out, she feels it again. A restless ache deep inside her that refuses to fade. It startles her. She never wanted more after finishing before. But now her body craves it. Her thighs rub together as if begging for another release. Her gaze drifts back to the dildo lying beside her. Slowly, she reaches for it again, her fingers curling around the smooth shaft. She presses it against herself once more, guiding it in until she feels that same intoxicating stretch. The thickness fills her deliciously, making her moan out. But as she tries to slide it deeper, her body resists yet again. She bites her lip, frustrated at the thought that she can only manage halfway. The embarrassment stings. She was greedy when she ordered and now she can’t even take the toy properly. Her cheeks burn at the thought. But instead of pulling it out, she stops. She lets it stay inside her, her walls clenching around it as her body trembles with the strain.

On impulse, Yuna grabs the wand again and presses it against her clit. The reaction was immediate. A shockwave that makes her cry out and has her hips bucking. The combination of being stretched full and the relentless vibrations send her spiraling. It is so much stronger than before. The fullness makes every pulse of pleasure sharper and deeper. More real.

Yuna’s back arches as she presses the wand harder, her voice breaking into gasps and moans. The embarrassment of not being able to take it all fades as it gets drowned under the overwhelming bliss of the two sensations together.

It is better than she could have imagined. Yuna’s toes curl. Her body shudders uncontrollably as another climax builds fast. It crashes over her even harder than the first. She cries out, her thighs shaking. She clings to both toys as the waves drag her under.

When she finally slumps back onto the bed, her skin glistens with sweat. Her body is limp but her eyes are wide with disbelief. She didn’t just discover something new. She unleashed something in herself she can’t ignore now.

Yuna’s hand drifts down and wraps around the base of the dildo. Slowly, she pulls it free, shaking at the way her walls cling to it until it slides out with a wet sound. She sits up, catching her breath and looks at the toy glistening in her hand. The sight makes her cheeks flush with fresh heat. It is too big for her, she thought again, still disappointed she can't take more. But then her eyes linger on the sheen coating the plastic.

A drop of moisture catches the light. Yuna hesitates, biting her lip. Her heart pounds at the thought. She shouldn’t even consider it. But her curiosity burns hotter than her embarrassment. She leans down and darts her tongue out, tasting herself for the very first time. Her eyes widen. It isn’t bad at all. Sweet, salty, warm, but not unpleasant. Almost… addicting. Curious, she runs her tongue along the length, licking it clean. She only pauses to suck gently until every trace of her juices is gone. By the time she sets the dildo down, her thighs are already pressing together again. The need inside her doesn’t let go.

Yuna lies back and grabs the dildo and guides it inside once more. The stretch makes her gasp, but this time she doesn’t let it stay still. With her free hand holding the wand against her clit, she begins to move the dildo. Slow and shallow at first, then deeper. Her body adjusts as the pleasure inside her grows. The combination is unreal. Every thrust sends sparks through her. The wand’s vibrations make her entire body shake. Her moans fill the room. They sound high and desperate as her hips lift to meet the rhythm of the thrusts of her hands.

The pleasure climbs higher than ever, almost overwhelming her. Yuna clutches the sheets, her body tensing as she feels something building again. Her cry echoes as she suddenly squirts. Her body spasms around the dildo. Warm wetness splashes over her thighs, her hand, even the sheets beneath her. She gasps in shock, her chest heaving as she looks down at the mess she made. She never imagined she could do that. And yet the sight of it only makes her wetter. Her body is already aching for more.

 But Yuna blinks down at the wet mess spreading over her sheets and after a couple of seconds panic rises almost as fast as her arousal had.

Oh god…

Her mom or stepdad would definitely notice if she leaves it like this. Her heart races as she scrambles off the bed. She tugs at the damp blanket with both hands until she’s pulled the sheets free. She balls the bundle up against her chest and runs quickly down the hall. Every creak of the floorboards makes her wince, terrified someone might come home early and catch her like this. In the laundry room, she stuffs the sheets into the bin of dirty clothes by the washing machine and shoves the lid closed.

Crisis avoided. For now.

But as Yuna walks back toward her bedroom, her body is still thrumming with leftover heat. Her eyes land on the toys waiting where she left them. Her lips part and a needy ache blooms in her stomach again. The fear of being caught doesn’t scare it away. If anything, it makes it stronger. She picks up the wand, switched it on and pressed it against her clit. Her knees go weak instantly, the vibration stealing her breath. Her other hand hovers over the dildo. A wild thought suddenly flickers in her mind, making her blush as she examines the dildo.

What if I put this in my mouth while I use the wand?

Her tongue traces her lips unconsciously. The idea is filthy, but it excites her even more. She leans back on her bed, ready to try, when another spark ignites inside her head.

What if I did it somewhere else?

The image comes to Yuna so vividly she almost gasps. Herself sprawled across the living room couch, lingerie clinging to her body, wand humming between her thighs as she sucks on the dildo. The sheer wrongness of it makes her whole body shiver. It’s in the open, in the very room where her family sits together every evening.

Yuna bites her lip, her pulse quickening. The thought alone is dangerous… and irresistible.

She hesitates only a moment longer before her curiosity wins out. Grabbing both toys, she tiptoes out of her room, her heart hammering against her ribs with every step down the hallway. The house is still silent, but that only makes the thrill more apparent. In the living room, she flicks on a small lamp and spreads a blanket across the couch. Yuna’s hands tremble with anticipation. The sight alone makes her knees weak. She is really about to do this. Right where her stepdad usually sits and watches TV.

She climbs onto the couch, kneeling on the blanket. Her bra continues to cling to her chest as she tugs down her panties once more. With one hand she switches the wand back on and presses it to her clit. The sudden vibration makes her hips buck. A moan slips past her lips before she can stop it. Her other hand lifts the dildo. Her mouth waters as she brings it close. The memory of her taste is still fresh on her tongue. Yuna hesitates, but then she opens her lips and wraps them around the tip. She sucks carefully at first, but quickly becomes bolder. Her saliva starts to coat the shaft.

The combination is dizzying. The wand’s relentless hum against her clit and the thick toy sliding over her tongue. Yuna closes her eyes, moaning around the dildo as the pleasure builds quickly. Her body trembles with every pulse. The thrill of being out in the open, of doing something so reckless, only makes it hotter.

The front door isn’t locked. That is the first thing you notice when you turn the handle and it gives way with ease. You frown, wondering why Yuna left the door open. You came home early and you’re now wondering if she’s doing something she shouldn't be doing.

“Hello?”

You call out, peeking into the quiet hallway. No answer.

Then you hear it. A  faint, unmistakable hum, like an electric razor but steadier. And then, almost hidden under it, a low moan. You raise an eyebrow in confusion as you move further in, drawn toward the sound. When you round the corner into the living room, your breath catches hard in your throat.

Yuna. Your stepdaughter. She is kneeling on the couch, her body wrapped in black lace lingerie that clings to every curve. A blanket is spread beneath her, but her focus is elsewhere. One hand is pressing a buzzing wand tight against her clit, while the other guides a thick dildo in and out of her mouth. Her eyes are closed. Her cheeks are flushed. Her moans vibrate around the toy as her hips rock against the wand. She looks completely lost in it. Utterly unaware of anything but the heat consuming her.

You freeze in the doorway, heart racing, unable to look away.

“Yuna?”

Her name leaves your lips before you can stop yourself.

Yuna’s eyes snap open in shock. And at the exact same moment, her body arches violently. A muffled cry spills around the dildo still between her lips. Her hips grind helplessly against the wand. You watch in stunned disbelief as she cums right there. Right in front of you. Your stepdaughter. Her body trembling and spasming. Her moan fills the room as she yanks the dildo from her mouth. Her wide eyes lock on yours even as wave after wave of her climax roll through her. Her cheeks burn crimson red, but her gaze never leaves you. The humiliation of being caught and the raw, unstoppable orgasm collide in her expression. Surprise, shame and pure ecstasy flashing across her face all at once.

“Y–You…”

She gasps between breaths, still shuddering. Her knuckles are white around the wand pressed to her clit.

You stand frozen, caught between the urge to look away and the inability to tear your eyes from her. She is still trembling on the couch, her mostly naked body beautifully twisting in all sorts of ways. Her chest rises and falls in sharp bursts. The dildo slips from her hand and rolls across the blanket. It’s still wet from her mouth.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. But you can’t help yourself. Your gaze trails over her yet again. The black lace clings to her curves and you catch a hint of her nipples through the nearly see through material. Drops of sweat glisten on her collarbone. Her lips parted as she gasps for breath. She looks devastatingly hot. That realization sends a jolt through you. A war between your instincts and your conscience.

“Yuna…”

You say again, a little softer this time as you try to find your composure.

“What…What is going on?”

Her eyes flicker to yours. She bites her lip. Her thighs squeeze together even as the wand hums weakly in her hand. For a moment, you think she’ll scream, or cry, or beg you to leave. But instead, her voice comes out as a whisper.

“Don’t… go.”

The confession lingers between you two. Her body still shivers with aftershocks, but her gaze burns with something else now. Something hot and intense. You’ve watched your fair share of porn before you got married to her mother. You never understood these scenes that were about situations like these. But after Yuna became your stepdaughter, you did think about it once or twice. Who wouldn’t? Yuna’s body is basically perfection. Especially when she’s kneeling there in her seductive black pieces of lace while looking at you with desperate eyes.

“Yuna, you’re-”

You begin, but the words falter as she shifts closer on the couch. Her dark bra shows off more of her cleavage as she bends forward a little.

“You’re my stepdad.”

She whispers, as if she is reminding herself as much as you.

“You’ve always been kind to me. And now… now you see me like this. I…”

She hesitates, her fingers brushing nervously against her thigh.

“I don’t want you to just watch. I want you to touch me.”

The air seems to crackle with electricity. Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you stare at her. This girl who has been begging you to let her drive your car for months is now offering herself to you in the most vulnerable way possible. You wonder for a second if this was actually her plan. To seduce you or something so you’ll give her your keys. But her desperate, pleading eyes look purely genuine.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Your voice is already hoarse as if you haven’t had anything to drink the entire day.

Her answer is immediate.

“Then… teach me.”

You blink, startled, but she presses on. Her blush spreads down her neck.

“I’ve never… done it. I mean, not with anyone. I’ve never even… given a blowjob before.”

Her eyes flick to the dildo lying forgotten on the blanket, then back to you.

“I was trying to imagine it with that. But I want to know what it’s really like.”

Her voice drops to a pleading whisper, trembling but steady with resolve.

“Will you teach me?”

“No.”

The word leaves your mouth the second she asks the question, surprising even you. Yuna looks up at you, her lips still parted, her cheeks hot with the blush of her climax.

“We shouldn’t cross that line.”

You force your voice to stay steady.

“You need to put some clothes on, Yuna. Right now.”

Her pout is instant. Her lower lip juts out as her gaze falls to the floor. For a moment, you think she might listen. But then a sly smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. You know that kind of smirk. That’s the kind that is playing on her face when you say no to something, but her mother says yes.

“Is it because my cute little lingerie set is distracting you?”

She teases you. Her fingers toy with the lace strap at her shoulder.

Your jaw tightens as you attempt to stay calm.

 “Stop playing around.”

But she doesn’t. Yuna gracefully slides off the couch and the blanket slips from her knees. She crosses the room toward you. Her hips sway a little with each step. Her eyes never leave yours. The black lace on her hips seems to whisper into your ears. One little tug and you’d see what Yuna really looks like .

“Yuna…”

You warn, but your throat is drying out.

She stops right in front of you, tilting her head back to meet your eyes. Up close, her smirk deepens. Her lashes flutter innocently.

“You know, as my stepdad, isn’t it your responsibility… to teach me how to satisfy someone?”

Her words make your chest tighten. Heat rises inside you despite your best efforts to stay in control.

“I said stop.”

But before you can step back, her hand slides down. She shamelessly cups your cock through your pants. The sudden contact makes you jolt, your body betraying you even as your mind screams against it. Without thinking, your hand shoots up. It catches her by the throat. Not harsh, but firm enough to stop her movement. Her eyes widen. Not with fear, but with something far more dangerous. A slow, sultry curl forms around her lips as she looks up at you.

“I said no.”

You repeat, your hand firm at her throat.

Yuna’s lips part, as she looks up at you. For a heartbeat you think she’ll pull back. But instead she bites her lip, her eyes shimmering with arousal.

“Then why does your hand on my throat make me so wet?”

The words hit you like a strike to the chest. Your fingers loosen instantly as if the contact with her skin burns you and you pull your hand away from her. 

Yuna-”

You’re ready to scold her, to put an end to this before it goes any further.

But she cuts you off with another firm squeeze of her hand around your cock through your pants. This time she doesn’t shy away. Her eyes are steady and her touch is almost urging.

“I’ve fantasized about you.”

She suddenly admits, her voice trembling with the weight of her words.

“Every time I touched myself… it was always you I imagined. And now you caught me.”

Her cheeks burn as she presses closer. Her words are now tumbling out in a feverish rush.

“Now I can finally live those fantasies.”

Her tone shifts into something sweet, almost innocent as her fingers curl tighter around your shaft. She tilts her head, her eyes wide and pleading.

“Please… let me learn. Teach me how to suck your cock.”

The room falls silent. Her words hang heavy in the air. The weight of them presses down on you, your body betraying the conflict raging in your head. Your jaw is clenched, your pulse is thundering in your ears. Everything about this is wrong. She is younger, your stepdaughter, someone you promised yourself you’d never even look at that way.

And yet… your body betrays you.

Yuna feels it too. Her fingers squeeze you again as if to prove her point.

“See? You want it too.”

“Yuna…”

Her body shifts closer. The lace of her lingerie brushes against your arm as she rises on her toes, letting her chest press against you. Her breath tickles your jaw. Her lips are so close you can feel the warmth of them without a kiss.

“You always looked so serious around me.”

She tilts her head, her red hair brushing your shoulder.

“I used to wonder what it would take to make you lose control.”

Her hips sway just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from her through the thin fabric. Your conscience screams to push her away, but your hands twitch uselessly at your sides.

Then Yuna’s fingers go for your belt.

You freeze as she toys with the buckle. Her eyes never leave yours, daring you to stop her.

“Just let me try. You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me.”

The buckle comes loose with a soft metallic clink and Yuna tugs the zipper down. Her eyes are fixed on the growing bulge beneath the fabric. She gives it a gentle pull and your pants slip down your thighs, pooling at your feet.

Your breath comes heavier now. Your mind screams wrong, wrong even as your body betrays the truth. You’re already giving in.

Her gaze flicks upward. A flush creeps up her cheeks as she hooks her fingers into the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly. The fabric rises inch by inch until your abs are bare under the warm lamplight. Yuna bit her lip, her pupils dilating.

“God…the boys in my classes don’t look like this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as though blocking her from view would dull the rush coursing through your veins. It doesn’t. If anything, her words fuel the fire already clawing at your restraint. Yuna leans in closer, her breath brushing your skin. She lets her lips ghost along the ridges of your stomach, soft kisses that make you shiver despite your discipline. Her tongue darts out, tracing a line over one defined muscle. Then another. Like she can’t decide which she likes more.

“You’re so hard here.”

She murmurs against your skin and her free hand slides lower. Her fingers curl around your cock through your underwear. She gives you the lightest squeeze, testing how much she can make you react. Your breath hitches in response, your fists clenching at your sides as her hand moves in slow, torturous strokes. She is worshipping your body like it is something she’s dreamed of for years. Every kiss to your abs, every brush of her hand against your cock…it all drags you deeper into the edge you’ve been fighting so hard to resist.

Eventually you’ve had enough. In one swift motion, you grab Yuna by the shoulders and push her down, guiding her to her knees in front of you. The soft thump of her knees on the floor seems to echo in your ears. Yuna’s head is tilted back. Her hair spills over her shoulders as she looks up at you. And instead of fear or hesitation, there is an amused glint in her eyes. Her lips curl into a smirk as she bites down on her lower lip.

“Yes, daddy.” 

She teases you, the word dripping with mischief and need.

Your chest tightens as heat courses through you at the sound. It only made your pulse hammer harder.

“Start slow.”

Your voice is rougher than you intended.

“Use your hand. Tease me first.”

Yuna nods, obedient for once. Her small fingers slide under the waistband of your underwear and curl around your cock yet again. Her grip is hesitant but eager and she begins to stroke you slowly. Her eyes never leave yours in the process.

“Good.”

Your breath catches at the feeling of her hand while she looks up at you like this. Half innocent, half begging for your cock.

“Now… kiss my thighs.”

Yuna’s smirk deepens. She leans in so her lips brush the skin just above your knee. Soft, lingering kisses trailed upward. Her tongue darts out occasionally to taste you. Each press of her mouth has your thighs tense. Her hand keeps moving over your length at the same time. Slow and steady. Her lips and tongue explore the inside of your thighs. When she glances up at you between kisses, her expression is pure temptation. Big eyes, beautiful face, red lips…Those lips move along your inner thigh, leaving a trail of soft kisses and quick flicks of her tongue. Her hand never stops stroking you through the thin fabric of your boxers. Her touch is soft, just enough to keep you aching for more. Every time she glances up at you between kisses, her eyes sparkle with mischief, like she knows exactly how close you are to losing it completely.

Finally, your voice comes out in a commanding tone.

“Pull them down.”

Yuna’s fingers pause only long enough to toy with the waistband before tugging your boxers down. The fabric slips past your hips and she gasps audibly as your cock springs free.

“Oh…”

Her eyes are wide. For a heartbeat she just stares, biting her lip as she compares it to the memory of the dildo on the couch.

“You’re… you’re just as big as the toy.”

Her voice shakes with disbelief, but her eyes never leave your length. Her hand reaches out again almost on instinct, curling around your shaft with trembling fingers. Her mouth waters visibly as her lips part.The pink tip of her tongue darts out as if she can’t help herself. The sight makes your breath hitch. A deep groan slips out before you can catch it.

“You look like such a little slut right now.”

Yuna shivers at your words. Her blush deepens, but that smirk returns to her lips. She bites down harder on her lip. Her expression is lewd and hungry as her hand slides slowly along your shaft.. Her reaction alone makes your cock twitch in her grasp. Her eyes light up at the sight, her smirk turning into a grin. You steady yourself, forcing a rough breath through your nose as Yuna strokes you, her eyes wide and sparkling in awe.

“Alright, if you really want to learn… then listen.”

Her grin softens into something more earnest. Somehow she now looks borderline shy and you’re hit with the fact that Yuna isn’t just your stepdaughter, but also almost half your age. She nods quickly and her grip tightens around your cock.

“First,”

You gently rest a hand on the back of her head.

“start slow. Use your hand at the base. Don’t just shove me in your mouth.”

Yuna swallows hard, biting her lip before adjusting her grip to hold you near the base. Her other hand braces on your thigh.

“Now, kiss the tip. Just your lips first.”

Her cheeks flush deeper as she leans forward. She presses a soft kiss to your head, hesitant but loving. The warmth of her lips sends a shiver up your spine.

“Good, now lick. Just the tip. Use your tongue.”

Yuna’s tongue darts out and flicks against the sensitive skin. Then, encouraged by your quiet groan, she flattens it and gives a slow, wet lick up the underside. She pulls back a little, her lips curling into a grin.

“Like this?”

Her voice is sweet, teasing and innocent all at once.

Your hand tightened slightly in her hair.

“Exactly like that. Keep going.”

She bends down again, alternating between kisses and long, slow licks. Her saliva starts to coat your cock. Her eyes often flick up, searching your face for approval as she feeds off every reaction.

“That’s it.”

Your voice sounds rougher, more raw. As if you’re starting to lose control of it. Like your body.

“Now wrap your lips around it. Just the head. Nice and slow.”

Yuna bites her lip, then leans in obediently. Her mouth opens and she slides her lips down over the tip, sucking softly as she pulls back with a faint pop. The sound alone makes your cock twitch and her eyes light up with delight.

“I can taste you.”

Her whisper makes goosebumps form on your skin as she licks her lips quickly before taking you in again. This time deeper. Your hand lingers on the back of her head and your fingers thread through her soft red hair as she sucks gently on your tip. You feel every tentative pull of her lips, every curious flick of her tongue. It isn’t practiced, but her eagerness makes your cock twitch in her mouth.

“Easy.”

You almost sigh as you guide her back an inch.

“Don’t rush it. You’ve never done this before. Take your time.”

Yuna pulls back with glossy lips, her cheeks flushed. She grins up at you, her hand still stroking lazily at your base

 “Sorry, daddy. I just… can’t help it. I want to taste all of you.”

The words make your jaw clench and your resolve crumble. But you force yourself to stay in control.

“Not yet. You’ll choke if you try too much too soon.”

Yuna’s eyes darken with lust and she leans in to give your tip a playful kiss before dragging her tongue slowly down the underside of your shaft. She pauses to lick at the base, leaving your cock glistening with her saliva. Then works her way back up with a trail of wet little kisses.

“That’s good.”

You sigh, grabbing her hair a little tighter

“Make it messy. Use your tongue. Let me feel it everywhere.”

Obediently, she swirls her tongue around the head before taking you into her mouth again. This time though, her excitement gets the better of her. She pushes herself down too quickly, gagging slightly as the thick length hits the back of her throat. Her eyes water and she coughs as she pulls back. You hold her by the chin, tilting her head up.

“Slow down.”

You say firmly, brushing your thumb over her lower lip.

“You don’t need to prove anything. Halfway is more than enough for now.”

Yuna nods, biting her lip. She blushes in embarrassment, but her smirk returns almost immediately.

“I wanted to impress you.”

“You already are.”

You guide her back down onto your cock.

“Now… keep your lips tight. Hand at the base. Go slow. That’s it.”

Yuna does as told, stroking the length with her hand while she bobs her mouth carefully over the tip. The combination of her tongue swirling and her lips sucking sends sparks of pleasure racing through you. Each time she pulls back, her mouth glistens more.

“That’s better.”

Yuna almost gasps at your approval.

“Now listen, don’t just move up and down. Use your tongue on the underside as you go. Feel that ridge?”

She hums around you in acknowledgment, her tongue pressing firmly as she slides down again. The vibration of her moan around your shaft makes you groan in response. Your hips twitch despite your effort to stay still. Yuna pulls off again, wiping her mouth quickly with the back of her hand before grinning up at you.

“Did I do it right?”

“More than right. But keep going. Stay steady. Don’t rush.”

She gives a sweet little nod, then bends down again, lips wrapping around you with growing confidence. This time she finds a rhythm. Her hand strokes the base in sync with the slow bob of her head. Her tongue flicks and swirls as she goes. Every so often her eagerness gets the better of her. She pushes too deep or speeds up suddenly, making her gag or her movements sloppy. Each time, you tug lightly at her hair, reminding her.

“Slow. Controlled. You’re not racing me.”

And each time, she blushes, smiles shyly and tries again.

Minutes pass like that. Yuna worships you with lips and tongue, pausing only to look up at you with that wide eyed, flushed face. Her chin is wet now, strands of spit connecting her lips to your shaft every time she pulls back. She is messy and inexperienced, but her hunger and her need to please you make every sloppy second unbearably hot.

“You’re learning.”

Your hand tightens in her hair as another jolt of pleasure rushes through you.

“Already better. Look at you… drooling on my cock like a little slut.”

Yuna’s moan vibrates against you as her eyes roll up as if the words alone fuel her. She pumps her hand faster at the base, her mouth working you with renewed effort. Her messy eagerness mixes with your firm guidance until your control begins to slip. You pull Yuna back gently by her hair, your cock slipping from her lips. She looks up at you with a dazed, messy expression. Her mouth is glossy with spit.

“Good girl.”

Your chest is rising and falling heavily by now.

“But let me teach you something else.”

She tilts her head curiously, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking absentmindedly.

“Spit on it.”

Yuna leans forward and gathers saliva in her mouth before letting it fall from her lips in a thick string that lands across your length. It splatters down your shaft, dripping over her hand.

“Messier.”

She does it again. This time with more spit, letting it coat your cock until her hand slides easily over your slick length. Her eyes sparkle as she spreads it around with slow strokes, smearing her spit over every inch of you.

“That’s better.”

Your praise as Yuna smiles up at you, a small strand of her spit dangling off her chin.

“Now use your hand properly. Not just up and down. Twist as you go.”

Yuna obeys, her small hand gripping you tighter. Her wrist twists slightly as she pumps. You hiss through your teeth, the sensation sharper than before.

“That’s it. Good girl. Now use both hands.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she obeys quickly, wrapping her other hand around the base. She strokes with both, twisting in opposite directions, her fingers sliding easily over your spit slick cock. The sight of her kneeling there, black lace lingerie barely covering her body, her mouth swollen from sucking, both hands stroking you while she looks up with flushed cheeks make your chest tighten.

“Look at you.”

You groan when you feel one of her fingers brush over your tip

“On your knees, stroking me with both hands. You look like you were made for this.”

Yuna bites her lip, her pace faltering slightly as a shiver goes through her. She glances up again, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of pride and hunger.

“You can talk if you want. When your mouth is empty, you can talk dirty. Say what you’re thinking.”

Her blush spreads down her neck, but her strokes don’t stop. She licks her lips nervously before giving it a try.

 “I… I love how heavy it feels in my hands.”

Your cock twitches at her words and her smile grows.

“It’s so much bigger than I thought… and so hard.”

She bit her lip again and hesitates, but then looks up at you pleadingly.

“What else can I say? Tell me what phrases…”

You groan as her hands keep moving.

“Say you want to be my little slut. Say you want me to use your mouth.”

Yuna’s cheeks burn as a whimper escapes her mouth

“I want to be your little slut, daddy. I want you to use my mouth however you want.”

“Good.”

You notice how everytime you praise her she jerks up in delight.

“Now say you love stroking me. That you’ll make me cum if I let you.”

Yuna’s eyes darken and her voice trembles as she repeats your words.

“I love stroking you, daddy. If you let me… I’ll make you cum.”

Her hands pump faster, twisting and sliding over your cock. Her slick grip makes lewd wet sounds in the quiet living room. She stares up at you with an expression that is equal parts sweet and filthy, her mouth forming the words you feed her as she works you harder and harder. The mix of her messy obedience, her clumsy eagerness and her desperate need to please makes your restraint thin to nothing. You tighten your grip on Yuna’s hair, but instead of pushing her down, you force yourself to ease her back.

“For now… do what you want. Show me how much you want this.”

Her eyes light up and she immediately leans into her strokes, both hands twisting and sliding over your spit covered cock. She licks her lips quickly, her voice soft at first.

“You’re so hard in my hands… it feels like you’ve been waiting just for me.”

Your cock twitches visibly in her grip, and her eyes widened in delight. She leans in closer, her strokes tightening.

“Do you like that, daddy? Hearing me talk about your cock?”

“Keep going.”

Your breaths and groans are growing heavier.

Yuna’s words come out bolder now.

“I bet you’ve dreamed of me on my knees, haven’t you? Stroking you, drooling on you… begging for your cum.”

Your groan slips out before you can stop it. Her grin grows triumphant.

“I want it so bad… want to taste it, to swallow it all down like your dirty little girl.”

Now her words make your cock twitch violently in her hands. Yuna laughs softly at the reaction. But then her expression shifts, her lips parting, her eyes locking hungrily on your shaft.

“…I can’t wait anymore.”.

She leans forward and takes you back into her mouth. This time, her eagerness shows. She pushes down further, her lips sliding over more of your length. You groan as her tongue flattens against the underside of your cock, her throat working as she tries to take you deeper.

She pulls back, spit stringing from her lips, then pushes down again, further this time. Her nose nearly brushes your stomach before her throat closes around you. She gags, coughing lightly as she pulls back with a wet gasp, saliva spilling from her lips down her chin. Her eyes water, but instead of stopping, she goes again. Over and over Yuna bobs her head, looking determined, forcing your cock deeper each time until the head hits the back of her throat. Every gag makes her pull back, her chest heaving. But then she dives right back down, her messy determination making your cock pulse in her mouth.

Your hand tightens in her hair as you try to pull her back a little.

“Yuna, slow down. You’re going to choke.”

She pulls back with a wet pop, wiping her mouth with her hand, her chin slick with drool. She looks up at you with glassy eyes and a mischievous smirk.

“I’ll learn… I want to. I want to take it all the way down.”

You can’t believe the sight of your stepdaughter. Messy, desperate, so willing to ruin herself just to please you. You stroke her damp cheek with your thumb.

“Not tonight. You’ll get there. You don’t have to take it all now. You’ve already done so good, Yuna.”

Once again a shiver runs down her spine at your praise, her hands returning to stroke your cock.

“You’ll really… teach me? Next time?”

“Yes. Next time.”

You’re very aware of the meaning of those words. Next time…

Yuna leans forward again, giving your tip a sweet, soft kiss before sucking it back into her mouth. This time slower, savoring the taste. Her eyes stay locked on yours as if she needs your approval with every movement. Her tongue swirls gently as she bobs her head in a steadier rhythm. Her determination hasn’t lessened. If anything, it burns hotter. And as her wet mouth slides over you again and again, you know she’ll never stop until she is perfect for you.

But eventually her hands are starting to slow. Her grip loosens and her strokes lose their rhythm. It isn’t lack of interest. Yuna’s eyes are still fixed on you, but she isn’t used to holding her body in this posture while her arms work tirelessly. Your hand brushes through her damp hair and you let out a rough groan. She whimpers faintly around your cock, the vibration making your hips twitch. Her lips tighten as if to insist she can keep going.

“Yuna, different position.”

Her wide eyes flick up at you as they shine with curiosity. She keeps her lips wrapped around your cock for a moment longer, sucking greedily as if unwilling to give up her prize. But finally, she pulls back. A thick string of saliva hangs off the tip of your cock, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Show me, daddy.”

Yuna’s voice trembles with anticipation as she reaches out to catch her saliva with her hand just so she can smear it all over your tip.

You guide her up by the chin, leading her over to the sofa. As you sit down, you spread your legs and nod to the space between them. Yuna obeys instantly, sinking back to her knees on the blanket after you spread it out on the floor

“Hands here.”

You tap your thighs.

Yuna places her arms on your legs, her palms flat against your thighs for support. The posture makes her look smaller and more submissive as she kneels between your legs with her arms braced. And as soon as she is steady, her hands move instinctively back to your cock, wrapping around you with both fists. Her fingers twist in opposite directions again, sliding easily along your slick shaft. The new angle gives her more freedom. Her wrists move in long, tight strokes as her eyes flick up for your approval.

“That’s better. Now you’ve got balance. You can really use your hands this way.”

Yuna’s lips curl into a grin as she pumps your cock, twisting faster as her wrists smoothly glide up and down.

“Feels stronger.”

She admits, biting her lip as her eyes track the movement of her hands. Then her gaze goes back to yours. A playful glint makes her eyes sparkle yet again.

“And now I can keep going as long as you want.”

Your cock throbs in her grip and at the sight of her kneeling there. Her lingerie clings to her body, showing off her curves and hints of her tits and pussy. Her arms are braced on your thighs, both hands stroking you with determination. Yuna’s hands twist steadily around your cock. The wet slick of her spit makes every stroke sound wet and lewd. Her grip has grown confident now and when she glances up, she catches the way your head tilts back for just a second. A groan slips from your lips and your hips give the smallest involuntary twitch.

“You like that, don’t you?”

She teases you with her sweet, innocent voice. She leans in just enough to let her tongue dart out and let it flick across your tip before pulling back again.

“Your cock is throbbing so much in my hands… it’s like you can’t wait to cum for me.”

Your jaw tightens and your eyes open just enough to meet her gaze.

“Keep going.”

Yuna’s smirk widens as she strokes you faster with both hands. She leans closer again, letting her tongue slide across your head, tasting the bead of precum that gathered there. She moans at the flavor, her voice trembling.

“Mmm… I love how you taste already. I want more.”

Her eyes flicker back up to you, checking your reaction. And when she sees your breath catch, she bites her lip,her confidence growing and growing.

“You look so hot right now… your abs are perfect…”

She lets go of your cock with one hand just long enough to let it wander over your stomach.

“your hips keep jerking up. I’m the one making you feel like this.”

Your cock twitches visibly in her hands and she giggles

“Am I your good little slut? Do I make you feel better than anyone else?”

“Say it.”

Your hand tightens in her hair, making Yuna let out a painful gasp. She licks her lips as her strokes quicken.

“I’m your slut, daddy. Your perfect little stepdaughter, on her knees, stroking your cock until you cum for me.”

Your groan slips out before you can stop it. She licks your tip again, swirling her tongue lazily before pulling back to keep stroking with both hands.

“Tell me what else to say.”

Her eyes are wide and glimmering with eagerness and curiosity.

“Say you’ll swallow everything.”

You rasp out, your head rolling back for a moment.

Yuna’s blush deepens, but her voice comes quickly.

“I’ll swallow it all, daddy. Every single drop. I’ll drink it down like it’s what I was made for.”

Your hips jerk and Yuna gasps in delight. She leans in, licking your head again, then presses her lips to it in a wet kiss. Her hands keep working your cock, twisting and sliding faster now.

“You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it in the way you twitch. You’re going to cum for me soon… and I want it so bad, stepdaddy.”

The new version of that word has you groan again. Yuna is blatantly acknowledging who you are to her and she doesn’t just seem not to mind, but actually get off on it. Her eyes lock on yours, her strokes now relentless. Her tongue flicks across your tip every so often just to watch your face tighten. The mixture of her filthy words, her messy hands and her playful grin have you balance right on the edge.

“Use your mouth properly. Replace one hand.”

Yuna’s eyes light up and she nods quickly. She slips one hand away, her other still pumping your slick length. Her lips open to take you in again. This time she moves with more confidence. Her hand twists at your base while her mouth works over the head and her tongue swirls eagerly.

A groan tears from your throat as your hand readjusts its grip in her hair, guiding her rhythm.

“That’s it. Look at you… kneeling like my little cocksleeve, drooling all over me.”

The muffled moans she gives around your cock are burning with lust. Her thighs press together. Her hips squirm with need as she bobs her head in time with her strokes. You immediately notice the desperation in the way she squeezes her legs. With your free hand, you reach for the magic wand lying forgotten on the sofa beside you. Switching it on, the hum fills the air again.

“Be a good girl.”

You pull her hair back just enough to see her wide, glassy eyes.

“Open your thighs for me.”

Yuna whimpers, but obeys instantly as she parts her knees. You slide the buzzing wand between them, pressing it against the soaked lace of her panties. The reaction is instant. Yuna cries out around your cock, her moan vibrating against you as her hips buck. Her mouth and hand stutter on your shaft as they tremble with the force of pleasure.

“That’s it. Take it, Yuna. Be my good girl and cum for me.”

She tries. She really does. She tries to  keep stroking and sucking, but the vibrations are too much. Her body shakes only moments after you started. Her hand tightens erratically around your cock as her moans grow louder. More lewd, more frantic. Her tongue flutters helplessly against your length as she gags. Then she pulls back with a gasp. Her whole body trembles as the orgasm rips through her. She basically falls off your cock, her lips slipping free with a wet pop. Her hand stays clamped around your shaft, half stroking, half shaking as wave after wave wracks her body.

Her head falls against your thigh as she moans in ecstasy. The wand presses mercilessly against her clit through the lace as her orgasm consumes her. Her fingers twitch around you even as she loses control. The sight of your stepdaughter- ruined, gasping, trembling in pleasure- nearly does it for you. You hold the wand steady against her clit, watching her fall apart. Yuna’s body shakes violently as her orgasm continues to tear through her. When her moans finally soften into gasping whimpers, you switch the toy off and set it aside.

She collapses forward, her cheek pressing to your thigh. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. Her hand still rests weakly on your cock, slick with her own spit and your precum. But she isn’t stroking anymore, just trembling in the aftershocks.

You brushed your fingers through her red hair, gentling her down from the high.

“That’s it. Good girl. Just breathe.”

After a moment, Yuna tilts her head up. Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks flushed.

“Th-thank you. No one’s ever made me cum like that. I… I didn’t know I could feel like that.”

You let out a rough breath, your cock twitching in her loose grip.

“You’re welcome, Yuna.”

A shy smile breaks across her lips.

“Let me… finish you now.”

She straightens a little on her knees, wiping her chin quickly with the back of her hand before wrapping her lips around your cock again. Her eagerness hasn’t faded. If anything it burns hotter now as if she’s trying to repay you for her orgasm. You gather her hair in one hand again, carefully sweeping it back and holding it in a makeshift ponytail so it doesn’t fall into her face.

“That’s better. Now I can watch.”

Yuna blushes, but the praise spurs her on. She strokes you with one hand while her mouth works in a careful rhythm. Her tongue presses firmly along the underside of your cock. It swirls at the tip whenever she pulls back. Every few strokes she glances up at you, eyes wide and submissive, trying to see if she’s getting you there.

The combination of her wet mouth, her soft hand, and her messy, desperate enthusiasm pushes you quickly toward the edge. You groan. Your hips twitch up into her mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Careful. I’m close.”

The warning only seems to excite her more. Her strokes grow firmer and her lips suck tighter.

Your cock twitches violently against her tongue. Yuna’s eyes widen and a muffled moan slips from her throat. 

He’s going to cum… inside my mouth.

The thought makes her thighs squeeze together again, the urging heat from before resurfacing.

A second later, you can’t hold back anymore. The first hot pulse hits the back of your stepdaughter’s tongue. It’s thick and salty, filling her mouth faster than she expected. Her eyes flutter shut as she moans around your cock, her throat working instinctively to swallow. The taste is overwhelming. Rich and heavy, but not unpleasant. It is yours and the intimacy of it sends another shiver through her body. Your hand threatens to pull her hair even more as more of your cum spills out, flooding her tongue. Yuna does her best to keep up, swallowing between spurts, but a little dribble from the corner of her mouth slides down her chin. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment that she couldn’t swallow it all. She sucks at your tip, determined to drink down the last drops. Then she licks her lips clean before pulling back. When she finally lets you slip from her mouth, she sits back. Her lips are glossy, her chin wet, her eyes wide and amazed.

“I… I swallowed it all.”

She whispers with a proud tone in her voice, wiping her mouth with trembling fingers. Then she smiles, biting her lip as she looks up at you.

“You taste better than I thought you would, daddy.”

Your chest still rises and falls more heavily than usual as you try to regain your composure. You brush her hair back again, forcing your voice not to shake.

“You did good, Yuna. Really good.”

Her smile widens and she seems to glow at the praise. Yuna even licks her lips to savor the taste.

Two days later, the doorbell rings again.

Yuna tugs her bathrobe tighter around herself as she steps down the hallway. She opens the door to find another plain cardboard parcel inside the postman’s hands, signs for it quickly and shuts the door with her heart already quickening.

She hasn’t ordered anything this time.

Carrying it back toward her room, she tears through the tape with her nails. When the flaps fall open, her breath catches. Inside lies a black leather collar with golden letters gleaming across the front.

“Daddy’s Girl”

Yuna gasps, her fingers tremble as she lifts it out. The words burn into her mind as the heat floods her cheeks and belly. She fastens it around her neck with fumbling hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The sight makes her thighs press together. The shiny black band hugs her throat. Those words gleam proudly across her skin.

She doesn't even bother with clothes. Her bathrobe slips back into place as she skips barefoot to your study. The door is half open, and she peeks inside. You sit at the desk, laptop open, speaking calmly into your headset. The tone of your voice tells her it’s work.

But when she steps inside, your eyes flicker up briefly.

Yuna tugs the edge of her robe just enough to reveal the collar, her lips curling into a wicked smile. She waits until your eyes drop to the golden letters, then lets the robe slide down her shoulders. It falls in a heap around her ankles, leaving her completely naked in the warm light of the study. Your breath catches audibly, but before you can speak, someone’s voice comes through your headset. A question directed at you. You drag your gaze back to the screen, forcing your voice to sound calm as you answer.

Yuna smirks mischievously. If you aren’t going to act, she will.

Silently, she steps closer, then slips to her knees beneath your desk. The cramped space smells faintly of your cologne, the heat of your body above her making her pulse race. With quick, eager fingers, she undoes your belt and tugs at your zipper. You stiffen above her, but your voice stays calm for the meeting.

“Yes, the report was filed yesterday… you should have it by now.”

Yuna bites her lip as your cock springs free. It’s already heavy and hard in her hand. Her mouth waters at the sight and without hesitation she leans forward and wraps her lips around it, sucking you in with a soft, hungry moan.

The sound is muffled by the desk, but the heat of her mouth is impossible to ignore. Your stepdaughter now knows how to suck your cock.

___________

Hi everyone!

Hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter. Sorry it got way too long.

[devilhuntingslayer]

What We Don’t Say Chapter 2: Kang Haerin from Arae

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Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom, kpop idol x male oc

Words: 3.1k

Chapter 2

“You’re a celebrity, huh?”

In which Jay gets to know the cat girl who stares at him in a good way… according to him, at least. 

Lee Hyunjae

Sometimes I wonder if I did something in my past life to offend the bald-headed demon in our school. 

Relax, I’m just joking… kind of. 

Who am I referring to? Take a wild guess. Not a day goes by that I don’t cross paths with him, and without fail, he always has something to say.

“Your hair’s getting too long, Lee Hyunjae. Cut it by tomorrow.” 

“Where’s your tie, Hyunjae? It’s part of your school uniform, put it back on now.” 

“How many times is that now? This is the third consecutive week where you’ve been late every single day.” 

Okay, maybe some of those comments were warranted. I’m not exactly winning “Model Student of the Year.” But even when he’s nagging me about my earrings or the sweatpants I sneak into uniform rotation (they’re just so much more comfortable), I know Mr. Choi’s just doing his job. A little too enthusiastically, maybe — but it’s not like he actually hates me. In fact, if I’m being honest, I think he might be one of the only adults in this school who actually gives a shit. Case in point — just a few seconds ago: “A minute late to school, as usual,” he sighed, already eyeing my outfit.

He went straight for the ear check. “Earrings. Again. That’s your fifth strike this week, and it’s only Wednesday. You trying to break your own record, Lee Hyunjae?” Classic Mr. Choi. Equal parts exasperation and sarcasm. 

A few other latecomers around us snickered under their breath. I rolled my eyes instinctively and brushed them off — people love to talk when they don’t know anything. I’ve learned to let it slide. Words don’t sting as much when you’re used to hearing worse at home. 

As I scanned the school grounds, my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar girl pointing in my direction where I was standing. My close friend and the resident ray of sunshine in the school, Danielle Marsh, was with a not-so-familiar girl next to her. I waved at Danielle before she finally noticed me. 

“Third time this week?” she called. Wow, so I really am only known in this school for my demerit record, huh. 

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” I responded, referring to the motorcycle I bought with the money my mom left me, because I loved the feeling of riding into the wild with no destination in mind. Well, I worked a part-time job on weekends, so the purchase was worthwhile anyway. 

I noticed the other girl staring at me. I couldn’t really tell from a distance, but it almost looked like she was meticulous with her blinking, in a slow, perceptive, calculating manner, almost like a…cat? It seemed like a ridiculous comparison, but the more I took notice of her features, the more I could see the similarities. 

I saw her turn around and exchange a few words with Danielle, who responded with her signature hearty laugh. Looks like they were hitting it off. 

“Quit staring and get moving to class, Hyunjae. You’re already 5 minutes late.” I looked around, realising that all the other latecomers had already left for period 1. 

As I grumbled and started walking towards my homeroom, a hand grabbed my arm, and I turned to face a worried-looking Mr Choi, an expression I’d already gotten used to from him. 

“Wait, Jay.” 

Oh shit, even his tone was more concerned than usual. 

“If you’re still having problems at home, please reach out. You and I both know what he’s like when he drinks.”

I snorted. “When isn’t he? These days, I think he’s spared more glances at bottles of soju than Hyein, and she’s literally always at home.” 

Mr. Choi sighed again, more defeated than ever. “God knows what happened after graduation… That accident must’ve changed him. Anyway, keep your chin up and look after your sister. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”

With one final nod, he turned and walked back toward the front office. I stood there for a second longer, watching him go. 

Mr. Choi and my parents went way back. They all went to the same college, and from what I heard, my mom used to copy his notes in every class. It’s funny, really — he’s probably been scolding me since before I was even born. 

As I made my way towards my homeroom, I noticed Danielle taking the cat girl to the field. ‘Ah, she must be the new transfer,’ I thought to myself as I recalled Mrs Baek mentioning one. The way she stared at me just now intrigued me. Not to toot my own horn, but a lot of people in this school stare at me. Hoobaes staring in admiration, guys that stare tentatively in wary, or teachers with their judgmental, watchful eyes that constantly kept me on my tiptoes. I hated it. Movies always describe the popular kid as someone who basks in the attention, relishing in the glory, but I just didn’t get it. 

To me, attention came with strings. Expectations. Labels. The way they stared as if they weren’t looking at me, but at a version of myself that I didn’t want to be. The constant whispering, the assumptions—they were just exhausting. 

So when the cat girl looked at me like that, like she was trying to figure something out, I didn’t quite know how to feel. There wasn’t fear or admiration in her eyes. It was more like curiosity. Calm, steady curiosity, like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

And most of all, it didn’t make me uncomfortable—quite the opposite.

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

The first thing I heard when I slid open the door and stepped into the classroom was yet another heavy sigh. 

“Lee Hyunjae, if you miss any more lessons, not even the student council president will be able to help you with your grades. Minji-ssi has many other pressing matters to attend to. You might as well kiss your graduation certificate goodbye at that point.” 

Mrs. Baek didn’t even look up from the attendance sheet. She just pointed to my empty seat at the back and scribbled something down — probably another late mark. I gave her a lazy salute, which earned a glare from Minji, seated at the front of the class, who was already diligently colour-coding her notes. 

Of course she was.

Minji’s always been the “get-things-done” type. If I were a storm, she’d be the emergency drill plan taped to the wall: efficient, serious, a little too sharp around the edges. We’ve known each other since middle school; in fact, we even used to be neighbours. 

We used to know everything about each other, but these days, we barely even talk. She’s busy, I know, what with all the student president business or whatever. Not to mention, she has a crazy mom who starts going batshit crazy whenever she places anything below 1st place on the termly exams. 

But I miss how close we used to be.

I still feel responsible for her, a promise I made to her dad when she moved next door. God, I miss the moments I had with her family as well. Spending time at hers allowed me to forget about my actual one back home. 

Of course, she does have Hanni now, her girlfriend of 2 years. They’re great and all, and I don’t want to impose, but I do feel like if I were to start drifting away from Minji even more, I at least want a bit more closure. 

“Don’t let Jay’s tardiness distract you from your grades, class. Back to page 47. There’s gonna be a pop quiz after we finish this topic as well.” Mrs. Baek announced to the class, eliciting groans and moans that grumbled across the classroom. 

I let my chin fall into my palm and stared blankly at the board. Five minutes into the lesson and I was already zoning out. Studying just wasn’t my thing. 

By the time Mrs. Baek flipped to the next slide, I had already made my decision.

I raised my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Five minutes. If you’re gone longer than that, I’m sending Minji to drag you back.” 

Behind me, Minji raised her arm. “Sorry Mrs Baek, but I actually have a council meeting, like… now.” Mrs. Baek finally looked up and took off her glasses. “Oh, I see. Go ahead then.” Then to me, with a glare: “Lucky you, Hyunjae. But longer than five minutes and your detention will be a hundred times longer.” 

At that, I slid out of my seat, shoved my hands in my pockets, and strolled out into the hall, slightly trailing behind Minji, though she went her separate way, probably to the library where the student council held their meetings.

Slipping out of class, with or without permission, had become the daily norm for me. Most of the time, teachers don’t even realise that I’m gone after a few minutes, so I started making use of it. Sometimes I’d go to the gym and hit the bags, or go to my spot and clear my mind. Or I’d sneak downstairs and spy on my little sister, just to make sure that no creepy hoobaes were bothering her. 

You might think I’m a little weird and possessive for doing that, maybe, but I’m genuinely just concerned. Hyein’s all I have, and I just can’t risk losing her. Besides, Mom made me promise to take care of her, and that’s an oath I never intend to break.

“Jay! There you are.” I turned at the sound of Danielle’s voice and found her jogging up with the transfer girl trailing behind her. She was holding a clipboard, half her hair falling out of its ponytail.

‘Huh, that’s the third time I’ve seen them just this morning.’ I brushed that thought off as I focused on Danielle, who looked like she was panicking to the point of explosion.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I was showing Haerin around, but I totally forgot I have to be at the student council meeting like… now. You know how Minji gets when people are late. Could you take her to the homeroom building for me? It’s the last stop, promise!” 

I looked at her incredulously, “Wait wait wait, that’s it? You’re dumping the new transfer onto me? I’m supposed to have my quiet time now.” I was half-joking, but Danielle’s exasperated look and the cat girl’s unreadable stare made me realise the joke didn’t land.

“Come on, Jay. I’m gonna be late. Help me out just once. I’ll make sure Pham doesn’t bother you with her weird Rocky Balboa impressions whenever you come over during our practice for at least a week.” Danielle was practically begging with pleading eyes. 

“Enticing offer… I’m in. You better hold up your end of the stick, though.” I responded, though really, I genuinely wanted to save Danielle from Minji’s wrath. That girl could really bite your ear off if she wanted to, no boxing reference intended. 

“No problemo, and thanks, Jay. Here, this is Haerin. Haerin, this is Jay, the guy with the earrings you asked about. Jay, try not to corrupt her too fast, please. She’s one of the good ones.” Without another word, Danielle almost glided in the direction of the library. 

“Wow, Minji really has these student council members on a leash, huh?” I glanced at the cat girl, whose name I now knew. The only response I received was a blank stare, the same one I received a while ago when I was standing with my fellow latecomers. She even started blinking slowly, in that same calm, unreadable manner. I was beginning to think it wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Uh... right,” I scratched the back of my neck. I swear I could hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence. “Guess we better head to homeroom, then.” Still no response, not even the slightest nod. 

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “So you’re the quiet type. Cool cool cool, love that for me. Um, do you know which homeroom you’re in?” 

“3-1. Mrs Baek Seong Ja.” 

There it is. I finally managed to hear her voice, though the answer wasn’t what I was looking for, as I cursed under my breath. 

“Shit, you’re in the same homeroom as me.” This was bad; my five minutes were basically up already. “Well, scrap this then, I can’t take you there. Erm, let’s freestyle instead. We’ll go to my favourite spots in school, I’m sure you’ll love them.” 

This finally seemed to form a crack in Haerin’s expression, as for once, she looked just the slightest bit intrigued. 

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

“So, uh, Haerin-ssi, right?” I tried my best to make small talk as I brought her along the corridor that led to the boxing gym. I was forcing myself to change my social behaviour just to fit her vibe; I even slowed down my footsteps to make it seem like I wasn’t just dragging her along on this school tour. 

She nodded in response, then halted her steps and looked at me again. ‘There’s that weird stare… she looks like she’s expecting something from me,” I thought to myself. “Is there something you wanna ask—” 

A loud gasp interrupted me. “Holy shit, aren’t you Kang Haerin? From Arae Tuition?”

A short, chubby hoobae with a bowl cut stared at her in awe. “Oh my god, you are her! I see your posters all the time after school at Arae for math!” He fished out his phone and, rudely, snapped a picture before taking off.

I turned to look at Haerin, expecting to see a happy expression on her face for once, since someone recognised her, but instead I was met with one that seemed even colder than the one she usually wore. 

And of course, because of my amazingly timed humour, I just had to crack a joke then. 

“You’re a celebrity, huh? Sign here, please?”

Of course, it landed just as well as you probably expected. I wasn’t hoping for a reaction, but again, she just stared at me. This time though, she almost had a curious look on her face. 

“You don’t recognise me?” She finally spoke for what felt like the first or second time since I officially met her. 

“No, not really. Am I supposed to?” I didn’t know how to feel. Was she one of those uber-popular influencers on social media or something? The kid just now mentioned something about a tuition centre, though, so probably not. “Sorry, I don’t really go for hagwon. I don’t know who you are.” 

Relief thoroughly washed over her face. “No, no, it's fine. It’s better for me that you don’t, actually.” 

I don’t know why, but that sentence evoked a feeling in me. A weird kind of feeling; it was like a flicker. A subtle pulse of recognition. Not of her name, or face, or whatever Arae Tuition poster she might’ve been on, but of the feeling behind her words.

That sense of wanting to go unnoticed. To not be known for the wrong things. To walk into a room and just be, without people already deciding who you are before you even say a word.

Yeah. I knew that feeling.

So I didn’t say anything back for a moment. Just kept walking beside her in silence. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for the first time since I met her, her steps fell in sync with mine. Still quiet, still cat-like in her movements, but a little less guarded now. Like maybe I wasn’t a threat. Like maybe I didn’t need to be shut out entirely.

“You don’t like being recognised?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice low.

She looked down at her shoes, then ahead again. “Not like that.”

“Like how then?”

She didn’t answer immediately. I almost thought she wouldn’t at all — until she said, “I want to be known, not remembered.”

I slowed down without even thinking. “…What’s the difference?”

She finally looked up at me. Not blinking slowly this time, not observing. Just… looking. “Being remembered means they’ve decided who you are. Being known means they’re still listening.”

That quieted me more than it should’ve. For a second, I forgot I was supposed to be skipping class. Forgot about Mr. Choi’s warnings, Mrs. Baek’s threats or even Minji’s glare from earlier. I just kept staring at her, this girl who didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, didn’t say much — but who somehow made more sense to me than most people did. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I get it. People stare like they’re only seeing the outer shell I built. No one sees the real me. Maybe it’s the same for you.”

Haerin looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak before pausing, like she was contemplating whether to open up or not. 

“You can tell me anything, your secret’s safe with me,” I said with a wink, before immediately cringing inwardly. 

It seemed to work, though, as Haerin finally began to speak up.

“My mom, she… She doesn’t see me for who I am. I think to her, all I am is just a machine—a robot that’s able to help her boost her brand. It’s been like that my entire life. She’s been sending me to study at cram school since I could talk, and now it’s all I can do. Regurgitate information on a piece of paper.” 

I didn’t know what to say at first. There was a heaviness in her voice — not sadness exactly, but something duller. Like it had been worn down over time, sanded smooth from too many years of being unheard. 

“And the worst thing is, it’s the same for everyone. They only know ‘Kang Haerin from Arae’.” She gave a small, humourless huff through her nose. “It is what it is, though.” 

In the heat of the moment, I blurted my inner thoughts out without thinking. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have the privilege of not knowing her. Kang Haerin from Arae, I mean. To me, you’re some weird cat girl who could probably go undefeated in a staring contest tournament. And that’s who I’m interested in learning more about.” 

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how she’d take it — but then she let out a sound. A laugh, a real one this time. It was a combination of a snort and a chuckle, small but genuine. 

And for someone like her, that was the loudest thing in the world.

Sorry bout the delay, I was kinda in a dilemma on whether I should switch perspectives throughout writing this chapter. Here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it, please leave comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉 Any questions about how the story is going to progress are welcome as well, I'd love to share my thought process when writing with you guys.

[devilhuntingslayer]

What We Don't Say Chapter 1: Adventure Is Out There

previous | next

Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom

Words: 2.4k

What We Don’t Say: 

Everyone holds their secrets, and everyone has things they don’t share. As friendships form and feelings grow, secrets begin to unravel. And sometimes, the most complicated things aren’t what we say; it’s what we don’t.

Chapter 1

“You’re that hagwon girl, right?” In which Kang Haerin starts a new school after everything falls apart—and meets a bubbly Aussie girl who decides she's going to fix it all. Or at least make her watch Up.

Kang Haerin

I was a few months into my third year in high school when my dad lost his job due to taking bribes, and we had to compensate for it by relocating to a completely different district so that he could find new work. I know it sounds harsh, but thanks to him, I had to transfer to a different school in my senior year—something that might ruin my chances of getting into my dream university. But whatever. What’s done is done. 

As the day I’d been dreading approached, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. The thought of starting at a new school filled me with a mix of anxiety and uncertainty, maybe just a slight twinge of anticipation as well. The conversation I had on the phone last night, with words of confirmation and reassurance from my best friend, came drifting back.

"Don't worry, you'll be completely fine there. You're Kang Haerin—straight-A student, vice president of the student council, and last year you received a record-breaking 87 confession letters on Valentine's Day, yet somehow you managed to reject every single one of them. I think you’re gonna be just fine, girl."

Ban Heesoo. Some would describe her as comic relief; the weird girl with the giggly and loud personality in class, perpetually cracking her jokes and being the only person who would laugh at them with her weird guffaws. But to me, she was my trustworthy partner in crime, the only one who understood me and the only friend I ever made. I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at her words. It was indescribable; she would say things that always managed to make me feel better about myself, but she never made any requests in return. Our relationship dynamic was almost like she was my therapist, and I was her customer who had no idea what was going on with her. But somehow it worked. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know if I can readjust to a new school and catch up on their syllabus at the same time.” I sighed into the phone, questioning whether this was even a good idea.

Heesoo’s reply came fast. “Dude, you were sick and hospitalised for almost a whole month last year and still ranked first in the finals. I don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to grades. Romantic relationships, however…”

I rolled my eyes as she laughed mockingly.

“First of all, you know how my mom feels about me getting into relationships now. Secondly, every guy at our school was either a hardcore delinquent who didn’t care about studying or a complete nerd who could barely eke out a sentence in front of a girl. There’s a reason why I got 87 letters and not a single face-to-face confession.”

“Okay, counterpoint: they probably didn’t dare approach you anyway because of your stone-cold demeanour. I mean, you were basically known as the Ice Queen in school, and your stage-four terminal case of RBF might be the worst I’ve ever seen. Also, I don’t think you get to say anything about romantically uninclined nerds.”

Damn. Sometimes, Heesoo really knew how to humble me.

“Okay, fine, you’re right. But don’t expect me to show up after graduation with a boyfriend on my arm,” I grumbled.

“I’m counting on it! No boy’s gonna steal my ice-cold Kang Haerin’s heart anyway!” I could imagine her winking at her phone. 

After we said goodbye, I thought about the prospect of having a boyfriend. It was a thought that had been lingering in the back of my head for the past two or three years. Romantic relationships were a national obsession in Korea, despite the overwhelmingly stressful education system. But it was a trend I never got around to joining—probably because I never felt the need. All I focused on were my grades. Maybe that’s why I only ever made one friend in school.

As I started drifting to sleep, I found myself wishing for a different experience in my new school.

“KANG HAERIN! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!”

My eyes shot to the clock again, which read 7:15. Another thing I hated about my dad losing his job: the travel time. Our new house was a 35-minute walk from school with no direct bus—unless I somehow learned to ride a bike in the span of a few weeks.

As I reluctantly got up and started my morning routine, I noticed a weird uneasiness in my stomach. Even my body was physically dreading the thought of meeting new people. Curse this extremist introvert mindset.

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I’d never been late for school before. I’d never missed a day without a valid reason either; it was part and parcel that came with being vice president of the student council with a reputation for keeping a perfect record. So I was already off to a bad start as I trudged toward the front gate, practically dragging myself there after an attempt (albeit a failed one) to run to school, then a Hail Mary sprint once I caught sight of the pearly gates. I glanced at the clock tower: 8:02. There goes my streak. Maybe learning to cycle wasn’t the worst idea after all.

Even just pushing through the rotating door took every last ounce of my strength. As I stepped foot on school grounds and looked around, my eyes met a pair of gorgeous brown ones, flecked with sea-green and a glint in them. 

“Are you the new transfer girl?” Ooh, thick Aussie accent.

“Yeah… Th-That’s me.” I could barely catch my breath. God, running for 30 minutes made saying three words feel like a marathon.

“Ooh, you might wanna take it easy there. You sound kinda out of breath. Don’t worry, it’s your first day, so there’s no punishment this time.”

“Punishment?” I did a double-take. She pointed to a line of about ten students at the side of the gate, where a stern-looking teacher stood holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Choi takes down the names of everyone who’s late. Every time you’re late, you get a demerit point. Ten demerits gets you the grand prize at the gift exchange: ten laps around the track.” The girl explained casually. “There’s also different offences you can get demerits for.” 

I hummed and nodded before noticing a tall student waving at her. Her eyes lit up.

“Third time this week?” she called.

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” the boy replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

I got a good look at him: natural wavy hair, parted in the middle, a bandage on his nose bridge, and what looked like an earring on his left earlobe.

“Are guys allowed to wear earrings here?” I asked.

“Nope. Guess that’s gonna be his fifth strike.” She shrugged. “But honestly, Mr. Choi’s probably given up on him by now. He’s kind of a legend for breaking the record on demerit laps.”

I raised an eyebrow. His vibe definitely fit the high school delinquent stereotype.

“Does he get into trouble often or…?”

My question made her laugh—a bright, open laugh that answered for her.

“His record was 120 laps in one term, I think.”

I would’ve been more shocked at that accomplishment, but her laugh actually took my breath away. It was only our first interaction, and already she felt like the embodiment of a guardian angel, whose mermaid voice could hum a lullaby and put an entire city to sleep.

“Oh, sorry! I completely forgot about your introductory tour. I’m Danielle. I’ll be showing you around today, helping you get settled in. What was your name again?”

“Haerin. Kang Haerin,” I said, finally managing to steady my breath — and my nerves. Spoken interaction had always been something I dreaded, but this girl’s vibrant smile somehow made it manageable. Not that I felt any kind of attraction to her, it was more like watching the sun laugh.

The vibrant smile I received in response to my introduction only further proved my point. “Well, Kang Haerin, let’s get you acquainted with the people here, you’re gonna love them.” A playful frown creased her forehead. “Well, most of them anyway. Follow me—lots of fun stuff awaits. Adventure is out there!” I blinked at her bubbly outburst. Was that a reference I wasn’t getting? 

My expression must’ve given it away, I realised, as she stared at me incredulously. “Are you just shy, or do you really not get the reference?” I didn’t know how to answer her, so I just stared blankly even more. Like I said, spoken interaction queen over here. “Charles Muntz from Up… you know, the saddest movie of all time?” She was practically praying that I would somehow magically understand. I shook my head no, prompting a reaction from Danielle where she all but lost her mind in the kindest way possible, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s fine, I’m kidnapping you after school today. We’re gonna do an animated movie marathon and a pop quiz right after. I can’t have you not know movie references, imagine what’s gonna happen if you meet Hanni.” She looked genuinely horrified at the thought of me meeting this Hanni girl without studying movie knowledge, as if drawing a comparison to taking the CSAT on one week's notice. 

I wasn’t used to this type of interaction. Maybe only from Heesoo, but never from someone I just met. I couldn’t even sense any animosity coming from Danielle, just playful banter. She was even suggesting that I go over to her house, and she spoke as if I were already part of her life, and she was already planning to introduce me to her other friends, like this Hanni girl. A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in my stomach, as if my body was saying, “She’s nice to you. Don’t screw this up.”

Danielle, on the other hand, has seemingly already forgotten about the interaction that happened just ten seconds ago, as she now has the warmest smile ever plastered on her face. She gestured forward, leading us across the field.

The school grounds were already buzzing. Students milled about in loose clusters, bags slung lazily over their shoulders, loud laughter mixing with the occasional whistle from the PE teacher across the pitch. I followed her in silence, adjusting the strap on my shoulder, with mild stitches in my stomach as a result of my attempted run, which spoke volumes about my athletic ability or lack of it.

“That building’s the gym. You’ll probably hear Coach Baek yelling even when he’s not,” Danielle said, pointing to a tall, white dome-like structure. “And behind it is the boxing club. That’s where Jay practically lives. You’ll get used to the sound of gloves hitting pads before class ends.”

“Jay’s the one with the earring?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

Danielle nodded. “The one and only. Five-time inter-school demerit champion. Our resident ‘bad boy with a surprisingly soft centre’... probably. Don’t tell him I said that.”

I let out a quiet snort — a sound I didn’t even realise escaped.

She turned toward the main building. “You’ll spend most of your time there. Classrooms, labs, the library… and the music club, if you’re lucky.”

There was a brief pause before she added, “I’m in it, by the way—the music club. We write songs, sing, play a little. Nothing formal. Just vibes, really.”

It sounded so easy the way she said it. Like breathing. Like freedom.

We were halfway up the stairs to the building when she suddenly slowed her pace.

“Wait a sec,” she said, peering at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you say your full name was again?”

I blinked. “Kang Haerin.”

Danielle’s eyes widened, then lit up with something between amusement and disbelief. “Oh my god—you’re that hagwon girl?”

I froze. Here it comes.

“Wait, wait, wait—Kang Haerin from Arae Tuition? Your mom’s that insane Korean language tutor with like three YouTube channels and test prep books in bookstores? You’re that Kang Haerin?”

The question — the way she said it—wasn’t cruel. It was just… shocked. And a little fascinated.

I pressed my lips together and nodded once. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She let out a slow whistle. “Wow. You’re kind of legendary. There was this rumour that you did six practice exams a week and scored full marks on all of them. One of my friends used to cry after watching your mock papers.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

Danielle must’ve noticed my silence, because her expression softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just… didn’t expect you to be you.”

“It’s fine,” I said automatically, even though it wasn’t.

People always had a reaction. The hagwon girl. The daughter of the ‘famous’ tutor. The perfectionist who got hospitalised from overwork and still topped the finals.

They never saw the real part. The part where I couldn’t sleep because I was too scared of letting my mom down. The part where my mom smiled at my report card like it was a business win. The part where I listened to her and my dad fight in whispers past midnight, because yelling might damage the brand. 

They just saw the name—the image. 

“Well,” Danielle said, and her voice was quieter this time, “you don’t seem like a hagwon robot. You seem… kind of cool, actually.” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond. So I didn’t. I just looked at her again, that wide-eyed smile and natural warmth. Something about her felt like a direct contradiction to my life. A breath of air when I’d been underwater too long. 

My phone buzzed in my blazer pocket—a message from Heesoo.

Ban Heesoo

u better not be late on ur first day, loser 🙄

also, pls try not to make everyone fall in love with u again 

or do, up to u

I laughed under my breath. 

Danielle peeked over. “Ooh, who’s that? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” 

“She’s my best friend,” I said. “Ban Heesoo.”

Danielle grinned. “She sounds fun.” 

“She is.” 

The silence that followed was easier, less loaded. Like we’d crossed an invisible line — from polite strangers to maybe, possibly not-strangers. 

“Come on,” Danielle said after a moment, tugging me toward the glass doors. “Let’s go find your homeroom. And don’t worry about the hagwon thing. This place? No one’s perfect. That’s kind of the point.” 

And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t sure if I felt dread or something else entirely. 

Please let me know what you think! I learn pretty quick and I'm open to all sorts of comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉

[devilhuntingslayer]

IVE 'Off': Wonyoung

IVE Wonyoung

Tags: Birthday sex, Submissive, Pillow Princess, Mirror sex

Synopsis: Special and hidden behind the scenes of IVE members. Wonyoung celebrates her 21st birthday with Manager.

After a long busy day as a popular kpop idol. Wonyoung comes home to finally relax her tired body. Tonight is her birthday and she wanted to celebrate her birthday with her favorite manager.

The door clicked shut behind Wonyoung as she stepped into her condo unit, kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief. The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating the sleek, modern space. She had been looking forward to this moment all day - a chance to unwind and celebrate her special night with someone truly special.

Wonyoung went to her bedroom to shred her clothes and wore a silky robe. She glanced at the clock, noting the time. Her manager should be arriving soon from work. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she made her way to the kitchen, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of her favorite champagne from the fridge. The cork popped with a satisfying hiss as she opened it, filling the glasses with the bubbly golden liquid.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Wonyoung sets down the champagne glasses and glided over to the door, her silky robe swishing around her legs. With an excited smile, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. There stood her favorite manager, looking handsome as ever in a crisp button-down shirt and slacks. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her appearance, clearly appreciating the intimate setting.

"Happy birthday, Wonyoung." he said warmly, holding up a beautifully wrapped gift box. "I hope you liked it."

"Oh, You don't have to bring me a gift. Just your presence is enough." Wonyoung replied, stepping back to let him inside. As he brushed past her, she caught a whiff of his cologne, making her pulse quicken. "I've been waiting for you."

Wonyoung closed the door behind him and led the way into the living room, the click of her bare feet against the hardwood floor. She picked up one of the champagne glasses and offered it to him with a coy smile. "Here, have some. We need to toast to my special day."

As he accepted the glass, their fingers brushed briefly, sending a little tingle through her. Wonyoung raised her own. "To new beginnings and cherished moments." she said, her voice low and inviting. She took a long sip.

Setting her glass down, Wonyoung untied the sash of her robe, letting the silky robe slip off to the floor.

Manager's breath caught in his throat as Wonyoung's black lace lingerie came into view, hugging her curves in all the right places. Months of pent-up desire surged through him at the tantalizing sight. Setting his champagne glass aside, he moved towards her with purposeful strides, eyes with barely restrained want.

"You look absolutely stunning, Wonyoung." he murmured, drinking in every detail of her scantily clad form. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing small circles on her smooth skin. "I've missed this... missed you. So very much."

Leaning in, he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.

"I wish for this, Oppa." Wonyoung breathed against his ear, her slender arms wrapping around his neck. "I want you so... so badly."

Those were the last words before Manager claimed her mouth in a searing, desperate kiss. Months of longing poured out as he devoured her plump lips, tongue delving deep to taste her. His strong arm slid under her knees while another supported her back as he lifted her effortlessly.

Wonyoung gasped into the kiss, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried her towards the bedroom. The short distance seemed to take an eternity, both aching for the privacy and space to explore each other properly. When they reached the bed, he laid her down gently, crawling over her with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"You're so beautiful, Wonyoung." Manager rasped, his hands roaming her curves. "Absolutely perfect." He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, leaving a trail of fire on her sensitive skin.

Wonyoung arched into his touch, a breathy moan escaping her parted lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he worshipped her body with lips and hands. She loved when he took control like this, praising her beauty while reducing her to a quivering mess of need.

"Please..." she whimpered, hips rolling up to meet his. The thin lace of her panties was already damp with arousal. "I need you. Want to feel every inch of you."

Manager chuckled lowly at her needy pleas, the sound vibrating against her collarbone where his lips hovered. "Patience, baby girl. Let me savor you first." Slowly, torturously. He peeled away the lace, baring her completely to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous." he groaned, taking in the sight of her slick folds and pert breasts. His fingers went to her inner thighs, teasing maddeningly close to where she needed him most. "So wet for me already. Such a good girl."

He dipped his head between her legs, hot breath fanning over her wet heat.

Wonyoung cried out sharply as Manager's skilled tongue made contact with her wet pussy. Her back arched off the bed, fingers clutching at the sheets as jolts of electric pleasure shot through her. "Ah! Yes! Just like that!" she squealed, voice high and thready with need.

He lapped at her steadily, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks against her throbbing clit. The lewd sounds of her arousal filled the room, excites him more. Two thick fingers circled her entrance teasingly before pushing inside, curling to stroke that secret spot within.

Wonyoung babbled incoherently, lost to the overwhelming sensations. Tears of pleasure pricked the corners of her eyes.

"That's it, Princess. Let go for me." Manager purred against her dripping folds, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure. His fingers pumped steadily, thumb circling her swollen nub. "You taste divine. Could eat this pretty pussy for hours."

Wonyoung was beyond words, reduced to a writhing, mewling mess beneath him. Her thighs clamped around his head, trembling uncontrollably.

"Manager! I'm...I'm gonna...AHHH!" Her climax crashed over her in waves, back bowing nearly in half as she came undone. Clear fluid gushed out around his pistoning fingers, drenching his hand and chin.

Even as the aftershocks of her intense orgasm rippled through her, He showed no signs of stopping his relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. His tongue still doing it's work over her pulsing clit, alternating between broad strokes and pointed flicks that made her jerk and gasp. At the same time, his fingers never ceased it's steady pumping, stirring up her slick walls and prolonging her peak.

"Too... much..." Wonyoung whimpered, voice hoarse from her cries of rapture. She tried to push him away but her limbs felt like jelly, easily ignored. Tears streamed down her face from the overwhelming stimulation, pleasure bordering on pain. "Please... I can't..."

Though overwhelmed, Wonyoung craved for more, yearned to surrender completely to his dominant touch. Her hips rocking subtly into his ministrations despite her weak protests. The feeling of being utterly at his mercy, used for his pleasure, sent thrills down her spine.

"I know you can take it, Princess." Manager growled against her thigh, reading her body's silent pleas. "Gonna make you cum again and again until you can't move a muscle. Until all you remember is the feeling of me fucking this sweet cunt of yours."

He sealed his promise with a long, lewd suck to her sensitive bud, drawing another strangled cry from Wonyoung's throat.

Wonyoung's body trembled and twitched with each lap of Manager's tongue, each thrust of his fingers. The wet squelch of her arousal filled the air, obscene and erotic. "That's my good girl. So responsive for me, so eager for more."

He could feel her second peak building, her inner muscles starting to flutter and clench around his digits. Curling his fingers just so, he stroked that special spot within as he sucked hard on her clit. The dual stimulation proved too much and Wonyoung flew apart with a wordless scream, convulsing almost violently as her release crashed over her again.

As the final shudders of Wonyoung's intense orgasm subsided, Manager gentled his touches, lapping softly at her oversensitive flesh to ease her down from her high. He pressed tender kisses to her trembling thighs before slowly crawling up her body, peppering her stomach and breasts with affectionate pecks.

"Happy birthday, Princess." he murmured against her lips, voice husky with satisfaction and lingering desire. "I love watching you come undone for me, knowing I'm the only one who gets to see this side of you."

Wonyoung could only hum contentedly in response, boneless and sated in his embrace. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

Wonyoung's slender fingers found Manager's straining erection, boldly palming the rigid length through his pants. Her touch was uncharacteristically aggressive, spurred on by the haze of lust clouding her mind. "Fuck me." she demanded breathlessly, eyes burning with need as it locked onto his. "Rough and raw, like you mean it. I want to feel you for days."

Manager's eyes darkened with primal hunger at Wonyoung's demands. In one swift motion, he shed his clothes, freeing his thick, throbbing cock. It bobbed heavily and leaking with arousal. "Careful what you wish for, Princess." he growled, positioning himself at her entrance. "Once I start, I won't hold back. Gonna fuck this tight little pussy so hard.

Without further warning, he burried himself to the hilt in her slick heat with one powerful thrust. They both groaned at the sensation, bodies molding together perfectly. "Fuuuck! Always so goddamn tight for me."

Manager loomed over Wonyoung, pinning her wrists above her head as he drove into her welcoming heat with deep, powerful thrusts. Her legs draped over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, allowing him to plunge impossibly deep. The new angle had him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, stoking the flames of her pleasure higher.

"Yes! Just like that! Don't stop!" Wonyoung keened, back arching off the bed to take him even deeper. Her flushed face was a mask of ecstasy, eyes glazed and unfocused, plump lips parted around breathy moans. She looked utterly debauched, like a living doll brought to life solely for this sexual enjoyment.

"Take it, Princess. Take every fucking inch." Manager grunted, sweat beading on his brow from the force of his thrusts.

Wonyoung could only hang on for dear life. Each drag of his thick cock along her sensitive walls pushed her closer to the edge. "I'm...I'm gonna... AHHH!" Her orgasm slammed into her like a freight train, vision blurring from the intensity.

As Wonyoung shuddered and convulsed through the aftershocks of her intense climax, Manager gentled his movements. Rather than pounding into her, he began to roll his hips in slow, deep circles, grinding against her sensitive spots. His thick cock stirred up her fluttering walls, prolonging her pleasure.

"That's it, Princess. Ride it out." he coaxed softly, releasing her wrists to cup her face tenderly. Thumb brushing over her cheekbone, wiping away her tears. "You're so perfect. I wished I could stay buried inside you forever."

He leaned down to capture her lips in a deep, sensual kiss, pouring all his devotion and desire.

With a firm grip on Wonyoung's hips, Manager smoothly flipped her over onto her hands and knees, never breaking the intimate connection. He remained burried inside her, relishing the way her velvety walls clung to his cock. Guiding her until they faced the full-length mirror in the corner.

"Look at yourself, Princess." he commanded huskily, his hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair and pulled to make her look at her own reflection. "See how fucking gorgeous you are like this, stuffed full of my cock. This is real you, horny and submissive. My perfect little fucktoy."

Wonyoung gazed at her reflection, pupils blown wide with lust, cheeks stained pink, lips kiss-swollen and parted around soft mewls. The sight of Manager's thick shaft disappearing into her stretched hole, his pelvis flush against her ass, sent a fresh gush of arousal flooding through her. She clenched around him reflexively, relishing the drag of his cock along her sensitive walls.

"That's it, squeeze this dick." he growled appreciatively, giving a sharp thrust that made her yelp and clench harder. "Gonna fuck this greedy cunt so good, make you remember the feeling of me owning you."

Manager set a relentless pace, hips smacking against Wonyoung's plush rear with each powerful thrust. His grip on her hair tightened, forcing her to maintain eye contact with her reflection. Drool trickled down her chin as her tongue lolled out, glassy eyes rolling back in bliss. The lewd picture she made - an idol reduced to a moaning mess.

"Fuck yes! take it just like that! This is the real you, Wonyoung. Not that prim and proper facade. Just a desperate slut desperate for my cock."

Wonyoung could only moan brokenly in agreement, too far gone to care about maintaining her public image.

Manager could feel Wonyoung's walls starting to flutter and quake around him, signaling her impending fourth climax. He redoubled his efforts, one hand moving from her hair to circle her clit rapidly. "Cum for me, Princess. Cum on this cock like the dirty girl you are. Show me how much you love being used."

His filthy words combined with the relentless stimulation proved too much. With a broken scream, Wonyoung came undone, back arching almost painfully as orgasm crashed over her. Her pussy spasmed wildly, gripping his cock like a vice as she gushed around him.

Manager's thrusts grew wild and erratic as he chased his own peak, driven mad with lust. He shoved Wonyoung's face into the pillow, the silky fabric muffling her wanton cries. His other hand gripped her hip bruisingly tight, holding her in place as he pounded into her spasming heat.

"Fuck! Gonna fill this pussy up!" he grunted, voice strained with impending release. "Take it all, you filthy slut!"

With a roar, he thrust himself fully and erupts, thick ropes of thick seed pumping directly into Wonyoung's waiting womb. Her abused walls milked him greedily, coaxing out every last drop.

As the final spurts of his release painted Wonyoung's insides, Manager collapsed forward. They lay entwined, panting harshly as the aftershocks of their mutual orgasms rolled through them. He pressed soft kisses along her sweaty neck, marveling at the way her body fit so perfectly against his.

"You're incredible." he murmured, voice low and sated. "My perfect little minx." Carefully, he embraced her, keeping her tucked close. His hand placed possessively over her lower belly, imagining his seed taking root. "Happy birthday. I hope it was everything you wanted tonight."

Wonyoung hummed contentedly. Despite the thorough ravaging her body had endured, a sense of peace and rightness settled over her. Here, in the aftermath of their passionate coupling, she felt truly seen, truly accepted - all of her, not just the polished idol facade.

"It was perfect, Oppa." she murmured. "Thank you for making me feel so... So cherished." Her hand came up to cover his on her belly, interlacing their fingers. "I love you."

Manager turned his head to capture Wonyoung's lips in a deep, loving kiss. When they finally parted, his eyes shone with adoration and fierce possession. "I love you too, Princess. More than anything in this world and I swear, I'll spend every day showing you just how precious you are to me."

He sealed his promise with another kiss, slower this time, pouring all his devotion into the gentle slide of lips and tongues. Their bodies shifted, fitting together like two puzzle pieces, as if they were always meant to be this way - entwined, naked, and lost in each other.

-End-

[devilhuntingslayer]

Who in GFriend is most likely to have sex with the personal trainer at the gym?

Yerin without a doubt. Eunha's going to be too lazy to go to the gym and get a trainer, SinB and Umji would actually be focused on their workouts and be partners. Yuju wouldn't notice any advances on her and just be her loveable weird self. Sowon would be too focused on her workouts because she's trying to keep in shape. Yerin has the personality where she'd dedicated enough to keep going to the sessions but lazy enough to where she'd try to get out of it using sex

[devilhuntingslayer]

Midnight Cowgirl

An Yujin x m!reader

13K words

The noise hits you before you even kill the engine. Multicolored lights bleed from Gaeul’s windows, strobing across the lawn and painting the other parked cars in shifting shades of electric blue and lurid pink. You should be at home, nursing a beer and rewatching a series you’ve already seen a dozen times. Instead, you’re here, on a rescue mission you resent with every fiber of your being.

Taking a deep breath you slide out of the car. The night air is cool, but it does little to combat the wave of humid, sweaty heat that blasts you as you pull open the front door. The party is in full swing. The house is packed wall-to-wall with a writhing mass of pirates, superheroes, and at least three different guys dressed as hot dogs. The combined scent of cheap beer, perfume, and something vaguely like burnt popcorn assaults your senses. Your mission is simple: find Gaeul, fix her crisis, and vanish back into the night before she sees you.

You’re barely two steps inside, trying to squeeze past a vampire and a fairy having a loud argument, when a hand clamps down on your arm.

“There you are! I thought you had crashed your car on the way.”

You turn to find Gaeul, your frantic, desperate friend and the reason you’re in this personal hell. She’s dressed as some kind of celestial witch, a midnight-blue velvet dress that clings to her frame, speckled with tiny, glittering silver stars. More stars are painted around her eyes, which are wide with relief and manic urgency. She looks incredible, but you’re in no mood to appreciate it. She starts pulling you through the crowd without waiting for a response.

“Seriously, what’s the big emergency? Did your Wi-Fi go out?” you ask, raising your pitch to be heard over a song with a truly obscene amount of bass. You stumble after her, trying your best not to step on anyone’s elaborate costume.

“Worse! So much worse. Just… come on!”

She navigates the sea of bodies with an expertise you can only envy, dragging you in her wake. Your eyes dart around reflexively, scanning faces, a frantic search engine running on a single, terrifying keyword: Yujin. Every flash of long, dark hair makes your heart seize. You see a girl with a familiar laugh and nearly go into cardiac arrest before realizing it’s just someone from one of your shared classes. This is torture. You’re a mouse in a maze where the cheese is a conversation you would rather die than have.

Gaeul finally shoves through a beaded curtain and hauls you up the stairs, the music mercifully dulling to a muffled, rhythmic pounding against the floorboards. She leads you into her bedroom and closes the door, plunging the two of you into relative silence. The room is a sanctuary of calm compared to the chaos downstairs. Posters of bands you’ve never heard of cover the walls, and a pile of clothes sits precariously on a desk chair. And there, on her desk, is the source of the emergency: her computer, its screen a cycling nightmare of glitching colors and error messages.

You drop onto her desk chair, which thankfully doesn’t collapse. “Okay, what did you do to it?”

She paces behind you, wringing her hands. The starlight on her dress shimmers with the movement. “I didn’t do anything! I was trying to queue up a new playlist for later, and it just… did that. It’s been restarting itself for an hour.” A dramatic sigh escapes her. “My entire life is on there.”

“Your life is not on there, Gaeul. Your meticulously organized collection of shitpost is on there,” you mutter, already tapping at the keyboard, trying to boot it into safe mode. You can fix this. It looks like a corrupted driver, maybe a botched update. Annoying, but not the world-ending catastrophe she’s making it out to be. It gives you something to focus on other than the Yujin-shaped anxiety monster chewing on your insides. “Why is fixing this so important right now? It’s your party.”

“Because I need it. For… stuff. Later stuff.” The explanation is so vague it’s practically transparent. She leans against the edge of her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. The velvet of her dress pulls taut. “So. Glad you could make it.”

“I’m not ‘making it.’ I’m your IT guy. I’m fixing this and then I’m bailing.”

Gaeul is quiet for a moment, watching you work.

Then, she drops the bomb. Casually.

“Yujin’s here, you know.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard for a fraction of a second. It’s a small, almost imperceptible hesitation, but you know she sees it. You force yourself to resume typing, your eyes glued to the lines of code appearing on the screen.

“Oh, yeah? Cool.” You make your tone as breezy and unconcerned as possible. It’s a masterful performance, or so you tell yourself.

“Yeah. She was asking where you were.”

Of course she was. You’ve been ignoring her texts for three weeks. You’ve crossed the street to avoid her on campus. You’ve turned a friendly, comfortable, years-long friendship into this… this agonizingly awkward minefield, all because you couldn’t keep your stupid, drunken mouth shut.

“I’ve just been swamped with that programming project,” you lie. “Barely had time to breathe. I’ll track her down and say hi before I head out.”

Gaeul hums, a low, knowing sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. She knows you’re full of it. You just don’t know how she knows.

“You should. She looks… honestly? It’s kind of ridiculous how good she looks tonight.”

You don’t respond. You just keep working, focusing on the diagnostic report now running on the screen. Don’t take the bait. Don’t ask. If you ask, you’re admitting you care, and if you admit you care, you’re one step closer to having to face her.

But Gaeul, your wonderful, meddling friend, doesn’t need you to ask.

“She came as a cowgirl,” she continues. “Not, like, a cute, cartoony one. More like a… ‘I’ll ruin your life in the best way possible’ kind of cowgirl. It’s a whole situation.”

An image flashes in your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Yujin. Tall, confident Yujin, with her impossibly long legs and that smile that always looks like she knows a secret you’re dying to hear. Yujin in a cowgirl outfit. You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck and you pray the dim lighting in the room hides it. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Right. Cool.” Your reply is clipped, robotic.

“You’re really not going to stay for a bit?” The question is softer this time. “Come on. Just for one drink. It’s my party. I barely get to see you anymore.”

You finally fix the driver issue. The screen flickers, and the familiar desktop wallpaper of Gaeul’s cat appears, stable and blessedly error-free. You feel a surge of triumph. Your escape route is clear.

You push the chair back and stand up, finally turning to face her. You avoid her gaze, focusing on a poster behind her head.

“I can’t. Seriously. I have to work tomorrow. Not everyone can party like you, Gaeul.” You hate lying to Gaeul, but you’d hate facing Yujin even more.

Gaeul’s face falls. The starlight makeup can’t hide the genuine disappointment in her eyes. She knows you’re lying. You can see it in the slight press of her lips, the way her shoulders slump. But she doesn’t push it.

“Okay,” is all she says.

“Computer’s fixed,” you announce unnecessarily, gesturing toward the screen. “Just don’t download any weird stuff and you should be fine.”

“Thanks. For real. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime.” You start for the door, your entire body humming with the need to be gone. “I’ll just… see myself out.”

“Wait,” she calls out, and you freeze with your hand on the doorknob. “Just… be careful. It’s a jungle out there.”

The comment is strange, but you brush it off as her just being Gaeul. You give her a weak, tight-lipped smile and slip out of the room, leaving her standing alone amidst the faint, glittering stars on her dress. The wall of noise and heat hits you again. Now for the hard part: getting out of the house unseen.

The staircase feels like a descent into the seventh circle of hell. The music gets louder with each step, the air growing thicker and warmer. You squeeze past a couple dressed as Romeo and Juliet who seem to be in the middle of a very dramatic, very public breakup. You offer a sympathetic grimace you don’t feel and keep moving.

Near the kitchen, a guy in a surprisingly realistic Shrek costume claps you on the shoulder.

“Dude! Didn’t think you were coming!”

You give him a tight, one-armed hug, your body angled toward the door the entire time. “Can’t stay long. Just came to drop something off for Gaeul.” Another lie to add to your growing collection for the evening.

“Bummer, man. We were about to start a game of…”

You’re already moving before he can finish the sentence, offering a vague wave over your shoulder. “Next time!”

You can see it now. The beautiful, rectangular outline of the front door. Freedom is ten feet away. Eight feet. Five. A couple of people are blocking the path, laughing loudly, but you see a gap. You can slip through it. You are so close, so incredibly close to making a clean getaway, to getting back to the safety of your car and the solitude of your apartment where you can properly wallow in your own self-inflicted misery.

Your hand is reaching for the doorknob when it happens.

Something coarse and surprisingly heavy snakes around your chest, cinching tight over your arms and pinning them to your sides. You lurch to a halt, pulled back with a force that almost knocks the wind out of you. Your first thought is that it’s some drunk idiot, a prank gone too far. You’re about to whip around and tell them exactly where they can shove their party trick when a sound cuts through the music.

“Yee-haw! Gotcha, partner!”

The exclamation is bright, playful, and so gut-wrenchingly familiar that every drop of blood in your body turns to ice.

No. It can’t be.

You turn around slowly, mechanically, as if your body is no longer under your own control. The rope, a genuine, honest-to-god lasso, is pulled taut. You follow its length to the person holding the other end, and your heart plummets directly into your shoes.

There she is. An Yujin.

Gaeul’s description didn’t do her justice. It wasn’t even in the same universe. She’s planted her feet, one hand holding the rope, the other resting cockily on her hip. She’s wearing a pair of scuffed, dark brown cowboy boots that come up to her mid-calf, showing off the ridiculously toned legs you’ve tried so hard not to stare at for the last three years. Above that is a short, black leather skirt that hugs the curve of her hips perfectly. The main event, though, is the crimson red vest she’s wearing. She has nothing on underneath it. Absolutely nothing. The deep V-neck displays an expanse of smooth, perfect skin and the delicate curve of her collarbones. A crisp white cowboy hat sits tilted on her head, shadowing her eyes just enough to make her look mysterious and dangerous. She is, without a doubt, the most incredible thing you have ever seen, and you have never wanted to be on another planet more than you do in this exact moment.

She’s beaming, a triumphant, brilliant smile that lights up her entire face. She tugs on the rope, pulling you a step closer.

“Well, well, well. Looks like I finally caught the most wanted fugitive in this here county.” The drawl she puts on is ridiculous and charming and you hate it. You hate every single thing about this. “You’ve been a hard one to track down.”

You try to muster a response, but your throat has closed up. Your brain is just a loop of static and panic. You’re trapped. She literally caught you.

You manage a weak, strangled laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Very funny, Yujin. Can you…?” You gesture vaguely with your head toward the rope.

“Now why would I do that?” She takes another step closer, reeling you in like a fish. The scent of her perfume, light and sweet, cuts through the stale party air. “A good sheriff never lets the bad guy go.”

You have to play along. If you don’t play along, the game ends, and the real, terrifying conversation begins.

“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” you manage, finding some semblance of composure. “I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

“Oh yeah? My sources tell me you’ve been avoidin’ your civic duties. Namely, sayin’ hello to your best friend.”

A direct hit. She’s not even trying to be subtle.

“I… was just about to do that,” you lie, knowing how pathetic it sounds.

She tilts her head, and the smile never wavers. “Sure you were. On your way out the door.” She looks you up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. “I don’t recognize your costume, though. Who’re you supposed to be?”

You look down at your plain black hoodie and jeans. Your costume is a guy who didn’t want to come to a costume party.

“I’m an average guy. It’s a very meta, very subtle commentary on societal expectations.”

The explanation is so stupid it actually makes her laugh. For weeks, you’ve been starving for that sound while simultaneously running from it.

“An average guy, huh? Well, you’re my prisoner now, average guy.” Her happiness is radiant, and it makes you feel like even more of a heel for avoiding her.

You clear your throat, trying to regain some footing. “Your costume is… cool. Really cool.”

Her smile softens, turning from playful to genuinely pleased. “You think so? I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“No, it’s… it’s a whole situation,” you echo Gaeul’s sentiment without realizing it.

“A situation? I’ll take it.” She gives the rope another gentle tug. “So, where were you running off to in such a hurry? The average-guy convention?”

“Ha. No, I just… I have to work in the morning. Early start.” There’s that flimsy excuse again. It feels even more transparent under her direct, knowing gaze.

She raises a single, perfect eyebrow. “Really. Me too. And yet, here I am, at a party, wranglin’ my best friend who’s trying to ghost me.”

“Yujin, I wasn’t…”

“Can we talk?” she cuts you off, her expression shifting completely. The bright, cowgirl persona melts away, leaving just her. Just Yujin. And she looks… sad. “Just for five minutes. Somewhere we don’t have to shout.”

You want to say no. Every self-preservation instinct you possess is screaming at you to make another excuse, to squirm your way out of this and run. But the sight of her looking at you like that, her usual confidence replaced with a quiet, pleading uncertainty, completely undoes you. You’ve never been able to say no to that look.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. But you have to let me go first.”

She grins, a small, relieved twist of her lips. “Deal.”

She expertly shakes her wrist, and the lasso loosens, falling away from your chest. You’re free, but you feel more trapped than ever. As you rub your arms, she begins coiling the rope with a practiced efficiency.

“You’re surprisingly good with that thing,” you observe, desperate to fill the silence.

She laughs, a much quieter, more intimate sound this time. “You have no idea. I’ve been practicing in my backyard all week. Pretty sure my neighbors think I’m insane.” She finishes coiling the rope and hangs it from her belt. “I can almost certainly rope a stationary trash can now. You were my first moving target.”

She came here tonight with a rope and a plan. And you walked right into her trap.

She gestures with her head toward a hallway you hadn't even noticed, tucked away behind the staircase. You nod mutely and follow. It feels like walking the green mile. Every instinct is telling you to turn, to bolt, to make a run for it and never look back. But you can’t. Not when she asked like that. Not when you saw that flicker of hurt in her eyes.

You walk a few paces behind her, your eyes fixed on the coiled rope hanging from her hip. It sways with the confident, easy rhythm of her walk, a walk you know as well as your own heartbeat. As you pass the archway to the main living room, you catch a glimpse of Gaeul across the crowd. She’s talking to someone, but her eyes meet yours for a split second. A slow smile spreads across her face before she gives you a tiny, almost imperceptible thumbs-up.

The pieces click into place with an audible, sickening clang in your mind.

The panicked phone call. The nonsensical, party-ending computer emergency. Her insistence that you come right away. Her casual mention of Yujin. Of course this was a setup. There was never any other way this night was going to go.

Yujin leads you through the hallway and pushes open a door that leads out onto a small, dimly lit back patio. A couple of forgotten folding chairs sit in the corner, but otherwise, it’s empty. The manic energy of the party is muted out here, the bass a dull, distant pulse against the quiet chirp of crickets. The air is cooler, cleaner. There’s nowhere to run.

She doesn't sit. She just turns to face you, leaning back against the brick wall of the house. She pulls the cowboy hat from her head, shaking her dark hair loose. She fidgets with the brim, not looking at you.

“So,” she begins, her focus entirely on the hat in her hands. The silence stretches. She’s waiting for you to say something, but your mind is a blank slate of white-hot panic. “How have you been?”

“Fine.” It’s a colossal lie. You’ve been the opposite of fine. You’ve been a walking ball of anxiety, replaying that one stupid, drunken night on a loop, cringing so hard you’re surprised you haven’t physically imploded.

You feel a pathetic need to fill the silence. “You?”

She finally looks up from the hat, and her eyes find yours in the dim light. “I don’t know, actually.” A small, humorless smile touches her lips. “A little strange, I guess.”

Your heart sinks. Here it comes.

“Strange how?” you ask, even though you know the answer. You’re just delaying the inevitable.

She takes a small breath. “I’ve been feeling confused, mostly.” She takes a step closer, and you have to fight the primal urge to take a step back. “And I guess I just have to ask. Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”

The question is so direct, so devoid of any accusation. It’s just pure, genuine confusion, and it’s a thousand times worse than if she’d been angry. Anger you could handle. This gentle, wounded bewilderment, you cannot.

“What? No.” The denial comes out rushed, forceful. “No, Yujin, of course not. You didn’t do anything.”

“Then I don’t get it.” She gestures vaguely with the hat. “One minute, everything’s normal, and the next, you’re looking at me like I’m about to serve you legal papers. You’re dodging my texts, you’re conveniently busy every single time I suggest we hang out… I just feel like I’m going crazy.”

She pauses, her gaze searching yours for some kind of explanation. “I thought maybe I said something stupid, or I offended you somehow, but I’ve gone over everything, and I just…” She shakes her head, her hair catching the faint light from the house. “I can’t think of anything.”

“It’s not you. I swear,” you insist. “It’s me. I’ve just been… busy. Stressed.”

“That’s the thing, though,” she continues, completely ignoring your weak defense. “Right before you started being so ‘busy,’ I heard something. From Liz. She said some of our friends were talking about you.”

This is it. The point of no return.

“She told me… that you said some things about me.” A real smile, small and shy, appears on her face for the first time since you came outside. It’s a devastatingly beautiful sight. “A lot of really nice things, apparently. Things you’d never say to my face.”

Your entire body tenses up. That stupid, drunken, rambling monologue you’d delivered to your friends. A multi-point presentation on the perfection of An Yujin, complete with footnotes and a gushing bibliography. Oh god.

“When she told me that, I was… really happy,” she confesses, her focus dropping back to the hat in her hands. “It was nice to hear.”

You have to say something. Your silence is a confession in itself.

“Well… it’s true. All of it.”

Her smile widens just a little. She looks up at you again. “Okay. So that’s what I don’t understand.” She takes another small step forward. You could reach out and touch her now if you dared.

“Liz also told me about the end of that conversation,” she says, her tone becoming even softer. “About what you told them after a few too many shots at that party a few weeks ago. That you… that you really liked me.”

She says it so simply, so matter-of-factly. All the air leaves your body in a rush. The secret you’ve been guarding with your life, the one that’s been eating you alive with embarrassment, is just out there now, hanging in the space between you.

“So I’ve been thinking about that,” she continues. “And then I think about how you’ve been treating me like a stranger for the last three weeks. And the two things just don’t add up. You’re sending the most confusing signals I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

She looks at you, her face open and vulnerable and completely wrecking your carefully constructed defenses. All the panic, all the fear, all the weeks of agonizing cringe… it all feels so stupid in the face of her honesty.

“It made me start to wonder,” she says, so quiet you have to strain to hear it over the distant music and the frantic pounding of your own heart. “Those things you said… the compliments, and… the other thing. Were they not true? Did you just say all that because you were drunk?”

Did you just say all that because you were drunk?

This is it. This is your exit ramp. The get-out-of-jail-free card you’ve been praying for. All you have to do is say yes. Yes, it was the booze talking. Yes, you were exaggerating. You can laugh it off, tell her you’re just a sentimental drunk and the embarrassment of it all is why you’ve been acting so weird. She would understand. Dude, she’s Yujin; she’s the most understanding person you know. She would punch you playfully on the arm, call you an idiot, and just like that, the crushing weight would be gone. Things could go back to normal. You could go back to being friends, watching movies, getting takeout, the comfortable, easy rhythm of your life resuming its beat.

But as you look at her, standing there in the dim light of the patio, her cowboy hat clutched in her hands like a sheriff who let the bandit escape, her expression so open and vulnerable, you know you can’t do it. The lie forms on your tongue and dissolves into poison before you can speak it. Lying to her right now would feel like kicking a puppy. It would be a fundamental betrayal of everything your friendship has ever been. And who are you kidding? You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. A lie this big wouldn’t fix that; it would just haunt you in new and more inventive ways.

You let out a long, slow breath, the kind you make before you jump off a cliff. Your eyes finally meet hers, holding her gaze for the first time all night.

“No. It was all true. Every word of it.”

Her breath hitches. It’s a tiny, almost inaudible sound, but you see the subtle shift in her posture, the way her grip tightens on the brim of her hat. She was prepared for you to lie. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Then… why?” The question comes out frayed around the edges. “Why didn’t you just… say something? To me?”

A bitter, humorless laugh escapes you. “Say something? What was I supposed to do, Yujin? Walk up to you and be like, ‘Hey, best friend, sorry to interrupt our regularly scheduled programming, but I think I’m in love with you’? You have to know how insane that sounds.” You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets, partly from the chill and partly to keep them from shaking. “You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to… complicate things. To make it weird.”

“Did you ever stop to think,” she begins, “that maybe I’d want things to be complicated? That maybe I felt the same way?”

It’s the thought that has kept you up at night even more than the embarrassment. The terrifying ‘what if’ that feels far more perilous than simple, one-sided pining.

“It’s more complicated than that,” you deflect.

“No, dude, it’s not,” she counters immediately, taking another step forward. The front of her boots are nearly touching yours now. “We’re not complicated. You’re making it complicated. Just say what you feel. All of it.”

You look away, your gaze fixing on a crack in the patio concrete. You have to make her understand the fear. “Do you remember… after Wonyoung and I broke up? We stayed up all night talking in your house.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. Parts of it. You drank way too much cheap whiskey.”

“I told you I didn’t want to fall in love again,” you continue. “That it wasn’t worth it. The drama, the fallout… all of it. I told you I was done.” You look back at her. “I was serious, Yujin. And for a while, it worked. I was fine. Happy, even.”

You pause, gathering the courage to say the next part. “And then the worst possible thing happened. My feelings for you… they started to shift. To evolve into something else. One day I woke up and I realized I wasn’t just fine. I was falling for you. And it terrified me.”

Her brow furrows, a flicker of something that looks like offense in her eyes. “The worst possible thing? What’s so terrible about falling in love with me?”

The question is so blunt, so Yujin, that it startles a genuine laugh out of you.

“What?” The knot in her brow deepens. “It’s a valid question. Half the guys in that party haven’t been able to take their eyes off me since I got here.”

“I know that,” you say, the laugh softening into a sad smile. “Trust me, I am acutely aware of that. It has nothing to do with you. You’re… you’re Yujin. You’re incredible. That’s the whole problem. The problem is that you’re my best friend. You’re the one person I can’t lose. A relationship can end. People break up, and they stop talking, and they become strangers who know all of each other’s secrets. I can’t do that with you. I need you around.”

“So let me get this straight,” She puts her hat back on her head, as if that would give her some kind of authority. Maybe it does. “In order to make sure you have me around… you decided to start avoiding me completely. To ignore my texts and run away from me at parties. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

She’s right. It’s indefensible. Hearing her lay it out so plainly makes you feel like the world’s biggest idiot.

“Did you and Gaeul plan this whole thing?” you ask, a desperate attempt to change the subject, to get out from under the weight of her flawless logic. “The computer crisis, the rope… this was an ambush, wasn’t it?”

In a swift, fluid motion, she closes the final gap between you. She removes the rope from her belt and lets it fall to the floor, then she puts both of her hands flat on the front of your hoodie, her palms warm against your chest. She’s tall, but with the boots on, she feels imposing. She has you completely and utterly cornered.

“Don’t change the subject,” she commands.

“Easy, cowgirl,” you mutter, your heart hammering against her hands.

“I’m serious.” Her gaze is intense, unwavering. “Stop hiding.”

You look at her, at the genuine concern warring with frustration on her face, and the last of your defenses crumble. The truth comes out, raw and unfiltered.

“I don’t know if I can do it again, Yujin,” you confess. “The whole ‘love’ thing. I think… I think Wonyoung might have broken that part of me. I don’t want to drag you into my emotional mess. You mean too much to me to do that to you. To risk hurting you because I’m… screwed up.”

Her expression softens. Her hands slide from your chest up to your shoulders, her grip gentle but firm.

“But don’t you see? By trying not to hurt me, you’re hurting me anyway. This is worse. Being pushed away by my best friend for reasons I don’t understand? Feeling like I did something wrong? That hurts. A lot.”

She leans in just a little closer, her face inches from yours.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” she says, her entreaty a fragile, heartfelt plea. “I’m just asking you not to do this to me. To us. Please. Don’t run away from me anymore.”

You try to form a coherent thought, to say something, anything, that will make sense of the situation, but all that comes out is a raw, frayed whisper. “Yujin, please…”

“Please what?”

Please stop? Please leave you alone? Please kiss you until you forget your own name? She moves even closer, the motion so subtle you barely register it until the tip of her nose brushes against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, trapped. Without thinking, without permission from your panicked brain, your hands find their way to her waist, settling on the warm, bare skin of her back just above the line of her leather skirt. Her skin is unbelievably soft.

You grasp for one last, desperate excuse, the final flimsy shield your cowardice can muster. “You’re drunk.”

A small, knowing smile plays on her lips. She doesn't pull away. “I’m not.” The assertion is confident, steady. “Well. Maybe a little.” She concedes, the smile widening. “But I was sober enough to rope you from ten feet away. My motor skills are clearly intact.”

Your grip on her waist tightens reflexively. “I just… I don’t know if I’m the best guy for you right now. I’m a mess.”

“Good thing that’s not for you to decide,” she murmurs, her warm breath ghosting across your lips.

And then she kisses you.

It’s over. It’s all over, boy. The world narrows to a single point of contact: her mouth on yours. Years of friendship, weeks of agonizing tension, a lifetime of unspoken feelings all combust in a single, silent explosion. Her lips are even softer and fuller than you’d imagined, plump and sweet with a faint taste of the cherry soda she was drinking earlier. It is, without any hint of exaggeration, fucking insane.

She isn't tentative. It’s a kiss of certainty, of relief, a deep and consuming press of her mouth to yours that sends shockwaves down to your toes. You respond on pure instinct, kissing her back with a desperate hunger you didn’t know you possessed. One of her hands slides from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer still. The kiss seems to stretch on for an eternity, a perfect, timeless moment where the muffled party music and the chirping crickets and your entire complicated, messy life just cease to exist.

When she finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch. Her eyes, when they open, are shining, impossibly bright in the dim light. Her cheeks are flushed, and as a breathless smile spreads across her face, her famous dimples make an appearance. They’re deeper, more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them, two perfect little craters in her cheeks that you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to trace with your thumb.

You’re the first to break the charged silence. “My hands are shaking.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, the sound like music. “Mine too. See?” She lifts one of her hands from your shoulder, and you can see the faint tremor in her fingers.

That’s all it takes. Seeing her, just as affected, just as overwhelmed as you are, gives you all the courage you need.

“I guess we're fucked then,” you murmur, before leaning in and kissing her again.

This time is different. The first kiss was a question being answered. This one is a statement. You pull her flush against you, closing any remaining space between your bodies. Your hands, no longer hesitant, begin to roam. They slide down from her waist, over the curve of her hips, past the smooth, cool leather of her skirt. You palm her ass, your fingers digging into the full, fleshy curve. It’s even rounder, heavier, more perfect than you’d imagined. So full. A sharp, hitched breath escapes her as you give a firm squeeze, pulling her impossibly closer, letting her feel the hard evidence of just how much you want her pressed against her stomach.

You break the kiss, resting your forehead against hers, both of you breathing hard.

“Everything okay there, sheriff?” you tease.

A mischievous glint enters her eyes. Her lips curve into a wicked smile. Instead of answering, she crashes her mouth against yours again. This time, her tongue immediately slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a wet, searching dance. It’s sloppy and perfect and utterly intoxicating. She kisses you with a raw, demanding passion, ending it by nipping your bottom lip, a sharp, pleasant sting that makes you groan into her mouth.

You’re both panting now, chests heaving.

“We need to do this,” she says, the statement leaving no room for argument. “Right now.”

Your brain struggles to catch up. “Here? You know Gaeul doesn't like it when people have sex at her house.”

“She will never find out. There’s no one around,” she reasons, glancing around the empty patio. She moves you backward until the back of your knees hit a low wooden bench tucked into the darkest corner of the patio. “Sit.”

You do as you’re told, your legs feeling about as steady as newborn fawns. Before you can even get your bearings, she’s pushing your shoulders back, straddling your lap, and settling her weight down on you. The feeling of her, the heat and solid weight of her body through her thin leather skirt, nearly makes you see stars. She wraps her arms around your neck, her crimson vest gaping open, offering an impossible, tantalizing view of the swell of her breasts.

“Okay,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. “Important question time.” She pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. “Do you have a condom?”

“No,” you admit, a wry smile touching your lips. “I didn’t think I’d need one when I came over to fix Gaeul’s computer.”

She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Fair enough.” She leans in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “It’s okay,” she murmurs against your skin, her lips trailing toward your jaw. “I don’t think we’ll need one tonight.”

“Are you… are you sure about that?”

She pulls back to look at you, a confident, almost feral glimmer in her eyes. “Positive.” A sly smirk plays on her lips. “Worst case scenario, I’m on the pill. We’re good.”

As if to punctuate the decision, she shifts her weight and smoothly slides off your lap, her leather skirt whispering against the denim of your jeans. You expect her to sit beside you, to kiss you again, to continue the frantic, heated pace. Instead, she gracefully drops to her knees on the cool flagstones of the patio, right between your legs. She stays there for a moment, looking up at you from under her lashes.

You reach out, your hand slightly trembling, and gently lift the hat from her head, setting it carefully on the bench beside you.

Her gaze never leaves yours as her hands move to the button of your jeans. She works it free with nimble fingers, and the sound of your zipper being pulled down is deafening in the relative quiet. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and your boxers, and with a single, fluid motion, pulls them down your legs, the rough denim scraping against your skin. They pool around your ankles, trapping you.

The cool night air hits your bare skin, a shocking, electric sensation that makes you twitch. And then her hands are on you.

“Oh, wow,” a soft gasp escapes her.

Her hands are warm, so incredibly warm, a stark contrast to the chill. They wrap around your cock, which is already painfully hard, throbbing with a desperate, frantic pulse. Her touch is hesitant at first, curious, as if she’s just acquainting herself with the shape and feel of you. Her thumbs stroke over the sensitive head, smearing the slick pre-cum, and a low, involuntary groan rumbles in your chest.

“Yujin…” Your plea is just her name.

“Shhh,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with what looks like genuine awe as she looks down at you in her hands. “Just… wow. It’s perfect.” She begins to stroke you then, a slow, deliberate rhythm, her grip firm and sure. The sensation is incredible, a friction that is both maddeningly slow and overwhelmingly intense. “I can’t believe I’ve been friends with you for this long and I had no idea you were hiding this.”

Before you can fully process the mind-melting reality of her hands on you, she leans forward. You see her intention a second before it happens, and your stomach plummets. She lowers her head, her long, dark hair brushing against your inner thighs, a feather-light touch that makes you shudder.

And then her mouth is on you.

Her lips are wet and impossibly soft as they close over the head of your cock. It’s a gentle, exploratory touch at first, a soft kiss that sends a lightning bolt straight to the base of your spine. Then she makes a soft humming sound, a little murmur of approval, and takes you deeper. The initial shock is so intense your hips jerk off the bench. Her hand comes up to rest on your thigh, a steadying, reassuring pressure.

There is nothing in your life that could have prepared you for this. The feeling of her hot, wet mouth, the gentle suction she creates, the way her tongue traces lazy, tormenting circles around the most sensitive part of you. It’s a sensory overload. You tip your head back against the wall behind the bench, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to process the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of it all.

Your hands, acting on their own accord, find their way into her hair. It’s just as silky as you always imagined. You fist your hands in the dark strands, not pulling, just holding on, anchoring yourself to reality as she sends you spinning into oblivion.

She picks up the pace, her head bobbing in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Her other hand is still busy, wrapped around the base of your shaft, stroking you in time with the movements of her mouth. She takes you as deep as she can, the back of her throat tickling against your tip, and you let out a choked groan, the sound torn from you against your will. You have to bite down on your lip, hard, to keep from shouting her name.

She seems to sense your struggle, because she slows down, pulling back just enough to look up at you. Her eyes are dark, hooded with lust, her lips plump and shiny. A thin trail of saliva glistens at the corner of her mouth, and the sight is so incredibly, devastatingly hot that you feel yourself twitching in her grasp.

A satisfied smile spreads across her face as she feels it. She doesn't say anything. She just winks at you before lowering her head again, this time with a renewed, more aggressive purpose. She’s not just sucking you now; she’s devouring you. Her tongue works magic, swirling and flicking, finding nerves you didn’t even know you had. She takes all of you, her cheeks hollowing with the effort, the slick, wet sounds of her mouth on you echoing in the quiet night.

She takes you deeper than you thought possible, and a soft, choked gag escapes the back of her throat. The sound, so raw and involuntary, it’s the most obscene, beautiful noise you’ve ever heard. Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flutter open and meet yours. They’re dark, blown wide with effort and pure, feral lust.

Just as you think you’ve adjusted to the overwhelming sensation, she changes tactics. She slides her mouth off you with a wet, sloppy sound, leaving your dick glistening with her spit and painfully exposed to the cool night air. A frustrated groan escapes you. You think she’s stopping, taking a break.

But she’s not stopping. Oh, no. She’s just getting started.

Her gaze drops from your eyes, down your torso, to the base of your cock. Her hot breath ghosts over your balls, making the sensitive skin tighten and prickle with anticipation. And then her mouth is on them.

The sensation is so alien, so unexpected, that a sharp, ragged gasp is torn from your lungs. It’s nothing like the friction on your shaft. This is a gentle, lapping warmth, a soft, suckling pressure that sends a completely different kind of pleasure jolting through your system. Her tongue, warm and wet, laves over you, tracing the delicate seam, and your toes curl so hard in your sneakers you’re surprised you don’t cramp up.

One of her hands remains wrapped firmly around your shaft, her thumb stroking lazy circles around your piss-slit while her mouth works its magic below. She takes one of your balls fully into the heat of her mouth, sucking gently, a low, appreciative hum vibrating from her throat, through her jaw, and directly into your nuts. It’s fucking insane. You have to clench your jaw, your teeth grinding together to keep from screaming her name into the quiet night.

“You taste so good,” she murmurs against your skin. “Salty. Fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last, long lick, like she’s savoring the last bite of a perfect meal, before moving back up. You brace yourself for her to take your whole length again, for that all-consuming friction to return. But Yujin, your clever, cruel Yujin, has other plans.

Her mouth bypasses your shaft entirely. Her lips close only around the very tip of your cock, and then her tongue comes out to play.

It’s torture. It’s the most exquisite form of torture ever devised.

She licks you like a lollipop, slow, deliberate swirls of her tongue around the sensitive corona. The friction is targeted, precise, a million volts of pure electricity zeroing in on the most sensitive nerve endings you possess. You can feel the distinct, rough texture of her tongue, the soft, yielding pressure of her lips. She uses just the very tip of her own tongue to trace the opening of your urethra, and your whole body seizes, a guttural noise ripped from your chest as your hips buck off the bench.

“Like that? You like it when I do this?”

You can’t form words. You just nod dumbly, your head thumping against the brick wall behind you, your hands tightening their grip in her hair.

“Good,” she breathes, and her pace quickens. It’s a relentless, merciless assault on your senses. She sucks and licks and swirls, slobbering all over the head of your dick, her spit acting as a slick, hot lubricant as her lips slide back and forth over the flared ridge. Every now and then, she scrapes her teeth, just a little, a sharp, dangerous thrill that sends another wave of fire through your veins.

The pressure is building, a deep, coiling knot of heat low in your belly. It’s a slow burn, a tormenting climb that feels a thousand miles away from release, yet threatens to consume you at any second.

She pulls away, leaving you panting and aching, your dick slick with her spit and standing at painful attention. You’re a mess, completely undone, but one look at her tells you she’s just as far gone. Her face is flushed a deep red, her chest is heaving, and her dark eyes are glazed over with a thick, heavy coat of pure lust.

“Fuck,” she groans. “That made me so fucking horny. Just… watching you.” She pushes herself up with a fluid, feline grace, standing before you. She reaches down and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her black leather skirt. “Look,” she commands.

She lifts the skirt slowly, deliberately, revealing a pair of simple, white cotton panties. And right in the center, between her legs, is a dark, spreading wet spot that makes your half-hard cock jolt back to life. It’s not just a little damp; the fabric is soaked, clinging transparently to the swell of her mound and the shape of her pussy lips beneath. Her fingers drift down. She presses her fingertips against the wet fabric, right over her clit, and a shiver visibly racks her body. Her eyes flutter shut for a second.

“This,” she says. “This is what you did to me. Just by being on your knees. Feel how wet you made me.”

Before you can even respond, she lets the skirt drop and moves back to you. She straddles your lap again, settling her weight down, and this time, there’s no hesitation. You can feel the heat of her cunt through her wet panties. She grinds down once, a slow, deliberate circle, and a strangled noise escapes your throat.

With one hand, she reaches down between your bodies, hooking a finger into the side of her panties and pulling the soaked fabric aside. Oh, fuck. You’re about to feel her, the wet, naked heat of her slit pressing against the head of your cock. You instinctively push your hips up, desperate for the contact.

But she stops you. Her hand comes up to your chest, pressing you back against the bench.

“No. Not yet,” she orders, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “I want to hear you say it first.”

“Say what?” you ask.

“Everything,” she clarifies, leaning in close, her hot breath puffing against your lips. “I want you to tell me how fucking bad you’ve wanted this. Tell me how hot you think I am. I want to hear you say you’ve been dying to fuck me. Tell me. Now.”

Her eyes search yours, a flicker of something almost vulnerable beneath the lust. “I’ve wanted you since you were still with Wonyoung,” she confesses. “I used to watch you two together and just… think about being the one you were holding. Is that fucked up for me to say?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Fuck it. It’s the truth. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

Your hands come up to her vest, As your fingers work at the buttons, the words she demanded start pouring out of you, a torrent of filth you’ve held back for years.

Unbuttoned

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you,” you start. Her eyes immediately glaze over, her pupils dilating. “I think you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. I’ve thought about these tits,” you say, pushing the two sides of the vest open, exposing her perfect, braless breasts to the cool night air. Her nipples are hard, pebbled peaks, begging for your mouth. “I’ve thought about sucking on these nipples until you scream.”

A soft, desperate moan escapes her lips. She’s not just listening; she’s getting off on it, her whole body trembling on your lap.

“I’ve thought about bending you over every piece of furniture in my apartment,” you continue. “I’ve jerked off thinking about this ass,” you say, your hands sliding down to cup the full, heavy weight of it, squeezing hard. “I’ve imagined how fucking tight your pussy would feel wrapped around my cock. How wet you’d get for me.” You lean in, your lips brushing her ear. “I want to ruin you, Yujin. I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for a week.”

You pull back to look at her. She’s a complete wreck. Her face is flushed, her lips are parted, and her eyes are barely focused. She’s panting, grinding her wet, exposed slit against your thigh, chasing a friction that isn’t there yet.

“Is that what you wanted to know, cowgirl?” you ask.

She just nods, unable to speak, her eyes pleading with you.

“Yes,” she finally chokes out.

You grip her hips, guiding her, positioning her. She rises up just slightly, her wet cunt hovering directly over the head of your thick, waiting dick. And then, with a low, satisfied groan, she sits down.

The feeling is absolute heaven. She’s so fucking wet, her slick pussy lips parting easily as she slowly, deliberately, impales herself on you. She’s impossibly hot and tight, her inner walls clenching around you, gripping your cock in a perfect, suffocating embrace as she takes you inch by agonizing inch.

A sharp, loud hiss escapes through her teeth as your thick cockhead pushes past her pussy lips, and you have to bite down on your own tongue to keep from shouting. You feel every ridge, every fold of her cunt as she sinks down, her inner walls clenching and milking you, until you’re buried balls-deep inside her. You’re both completely still for a moment, chests heaving, just processing the overwhelming sensation of being finally, fully connected. Her eyes are wide, locked on yours.

“Oh my god,” she breathes out. “You’re… you’re so big. I can feel you all the way up inside me.”

Then, she moves.

It’s just a slow, tentative rock at first, a slight forward and back motion. A test. The feeling of her wet slit sliding up and down your shaft is so good it’s almost painful. A low, guttural groan is ripped from your chest, and her face breaks into a wide, breathless grin. The dimples are back, deeper than ever.

“Fuck,” she laughs, a giddy, breathless sound. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“On a bench,” you add. “At Gaeul’s party.”

“Gaeul is a goddamn hero,” she declares, and then she starts to really move.

She lifts her hips, pulling your cock almost all the way out of her slick cunt, the head of your dick rubbing against her clit on the way up, and then she slams herself back down, taking all of you in a single, greedy gulp.

“Ah! Fuck, Yujin!” your hips buck up off the bench to meet her thrust.

“You like that?” she moans, her eyes fluttering shut. “Like when I take it all?”

“Yes,” you pant, your hands gripping her hips, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her ass. “Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She finds a rhythm, a hard, steady pace that has her magnificent, heavy tits bouncing in the dim light. The sound is incredible. The wet, slapping sound of her pussy meeting your groin, a filthy, percussive beat that syncs up with the distant, muffled thud of the party music. It’s the best song you’ve ever heard. You just watch her, completely mesmerized. Her head is thrown back, her long, dark hair trailing down her back, her face a perfect mask of ecstatic pleasure. Her mouth is open, and a steady stream of soft, breathy moans escapes her lips with every downward thrust.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders, her face just inches from yours. “Fuck me,” she pants, her forehead slick with a thin sheen of sweat. “Don’t just sit there. Fuck me back.”

You start to move, matching her rhythm, thrusting up hard every time she comes down. It’s not just her riding you anymore; you’re fucking her, your hips slamming into her with a bruising force that makes her gasp.

“Yes! Like that!” she squeals. The force of one particularly hard thrust makes her let out a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a snort.

The ridiculous noise breaks the tension for a split second. A laugh bursts out of you.

“Did you just snort?” you ask, grinning like an idiot.

She glares at you, but there’s no heat in it. Her lips are quirked into a smile. “Shut up and fuck me, you asshole,” she laughs, and then she’s kissing you, a deep, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that tastes like her and spit and pure horniness.

Slowly, the pace becomes punishing. She’s riding you like she’s trying to break you, her hips a blur of motion. You can feel her pussy walls clenching and spasming around your cock, milking you, trying to pull every last drop of cum from your balls.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, sliding one hand from her hip down between her legs. Her own slickness coats your fingers as you search for her clit. You find the hard little nub hidden beneath her pussy lips and start rubbing, your thumb moving in firm, quick circles that match the frantic rhythm of your fucking.

Her reaction is instantaneous and explosive.

“HOLY FUCK!” she screams, her back arching so hard she almost comes off you. Her cunt clenches down on your dick like a vise, and her eyes roll back in her head. “RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP!”

You don’t. You keep fucking up into her, your thumb driving her completely insane. Her nails dig into your shoulders, but you barely feel the pain. All you can focus on is the sight of her coming completely undone on top of you, the feeling of her tight, wet pussy clenching around your cock, and the raw, filthy sounds she’s making. The pressure in your own balls is building, a hot, coiling snake of need that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

She’s right on the edge, her whole body trembling, her inner walls starting to flutter around you in the unmistakable prelude to her orgasm. You give her one more hard, deep thrust, your thumb pressing down hard on her clit.

“WAIT!” she screams, her body going rigid. She stops moving completely, her hands flying from your shoulders to grip your wrists, stilling your hand. “Wait… holy shit. Don’t. Don’t move.”

She throws her head back, panting, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering her entire body. She’s poised on the absolute precipice, the very peak of her orgasm, and she’s holding herself there, refusing to fall, her pussy clenched so tight around your dick you feel like you might just lose your mind.

She hangs there for a second, a beautiful, obscene statue of pure lust, her entire body clenched tight around your dick. You can feel the frantic, fluttering spasms of her pussy walls, her orgasm right there, a millimeter away from spilling over. But with a shuddering, heroic effort of will, she pulls back from the edge. A long, shaky breath escapes her lips.

“No,” she pants, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Not yet. Fuck… it’s too good. I don’t want it to be over yet.” She looks down at you. “We’re not done.”

And then she starts to move again.

The pace is just as relentless, but the quality has changed. It’s no longer a frantic chase; it’s a deep, punishing, claiming rhythm. She grinds her hips, sinking down onto your cock with a heavy, deliberate force that makes you groan, her pussy lips squeezing and milking you with every slow, powerful rotation. Your hands find their way to her ass again, but you’re not just holding on anymore. You’re mauling her. You dig your fingers into the heavy, soft flesh of her cheeks, kneading the muscle, pulling her down even harder onto your dick with every single thrust. You can feel the skin heating up under your palms, and you know you’re going to leave red, angry handprints all over her perfect ass.

“Fuck, yes,” she moans, thick and guttural as she feels your grip tighten. “Leave marks on me. I want to feel this tomorrow.”

You hook your hands under her ass cheeks, lifting her just slightly and then slamming her back down onto your cock with all your strength.

“Like that?” you grunt.

“YES!” she screams, the sound echoing in the quiet night.

It’s not enough. You need more. You need her closer. Gripping her hips, you haul her upper body down towards you. She collapses against your chest, her bare tits pressing into your collarbones. The sight of them is maddening. They’re perfect, full and round, her nipples still hard, pebbled peaks, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Without another thought, you lower your head and take one into your mouth.

The effect on her is instantaneous.

Her entire body jolts as if struck by lightning. A shocked, high-pitched squeal escapes her lips. “What are you— Oh! Oh, fuck! Yes!”

Her skin is salty from her sweat, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You suck hard, pulling the entire nipple and as much of the areola as you can into the heat of your mouth. You flick your tongue over the sensitive peak, and she just loses it. Her back arches violently, pushing her breast deeper into your mouth, and the rhythm of her riding becomes choppy, erratic, her pussy clenching spasmodically around your dick.

“Please,” she begs. “Oh my god, keep doing that. Suck it. Suck it harder.”

You obey, laving at her nipple like a man starved, occasionally scraping your teeth over the peak, sending fresh waves of shudders through her body. She’s completely gone, her head thrown back, a string of incoherent, whimpering moans falling from her lips as she fucks herself on your cock with a frantic, mindless abandon.

You’re lost in it, lost in the taste of her skin, the feeling of her tight cunt gripping your dick, the sound of her whimpers. You’re so focused that you don’t feel it until it’s too late. As another wave of pleasure from your mouth on her tit crashes through her, she lets out a low, animalistic growl and lunges down, her mouth finding the soft, sensitive spot on your neck where it meets your shoulder.

And then she bites you.

It’s not a playful nip. It’s a hard, possessive, claiming bite. Her teeth sink into your skin, and a sharp, white-hot sting of pain lances through you. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, mixed with the overwhelming pleasure of being buried inside her, is too much. A loud, ragged groan is torn from your throat. She holds on for a second longer, sucking at the spot, before finally releasing you.

She pulls her head back, her eyes feral, her lips slightly smeared with your blood. She looks down at the angry, red teeth marks blooming on your skin.

“Fuck,” you pant, your head spinning. “Yujin, what the hell was that?”

She just smiles, a wicked, triumphant curl of her lips. She leans in and licks the bite mark, her tongue a soothing, hot balm on the stinging skin.

“Mine,” she whispers against your neck. “Just making sure you remember who you belong to tonight.”

You grab her face with a rough palm, thumb dragging across her cheekbone, forcing her wild eyes to meet yours. Her lips are swollen, spit-slick, trembling with a curse that never makes it out before you crush your mouth against hers. The kiss is violent, punishing; your teeth scrape her lip, your tongue ravages, forcing her to submit even as she growls back into your mouth.

When you finally tear away, both of you gasping, your foreheads knock together, your breaths tangling. “Didn’t know you were so fucking possessive,” you rasp, lips brushing hers.

Her eyes glitter dark and sharp, a vicious triumph in her smirk. “I can be,” she purrs, dragging her nails over your chest until you hiss, “when I really, really want something.” The last word is a moan, and then she plants her hands on your shoulders and starts riding you again.

This time it’s not rhythm. It’s demolition. Her hips crash down on your cock with frantic desperation, every thrust an attempt to impale herself deeper, to grind her clit harder against you. Her tits bounce, her head thrown back, her throat bared, every noise she makes rawer, deeper, guttural. Each slap of flesh ricochets through the night air.

“F-fuck! Oh fuck, baby, I’m so close!” she sobs, hair whipping. “I can feel it—I’m right there, oh god!”

You seize her hips, meeting her thrust for thrust, fucking up into her with brutal precision. The bench beneath you creaks, ready to splinter. Your abs burn, your cock feels like it’s about to explode inside her slick, clenching heat. “That’s it,” you grunt, teeth bared, sweat dripping down your temple. “Ride me into the fucking ground. Let it go, Yujin. Cum all over my cock.”

Her moans pitch higher, broken, frantic. “I can’t— I can’t take it anymore! Fuck, it’s too much! I’m gonna— shit, I’m gonna scream so loud!”

You yank her down flush against your chest, your mouth by her ear. “Then scream, baby. Nobody’ll hear you over the music. Scream for me.”

Her eyes flutter back, only the whites showing, and her whole spine bows like a bowstring snapping. Her hands claw into your shoulders so deep it stings, and then it rips out of her - a scream that sounds like it’s being torn from her soul. Not pretty, not polite, but raw, guttural, ragged.

Her pussy clamps down, not a squeeze but a violent seizure, gripping you like a fist, milking you in brutal spasms. Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, her nails gouge your back, her entire body convulses like she’s being electrocuted. She buries her face in the crook of your bitten neck, sobbing your name into your skin, her hot breath and spit soaking you.

Her cunt is chaos around you, fluttering and choking your cock, dragging you toward the edge with every pulse. It feels like lightning storms detonating along your length, wave after wave, her body wringing you dry without mercy.

You can’t help the way your voice tears out, low and rough. “Jesus Christ, Yujin— your pussy’s fucking strangling me. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep milking me like this.”

She’s not even coherent, just babbling against your throat, words broken between sobs and screams. “Ohhh god, it’s so good— it’s too much— I’m shaking— I can’t stop, I can’t stop! Baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

Your hands clamp her ass, nails biting into her flesh as you ride out the storm with her, holding her against you while she thrashes and shudders. Her legs spasm around your waist, her whole body trembling like she might fall apart if you let go. Each clench is a dagger of bliss stabbing up your spine, and it takes everything in you not to lose it inside her.

She finally collapses against you, trembling, gasping raggedly, her chest heaving as she twitches through the aftershocks. Her pussy still flutters around your cock, weak little aftershocks that milk you slowly, almost tender now. Her voice is a wreck, broken into hoarse whispers against your ear. “I screamed so fucking loud… oh my god… I couldn’t stop…”

You kiss her sweat-slick cheek, your own jaw clenched from holding back. “That’s exactly what I wanted, baby.”

Her answering moan is a shudder, a wrecked little sound of surrender, as she slumps against you, still impaled, still clinging like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

You lean in and kiss her, a soft, gentle press of your lips to hers. A kiss to calm her down, to bring her back to earth after you so thoroughly launched her into orbit. She melts into it, a soft, boneless weight in your lap, completely and totally spent. The only sounds are her soft, hitching breaths as she comes down from the peak, the distant, muffled pulse of the party, and the frantic thumping of your own heart. You’re still buried deep inside her, your cooling cock nestled in the hot, twitching aftermath of her cunt

After a long, comfortable silence, she lets out a deep, contented sigh, her breath warm against the bite mark on your neck.

“It’s true, you know,” she murmurs.

You smooth her hair back from her forehead. “What’s true?”

“What they say,” she clarifies, shifting just enough to look up at you. “That having sex with someone you actually love… it’s a million times more intense. It’s not even in the same league.”

For a second, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, at this incredible, impossible girl who just came apart on your dick and is now handing you her heart.

“You love me?” you finally manage to ask.

A soft smile touches her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Of course I do, you idiot.” She settles her head back into the crook of your neck. “We’ve been through everything together. You’ve seen me at my absolute worst, and you’ve been there for my best. You’re my person.” She pauses, and you can feel her swallow against your skin. “Yeah. I love you.”

The simple, honest declaration hits you harder than her orgasm did. A giddy, bubbling warmth spreads through your chest, so potent it almost feels like you could float away. A disbelieving laugh escapes you.

“I didn’t know the tough-as-nails cowgirl was such a sentimentalist,” you tease.

She lifts her head and playfully smacks your chest. “Oh, shut up.”

You just laugh, pulling her in for another deep, lingering kiss.

“I love you too,” you say against her lips, the words you’ve been running from for months finally tasting like freedom. “So much.”

She pulls back, her expression turning serious again, her gaze searching yours. “So… are you going to stop running away now?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, without a single shred of doubt. “I think I can now.” You look away for a second, the shame of your recent behavior washing over you. “I’m sorry, Yujin. For being such a fucking coward. For hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I get it.” She holds your gaze for a moment, and then a slow, wicked smirk begins to spread across her face. “But… there is one way you can make it up to me. A way I might be able to accept your apology.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Her smirk widens, and the look in her eyes is pure filth. “You can cum for me,” she states. “In my mouth. I want to swallow it all.”

“Wow,” you manage. “Okay. The romantic moment ended a little quicker than I expected.”

She just grins, a feral, beautiful thing. She grinds her hips down onto you, and you can feel your cock, which had started to soften, immediately surge back to full, throbbing hardness inside her slick cunt.

“What can I say?” she purrs. “It’s hard to stay in a sentimental mood when I can feel your giant, hard cock pulsing inside my pussy. It’s… distracting.”

And with that, the tender moment is officially over. She pushes herself up, a lithe, powerful motion, and the sound of your dick pulling out of her wet cunt is a loud, obscene slap in the quiet night. She slides off your lap and, without a single shred of hesitation, drops back down to her knees in front of you.

She stays there, looking up at you, her lips parted, her eyes hungry. The message is clear.

You push yourself off the bench and stand before her, your jeans and boxers still pooled around your ankles. You are the victor and the supplicant all at once. She holds all the power, even from her knees. You look down at her, at your best friend, the girl you love, kneeling in the dirt, waiting patiently to take your cum.

Her tongue, pink and wet, darts out and slowly, reverently, licks a stripe from the base of your shaft all the way to the piss-slit. It’s a slow, deliberate taste test, and a shiver racks your entire body.

“Mmm,” she hums, her warm breath ghosting over your sensitive cockhead. “I can taste myself on you. You’re covered in me.” She looks up at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

And then her mouth is on you again.

This time, it’s different. It’s not an exploration, and it’s not a gentle seduction. This is a mission. She takes you into her mouth with a practiced, greedy efficiency, her lips creating a perfect, wet seal. She’s not just sucking; she’s milking you. Her throat opens, and she takes you deeper than before, her hand wrapped firmly around your base, her other hand cupping your aching, heavy balls. She’s a fucking professional, her head bobbing in a relentless, punishing rhythm, her suction strong enough to pull your soul right out through the tip of your dick.

Every single nerve ending in your body is shrieking like live wires burning under your skin. Heat coils viciously low in your gut, pressure swelling, pulsing, dragging you toward an explosion you can’t hold back. Your thighs tremble, knees nearly buckling, hips jerking forward on their own, desperate for friction, desperate for release. Your cock twitches in her mouth, thick veins bulging, the taste of your own pre slicking her throat while your chest heaves with ragged, guttural groans. You’re right there, right fucking there, seconds away from detonating down her throat.

And she knows. She feels it the instant your muscles seize, the instant your jaw clenches and a broken “fuck!” rips out of you. She pulls back at the last second, your cock slipping free of her lips with a wet sound, a string of saliva dangling between her spit-slick lips and your swollen tip. You’re left dangling, twitching, aching, every drop of self-control about to snap.

Her voice is breathless, ruined with hunger. “Not yet,” she pants, licking the mess from her lips, smearing it across her cheek as her hand wraps tighter around your shaft. Her fist pumps you slow at first, then faster, her thumb grinding across your leaking slit. “God, look at you… your cock’s throbbing in my hand. You’re about to cum, aren’t you? You want to blow your load all over me.”

Your eyes roll back, your head tipping, your throat choking on useless gasps. You can’t form a word. All you can do is moan and nod, pre spilling over her knuckles in heavy drops.

“Ohhh, fuck, baby,” she moans like she’s the one unraveling, staring at your cock with worship burning in her eyes. “You’re dripping for me. You’re so fucking hard. You’ve been holding it in so long… I want it so bad. I want you to flood my throat, drown me in your cum.” Her grip tightens, wrist snapping in brutal strokes that make your knees knock. “Please, please cum for me. I’ve been your good girl. I’ve been waiting, aching, dreaming of you using me like this.” She squeezes at the base, smears pre down your shaft, jerking you harder. “Fill me, baby. Don’t you wanna see me choke on it? Don’t you wanna watch me swallow every drop?”

Your chest heaves, lungs tearing at the air. She looks up, lips glistening, eyes wide, pleading. “Cum for me. Cum for your girlfriend.”

That word slams through your skull like a hammer. Girlfriend. Claim, chain, filthy permission; every defense in your body shatters in an instant.

“I’m gonna— Fuck, Yujin!” you roar as your whole body bows like a bowstring snapping. White-hot lightning explodes from your core, your cock swelling to the breaking point.

Instinct takes you. Your hand clamps over hers, stilling her frantic strokes, and you grip yourself with your own slick fist. You angle your cock at her face, her open mouth, lips stretched into a perfect O, tongue out, begging. Her eyes glitter, her chest rising and falling.

And then it erupts.

A thick, blistering rope of cum launches straight into her throat, forcing her to swallow before she even breathes. You thrust hard, stuffing the head between her lips, pumping jet after jet of molten seed down her gullet. Her eyes roll back, her throat bulges with every obscene gulp as you snarl and grind forward, your cock throbbing uncontrollably. More, and more, and more - hot floods pouring out of you until her mouth overflows, leaking down her chin. You’re groaning, growling, animalistic noises clawing out of your chest as your orgasm drags on, hips bucking like you’re trying to bury yourself in her forever. Your balls clench, squeeze, dump everything, leaving nothing behind.

When at last the spasms die, your body collapses, trembling and hollowed. Your cock slips from her lips with a sticky trail, still drooling cum onto her face. She sits back on her heels, throat painted, mouth filled, chin dripping, her chest heaving with triumphant moans. She looks at the mess coating her, then back at you with a wild, blissful grin.

Without breaking that stare, she closes her lips, cheeks bulging, and swallows - one long, obscene gulp. Her throat works, her lips part again, showing her mouth empty. A string of cum slides from her bottom lip to her chin, dripping onto her tits.

Her grin splits wider, smug and radiant. She wipes her chin with two fingers, sucks them clean. “Mmmh,” she moans, licking her lips, “told you I was hungry.”

Before you can even process a response, she leans forward again. She takes the head of your cock back into her mouth, her tongue expertly swirling around the tip, licking away the last few drops of your release, cleaning you with a reverence that is both humbling and incredibly hot. The feeling of her warm mouth on your now hyper-sensitive dick is so good it makes you moan, a low, exhausted sound.

She pulls back, looking up at you from her knees, her job complete.

“Fuck, Yujin,” you breathe out. “You’re going to kill me.”

She just winks, a drop of your cum still glistening at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry, baby,” she purrs. “I know how to bring you back to life.”

You look down at the beautiful, completely insane girl kneeling in front of you, her lips still shiny, her eyes sparkling with a triumphant, filthy confidence.

“You’re absolutely out of your mind,” you say.

She just winks up at you. “And you love it.”

It’s not a question. You just shake your head, still smiling, and reach down to offer her a hand. She takes it, and you pull her to her feet. The spell is broken, and the reality of your situation (half-naked on a patio during a house party) comes flooding back.

Yujin immediately gets to work, pulling her leather skirt back down into place, adjusting the unbuttoned vest over her breasts, and smoothing out her panties from where she’d pushed them aside. “Shit, how long were we out here?”

You’re doing the same, fumbling with your own clothes, pulling up your boxers and jeans with clumsy, post-orgasmic fingers. “I have no idea. An hour? A decade?” You finally manage to get your button and zipper sorted. “Hey, stay here for a sec.” You gesture vaguely towards her mouth. “There’s a little… uh… you’ve got something…”

She touches her chin, her fingers coming away with a faint, sticky residue. She doesn’t even blush. She just laughs.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a clean-up on aisle three,” she quips, before grabbing her cowboy hat from the bench and settling it back on her head.

“I’ll be right back,” you promise. “I’ll get some, uh…”

“Tissues would be fine,” Yujin says, her smile warm and genuine as she buttons her vest. “Thanks.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Such a gentleman.”

The irony makes you snort with laughter. You give her one last, quick kiss and then turn, plunging back into the belly of the beast. The transition from the quiet, intimate bubble of the patio to the full-blown chaos of the party is jarring. The music is louder, the air is hotter, and the sheer number of people seems to have doubled. You navigate the crowd with a new sense of purpose, a goofy, invincible grin plastered on your face.

You make a beeline for the stairs, heading back to the one place you know you can find supplies: Gaeul’s room. You slip inside, the relative quiet a welcome relief. The room is exactly as you left it. You spot a box of tissues on her nightstand and grab a massive, unapologetic handful, hoping she won’t mind the donation to a worthy cause. Mission accomplished. You turn to leave, your mind already back on the patio with Yujin.

You pull the door open and walk straight into a solid object that says, “Oof.”

It’s Gaeul. Of course it is.

“Well, well, well,” she says, taking a step back and crossing her arms. A smug, all-knowing smile is plastered on her face. Her celestial witch costume is a little disheveled now, but her eyes are sharp. “Look who decided to stick around. I was about to file a missing persons report.”

You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, but you try to play it cool. “Hey. Yeah, sorry. Got held up.”

“‘Held up,’ huh?” Her smile widens. “So I’m guessing my little computer intervention was a success?”

“You could say that,” you admit, a genuine smile breaking through your feigned composure. “We, uh… we talked. Sorted some stuff out.” You can’t help the happiness that bleeds into your statement.

Gaeul’s expression, she lets out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, thank god. Finally.” She uncrosses her arms. “I was getting so tired of the two of you circling each other like depressed, horny sharks. So, where is she? She’s been MIA for a while now, too.”

“She’s out back. On the patio,” you say, gesturing vaguely with your head.

Gaeul nods, satisfied. Her plan worked. She’s a genius. A master of puppets. Her eyes drift over you, and her smile begins to falter.

“Dude, you’re like… really sweaty,” she observes, her brow furrowing slightly. “Did you run a marathon out there?”

“Uh…” You rub the back of your neck. “It was an intense conversation?”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Intense conversation...” Her gaze flicks up and down, lingering on the hickey blazing red on your throat. “That is not a conversation. That is a fucking vampire attack.”

“Okay, relax—”

“No, don’t tell me to relax,” she snaps, stepping closer. “You’re sweaty, your hoodie looks like you wrestled a bear, and—” She suddenly freezes. Her eyes drop to your hand. To the massive wad of tissues you’re clutching. “…What the fuck are those for?”

You glance down at them like you’ve never seen paper products before. “…uh.”

Her head tilts. “Don’t you dare.”

“…Cleaning?”

Her face contorts, horror dawning. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Her voice cracks into a shriek. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t! Rule number one — rule NUMBER ONE — no sex at my parents’ house!”

“Technically,” you say, shrugging like an asshole, “it was the patio. And remember: it's all your fault for bringing me here. You set the ambush, now deal with the consequences."

Her jaw drops. Her hands fling into her hair. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! The ambush was for you to talk! TALK. Like words. With your mouths. Not—” she waves her hands frantically—“whatever Pornhub-tier bullshit you pulled on my patio! This is not a P. Diddy party!”

You laugh. “We were discreet.”

She explodes. “DISCREET?! Look at your neck! That’s not discreet, that’s a fucking pepperoni pizza special! What are you, a middle schooler?!”

You smirk. “What can I say? Yujin’s talented.”

She lets out a strangled growl. “Don’t. Don’t even say her name right now. I cannot handle it. Did you at least—” she stops herself, groaning—“god, I don’t even want to ask this, but did you at least not… contaminate the lawn? My dad worships that grass. He trims it with scissors.”

You wave a hand, cool as hell. “Relax. Didn’t cum on the grass.”

Relief floods her face. Shoulders slump. “Thank god.”

“I came in Yujin’s mouth.”

“WHYYYY would you SAY that?! That is not information I need! That is a high-definition IMAX nightmare burned into my brain until the day I die! I can feel my childhood memories being overwritten with this bullshit!”

She paces, muttering at full volume. “My patio chairs… the handmade wooden bench… they’re innocent… they didn’t deserve this… I hate you. I hate you.”

“C’mon, don’t be dramatic.”

She whirls on you, stabbing a finger into your chest. “Dramatic? Dramatic?! You two turned my patio into a fucking porno set! If this was MTV Cribs, you’d be pointing at the backyard going, ‘yeah, this is where the magic happens.’ I should be charging rent!”

You grin, backing away slowly, tissues still clutched like contraband. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna head back—”

“Yes, go!” she snaps, pointing down the hall like she’s banishing you. “Go to her. Make out. Hold hands. Write sonnets. Just STOP defiling my house like it’s a set for Love Island.”

You salute her. “Not making promises.”

She screams after you, voice cracking through the hall: “IF YOU FUCK ON MY POOL TABLE I’M CUTTING YOU OUT OF MY LIFE!”

You walk back out onto the patio. Yujin is leaning against the railing, her back to you, looking out at the dark lawn. She looks serene, peaceful, a stark contrast to the beautiful, screaming mess she was just a few minutes ago.

She must hear your footsteps, because she turns, a soft, tired smile on her face.

“Took you long enough,” she teases gently. “I was starting to think you’d run away again.”

“Never again,” you promise. You close the distance between you and hold out the tissues. “Here. For the, uh… clean-up.”

She takes them with a grateful nod. You take one yourself and gently cup her chin, tilting her face up. With a tenderness that feels foreign and yet perfectly natural, you carefully wipe away the last traces of your orgasm from the corner of her lips and her chin

When you’re done, she takes the used tissue and balls it up with her own. “So,” she begins. “What time is it, anyway?”

You pull out your phone, the bright screen temporarily blinding you. “Just hit midnight.”

“Midnight Cowgirl,” she muses with a soft chuckle. “Starring An Yujin.” She lets out a long sigh. “Well, I guess a new day, a new… whatever this is.”

“Yeah,” you agree, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “I, uh… I probably really have to go. I have that early shift tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. There’s no disappointment in her expression, just an easy acceptance. “But before you go.” She takes a step closer. “You need to do something.”

“I do?”

“Mhm,” she confirms. “You need to officially ask me out. Because as of right now, you’re my boyfriend, and I’m your girlfriend. And I think that deserves a proper invitation, don’t you?”

You stare at her, completely dumbfounded for a second. Your girlfriend. She just says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, yeah. An official invitation.”

You take a dramatic step back, clear your throat, and, in a moment of sheer, dorky impulse, you start to drop down onto one knee.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” she yelps, lunging forward and grabbing your arm to stop you. “Get up, you idiot! You’re not proposing!”

You let her pull you back to your feet, laughing. “Sorry. My brain isn’t exactly working at full capacity right now. I’m new to this.”

“Clearly,” she says, but she’s smiling, her dimples on full display. “Just… ask me like a normal person.”

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. You take both of her hands in yours. “Okay. Right. Normal.” You look into her eyes, and all the jokes and teasing just melt away. “An Yujin. Would you, uh… would you want to be my girlfriend? If you’re, you know, interested in that. Or something.”

“Or something? Real smooth.” She squeezes your hands. “Of course I will, you moron.”

And then she’s kissing you again. When she pulls away, you’re reluctant to let her go. “Do you… do you want a ride home?”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m gonna stay for a little while longer. Find Gaeul and apologize for, well, everything.” She smirks. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

“And try to get some rest,” she adds, her expression turning sincere.

You let out a short, sharp laugh. “Rest? Yujin, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep for a week after tonight.”

Her only response is an excited, happy little giggle.

“Are you really okay, though?” she asks. “With all this?”

You nod, but a flicker of the old fear, the old insecurity, resurfaces. “Yeah. I am.” You look down at your hands, still holding hers. “I’m just… I’m going to try really, really hard not to mess this up. I don’t want to go wrong with you.”

She reaches up with her free hand and gently touches your cheek, making you look at her. “Hey. We’re going to be great,” she says. “And listen to me. If you ever feel scared or weird or anything, you just have to talk to me. The best friend part of us doesn’t just disappear because you’re my boyfriend now. That’s our foundation. Okay?”

“Okay,” you say. You lean in and kiss her one more time, pouring all the gratitude and relief and overwhelming love you feel into it. “I love you.” She smiles against your lips. You finally let go of her hands. “Okay. I’m really going this time.” You say your goodbyes and turn, taking a step toward the hallway, toward the real world.

You get about five feet before you feel it. That familiar, coarse weight snaking around your chest, cinching tight and pulling you to an abrupt halt. The rope.

You let out a long, theatrical sigh as she reels you back in. You turn to find her beaming, the coiled end of the lasso in her hand. She pulls you right up against her and then wraps her arms around you from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder. She leans around and steals one last, deep kiss.

You just murmur against her mouth. “You really liked that rope trick, huh?”

“It’s really fun,” she says, full of mischief. She finally unwinds the rope and lets you go.

“I hope you’re planning on retiring that thing after tonight,” you say.

She just shrugs, a wicked glint in her eyes as she starts coiling the rope with that practiced efficiency. “I don’t know. I’m already having some pretty creative ideas.” She pauses, her gaze flicking down your body and then back up to your eyes. “They mostly involve this rope, a bed, and you.”

“Okay… Well, In that case, I wouldn’t mind.”

You start backing away for real this time, not wanting to turn your back on her. “Goodnight, cowgirl.”

She leans against the doorframe, the coiled rope hanging from her hip, every inch the midnight hero of this story. “There goes my outlaw,” she calls out. “Running away with my heart.”

You just smile, your own heart so full you think it might burst.

“Don’t worry,” you call back, just before you disappear into the chaos of the party. “I’ll take good care of it.”

[devilhuntingslayer]

Extension

IVE Yujin x M Reader

Fan fiction, Smut A/N: Happy Yujin day! —

“What was that? Speak up louder please. I didn’t quite catch what you said.” “I said I’m sorry Ms. Ahn, we’re not going to make the deadline. We need more time.” 

Silence befalls over the meeting room. None of your team members dared to speak. The only sound was that of the squeaky swivel chair on the other end of the table in front of you. It slowly turned around to reveal your direct boss, Ahn Yujin. She gives you and your team a cold poker face stare before she asks again. “So you’re saying you need an extension?” “Yes.” Her face doesn’t change. She continues to stare daggers at you. You could feel the heartbeats of your team members going 100 kilometers an hour, but strangely enough yours remained calm. That is until she suddenly points to you. “You. Stay. Everyone else, out. Go home.” Her voice was stern, you could feel that she knew she had all the authority in the situation right now. She knew you were a toy in the palm of her hands.

The rest of your team starts to file out the door as you stand your ground. Your eyes never leave Yujin’s, that is until you feel a hand brush against yours behind your back. You look over your shoulder and make eye contact with her, Wonyoung. You could see tears start to form in her eyes, guilty that she’s leaving you alone to atone for her mistakes. The biggest one being done at that moment, letting Yujin know about the two of you. Even if the interaction was only a split-second, Yujin catches on. When the door was shut, only you and Yujin were left in the meeting room. No one can see what’s going on inside, nor can they hear. Yujin starts to stand up and walk towards you, which now causes your heart to race a little faster.

“So you need an extension. I thought you said you could get the project done in two weeks?” “We had some… complications.” “Complications, do you think our clients would care about complications?” “We’re not asking for much, just another week.” “Is she one of the complications you were talking about?” She went back to asking, ignoring your plea. “Yujin—” “Yujin? First you make us look bad to our clients, now you’re dropping formalities? Are you forgetting that we’re in the office?”

“It’s not Wonyoung’s fault.” You ignore her trying to correct you. “You’re right. It’s not.” She stops in front of you before leaning against the table. “It’s the team leader’s fault for not being able to properly manage his team members. It’s the team leader’s fault for not being able to separate personal feelings from professional obligations. It’s not Wonyoung’s fault. It’s your’s.” She says as she shoves her finger into your chest.

“So now, because of your inability to remain professional, you not only tarnished our image for our clients, but are also shamelessly asking for an extension to fix your problems." Yujin summarizes the whole ordeal, while you’re forced to stand there unable to argue for you or your team’s sake. 

“Maybe I should just fire her. Nip the problem at the bud to stop it from growing any bigger.” “Yujin—” “Or maybe I should fire you. Messing up in front of our clients, insubordination, work place fraternization. All perfectly viable grounds for termination.” She lists it all down in a sing-song tune, clearly mocking you.

You’re unable to reply. Yujin was right. All valid points going against you. At this point, you were ready to take the bullet. Wonyoung– no, the team was your responsibility. All their mistakes were a reflection of your inability to handle them.

“You know what? I’m feeling generous today.” Yujin’s sudden declaration catches you off guard. “I’ll talk to the clients and get an extension.” You feel a heavy weight get lifted off your chest. You start to bow and thank her. “Thank you Ms. Ahn. I–” “Oh I wouldn’t thank me just yet.” she stops you from talking. “I said I’d get the extension, but I didn’t say I’d give it to you so easily.” She continues as she sits on the table. “If you want that extension, you’re going to have to earn it.” She spreads her legs, showing off her exposed pussy.

In hindsight, being under your ex (heh) was always bound to become problematic. It didn’t help that she would still pull you into the dark corners of the office to fuck (even after you’ve broken up). It also didn’t help that you’ve ended up falling for one of your own subordinates too, who just happens to be you and Yujin’s best friend. Calling this whole fiasco messy would be an understatement. It’s wrong. Fucked up on so many different levels. Yet somehow, it still feels so fucking right.

Muscle memory kicks in when you see Yujin’s exposed cunt. Your mind goes blank. In a matter of seconds, you’re on your knees in front of her and the table. Your hands were gripping her thighs, keeping them open. Your mouth and tongue find the familiar place of her pussy, kissing the surrounding areas and licking her folds like they were ice cream. Your lips brush against her inflamed clit before you start sucking and licking it. Your movements were robotic, nearly trance-like. You felt like the winter soldier. Activated, not by words, but by the sight of the exposed pussy of your ex, who was also your boss. “God, right there! Just like that. Just like that!” Yujin didn’t have to say it. You’ve done this countless times that you already know which spots do what. Focusing on her clit gets her swearing like a sailor, her hands digging into your hair and pushing you deeper. Licking and nibbling on her outer lips has her loosen up, gets her wetter. She melts with your touch, soft whimpers and sighs escaping her mouth, relaxing her body in the waves of euphoria that your mouth was giving her. When you finally go in and explore her inner walls, she tenses up again. Her body curls in half, her fingers digging deeper into your skull. Her thighs snap around your head, constricting your movement— forcing you to continue what you’re doing. And as much as your brain and heart were telling you to stop, your body decided for itself to follow your boss’s orders.

It didn’t take long for Yujin to reach her peak. Again, you already knew your way around her. All it took was focusing on her inner walls before she unraveled at the touch of your tongue. You could feel her walls contract around your tongue. Her body starts bucking against your face, her lower lips grinding against your mouth. She lets out the loudest scream you’ve ever heard from her followed by a series of expletives and moans. It may have taken a few months, but you finally got the answer as to why she put so much money into making the meeting room soundproof. She didn’t want anyone else hearing the symphony of her orgasms. You continue licking, mouth wide open, trying to catch the dribbles of her nectar being released from her folds. 

Yujin rides out her climax while you’re left to be a toy to her whims. Her hands continue to push you deeper into her core. Her thighs squeeze you in place, stopping you from leaving. Her body continues to rock against your face, grinding your mouth and tongue deeper into her folds, prolonging her orgasm. When she finally lets up, the arch in her back dissipates as she lies down flat on the meeting table. Her chest rising and falling along with her heavy pants. Her hands and thighs finally let go of your head, allowing you to finally breathe after what felt like an hour. Your mouth and the surrounding areas were glistening with Yujin’s juices, evidence of the pleasure that you managed to give her.

As you slowly rise up to your feet, you’re greeted with the view of Yujin sprawled across the table. Her chest is still swelling with every breath. Her thigh high stockings soaked with the rest of her juices that you failed to capture with your tongue and mouth. For this moment, this exact split second, you thought you finally had the upper hand. You thought you finally had power over your ex. 

Well, you’re a fool to think that.

Even while basking from the throes of her pleasure, Yujin suddenly sits up. She grips your tie hard, still at full strength like you didn’t just tire her out, and pulls you in for a deep kiss. At first, you desperately try to keep your mouth closed. Her tongue laps at your mouth and surrounding areas, tasting herself and licking up the remains of her juices. Soon enough, she breaks your sealed mouth and pushes in. Your brain tells you it’s inappropriate. Your heart tells you it’s wrong. Both try to get you to pull away and stop. But your body? It tells you to continue. It makes you continue. You melt into the kiss, mouth fully welcoming her advances. Tongue dancing along with hers. Your hands gravitate towards her waist. Whatever semblance of control you thought you had was gone. At that moment, you’re her’s. And she knows it. 

Yujin felt your guards break down, and she enjoyed bringing the sledgehammer that did the job. Her mouth curls into a sly smile while you’re still kissing, her grip on your tie still firmly pulling you towards her. After a few minutes, she finally relents. She pulls away just slightly, barely a centimeter of space between your faces. You feel each other’s hot breaths escaping your mouths, crashing against your sweaty skin. At that moment, neither of you dared to move. Neither of you dared to speak. Silence grew in the meeting room, save for your labored breaths. It’s broken by Yujin, but only barely. She whispers against your mouth: “Tell me that you missed me.”

At first you gave her a confused look. You were about to ask to confirm, but she didn't let you. “Tell me that you missed me. Tell me that you missed my taste. That you missed the feeling of my pussy. The feeling of my soft lips on yours while you badly want them wrapped around your throbbing cock. The way I have complete control over you. Tell me that you missed me.”

That has to be your line right? The one you absolutely do not cross? Your heart and mind are already sounding the alarms. Sirens are going off in your head. They’re telling you to stop. Hell, they’re telling you to run. Yet, all these warnings fall on deaf ears as your mouth starts vocalizing on its own.

“I fucking missed you.”

Fuck. You’re fucked. Absolutely fucked. You’re also about to fuck, but again. You’re fucked.

Yujin’s smile grows wider when she hears the words escape your mouth. Her pearly whites finally gracing your sight. The sentence rolls off of your tongue so easily that it scares you. Did you actually mean it? Or are you just horny? Either way, Yujin gets her confirmation. You’re putty in her hands. Her own little plaything. And now? She wants to play.

She pushes you from the table, making you land on one of the surrounding seats. In a matter of moments, Yujin was kneeling on the floor, in front of you. A complete reversal of the earlier situation. You’re not sure if she shreds your pants with her black nails or just quickly undoes them, but somehow you find your lower area exposed to her. She pulls down your boxers, your raging hard on springing free. Her eyes light up, fire burning behind her pupils. The lioness found her prey, and now she wants to feast.

There was no point in foreplay. There was no point in teasing. Yujin knew what she wanted, what she’s been missing for the past few months. Now that it’s right in front of her, she doesn’t hesitate. She engulfs the entirety of your length in one motion. Her throat contracting around your member with ease. Others would be surprised with how she was able to do it without any problems, but not you. You’ve seen her learn how to do it. Taking you inch by inch, lower and lower until the first time her nose brushes against your stomach. You remember her barely lasting half a second with your entire length down her throat to it becoming a natural occurrence to her. She wouldn’t be satisfied with a hook up if you didn’t shoot a load directly into her throat.

Your head falls back in pure bliss from Yujin’s mouth. Your eyes tightly shut, letting the sensations flow through you. How tight her mouth is. The wetness surrounding you. The warmth that envelops you. You’re lost in pure euphoria when you suddenly feel your tie constricting around your neck. Your eyes snap open and your head is pulled back up. Your eyes meet hers, staring daggers straight into your soul. Even with the foreign object down her throat, she maintains eye contact with you. Ever so slowly, she starts pulling her head back up along your length. Every inch revealed is left with a glistening coat of her spit. She continues traveling up, freeing more of your dick from her throat. After an excruciatingly long minute of her teasingly letting your dick go, she stops and leaves the tip just on her lips. She starts kissing it, going around the mushroom tip and even kissing the underside. At this point, you’re a wreck. On the verge of breaking down. You shudder every time her lips make contact with your dick. You’re breathing heavily, gripping the armrests of the chair so hard that you almost break them. You’re doing your best to delay the inevitable, and she notices. All the little signs you try to hide from her, she notices them. Even with her lips still on your mushroom tip, they curve into a sinful smile.

Without any warning, without any hesitation, Yujin suddenly takes you entirely again. This time, she doesn’t pause. She starts relentlessly bobbing her head up and down, repeatedly taking the entirety of your dick into her mouth, making your tip hit the back of her throat again and again and again. The feeling from Yujin’s attack was indescribable. The sensations were making you lose your mind. The feeling of her warm, tight, and wet mouth repeatedly going up and down your member has you seeing stars. You grip the armrests even tighter, fighting off the temptation of grabbing her head. You don’t dare do that again. She has control, and she always will.

Even when giving her throat a rest, the rest of Yujin’s mouth doesn’t remain idle. When she releases you (making you think you’d have a few moments of respite), her tongue immediately takes action by licking your shaft up and down. She drags her tongue along the underside of cock, from the base to the tip where she swirls it around your head. She gives your balls some love as well, licking and darting her tongue around your most sensitive parts. Her hand wraps around you, continuing pumping you stiff. Soon enough, she goes back to sucking you off, but now alternates with licking you when she wants some rest. By now, your dick– no, your whole crotch has become a slobbery mess from Yujin’s actions, glistening in the office light with her spit. 

You were mistaken earlier, thinking that she wasn’t going to tease you. Because right now she is. Not in a slow and sensual way. No, Yujin was aggressively and repeatedly bringing you close to the edge before denying you of your release. She would take note of all of your reactions, those that she had already memorized from your time before, knowing when the right time was to stop. Knowing how to prolong your agony. You don’t know how long it’s been since she first started sucking you off, but it has been hell in heaven. You don’t know how you’ve managed to last this long, how she managed to control you this well. You’ve lost count how many times you were close to going off, but the impending feeling finally hits. The burn in your gut became unbearable, signalling the point of no return. You have no idea if Yujin knows, but you decide to warn her anyway.

“Yujin– FUCK! YUJIN I’M GONNA—” You don’t get to finish your thought. Instead, Yujin takes you entirely, again. Makes you go deeper than you’ve ever gone. When you feel your tip hit the back of her throat, you become undone. You lose all sense of yourself as you explode, stream after stream of cum shooting into Yujin’s waiting throat. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch from your dick spasming inside her mouth. Instead, she stays still, letting the warmth of her mouth and the movements of her tongue prolong your orgasm. Soon, she starts bobbing her head again, agonizingly slow as she milks the rest of your cum out of you. You’re left as a groaning, moaning wreck. A series of expletives and curses escapes your mouth before devolving into incoherent mumbles. You let go of the arm rests, hands and arms flaccid to your sides. Your head hangs back as the entirety of your body is washed over by a mix of both pleasure and pain. 

When you feel yourself start to calm down, Yujin releases you with a pop. She swallowed most of your release, but there was still enough that pooled in her mouth. She pulls on your tie again, forcing you to look at your cum like it was a prize she won at the arcade. She uses her finger to bring back some drops that spilled back into her mouth, before she swallows your load. With one big gulp, her mouth was clean of your cum. She gives your length a parting gift, her tongue darting at the tip, lapping up the remnants of your release that were still on your shaft. She licks her fingers for the remains before her mouth forms another bright smile. At this point, you thought she’s done. You knew you were done, empty, tired, etc. but you at least thought that she already had her fill. 

Boy, were you wrong. Yujin’s big, mischievous smile never leaves her face as she rises to her feet and proceeds with the next of her agenda. She suddenly grabs your softening dick and starts aggressively stroking you back to full mast. You were too spent to try and physically stop her, so you resort to bargaining for some form of relief.

“Yujin… please… still… sensitive…” You weakly try to reason.

“Oh, did you think we were done?” she asks mockingly. “We’re not finished. In fact, we’ve barely even started.”

Yujin mounts you, straddles your lap while still grabbing your dick. She unceremoniously guides you into her pussy, easily entering her with the help of her own juices along with her saliva still coating your cock. No hesitation on her end. Didn’t even flinch. Took the entirety of your length into her cunt like it was second nature. Because, maybe it was. “Fuck me, I missed this.” Yujin manages to blurt out as she takes a quick moment to get reacquainted with your length and girth. “I could care less about our dates and the lovey-dovey bullshit you insisted on, but this?” She says as she slowly raises her hips, dragging her lower lips up your pole, hands squeezing your shoulders for balance. She leans into your ear to continue.  “Your wonderful dick? How it fills me up.  How it stretches me beyond my comprehension. How it reaches depths that no other dick or toy can reach. I fucking missed this.” She starts to slowly bring her hips down again. “And I’m willing to bet you missed my tight, warm, little pussy enveloping your cock too.”

Again, this whole situation? Absolutely wrong. But what Yujin said? You’re too afraid to admit it, but she’s right. Without any warning, she starts bouncing on your still sensitive cock. You feel a mixture of both pleasure and pain, leaning more towards the latter. You desperately try to plead to Yujin for some reprieve. It didn’t even have to be a full break, that was already out the window. All you wanted was for her to slow down a bit. At the very least let you recover. Unfortunately for you, your cries fall on deaf ears. Yujin continues to bounce on your dick. She ignores your pleas. She doesn’t care about them. Or you. Right now, all she cared about was getting to nirvana. Right now, you were just a tool to help her get there. She continues to relentlessly bounce on you, grinds her hips back and forth on your dick. One of her hands still pulled on your tie, the other holding on to the backrest of the chair. While she’s racing to her peak, the only thing on her mind right now, she gives little to no attention to you. 

By this point, your sensitivity had dissipated, and now you’re feeling just as much pleasure as Yujin. Little energy had started to return to you, and you were in need of a way to release it. Thrusting up wasn’t an option, or more she wouldn’t let it be an option. So you decide it’s time for your hands to be more proactive. Your eyes gravitate towards her top. How tight it was. How it accentuated her natural curves. How it teased her bare shoulder. How it would look good getting peeled off of her. 

So you do.

Buttons quickly undone, damn near popped off. Sleeve freed from the arm holding on to the back rest. The blouse was left dangling on the arm still pulling on your tie. Her bra was also unceremoniously dispatched, finally exposing her breasts to you (for the first time in months). Your hands get attracted to her mounds, kneading and massaging her handfuls while she’s lost in bliss from riding you. Soon enough, you give into the temptation and take one of her erect nipples into your mouth, eliciting a moan from your boss. You suck on the nub, flick it, lightly brush your teeth against it, before doing the same to the other one. Your mouth and hands work in tandem, sucking, licking, massaging, doing whatever you can to Yujin’s tits all in the hopes of getting some control back. Instead she just laughs it off in between moans and pulls you closer to her chest.

By now, you’ve definitely lost track of time. Probably even forgot the concept of time as well. You don’t know how long Yujin’s been riding you or how long you’ve been playing with her breasts. However, you are genuinely wondering how she’s been able to go this long without cumming, despite her… let’s just say enthusiastic race for her release. Fortunately for you, you wouldn’t have to wonder any longer. It could have been a lot of things. It could have been Yujin bouncing and grinding on your cock that hit her in just the right spot. It could have been you playing with her mounds so much that it tipped her over the edge. Hell, it could’ve been from both. It probably was from both. You’re not really sure. But what you are sure of was the guttural scream that escaped signalled her finally reaching her peak. She pulls you in by your tie before she locks your head to her chest with a hug. She stops bouncing, instead her hips start bucking against you. Streams of her juices gush against you, soaking your dick and the rest of your crotch. After the initial scream, moans start spewing out of her mouth. In your current position, you couldn’t do anything but continue playing with her breasts, though you also were fighting off your own orgasm as her inner walls started contracting around you.

As fast as it started, Yujin’s orgasm lasted for a while. To be fair, you playing with her chest may have prolonged it, but she was the one that wouldn’t let your head go. Soon enough, she starts to settle down on her own. Her hips slow down before stopping. Her grip on your head loosened, finally giving you the chance to freely breathe. She starts to lean back, but you hold on to her waist to keep her from falling. You see a soft smile form on her face, one from pure ecstasy.

The current view in front of you seems like a scene from some dirty video. Yujin’s still straddling you, your stiff dick still filling her up. Her skirt is bunched up at her waist while her blouse is barely hanging on her wrist. Her exposed mounds shining from your spit, a clear indication of your work. With the way she was leaning back, you’d think she was falling. The only thing stopping her was you keeping her upright along with the vice grip she had on your tie.

For a few brief moments, you had your reprieve. You thought you finally had a chance to catch your breath. 

Again, foolish of you to think so.

Without any warning, Yujin pulls you into another deep kiss by your tie. You tried to fight it at first, probably in the first few seconds, but something suddenly came over you. You started melting into the kiss. Your hands went from just holding her waist to wrapping around her, pulling her into you. Her free hand gravitates towards your face, caressing your cheek while your lips continue to lock. You know she hated all this lovey-dovey crap. Hell, she said so a while ago. But this renewed passion? The soft touches? Why the fuck is she the one starting it? Was she bullshitting you the whole time?

When Yujin pulls away from the kiss, the soft smile returns before she states what she wants.

“Fuck me.”

The two words roll off of her tongue so easily. Just as easily as they escape her mouth and invade your ears. Even before your brain could process the order, your body starts moving on its own.

Your hands brace Yujin, one wrapping behind her back and the other gripping her thigh. She supports herself too, arms wrapping around your shoulders and her legs locking around your hips. With how close the two of you were, you were drawn back to her lips as you initiated a deep kiss for the first time tonight. With her secure (both by limbs and lips), you hoist her up and carry her. Your dick never leaves her wet snatch as you start moving the two of you across the room. When you reach your destination, you drop Yujin on the hard wooden (and thankfully very sturdy) meeting table, earning a laugh from her for the sudden aggressiveness. You don’t let her continue with her giggles as you crash your lips onto hers again, though they still manage to sneak out of the small crevices made from your movements. While still inside her, your urge to start thrusting into her with reckless abandon grows, but you can’t help but notice that you both still seem overdressed for the occasion. You decide to rectify that. For the first time in an hour or so, you separate from Yujin. The lack of contact disappoints her, but she understands why when she sees you taking off your clothes. It doesn’t take you long, your shirt's buttons go flying across the room as you step out of your pooled pants on the floor. Yujin’s top and bra finally fall from her arm after an hour of clinging to her limb, while you hastily pull down her tight pencil skirt and throw it across the room. Her heels fall and hit the floor with a thud, finally leaving the both of you fully naked and exposed to each other. As much as you wanted to take the time and admire the work of art in front of you, she had other, more pressing plans.

Yujin’s arms wrap around your shoulders once again, pulling you on top of her into another deep kiss. Her long legs wrap around your hips again, her ankles locking behind you. You melt into her kiss, lips clashing for dominance, tongues dancing with each other, small light bites. One of your hands gravitates to her waist, the other grips on the edge of the table behind her head to steady your weight. All the while you’re both stuck in this sensual tryst, your cores are grinding and rubbing against each other. Even with the few moments of reprieve from being inside of her, you feel yourself continue to ache from the friction of your movements. She made sure your time of reprieve was short as she snaked her hand down towards your crotch before grabbing your dick and guiding it back into her.

With you back in Yujin’s warm cunt, you don’t waste any time and start pounding into her. In the few moments when your lips weren’t connected, the reactions escaping her mouth were music to your ears. The moans and whimpers were always going to be there. But the laughs? The giggles? All signaling how she was enjoying this. Enjoying controlling you. You don’t know why, but it felt like it was fueling you too. The need to pound into harder every single time she giggled, making her yelp and moan in return before laughing again. For a while, your mouth migrated to the soft flesh of her neck, letting her giggles and moans freely escape her mouth. Granted, kissing, sucking, nibbling, and licking her neck made her moan more. Her hands left your nape, reaching up above her head as she reveled in your thrusts. Your hands follow suit, holding hers as you continue hammering into her. Your fingers intertwine, her grip getting tighter with every thrust.

It wasn’t clear to you yet, but ever so slowly in the past hour your inhibitions were broken down. You gave yourself up to the passion, to the heat of the moment. It was only further fueled by the taste of Yujin’s sweaty skin, her inner walls contracting around your dick, her fingers intertwining with yours, and the hold her legs had on your waist. Old feelings were being brought back out, both in you and her. The slap of skin on skin unearthing memories you thought were locked away forever.  You were lost in absolute bliss. Any past indications of doubts and hesitations were almost wiped out.

Almost.

Yujin lets go of your hands before they start traveling to the back of your neck again. Now her touch was a bit softer, more gentle. She holds your nape and strokes the hair on the back of your head. She stops you from sucking on her neck, guiding you back to her face. For a moment you both pause. You both get lost in each other’s eyes. For the first time that night, she doesn’t pull you in for a forced kiss. Instead, she goes to you, slowly moves her head. She closes the distance, ready for a soft, passionate, and meaningful kiss. But for a split second, the voice of reason wins.

For a split second, you hesitate.

For a split second, you pull back.

Even if it was a quick moment, Yujin is way too perceptive that she picks up on it. You try to rectify it, crashing your lips onto hers. At first, her lips don’t open, though only for a split second. She welcomes you again, albeit more forceful and less passionate. When she suddenly pulls back, you worry that you may have fucked up again.

“Behind.” 

“What?”

“Fuck me from behind.”

Yujin pushes you off before she turns around and bends over the table. The moment of clarity you experienced already passed as your body ends up following her instructions. You enter her again, picking up where you left off before that awkward moment. Your thrusts were hard, fast, and deep, each one earning moans and shrieks from your boss. The grip you had on her waist was unforgiving. You held her tight and in place as you continued to slam into her from behind. She stretches her arms out above her head on the table, reaching for the other end and gripping the edge with all her might. Your hands follow suit, tracing a path up her body, along her arms before resting on the back of her hands and holding them in yours. Your fingers take up the spaces between hers, holding them tightly while you continue pounding her from behind. The force of your thrusts causes ripples to go throughout her body. Her ass bouncing against your crotch. You give up on keeping your torso up and let your weight press on her, with only your hips continuing to move. Your face finds the crook of her neck, kissing her skin and flesh, nibbling on her ear lobe as she continues taking your dick. You move your hands back down her arms, gliding over her soft, sweaty skin before getting to your goal. You reach under Yujin, taking handfuls of her mounds in your grasp. You knead them, massage them, play with her nipples between your fingers.

It all works in concert, kissing her shoulders, neck, and ears, playing with her breasts, the hard and constant pounding she was receiving from behind, turning Yujin into a moaning wreck. It edges her closer to her peak, as it does to you. The moans and curses that escape from her mouth, the sound of skin slapping on skin, her walls spasming around you as continuously hit her farthest depths. You’re close. So very fucking close. 

“Yujin! I’m close! Fuck, I’m close.”

“Inside me!”

“Are you sur—”

“If you’re going to question your feelings for me, you can do that all night long. I could fucking care less. The only thing I care about— the only thing I want from you right now is to fucking cum inside of me.”

You pause in shock from Yujin’s confession. She looks back at you, a mix of anger, jealousy, and pain hidden behind her gaze.

“If you can’t love me, fine. The least you can do tonight is to cum in me. Fucking fill me up. Paint my insides white. Breed me. Play a dangerous game of chance and risk me getting pregnant.”

She faces forward again, unable to look you in the eyes with what she was about to say.

“Wonyoung… She can have your heart. But your dick? Your cum? They’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine. Now finish fucking me and fill me up.”

Fuck it. 

You give in to Yujin’s request now that you know what she wants. You let your primal instincts and carnal desires fuel your every thrust, all in the hopes of sprinting the both of you to the finish line. She reaches behind her, grabs your chin and brings your faces close together again. She pulls you in close, lips connect in a soft meeting, a far cry from the relentless pounding you were giving her from behind, The kiss falls in line anyway, getting steamier, sloppier, passionate. Moans and grunts get exchanged during your kiss. She takes one of your hands, your fingers intertwine. In what you didn’t know was your final thrust, you both become undone as your peaks finally wash over you.

With one final, hard and deep thrust, you both unravel. Yujin shrieks into your mouth as you groan into hers. A wave of pleasure goes over the both of you, crashing back and forth your intertwined bodies as you both get lost in your shared nirvana. She remains trapped under your weight, but her body starts bucking backwards towards you. Streams of her nectar start shooting out against your dick, ruining the wooden table underneath her. Her walls contract around you as you remain buried to the hilt in her. You feel yourself throb inside her, rope after rope of cum being unloaded into her waiting womb. You flood her insides, every shot hurtling out and hitting her walls. It all continues in a cycle of prolonging each other’s highs. Her walls continue milking you dry while the feeling of you painting her insides continues her peak.

You don’t know how long your shared peak lasts. It just kept getting longer and longer as it crashed back and forth between the two of you. Yujin releases your lips as you both need to breathe heavier. In need of something to get your mouth on, you resort to kissing her shoulders and her neck, an old habit from when the two of you were dating. You both melt into it. The familiar feeling of intimacy. The one you were happy to let go when you broke up. It helps the both of you slowly settle down from your shared high. When you feel that you’ve both calmed down a bit, you trace a path of kisses back up, from her shoulders, to her neck, to her cheek, before she grabs your face and brings you in for what would be your final kiss of the night. She spins around, somehow keeping you from slipping out, and wraps her arms and legs around you. She pulls you in close. Bodies almost become one. You can feel her heartbeat racing through her chest, and she could feel yours.

It’s tempting really, to give in to these unearthed emotions. To return to the past habits and the familiar intimacy. It would be easy. Too easy. But you know you couldn’t. You know you can’t. You’ve already moved on. It’s in the past. You know it, and Yujin knows it too.

When your lips finally separate, you both take a moment. Your eyes never leave Yujin’s, peering deep into her soul. Realizations start settling in. The confessions start to leave their mark. She gently pushes you away from her. You finally slip out from her folds, a combination of your release and her juices leak out and stain her stockings. You stumble backwards, back on the ruined chair. She starts gathering her clothes again, slowly getting dressed. You, on the other hand, need a bit more time to rest. You can’t though, as Yujin’s declaration– her confession keeps running through your mind. You question if it was in the heat of the moment, or if she really meant it. You desperately want to find out. 

“Yujin… I—“ “It’s almost midnight.” She cuts you off. “There should be no one in the office. You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you with me.” You want to cut her off, but she avoids your gaze as she exits the room. “You’ll get your extension.” Her words finally let you breathe a sigh of relief, but she doesn’t stop there. “And I’m not firing Wonyoung. In fact, I’ll be waiting for her next mistake. Because the next time our little Wony fucks up again, I’ll make sure to have her stay too. Have her put in some effort and make you both earn your next life line together.” Yujin says with a smirk before she closes the door. You know her well enough to recognize that it was fake. There was something under that forced smirk, but you’re too afraid of the Pandora's box that you might open if you try and unearth whatever is underneath. 

You’re left alone in the meeting room. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Too tired from the marathon that you had unconsciously ran. Despite the hours of pleasure you took part in, that wasn’t on your mind right now. Instead, guilt and regret start to flood your brain.

You knew this was wrong.

You knew this was fucked up.

All of this for a fucking extension.

[devilhuntingslayer]

Foreign bodies

Shen Xiaoting x Zhou Xinyu x M!reader

Tags: language barrier (not bilingual), threesome

WC: 4.3k

—————

"我已经累了," you heard a voice from behind you. "一样," whined another.

In this quiet byroad of your neighborhood, chatter was rare, rarer at this time of night, and even rarer still any in a foreign language. You couldn't help but try and listen in, though you didn't hear anything you could understand; chances were, whoever these two are, they were lost.

You turned around to find two surprisingly tall women – both less than half a head shorter than you – in caps, plain white shirts, and jeans. Even if the fairness of their porcelain skin weren't enough of a dead giveaway, they couldn't present themselves any more like tourists than they already did.

One met your eyes, and elbowed the other. The two stared at you, a mix of fear and confusion in their eyes as you walked closer. You thought fast: you pulled out your phone, opened the translator app on your phone, and typed a message: "Can you understand English?"

When your phone spat out the answer in Chinese, they gave a thumbs up. "How did you know we were speaking Chinese?," the taller one asked.

"Just sounded like it," you replied. "What are you doing here? Tourists don't normally pass by here."

"We're lost," the other girl sighed, "like, we can't find this address." She showed her phone to you, continuing her stort. "We took the last bus this app told us to take, but we can't seem to find it."

You took a look at the address, and your brow furrowed. The road name was similar, but it was in another part of town, almost 40 minutes away on foot now that most buses stopped service. You delivered the bad news.

"真的吗?!," the other girl said aloud. "Sorry. Really? Shoot. What are going to do?"

"Don't panic. I live," you pointed to a door several meters away, "right there. I can drive you if you'd like, you could even take some time to rest, have some water."

"Oh, thank you!," the two said, bowing and following you up the stairs to your apartment.

Once inside, they removed their shoes by the door and stood in front of the living room couch. Of course, you thought, they were Asians after all.

"Please, sit," you gestured. "I'll fetch some water."

While going through your cabinets for the last bottle of mineral water you swore you still had, you could hear the girls stretch and chatter. It seemed like they'd had quite the day.

"他比较高啊," you overheard.

"嗯嗯," said the other, "又高又帅," coupled by faint giggling. You'd always wondered how hard it would be to learn Chinese.

"So," you butted in, two glasses of water in hand, "Willing to tell me your names?"

"You can call me Xiaoting," said the girl on the left. "She's Xinyu."

"Alright, Shaoting and Sinyi. I'll try to remember that." The two giggled again.

"Not bad for a... 怎么说'老外?'" Xinyu remarked, leaning to Xiaoting. "Foreigner?," Xiaoting finished, and Xinyu nodded.

"Thanks? Hey, your English is pretty good too," you responded. "Sorry if I used the translator right away though."

"It's not a problem, that was really thoughtful," Xiaoting replied. "Ugh. You're probably the first person this entire trip who didn't wave us off."

"Really? Any horror stories from today?"

"Sorry?"

"Oh, bad experiences," you corrected. "Someone shout at you or something? The older men tend to do that."

Xinyu lurched forward. "Yeah! There was this elderly couple on the bus stop that yelled at us for laughing at some Instagram reels." Xiaoting pouted along.

"Yeah. Grouchy fucks," you groaned. "Well, just tell me when you're ready to go."

"Are you sure?," Xinyu asked. "We could just... walk?"

"Nonsense," you dismissed. "It'll be a tight fit for two tall ladies like you though."

"Thank you so much," she responded, bowing with Xiaoting.

A few minutes of squirming and awkward laughing later, the three of you fit into your hatchback. As you began your drive, you pressed them about their trip.

"Where are you from in China?," you asked. "Not like I'd know where those are, but it's good knowledge."

"Chengdu," Xiaoting replied. "Beijing," Xinyu added.

"Oh, the capital, right?," you added. "What brings you here then?"

"Short vacation," Xinyu replied. "Someone suggested here was cheaper to visit than Paris."

"Obviously," you continued. "It's pretty boring here."

"It's not! Such beautiful buildings," Xiaoting corrected. "And not crowded!"

"Again, because it's boring here," you chuckled. "But whatever. Where else did you go?"

The two proceeded to fawn over the local museums and pubs, transforming otherwise overdone weekend getaways into momentous experiences for the pair. From the tiny view of the front mirror, you could faintly make out their faces beaming with wonder, only occasionally washed over by halogen street lights. Even you couldn't hold back a smile.

"You're actually making me proud to live here," you commented.

"Wait till you see China," Xinyu replied. Xiaoting nodded in agreement.

"Really now?," you taunted in jest, "just what exactly is there to see in China?" You could see the two scowl incredulously at you.

"Beijing and Chengdu are beautiful cities, for the record," Xinyu retorted.

"Chongqing is cool," Xiaoting continued.

"Shanghai too!," Xinyu butted in. "Don't test us, laowai. We'll drag you to China if we have to just to prove you wrong."

"Deal," you smirked. "But enough of that. We're almost at your place. Where else did you wanna go?"

"Oh! 他可能知道有没有嘉年华," Xinyu whispered.

"对对对!," Xiaoting blurted. "Any carnivals or amusement parks nearby? We only saw the one that's a train away."

"Yeah, I know the one, and it is just that one."

"Then maybe you can you teach us how to ride the train?," Xinyu pleaded. "After today I'm not too sure we're confident it's the same as China."

"It might be," you remarked, "but I'll do you one better: I'll take you myself."

"Really?!," the two squealed. "Isn't tomorrow a Friday?," Xiaoting asked.

"I mean... I'll just take a day off, no problem," you remarked. They stared at you, puzzled perhaps by your nonchalance at skipping a day of work. Xiaoting nodded, "If you say so."

"Great. It'll be just over an hour of driving, so I'll get here at 9AM." You leaned over to them and whispered. "That means be ready at 9:30." Xiaoting laughed while Xinyu scratched her head.

After an exchange of numbers, pleasantries, and bows, you headed home. Lying on your bed, you found it impossible to settle down.

=====

"Ya!," Xinyu shouted, "We've been waiting for 30 minutes!"

"I said 9:30!," you retorted.

"You said be ready by 9:30," Xiaoting rolled her eyes.

"And you are ready," you teased. "Unless you're not?"

The girls hurriedly entered the car, and the car sped off as soon as it came.

It shouldn't have surprised you, but asking more about the two confirmed a lot of assumptions: they were, in fact, in the entertainment industry, both particularly in that group pop music thing they have there. They did, in effect, rarely have time off, this trip being the bulk of it. And they had only around for a few days when you met them.

"Of course you're idols," you smirked.

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?," Xinyu questioned. "Choose your next words carefully."

"Look, you're both tall and slim, have very fair skin, and are particularly gorgeous. But what gave it away were your smiles. I'd have been more surprised if you weren't." You looked back to side eye them. "Happy?"

Xinyu blushed, and Xiaoting's mouth was agape, edges curled into a grin. "怎么嘴甜啊," she blurted.

"I'll assume that's a compliment."

"It means you're a smooth talker," Xiaoting added. "So yes."

Going around the carnival was less a moment of nostalgia – the last time you'd been here was nearly a decade ago – and more being physically dragged around by the girls.

Xinyu's earlier "threat" now seemed to be more of a certainty, as she barely let go of your hand while walking between places. Xiaoting, meanwhile, always managed to have some snack on hand, which she would share with you. This was no Disneyland, however, and by mid-afternoon you'd fully explored the fairgrounds, though nearly all tuckered out.

"I'll walk ahead, get the car started," you told them, quickening your pace. As you did, you overheard the two conversing.

"你整天牵了他的手," Xiaoting remarked to Xinyu, who slapped her on the shoulder. "我知道, 为什么?...," Xinyu smirked. "你也暗恋他吗?," and the two exploded in a flurry of slaps and laughter.

"What happened?," you inquired. "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about me?"

"Nothing," Xiaoting hastily responded as they caught up to you, "just talking about how today was fun."

"Good to hear. Is this your last stop before you go home?"

Xinyu sighed. "Yeah. Our flight is tomorrow evening." She grabbed your arm and hugged it. "Thank you for today." Xiaoting held your hand and leaned on your shoulder.

"Maybe you can tell me how to travel to China in the car ride home," you reassured. "Don't you two live in two different cities though?"

"Well...," Xiaoting hesitated, "we actually stay in Seoul to train. It's a long story."

"So it's just gonna have wait for another vacation," Xinyu teased, "which shouldn't be a problem for you."

"You two make it sound like I'm a bum," you rebutted. "My apologies if leisure isn't a right for you in Asia." The two looked at you confused. "Never mind."

The car ride home was significantly more quiet as the two slept peacefully in the back seat. Once again, from your tiny front mirror, their softer features gleamed in the afternoon sun. Your compliment earlier was entirely genuine – you'd even felt some discomfort in your chest, the kind that comes when parting ways with something desired.

"Well ladies," you declared, braking at the front of their place, "I guess this is it then." The pair craned their heads up, pouting at the realization they were home. On the way out of the car, Xiaoting pulled Xinyu and whispered something inaudible, before flagging you to pull down your window.

"Hey, uh," Xiaoting started, "maybe you'd like to stay over for a bit longer?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," you replied, your heart thumping in your throat. "Need help packing?"

"No, we did that earlier. But there's no parking here I think," Xinyu added. "You're gonna have to wait for me to find a parking spot."

"Nah, it's fine," you said, easing the car up the curb. The girls looked at you, scandalized.

"I don't think you can do that here," Xiaoting remarked.

"Says who?," you chimed, locking the car. "There's no police around."

"No, but–," Xinyu tried to reason, before waving herself off. "Forget it. Let's go in."

Inside the small room, which you assumed was an AirBnB, was... nothing. Sure, it had the amenities like the table, a living room with a TV, and the bedrooms off to the side; but the room felt as clean as it would have been if they weren't in it.

"Did you... not use this at all?," you asked.

"No, but we kept things in order the whole trip. We were out most of the time anyway," Xinyu responded.

On the table was a single, 500mL-sized bottle, with clear liquid and Chinese text – not something you'd find here.

"That's probably not vodka, is it?"

"Nope, it's baijiu. Like soju, if you know that," Xiaoting replied. "Wanna try it? We'll just bring this home if we won't.

"Sure."

"我帮你," Xinyu butted in, heading into the kitchen.

"You don't come off to me as the type to drink," you commented.

Xiaoting stifled a laugh. "I thought drinking was a big thing here," she replied, "because it's probably even more so in China and in Korea."

Xinyu came back with three shot glasses. "We usually use a different glass, but this will do."

"谢了. These small bottles are usually shit, but... I'd take it over nothing," Xiaoting remarked, scanning the bottle. With a twist of the cap, she poured it into the three glasses.

"How do you say 'cheers' in Chinese?," you asked.

"Ganbei," they said in unison, raising their glasses, and you joined in.

One swig of the clear liquid and you immediately knew, even before it hit the back of your throat, that this wasn't vodka. It was less smooth than vodka, but deeper in taste, almost roasted.

"This tastes... different," you remarked.

Xiaoting and Xinyu winced. "That's high praise for... this," Xiaoting said. "Remember that maotai we have in the dorm?"

"From your uncle? Gosh, that one's good," Xinyu added, pouring another set of shots.

The alcohol enabled you all to be even more chatty than normal: you shared more about your work and all the nuances of taking vacation leaves, to the amazement of the pair. Xiaoting and Xinyu shared more of their respective careers: Xiaoting's in China, then in Korea where she met Xinyu; and, relative to now, the stresses of planning this trip.

"You're telling me you've never heard of us before?," Xinyu pressed.

"No, sorry," you replied. "I don't know much about those survival contests. I mean, I might have heard of some groups? But it's still all so new to me." You downed the third shot, which appeared to be the last one for you. "Is that... bad?"

"No no! It's just different," Xiaoting reassured. "We wore caps and plain clothes yesterday because that's how we avoid getting recognized."

"We still are," Xinyu said. "Like in the airport. A fan took pictures with us and word spread, and we just... had to lay low."

"Wow. It makes it even more surreal to be around the both of you then."

They smiled at you, the red from the alcohol flushing their cheeks ever so slightly. You felt your chest thump.

"Do you think we're pretty?," Xiaoting asked.

"Well... yeah," you chuckled. "You two are beautiful. I mean, I haven't met anyone as beautiful as either of you, and you're... I say this respectfully, but you're foreigners."

Xinyu had moved closer to your side of the couch while you were speaking. "So what did you notice first?"

"Gosh... You've got nice eyes, and cute lips, and your hair looks great on both of you... there's just too much to notice."

While you spoke, you caught subtle movements from both of them. Xiaoting's hand grazed yours as she parted her hair. Xinyu crossed her legs, squishing the toned fat on her thighs out. Though the buzz of the baijiu worked its magic, the hot flush shooting from your belly through your bones wasn't just alcohol.

"You don't look like Asians are your type, you know," Xiaoting said, moving in closer to you until all three of you now occupied the same middle third of the couch. Instinctively you squeezed your shoulders in, but Xinyu held your knee. "Don't be shy, we get it all the time."

Xiaoting said, laying a hand on your chest. "I think you're cute too. Especially when you listen to us speak Chinese."

"Oh yeah?," you admitted. "Only because you speak it so well."

Xinyu moved her head up closer to yours, until you could feel the strong waft of the baijiu hit your nose. Her breath – warm, almost hazy – splashed your earlobe. "你想要了吗?," she whispered.

"Are you horny for us?," Xiaoting translated, moving a hand lower down your unsurprisingly noticeable bulge. Before you could say anything, the same sharp sting of baijiu hit your face – this time from Xiaoting's lips all over yours.

You paused for a brief moment, processing what just happened, before you felt that same cool air hit your cheek, this time from Xinyu. When you looked at her, you felt your mouths gravitate toward each other, locking into another kiss. Xiaoting kissed your cheek and your ear, gently and tenderly.

You leaned back on the couch, with the both of them over your chest and shoulders. They took their turns, one slowly making out with you while the other traced a path under your jaw and along your neck.

As you felt yourself dive deeper into one, the other would pull your face away, slowing you down again. You bobbed in and out of conscious lust for what felt like minutes at a time, their arms and legs slowly wrapping around yours – you were theirs, you were to be shared, and you gladly let yourself loose.

They slowly undid your shirt, Xiaoting trying to wrestle it from your shoulders while Xinyu kept at your breastbone. You helped with Xinyu's, then Xiaoting's, until all of your clothes – tops, bottoms, overs, unders – were a mess on the floor.

Your dick, fully erect now, laid in Xinyu's hands, running her fingers all over your shaft. Xiaoting leaned in to take your head in, sizing it up and smiling as it filled up her mouth. With a gasp of air, she removed herself.

"很大," she grinned, "so big." Xinyu dove in to try, taking you all the way in until she choked. Surfacing for air, she laughed the whole way through. "好吃," she smirked, before kissing your shaft along its length. Xiaoting joined in.

The pair's lips smacked and slurped your member with gusto. Their attention-giving barely had any direction, only that they were working in concert: when Xiaoting would cup your balls and put it in her mouth, Xinyu would lick the underside of your shaft; when Xinyu took in your cockhead, Xiaoting pressed her mouth to the side of your shaft.

"Fuck, that feels so fucking good," you laughed. "How do you– fuck– how do say that?"

Xinyu giggled as Xiaoting took her spot on your cock. "舒服. Shufu," she repeated. She moved closer to your ear. "You can add ma to the end to make it a question. Like this," she teased, grabbing your cock and stroking fast while Xiaoting's tongue swirled over your cockhead. "舒服吗?"

You groaned, the ecstasy making you see white, until you growled "shufu" between your teeth. The pair laughed and started making out with you more aggressively than the last. "You're cute when you try, laowai," Xinyu purred.

Xiaoting's hand joined Xinyu's in stroking you, the combined grip of their fingers from base to tip making your hips shake.

"Sh-shit, I'm gonna– I'm gonna–"

Before the full wave of orgasm could make it out of you, they stopped stroking, causing your entire body to tremble. Xinyu and Xiaoting held you down as they licked your skin – neck, nipples, stomach – as you came down from your ruined release.

"我门把你榨干," Xinyu said, climbing over you and straddling you fully.

Xiaoting went up to your ear. "She said we're gonna squeeze you dry. She's gonna fuck you, and you're gonna cum inside her, then I'm gonna fuck you, and you're gonna cum inside me."

Xiaoting lifted a leg and started to touch herself, moaning into your ear. Xinyu guided your hands up to her hips, and you gripped her as she took your cock inside her. She squealed as it slid in, and Xiaoting watched in anticipation.

"She said you're so big," Xiaoting moaned. "I can't wait to try you." You turned to her and kissed her, all the tension and passion released in a salvo of saliva and tongues.

Xinyu began to grind her hips slowly, still feeling everything inside her. She was tight enough that every tilt and sway of her hips made you moan, all of it going into Xiaoting's mouth. When she started bouncing on you, whining turned into deep, breathy moans of her own.

"She says you're filling her up so good," Xiaoting whispered, watching intently and rubbing her clit in time with Xinyu. Xinyu held your shoulder firmly, fingertips depressed on your skin while another grabbed your hair. "She wants to hear you," Xiaoting said, and you let your groans and growls free from your throat.

"God, you're fucking hot," you muttered. "I'm gonna empty myself into you." Xinyu smiled, hastening her pace, Xiaoting moaning into your neck as her rubbing picked up hers. With one free hand, you joined her by rubbing her clit as she fingered herself from behind.

"Fuck, just like that, just like that–" Xiaoting heaved. Xinyu fell onto your chest, hands barely propping herself up. Between occasional squeaks, she'd stare into your eyes, struggling to find the words to beg you to blow inside of her. The slickness of her core easily clamping over you began to haze up your vision, the rocking and slapping of her toned body on yours not having stopped for a second.

Your hand grabbed at whatever wildly – a few seconds on Xinyu's breast, then her ass, then the edges of the sofa – while Xiaoting began to whimper. "我来了, 我来了!" she repeated, before you removed your hand. Xiaoting looked at you with hungry, desperate eyes, but slowed herself down – convinced her orgasm will come with you inside of her soon.

Xinyu whined the same, begging "finish inside me, inside me, please!" before convulsing with a few twitches of her hips. You moved her body up and down a few more times until your completion, releasing a few spurts inside her.

Xiaoting helped Xinyu off you, gently licking the light stream of your release from her folds. You'd barely caught your breath when you locked eyes with her, making you both chuckle weakly. You offered her your hand, asking, "your turn?"

Xiaoting excitedly hopped on top of you and slid your cock cleanly inside her. There was a sudden change in her expression, eyes wider and more satiated, as if thankful she had chosen to delay her gratification. Her riding was more aggressive, even if slower, audibly slamming hips into yours like a slow metronome. Each slap came with its own moan, each stronger than the next.

Xinyu, now coming off her high, lazily nipped at the edge of your jaw, your earlobe, right by your collarbone – anything she could reach – until your lips met hers. Though her kisses felt more slow and exhausted, you matched her pace, even as your cock burned from the overstimulation. Xinyu gladly giggled as you tried to keep yourself together, swallowing every groan you made into her own throat.

Your shared sensitivity with Xiaoting was noticeable; her paced riding started varying wildly from fast to complete stops, each pause prompting you to thrust upwards in pursuit of your near completion. Xinyu's verbal coaxing did its job, muttering words you couldn't understand, but the silkiness of her voice and the hand cupped over your balls did the job to send shivers down your spine.

"I'm gonna–" Xiaoting warned, lurched over and squirming on top of you as her pussy contracted in strong pulses. That final, catastrophic climax sent you over the edge, emptying one long, aching stream into her core.

"You filled her up so good," Xinyu purred, making out with you once again. Xiaoting hopped off back into her position and, once she had caught her breath, did her part in keeping your face tingling with the cold pecks of saliva and post-orgasmic high.

What came next was just as much a haze as those last moments were – you felt you had been making out with them for hours, one keeping you lucid while the other drifted in and out of consciousness. Your hands were scattered about – yours over their breasts, their shoulders, their hips, theirs around your chest, your thighs, and still playfully toying with your sensitive shaft.

But, definitively, you all awoke before midday. Surprisingly, you had no hangover – perhaps the baijiu was easier to handle than it tasted – but you awoke to the two slowly up and about, Xiaoting in the kitchen and Xinyu packing up the bathroom. You had your shirt draped over you, and a plate of what looked like scrambled eggs in front of you.

"Morning," you groaned, and Xiaoting turned to give you a warm smile.

"吃吧," she gestured at the table. "It's gonna get cold, if it isn't already."

"You snore so loudly!," Xinyu remarked from the bathroom. You could do nothing else but chuckle at the dynamic of the room.

"Are we leaving for the airport anytime soon?," you asked, taking a bite of the scrambled eggs. The tomatoes they added gave it a tangy kick that you were interested to try for yourself another time.

"Sure," Xiaoting said, sitting right next to you and leaning a head on your shoulder. "Last night was..."

"Amazing," Xinyu added, hopping to your side and plopping on the sofa. All you could do was nod with your mouth full.

"I enjoyed too," you mumbled, swallowing the mouthful. "Would you like to keep in touch?"

"Of course!," Xinyu grabbed your arm. "We use Whatsapp though."

"No problem," you smirked, handing your phone to the Xinyu. "Then I'll take that I'll be seeing you in China?"

"Or Korea," Xiaoting responded, reaching for the phone after Xinyu finished adding her contact. "Lots to see there too."

"You're not gonna surprise me with children once I visit, are you?," you teased. The two hit you on either arm. "Ow!"

"We wouldn't tell you to if we weren't sure, you know!," Xiaoting scoffed.

"Just making sure!," you laughed, getting up and dropping your only covering on the floor. You hastily grabbed your pants and ran to the bathroom, the pair still giggling at you.

=====

"Well, this is it," you said, parked at the airport. You took your seatbelt off and hopped out of the car, helping them with their bags. You gave each of them a hug and, once final jokes and verbal commitments were made, the two walked into the building, doors closed on another chapter of your daily life.

In the car, you found a lone photo in the back, one that seemed to be of the pair from a few months earlier based on the timestamp.

At the blank rear of the sheet were two short messages:

"Call us soon! -周心语"

"多谢! Thank you! -沈小婷"

You smiled, placed it in your wallet, and downloaded Duolingo on your phone. Maybe you'll learn how to read whose message was whose one day.

—————

A/N: genuinely fun to try and play around with another language. its been a while since i touched chinese but hey, id learn it again for xinyu and xiaoting anyway

[devilhuntingslayer]

Locker Room Secret

Male reader x Karina

Word Count: 9k

How can three months of summer feel like three days once you return to college and time starts slowing down again? An entire summer of freedom becomes a mere aftertaste, washed away by the bitter taste of reality and leaving a rotten taste in my mouth.

I remember my dad once told me that whenever I were to feel down, I should just close my eyes and appreciate nature. Feel the light breeze, hear the faint chirps of the birds, breathe in the aroma of freshly cut grass. Just as I was about to exhale in an attempt to finally relax, I heard my PE teacher yelling.

"Shawn! Don't just stand there daydreaming. Grab those boxes and haul them into the locker room before I lose my voice."

The stack waiting by the gym door was taller than me, each box stamped with PE UNIFORMS in capital letters. Perfect. First day back and I'm already the teacher's free labour.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, dragging the first box inside. The cardboard cut into my arms as I shuffled past the entrance and into the echoing, bleach-scented locker room. There, I found a few long benches positioned next to each other in the middle of the room, while the overhead lights buzzed audibly with the kind of noise that made me want to shove my index fingers in my ears and never take them out.

I put the box down and fished my phone out of my pocket, checking to see if I had any new notifications—nothing. I slid it onto the nearest bench so it won't fall while I move the boxes, then go back to the gym door.

I bent to grab the next box when a voice, high and sing-songy, carried across the gym.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Shawn, the teacher’s favorite errand boy.”

The box slipped in my hands, almost crashing to the floor. Of course. Out of all people to see me struggling with cardboard and sweat, it had to be her.

Karina stood in the doorway like she’d just stepped out of a commercial. Cheer skirt, sneakers that were somehow still spotless, hair pulled into a ponytail that swished when she tilted her head. She wasn’t even trying, and she still looked like she owned the whole building.

“Careful,” she added, smirking. “Wouldn’t want you to throw out your back. Those boxes look brutal. Two pounds each?”

“Funny,” I muttered, hefting the box onto a bench with a thud. “Pretty sure this weighs more than you.”

Her laugh rang out across the locker room, light and effortless, like she wasn’t laughing at me but just at life itself. “Oh, don’t be jealous. Some of us were built for lifting spirits, not boxes.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the next one. “Then maybe you should go do that somewhere else. You know, spread some joy in another corner of campus.”

She ignored the hint completely, crossing the room and hopping up onto one of the benches. She swung her legs like she had all the time in the world. “What if this is where I want to spread joy? I mean, look at you. Sweating, grunting, mumbling under your breath—this is better than practice.”

“You’re really going to just sit there?” I asked, wrestling with another box.

“Mm-hm.” She propped her chin on her hand, eyes glinting. “Don’t worry, I’m here for moral support. Go on, strong man, don’t let me distract you.”

I tried not to look at her, but it was impossible. She had that golden-retriever energy that filled the room whether you wanted it to or not. Every time I focused on stacking uniforms, I felt her watching, amused.

“This is harassment, you know,” I said finally.

“Harassment?” she gasped, feigning shock. “Excuse me, I’m cheering you on. That’s literally my job description.”

I dropped another box onto the pile, louder than necessary. “Yeah, I’m feeling real cheered.”

She grinned, unfazed. “See? Already stronger. You should thank me later.”

I pretended to check my phone, even though there was nothing to check. No texts, no calls. Just an empty screen. Still, it gave me an excuse to not meet her eyes.

“Didn’t know you were the type to hang around locker rooms when you’re not supposed to,” I said, setting my phone down on the bench beside me.

“And I didn’t know you were the type to do what you're told without complaining.” She shrugged, sliding off the bench and walking over like she was about to actually help. She didn’t. She just leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Guess today’s full of surprises.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, tugging at the tape on another box. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” she echoed, smiling like she meant it.

By the time I dropped the third box onto the bench, my shirt was sticking to my back and my arms felt like noodles. Karina hadn’t moved an inch except to kick her legs idly, sneakers thumping against the wood.

“You know,” she said, grinning, “for someone who claims not to like manual labor, you’re putting on quite the show. Ten out of ten. Very entertaining.”

I shot her a look. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Maybe you could actually be useful and grab one of these.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, all fake innocence. “Me? Lift a box? You’d never forgive yourself if I broke a nail.”

I snorted and bent down for another, muttering, “Tragic. National emergency right there.”

She leaned forward, ponytail swinging. “Hey, don’t knock it. My nails are an important part of the cheer squad’s aesthetic.”

Before I could fire back, the teacher’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Shawn! You done yet? Let’s move it, I don’t have all day.”

I straightened my back, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. “Almost finished!” I yelled back.

Karina smirked. “Ooo, teacher’s pet. Better not keep him waiting.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the last box. “Yeah, because I’m dying to impress him.”

“Could've fooled me. You jump whenever he barks, like a dog in a Pedigree commercial,” she said, voice lilting as I carried it past her.

I gave her a flat look. "And you're what? The egotistical producer who enjoys torturing it?"

The final box hit the floor with a heavy thud. My phone still sat on the bench where I’d left it, black screen staring up at me. I glanced at it for a second, planning to pocket it, but the teacher barked again, sharper this time.

“Shawn! Let’s go!”

Karina giggled under her breath. “Ooo, busted.”

Perfect. Just write 'teacher's pet' on my forehead already.

I grabbed anything but my pride and jogged out before he could yell again. The door slammed shut. My phone stayed behind.

The day dragged on like someone had pressed slow-motion on my life. By the time the sun started dipping and the hallways thinned out, all I wanted was to get everything over with and collapse face-first into my bed.

That’s when it hit me.

My pocket was empty.

I froze mid-step outside the cafeteria. No phone. No music. No texts. No way I’d made it through a whole day without checking. Which meant—You absolute genius.

I pictured it again. The locker room bench. My phone sitting there, lonely and forgotten, probably vibrating with a hundred notifications I’d never see.

“Great,” I muttered. “Just fantastic.”

So instead of heading back to the dorms like a normal person, I dragged myself across campus, each step screaming bad idea. By the time I pushed through the gym doors, the place was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you believe the coast was clear.

The locker room was dim, only a couple of lights buzzing overhead. Sure enough, there it was — my phone, exactly where I’d left it, like it hadn’t just spent the day mocking me.

I snatched it up, relief flooding through me. The screen still black, no cracks. Perfect. Crisis averted. That was, until the sound of voices floated down the hall. Laughter. Sneakers squeaking. The cheerleading team must have just finished their practice.

My blood ran cold.

Of course. Of course they had to come back now. Because why wouldn’t the universe want me caught red-handed in the girls’ locker room like some creep?

Panic surged through me. Options? I couldn’t make it to the door without being seen. I couldn’t exactly explain myself, either. Hey, don’t mind me, just reclaiming my lost property, not at all weird or illegal.

The footsteps got closer. Louder.

So I did the only thing my fried up brain could come up with.

I yanked open the nearest locker, shoved myself inside, and pulled the door shut. Metal pressed against my back, air instantly hot and stifling. My heart hammered like it was trying to break free from my chest.

The girls’ laughter spilled into the room as they entered, bouncing off the walls like they owned the place. Which, technically, they did.

I held my breath, my back pressed flat against cold metal, praying my phone wouldn’t decide now was the perfect time to light up with a rogue notification.

“Ugh, practice killed me,” one voice groaned. “My legs are actually jelly.”

“Better than my arms,” another shot back. A locker door slammed. “Why do we even need conditioning? We’re not the football team.” More laughter. Sneakers squeaked against tile. Bags hit benches.

I shrank further into the locker, knees jammed against the metal, sweat trickling down my back. If someone yanked this door open, I was done. Completely finished.

“Hey, did anyone see Coach’s face when Minjeong messed up that routine?” a girl giggled.

“She almost took me out with her pom-pom!” another whined.

They all cracked up. The sound echoed all around the room, a reminder that if they found me, my life was over. A locker just two down from mine creaked open. Hangers clinked. Something dropped to the floor with a thunk.

I stopped breathing.

Any second, someone would pull the wrong handle. This handle. And then I’d go down in school history as the Pervert Caught in the Locker Room. Exactly the legacy I wanted.

“Where’s Karina?” a voice asked suddenly. “Didn’t she come in with us?”

“Probably still fixing her hair,” another teased. “You know her.”

More laughter. Doors slammed shut. The crowd started to thin and the chatter started moving toward the exit.

Relief surged through me — until a single set of footsteps broke off from the rest.

“Where’s my bag…” a voice muttered.

Karina.

Of course.

I pressed against the metal, holding my breath. Maybe she’d grab it and leave. Maybe—

Thunk.

My elbow hit the locker wall. Smooth, Shawn. Real stealthy.

Her footsteps stopped dead.

Silence.

Then the handle rattled. Once. Twice.

“…Shawn?”

I shut my eyes. Grandma, I'm on my way to meet you. The door creaked open, and her face appeared, framed by a swing of ponytail. She blinked, then grinned like she’d just discovered a buried treasure.

“Well, well,” she said, voice lilting. “What do we have here?”

I squinted against the light. “Uh… surprise?”

Her laugh burst out, sharp and delighted. “Are you seriously hiding in a locker?”

“No,” I said automatically. Definitely. While sitting in a locker.

She leaned closer, biting her lip to keep from laughing again. “Wow. Caught red-handed. What are you, some kind of peeping Tom?”

My stomach dropped. “What? No! I just—” I jabbed a thumb at my phone, clutched in my hand like Exhibit A. “Forgot this.”

Karina tilted her head, eyes dancing. “So instead of leaving like a normal person, you thought… yeah, let’s crawl into a locker. Brilliant plan.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Do me a favor and keep your voice down, alright? If anyone else hears—”

“Ohhh,” she interrupted, drawing it out. “You don’t want the others to know. Got it.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Which means… you owe me.”

I scoffed. “I don’t owe you anything. I just came back for my phone—”

“Mm-hm. And hid in a locker.” She tapped the metal door for emphasis, the clang echoing like a punchline. “You know what this looks like, right? To anyone else?”

Heat shot to my face. “I wasn’t—! I’m not—”

Karina tilted her head, enjoying every second. “Relax, I believe you.” She leaned in, eyes sparkling. “But I wonder if the rest of the squad would.”

My stomach sank. She had me, and she knew it.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So… here’s how this works. I keep your little secret. In exchange…” She tapped her chin like she was still deciding. “…well, I’ll let you know.”

I blinked. “That’s not how exchanges work.”

“Sure it is,” she chirped, already backing away. “You get your reputation saved, I get…” She trailed off, smiling like she was holding the winning card. “We’ll call it… a favor. Deal?”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

Karina didn’t blink. If anything, her grin stretched wider, like she’d just been handed front-row tickets to my humiliation.

“Relax,” she whispered, tapping the locker door. Clang. “I’m not gonna tell. Unless, you know… I feel like it.”

My jaw clenched. “Pretty sure that’s called blackmail.”

She tilted her head, ponytail swishing. “Pretty sure it’s called leverage. You should thank me—I’m giving your life some drama.”

Drama. Right. Because hiding in a metal box like a dollar-store Houdini wasn’t enough. Before I could fire back, voices echoed down the hall. Laughter. Sneakers squeaking against tile. My stomach plummeted.

Karina’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to me. Mischief all over her face. “Later,” she mouthed, like we were co-conspirators instead of prisoner and warden.

“Karina!” someone shouted from outside. “You coming?”

“Be right there!” she sing-songed, then leaned in close enough that her perfume hit me square in the brain. “Don’t miss me too much.”

And then—slam. The locker door shut. Darkness. Metal. Shame. I stayed frozen, heart hammering, until the voices faded. Then I shoved the door open, stumbling out like I’d been reborn as the school idiot.

First day back, and Karina already had dirt on me. Perfect.

The locker door clanged shut behind Karina’s retreating footsteps, leaving me marinating in equal parts humiliation and stale bleach smell. My dignity was somewhere on the floor next to the dust bunnies.

I let out a breath, dragging myself out of the locker like some tragic raccoon crawling out of a dumpster. Phone secure, secret semi-secure, and my pride officially on life support.

“Great,” I muttered to no one. “Day one back and I’ve already signed my soul over to a cheerleader with a ponytail.”

The hallway outside the locker room was mercifully quiet. Just me, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and the echo of my sneakers against the tile. Freedom was only a few steps away.

Except, of course, it wasn’t.

Voices carried from up ahead—low at first, then sharper, cutting through the silence. Male voices. Laughter, the mean kind. I slowed, my instincts telling me to just mind my business and keep walking. But then I saw them.

Two guys from the basketball team had someone boxed in against the trophy case. And not just anyone— Minjeong.

I knew her by sight, mostly. Same classes here and there, part of the cheer squad like Karina, though she didn’t orbit the same loud, glittery circle. She was the type you noticed without meaning to—quiet, collected, pretty in a way that didn’t seem to try. Which probably explained why the idiots in front of her were trying too hard.

“C’mon, just say yes,” one of them was pressing, leaning a little too close. His buddy snickered like a bad laugh track.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. She stood with her arms crossed, posture straight, eyes sharp. Not scared. Just… steady. But cornered all the same. And me? Instead of walking past like a sane person, I opened my mouth.

“Wow,” I called out, voice echoing down the hall. “Didn’t realize the tryouts for ‘Jerk of the Year’ were happening today. Where do I sign up?”

Both guys turned, glaring. Minjeong’s eyes flicked to me, quick and unreadable, before snapping back to them.

The taller one sneered. “Relax, Shawn. We’re just talking.”

“Right,” I said, deadpan. “Because every normal conversation involves trapping someone against glass and breathing in their face. Totally casual.”

The shorter one bristled, muttering something about minding my own business.

I shrugged, walking closer like I hadn’t just shoved my foot in my mouth. “Funny, that’s exactly what I was trying to do. Then I heard the two of you mistaking yourselves for human beings.”

That earned me a twin set of death glares. Worth it though.

Minjeong’s expression didn’t shift. She didn’t smile, didn’t roll her eyes. Just watched, arms still crossed like she was grading the whole performance.

The taller guy finally clicked his tongue and backed off, muttering, “Whatever. Not worth it.” His friend followed, both of them tossing one last dirty look over their shoulders before disappearing down the hall.

The silence they left behind was heavier than before.

I turned to Minjeong, ready for a “thanks” or maybe a nod of appreciation. Something.

Instead, she arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t need you to do that.”

…Excuse me?

“You’re welcome?” I tried, eyebrows hitting my hairline.

Her gaze didn’t waver. Calm, even. “I could’ve handled it myself.”

“Yeah?” I said slowly. “What was the plan? Laser vision? Intimidate them into submission?”

Her expression didn't soften. If anything, her jaw tightened, like my sarcasm was the last thing she needed. "I don't need a plan. I just don't need Batman over here pretending the hallway's Gotham."

I stared at her, incredulous. “So, let me get this straight. I walk in, save you from Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, and your response is basically: mind your own business?”

Minjeong shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, still maddeningly composed. “My response is: I don’t need rescuing. But… thanks.”

The last word landed flat, clipped, like it cost her something to say.

And then she turned, heading down the hallway like she hadn’t just mocked me for saving her.

“Wait, that’s it?” I called after her.

She looked back once, her hair catching in the fluorescent glow. “That’s it. Don’t make a habit out of it.”

Then she was gone, footsteps fading into the distance, leaving me standing there like the punchline to my own joke. I dragged a hand through my hair, muttering under my breath. “Fantastic. First I get blackmailed by a cheerleader, now I’m getting scolded for helping another one. Really killing it this semester.”

The trophy case glinted back at me, like it agreed.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and made my way towards the exit. The hallways were thinning out fast, students running off toward dorms, cars, buses. I kept my head down, sneakers thudding against tile, trying to shake off the image of Minjeong’s face when she’d said she didn’t need rescuing.

It didn’t matter that she’d been cornered. Didn’t matter that those idiots had been two seconds away from crossing a line. In her eyes, I wasn’t a savior. I was just… this random guy playing hero.

By the time I hit the dorms, my shoulders ached like I’d been carrying those boxes all day instead of just an hour. I collapsed face-first onto my bed, phone buzzing with a couple of useless notifications. No texts that mattered. No calls. Just static.

Perfect end to a perfect day.

I tossed the phone aside, shut my eyes, and prayed tomorrow would be better.

━

Morning hits like a brick. I wake up with the taste of yesterday still stuck in my mouth—the locker shame, the Batman slander, and Karina’s grin stamped behind my eyelids like an itch I can't quite scratch.

The campus is gray and too bright at the same time. I shoulder my bag and do the thing where I pretend to be invisible. It’s a terrible plan on a good day. Today it's even worse.

I’m halfway to the gym wing—because my schedule hates me so much it decided to park my first class next to the scene of all my recent crimes— that's when I hear it. Laughter. That specific brand: loud, performative, hungry for an audience.

“Dude, I’m telling you—he jumped in like some caped crusader.”

I stop at the corner, flattening against the cinderblock like a spy who failed orientation. Around the bend, there were the two basketball geniuses from yesterday plus a couple of extras leaning on the trophy case like they owned it. A few people hover at a safe distance, phones out, pretending not to record.

“He’s obsessed,” the tall one goes on. “You don’t run across the hall like that for nothing.”

“Probably thought she’d kiss his heroic little forehead,” the other snorts. “Shawn’s got that… what’s it called? Savior thing.”

“Complex,” someone supplies.

“Yeah. Complex.” He smirks. “Dude’s been drooling over the cheer squad since freshman year.”

Nice. Add mind-reading to their list of fake talents.

I should walk away. I should keep going, keep my head down, keep my life simple. Instead, I freeze like a deer staring at a dumb, sweaty pair of headlights.

“He hangs around the gym on purpose,” the tall one says, voice dropping conspiratorial. “Yesterday? I saw him near the locker hall. Lurking.”

My heart does a stupid lurch. He didn’t see anything. He couldn’t have. There’s no way he knows about the locker. Still, the word lurking feels like a match landing too close to dry grass.

“Probably collecting material,” his friend laughs. “You know, for his memoir: How I Fell In Love With A Pom-Pom.”

The group cracks up. A couple of passersby slow down. I can literally feel the rumor sprouting legs.

A door swings open behind them and a ribbon of chatter spills out—the cheer squad flooding the hallway like glitter with a schedule. It’s not all of them, just a few trickling in for first period. And in the middle of that stream, like she’s allergic to being in the background, there’s Karina.

She’s in sweats and a hoodie now, hair up in the kind of messy ponytail that still looks like a stylist touched it. She’s laughing at something one of the girls says, head tilted, the world easy under her feet.

Then she hears it.

“Shawn’s pathetic,” the tall one says, riding his own joke. “Teacher’s pet by day, cheer groupie by—”

Karina doesn’t even speed up. She just turns her head a fraction, and the air pressure changes. Her smile dims. It doesn’t disappear—just sharpens.

“Say that again.”

It isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. The hallway edits itself around her.

Tall blinks, dusts off his bravado. “I said he’s—”

“I heard you.” She steps closer, casual, one hand slipping into her hoodie pocket like she has all the time in the world. “I want to make sure you heard you.”

His friend laughs, uncertain. “Relax, Karina. We’re just messing around.”

“With Shawn?” she says. Still calm. Still dangerous. “Very cool.”

“I didn’t know you were adopting strays now, Karina.” Tall shoots back, finding the cliff and sprinting toward it.

Karina’s smile tilts. “And I didn’t know you could miss a free throw from two feet away, but we’re all learning new things.”

Ouch. A couple people snicker. Someone tries to hide a cough. Tall’s ears go pink.

She shifts her weight like she’s settling into a comfortable chair. “Here’s how this works,” she says, voice like warm honey over a blade. “If you’ve got something to say to him, say it to his face. Or don’t say it at all.” A beat. “And if you ever corner a girl again the way you did yesterday? I tell Coach, the Dean, and my aunt who works in admin—that’s three different ways your season gets shorter than your attention span.”

Silence. Heavy, startled, and—god help me—kind of satisfying.

“Whoa,” one of the extras says, palms up. “We were just messing around.”

“That sentence keeps getting you in trouble,” Karina says. “Try a new one.”

Tall opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again, hunting for a comeback and finding zilch.

Karina’s eyes flick like she’s bored now. “Thought so.”

Her gaze sweeps the hall—lazy, precise. It lands briefly, too briefly, right where I’m pinned to the corner pretending to be a plant. My stomach drops. She knows. Of course she knows.

She doesn’t call me out. She doesn’t even blink. Just turns back to the group and smiles the kind of smile you see in weather alerts.

She pivots, ponytail swinging, and the cheer girls move with her, laughter popping back to life like someone hit play. The basketball guys exhale in jagged little pieces. One of them mutters something I don’t catch. They drift off in the opposite direction, suddenly fascinated by their shoes.

I stay stuck an extra second, as if the wall’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Well. That happened.

When I finally peel myself free, my feet move without checking in with my brain. Away from the scene. Away from the echo. The world refills around me—voices, lockers slamming, a ringtone that’s way too cheerful for before 9 a.m.

My pocket buzzes. Unknown number.

Unknown: Cute hiding spot yesterday, Houdini.

I don’t need a signature to know who it is. I type three different responses, delete all of them, then land on the only option that won’t start a war.

Me: New phone, who dis.

The dots pop immediately.

Karina: Try that again, and your “secret” grows legs.

I shove the phone away before it can register the heat coming off my hands. My class is three doors down. I slip inside early like it’s a bunker.

For fifteen minutes, I don’t hear a thing. The professor is a watercolor blur. My notes are a line of doodles that look suspiciously like coffins.

Karina defending me plays on loop. Not cute. Not flirty. Scary in a way that felt… safe? Which makes no sense. The same girl who slid a lock on my dignity yesterday just built a fence around my name.

Why? Because she’s chaotic and bored? Because she hates bullies? Because challenging a claim is a hobby?

Don’t think about it.

I fail at not thinking about it for the next forty minutes anyway.

When the bell finally kicks us out, the hallway is flooded again—students flowing, gossip swimming downstream. Bits and pieces catch: …she told him off…, …he totally backed down…, …did you hear about Shawn and—

I walk faster.

At my locker, I concentrate on the combination like I'm disarming a bomb. The door swings open, mercifully revealing nothing explosive. Just books, a half-squashed granola bar, and a sticky note I don’t remember writing that says buy detergent in handwriting that looks like a dying spider.

“Shawn.”

My spine sprints out of my back. I look behind me.

Minjeong stands a couple feet away—bag strap in one hand, the other tucked in her jacket pocket. She’s not glaring. She’s not smiling. She’s just… there. Self-contained. Those calm eyes from yesterday taking my measure again, and still not giving anything away.

“Hey,” I say, because my brain is nothing if not a goldfish.

She glances past me, toward the corridor where the morning circus took place, then back. “I heard.”

I blink. “Heard what?”

“Your fan club.” Flat. Dry as chalk. “Congrats on the promotion.”

“Yeah,” I say. “My benefits package is incredible. Free humiliation and a dental plan.”

The corner of her mouth almost twitches. Almost. She reins it in so fast it might’ve been my imagination.

“I don’t need you jumping in again,” she says, tone even. Not hostile. Not warm. A fact she’s setting in the world. “But… I don’t like people who talk trash in packs.”

“Me neither,” I say before I can stop myself.

We stand on that sentence like it’s a tiny, rickety bridge. Not friends. Not enemies. Not anything, really. Just two people who hate the same kind of noise.

“Cool,” she says finally, as if concluding a math problem. She shifts her bag like she’s about to go. Then: “And you don’t need to keep playing Batman.”

“I’m switching to Aquaman,” I say. “Less cape. More damp.”

This time her mouth actually twitches. It’s microscopic, and it’s gone in a blink, but it’s there.

“Bye, Shawn.”

She moves into the corridor, the current swallowing her whole. I stare at the place she was, wondering if I just passed a test I didn’t know I was taking or failed it with flair.

My phone buzzes again.

Karina: Lunch. Come outside. Don’t make me come find you

No punctuation after the second sentence. Somehow scarier.

I consider ignoring it. I consider running. I consider transferring to a school three states over and changing my name to something untraceable like Bob.

Instead, I text back the only thing that doesn’t feel like pulling a fire alarm on myself.

Me: Fine.

The lunch lives on the front steps because the weather decided to show off. Blue sky, forgiving sun, a breeze that’s trying its best to calm you down. People clog the stairs like human confetti. I park on the lower step since it’s the fastest exit if I need to bail.

Karina arrives like she always does—late. Gray hoodie, sunglasses perched on her head, ponytail doing physics I don’t understand. Two girls trail her, laughing at something that I’m ninety percent sure wasn’t funny until she said it.

She drops onto the step in front of me and spins so she’s facing up, knees bracketing my shins like a trap. The other girls fan out, then get distracted by someone else and drift. Karina and I are in a bubble of air that tastes like sun and trouble.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“For what,” I deadpan. “For threatening to end an entire sports team before homeroom?”

She grins, satisfied. “They were asking for it.”

“So are you,” I say before my filter clocks in.

She tilts her head. “Careful. I’m still deciding whether you live to see senior year.”

“Thought we had a deal,” I say. “A vague one where you keep my… situation… quiet and I owe you some ominous favor you haven’t named.”

“We do.” She props her chin on her fist. “I just like watching you squirm.”

“Great. I’m a hobby.”

“You’re a full-time job,” she says, amused, like she’s just discovered a truth. “Did you seriously hide in a locker?”

“Are we doing this at lunch?”

“We’re doing this whenever I feel like it.”

There’s a ping in the air—her line, my patience, the invisible wire between us tightening by a millimeter.

I rub the back of my neck. “Why defend me?”

She blinks, fake-innocent. “I defend all underdogs. I’m a humanitarian.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her smile softens a sliver. Not much. Just enough to look human. “I hate cowards,” she says, and there’s no lace on the word. “Guys who need a crowd to make their mouths work.”

She didn’t say Shawn. She didn’t say you. She said guys, and meant them, and the way she spits it out feels like a weather front.

“So that was… public service?”

“That was me getting bored.” She flicks an invisible piece of lint off my knee like she owns it. “Also, they were annoying me.”

Right. Not about me. Not about anything except her mood.

“Anyway,” she says, clapping once, decision made. “Today’s easy. Your first payment.”

My stomach sinks. “Payment?”

“Don’t act shocked.” She pulls her sunglasses down to her nose, eyes gleaming over the frames. “You owe me, locker boy.”

“Are you seriously calling me that?”

“I am.” She shoves the glasses back up. “After school. Gym. Don’t be late.”

“I have… plans.” I don’t. Not even a little.

“Cancel them,” she says, already standing. “Coach lets the squad use the aux room at four. Be there at four-oh-five.”

“What happens if I’m there at four-ten?”

She smiles in a way that makes the sun feel colder. “Your secret grows legs.”

“Right.” I exhale. “So this is extortion with a schedule.”

“Leverage with a bow,” she corrects, stepping backward down the stairs. “Try not to trip on your way to our date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she sing-songs, turning away.

She disappears into a knot of people, the ponytail the last thing to go.

I stare at the step where she’d been, then down at my hands, then up at a sky that refuses to send an anvil.

“Awesome,” I tell no one. “I’m being blackmailed by Evil Barbie.”

━

The last period of the day drips like a broken faucet. My leg bounces under the desk. Every time my phone buzzes, my heart tries to punch out.

One buzz is a group chat: Who’s bringing chips tonight? Another is a campus alert about parking. A third is Unknown again.

Karina: Don’t be late.

Me: You text like a supervillain.

Karina: And you hide like one. Four-oh-five.

I shove the phone into my pocket and stare hard enough at the clock to set it on fire. It doesn’t move faster. It never does.

When the final bell finally frees us, the hall is a stampede. I let it carry me for half a hallway, then break off toward the gym. My shoes squeak in the corridor that always smells like sweat and lemon cleaner. The closer I get, the more my brain tries to file a formal complaint.

I pause at the double doors. The muffled thud of music pulses from somewhere inside—bass and claps and the geometry of people who know how to count in eights.

Aux room, she said.

I slip through the main gym—empty now, lines painted on the floor like a promise no one’s cashing in—and head for the smaller door off to the side. It’s cracked. Light spills out.

I lift my hand to knock.

“Finally.”

Her voice snaps from inside, playful and cutting. The door swings wider, and there she is: ponytail, hoodie, leggings, that unbothered royalty in her posture like the room’s been waiting for her permission to exist.

“You’re three minutes late,” she says, eyes skimming me head to toe like she’s checking if I came assembled correctly.

“I thought fashionably late would soften the extortion.”

“It didn’t.” She jerks her chin toward the room. “Come on in.”

The aux is small, with a mirrored wall and a speaker in the corner. Mats are stacked against one side, a tumble of pompoms in a bin like a fluffy, weaponized rainbow. It smells like rubber and energy drinks.

I step inside. The door nudges shut behind me with the softest click. My lungs notice first. Then the rest of me.

“So,” I say, trying for casual and landing somewhere near help. “What’s the favor?”

Karina’s smile curves, equal parts wicked and thrilled, like she just found a hundred dollars on the ground and decided it was hers long before she saw it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, walking backward toward the mirror, hair swishing. “I’ll tell you.”

She taps her phone. The music cuts.

Silence slides into the room, expectant and bright.

“Ready, locker boy?” she asks.

I swallow. “Define ready.”

“That’s what I thought.” She points to the spot in front of her like it’s a starting line only she can see. “Let’s earn that secret.”

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

Karina just turned, ponytail bouncing behind her like it had its own smug personality, and crossed the room to the center mat. She sat down like she owned the floor, legs folded beneath her, spine straight. Then she looked up at me with this casual, merciless smile.

“Sit.”

I blinked. “You invited me here to… sit?”

“I invited you here to sweat,” she said, voice sugar-slick and smug. “The sitting comes first. Don’t worry, I’ll get you moving.”

If my dignity had a seatbelt, it would’ve already unclipped itself and walked out. But I sat.

A breath passed between us. One. Two.

Then she reached out, hand brushing mine—not soft, not an accident, but something sharper. She threaded her fingers through mine like it was a game and I’d just agreed to lose.

“You know,” she said, eyes on our hands, “I thought you’d chicken out.”

“I considered it.”

“You always do the right thing anyway. Teacher’s pet. Hero boy. Closet locker dweller.” Her thumb swept slowly across mine. “But here you are.”

“You threatened me.”

She smirked. “And you showed up. You know what that makes you?”

I opened my mouth. She didn’t let me answer.

Karina leaned in—closer than close. That space between us? Gone. Her knee touched mine. Her breath hit my cheek. Her voice dropped to the kind of whisper that ruins people in public places.

“It makes you mine, Shawn.”

God.

My pulse snapped awake like it had somewhere to be.

She tilted her head, eyes scanning mine, just to see what landed. Her fingers moved—slow, deliberate—up my wrist, over my arm, toward the curve of my shoulder. She stopped at the collar of my shirt, pinching it between her fingers like it offended her.

“Take it off.”

Not a question.

I hesitated.

She just looked at me, waiting. Still. Unbothered. Like she knew I would.

And of course I did.

The shirt came off, slow and awkward, catching on one elbow like my body knew I was about to make a mistake and tried to buy time. But then it hit the floor, and I was sitting in front of her half-dressed, every nerve suddenly way too aware of the air on my skin.

Karina’s eyes swept over me like checking a checklist she wasn’t planning to share. She bit her lip, barely. Almost like she didn’t want me to see it.

Then she shifted forward, onto her knees, and climbed right into my lap.

“Karina—”

“Shh,” she whispered, palms flattening on my chest. “You talk too much.”

And then she kissed me. Not gently. Not hesitantly. Like she was hungry and I was the only thing on the menu.

Her mouth claimed mine, fast and full, her fingers tangling into my hair before I could think straight. I kissed her back without meaning to—hands gripping her hips, grounding myself, trying not to lose altitude too fast. But I was already falling.

She pulled back barely an inch, lips brushing mine as she breathed, “You really thought you’d get out of this with your pride intact?”

I could barely think, let alone speak.

“You don’t get to hide in lockers,” she whispered, rolling her hips just enough to make my brain short-circuit, “and walk away like nothing happened.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you like it.”

Then her mouth found my neck—soft at first, then teeth. A warning. A promise. My hands moved on instinct, sliding under her hoodie, palms tracing the line of her back, her waist, the edge of her sports bra.

She gasped—barely—but it lit something between us like a match.

I pulled her tighter, lips at her jaw, tasting that smile she wore like armor. Her nails dug into my shoulder. Her hips rolled again, and this time I let out a sound I didn’t recognize.

Her breath caught. She leaned back just far enough to look me in the eye, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown.

“You know,” she murmured, fingers trailing down my chest like she had all the time in the world, “any guy in this college would kill to be under me.”

My mouth opened.

“But you’re the only one who got caught.”

Then she grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them to the mat.

I froze. She leaned in—nose brushing mine, heat between us rising fast and reckless—and said, voice low:

“Bet you won’t hide from me again.”

Karina looked down at me like I was her next bad decision, and she was dying to make it count.

“You ever thought about this?” she asked, like it was casual.

Like this — me flat on my back, her straddling my lap, one knee between my thighs — was no big deal.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

She grinned. “You did. I can see it on your face.”

I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. I was too busy trying not to pass out from how insanely real this was. Her hands. Her weight. Her breath. Her mouth right there.

The thing is — I had thought about it. Too many times. Every time she walked past in that uniform, or showed up to class with a ponytail and a smirk like she ruled the school. I’d imagined her in every position a guy isn’t supposed to admit to.

And now?

Now I was living it.

And losing my goddamn mind.

She leaned down, mouth brushing my jaw like it was an accident. It wasn’t. Nothing Karina ever did was an accident.

“I think about it too,” she whispered.

My chest stopped working.

“Every time you looked at me like you hated me.” Her hips shifted, slow grind. “Every time you mouthed off like you weren’t picturing this exact moment with your hands around my ass.”

I groaned. Couldn’t help it.

Her mouth curled against my skin. “God, you’re easy.”

“I’m not—”

She rolled her hips again, and the second I arched up into her, she laughed.

“Liar.”

One of her hands slid off my wrist — finally — and trailed down my chest. She didn’t rush. Just traced every inch of me like she was cataloging damage.

“Bet you touch yourself thinking about this,” she said. “Thinking about me.”

I clenched my jaw. Didn’t answer.

She dragged her nails right over the line of my waistband.

“I do,” she whispered. “Sometimes when I’m stretching after practice. I’ll think about your face in that locker. All flustered. All pink.”

Her voice dipped lower. “And I’ll think… what would he do if I climbed on top of him and didn’t stop?”

I lost it.

Sat up so fast our faces almost collided — hand in her hair, kiss hard and messy like I’d been starving for it. Which, let’s be honest, I had.

Karina moaned into my mouth like she was thrilled I’d finally snapped. Her fingers curled into my shoulders. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and suddenly I was the one in control — kind of.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s soaking through their sweats,” I growled.

She grinned, biting her lip. “Guess you bring it out of me.”

She peeled off her hoodie in one motion — black sports bra underneath, clinging to her like it was made for me to ruin.

Then — she stretched.

Full body. Arms over her head, arching her back until I wanted to thank whoever made her so flexible.

“You know I can get my legs behind my head?” she said, casual as hell.

I stared. Blinked. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

She grinned. “Oh, I do.”

And then she stood, peeled her leggings down — no underwear — and dropped back onto my lap like it was home. She rocked once against me. No barrier now. Just her heat and my hard-on, and the kind of tension that could level a building.

I was breathing hard. Trying to focus. Trying not to die.

“You gonna make me beg?” I asked, voice rough.

Her smile turned lethal. “No,” she whispered. “I’m gonna make you come undone.”

She didn’t give me time to think.

Karina rolled her hips against me again — skin on skin now — and I felt her slick heat right through my boxers. No teasing anymore. No smug little power games.

Just need.

She reached between us and tugged my waistband down, breath shallow, eyes locked on mine like she was watching my brain fry in real time. And it was.

My dick sprang free — hard, flushed, way past ready — and Karina made a low sound in her throat. Something between a hum and a curse. It hit me harder than anything she’d said yet.

Her fingers wrapped around me, slow, practiced. “You really were hiding all this in a locker?” she whispered. “Tragic.”

I couldn’t even throw a comeback. Not with her stroking me like that. Not with her thighs bracketing my hips, tight and ready, body soft and hot and soaked for me.

She lined us up, gaze still locked on mine. “Say it.”

My chest heaved. “Say what?”

“That I’m the only one who gets this.”

“You are,” I said, voice raw.

And then she sank down onto me — inch by slow, wet, impossible inch — and every nerve in my body lit up.

I grabbed her hips on instinct, like I needed to anchor myself to reality. She didn’t stop. Didn’t gasp. Just took it, bottoming out until her thighs pressed against mine and she was fully seated on my lap, nails digging into my shoulders.

“Oh my god,” I choked out.

Karina smiled, eyes heavy, lips kiss-swollen. “Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s what I thought.”

Then she moved.

And fuck, she moved like she’d been built for this. Smooth rolls of her hips, tight clenches of muscle around me, like her body was designed to grip mine. Her flexibility wasn’t just for show — it was a weapon. She used it like one. Legs shifting, knees spreading wider, then sliding up until her feet planted on the mat behind my back. Her thighs opened like a promise I didn’t deserve.

“You gonna keep staring,” she whispered, leaning forward, “or are you gonna fuck me back?”

I snapped.

One arm around her waist, the other under her thigh — and I lifted her. Just like that. She let out a gasp, then a laugh, arms flinging around my neck.

“You’re strong,” she breathed.

“You’re light.”

“Liar,” she grinned, tightening her legs around my waist.

I didn’t answer. I just turned us, planting her back against the mirror wall, and thrust.

Karina’s mouth dropped open — no words, just breath. Her legs clamped tighter, ankles hooking behind my back, and I drove into her again, and again, until the mirror was rattling behind us.

Her head fell back, smacking the glass. “Shit,” she moaned. “You’ve been holding this in all year?”

“Longer.”

Her nails raked down my back. “Then don’t stop.”

So I didn’t. I slammed into her, watching her unravel, watching that queen-of-the-campus mask crack in the best way — eyes glassy, lips parted, body tightening around me every time I bottomed out. Her flexibility only made it worse. Her hips could tilt at angles that felt illegal. Her legs wrapped around me like rope. And every time I thought she was close, she’d twist her body into some new position — one that got me deeper, hit her harder, made her whimper just loud enough for me to lose my mind.

I needed to see her come apart. So I slid her down, dropped to my knees, and yanked her legs up over my shoulders in one move.

“Oh fuck—”

Her back hit the mat, her calves folded behind her head, and I didn’t hesitate.

I thrust into her like I was trying to prove a point. Her body bent easy — too easy — like she’d been made to be fucked like this. Her hands scrambled for purchase, mouth open, moaning my name between gasps that didn’t even sound real.

“Shawn—Shawn, shit, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” I growled, pounding into her harder. “Then do it. Come for me. Flex those perfect fucking legs and scream my name.”

And she did.

Her whole body snapped, thighs trembling, voice breaking, pussy squeezing me so tight I had to grit my teeth to keep myslef from losing it.

But I wasn’t done. Not even close. I pulled out, breathing like I’d just run ten miles, and looked down at her — legs still bent, eyes glazed, chest heaving.

She blinked up at me. “You’re not… done?”

I shook my head. “Turn over.”

She stared.

Then, slow as sin, Karina flipped onto her stomach and arched her back, ass in the air like it belonged there. She turned her head just enough to smirk.

“You always this bossy after getting blackmailed?”

I slapped her ass — once, loud. She yelped. Laughed.

I lined up again, hands gripping her waist, and slid in from behind, hips slamming against hers with a sound that echoed through the aux room.

“Shawn—!”

She was already sensitive, already wrecked, and I loved it. Loved watching her squirm, loved the way her shoulders dropped, her moans went higher, her body trembled. I grabbed her arms, pulled her back against my chest, and fucked up into her like I was trying to claim a throne.

And then, when she was just shy of breaking again, I pulled out.

She whined. “What are you doing?”

I dropped to my back and pointed to my face.

“Climb up.”

Her eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

“You started this,” I panted. “Come finish it.”

“You serious?” she breathed.

I leaned back on my elbows, dick still aching, lips parted. “Dead serious. I’m not done tasting you.”

That got her moving.

She slid her leg over me like a slow dance, then turned herself around — facing my legs, ass up, and holy hell — the view was enough to kill me on the spot.

She bent forward effortlessly, palms bracing on my thighs, and that perfect ass hovered above my chest while her mouth dipped to wrap around me.

I groaned — loud. She smirked, tongue swirling as she took me deeper. All warmth and suction and slow, sinful rhythm like she knew exactly what she was doing. And she did. She fucking knew.

But I wasn’t letting her steal the show.

My hands slid up her thighs, squeezing, spreading her open, and then my mouth was on her — tongue dragging through slick heat, tasting every inch. She gasped around me, and it vibrated all the way down.

"Shit," she moaned, voice muffled around my cock.

Her hips rocked against my face, instinctive, trying to grind down harder — but I grabbed her ass with both hands and held her there. Didn’t let her move. Just ate her like I hadn’t had a meal in weeks.

And god, the way she tasted — sweet, messy, addictive. Her thighs trembled around my head. She was close again, already, and I was high on it. Drunk on her sounds, her scent, the way her spine bowed when I sucked her clit.

But Karina — she wasn’t out yet.

She pulled back from my cock, breath shaky, then sank down again with more purpose. Deeper. Hungrier. Like she was trying to break me the same way I was wrecking her.

And it worked.

My hips bucked. My breath caught. Her tongue was fast and filthy and confident, and when I curled two fingers inside her at the same time — twisting, pressing — she cried out and nearly choked on me.

We were both trembling now. Both holding on by threads. “F-fuck, Karina—” I groaned, voice rough.

She pulled off just enough to smirk. “You taste better when you’re desperate.”

And then she took me all the way in. No warning. Just throat and heat and that flexibility, her spine curved perfectly above me, like her whole body was designed to sin. I nearly lost it. Fought it off by sucking her clit hard and curling my fingers just right — the way she liked, the way that made her hips jerk and her breath stutter.

She came again, falling apart over my mouth, thighs clamping around my head like she was trying to hold on to the world.

I didn’t stop.

She gasped. Sobbed. “Fuck, Shawn, fuuuck—”

Her head dropped between my legs. She couldn’t suck anymore. Could barely breathe. I was still licking. Still tasting her. Still obsessed. Her body shook.

And then she pushed off me, rolled over like her muscles gave out, and stared at the ceiling like it had just handed her a vision.

I sat up, wiped my mouth, and stared down at her — wrecked, pink, eyes glassy.

Her voice cracked. “I’ve never come that hard before.”

I smiled — slow. “You’re welcome.”

She looked at me like she wanted to slap me and ride me at the same time. “You cocky bastard.”

“I learned from the best.”

Her gaze dragged down to where I was still hard. Still flushed. Still twitching. Then she sat up — graceful despite how wrecked she was — and crawled back into my lap. Karina straddled me again, reached between us, and guided me in — no games this time. Just her, still soaked, still warm, still dripping for me.

She sank down with a hiss. My hands grabbed her hips on instinct.

Then she grabbed my face — both palms — and kissed me. Slow. Deep. Like we hadn’t just wrecked each other. Like this was a promise.

When she pulled back, her voice was soft. No sarcasm. No snark.

“You’re mine now.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

And I did.

I felt it, too — the way she moved on me. The way she clung. The way her body tightened every time I hit that perfect spot. I held her tighter. Kissed her harder. And when I finally came — loud, deep inside her — she moaned like it was a victory.

And maybe it was.

Because as we collapsed together on the mat, bodies tangled, sweat cooling, and breath coming in broken pieces, I knew one thing for sure:

She wasn’t letting me go. Knock. Knock. The sound echoed through the gym doors. We both froze, hearts slamming all over again for a different reason. TO BE CONTINUED...

[devilhuntingslayer]

Keep it up (Le sserafim Yunjin)

27.5k words ————— You don’t expect Yunjin to recognize you in the midst of this neon ocean. And maybe that’s the point.

After all, it had been years since she last saw your face. Four years since she gave up everything to climb up the summit. Whatever traces of you died the moment she turned away from the terminal headed back home. 

She knew she couldn’t see you—not without making her dreams come true.

And sure enough, she did it. Became the best version of herself. The one that girls swoon for, the one who swore she’d change the industry.

—————

Two hours go by in a flash. The encore hits like a slow-motion train wreck. 

These five women who’ve conquered the world are glowing dazzlingly under bright lights, soulfully soaring through Fearnot, their fan song. No choreography now, just pure, emotional release. Sakura’s usually sharp edges blur into something desperate and beautiful. Chaewon moves like liquid grace, pouring herself into every note. Kazuha’s a force of nature barely contained, and Eunchae shines with tear-stricken pride. 

And then there’s Yunjin. Always Yunjin. 

Always beside Chaewon, gripped to the mic like a lifeline, pouring out the song’s sincere ache. In a voice that used to whisper secrets like that, curled against you in a tiny Seoul sublet, dreams bigger than the walls could hold.

After the cheers, the final ments begin. Sakura, elegant even when catching breath, thanks everyone in Japanese, Korean, and halting English. Chaewon holds her composure thanking the staff, the company, sweeping the sea of Fimbongs and her carefully constructed control fractures with firm steadiness. 

"Last year," she starts, then stops, cracking slightly, "Last year—we thought maybe it was over. That we’d let you down so much." 

A collective silence ripples through the crowd, a wave of vehement denial. Kazuha steps closer, resting a hand on her member’s shoulder, in a show of silent solidarity. Eunchae just nods vigorously, tears spilling freely now, her own form of agreement. The resolute leader she is, Chaewon manages to finish her speech without showing vulnerability for longer than a fleeting glance.

Then it’s her turn. Yunjin. 

She steps forward, blinking against the spotlight’s glare. The cheers surge once more, consistent in its support. She holds up a hand, asking for quiet. It takes a moment; the adoration reluctantly subsides into a charged hush. You see it then, the bone-deep weariness beneath all the stage makeup, the slight tremor in her fingers before she grips her mic with both hands.

"Hi, Fearnot. Chaewon’s right." 

Simple, quiet, and direct. It cuts through the stadium silence sharper than any scream. 

She swallows, looks down at her sneakers, then forces her chin up, scanning the vast darkness punctuated by light. 

"2024—it felt like drowning sometimes. Like every step forward was against a tidal wave." 

Her voice is low, but it carries to everyone’s ear, clear and resonant. No idol polish now, just Huh Yunjin, showing her heart on her sleeve. 

"The hate—it was relentless. Like they wanted to break us. Wanted to prove we didn’t deserve this. Deserve you." 

Pausing, she delicately bites her lip. The memory flashes: headlines about Coachella-gate across every Hallyu-related news site on your phone, vile comments scrolling endlessly, the helpless fury you felt continents away. 

"We doubted. God, we doubted so hard. Questioned everything. Why were we even doing this? Was it worth—" 

Her voice catches, genuinely breaks. She presses a hand to her mouth, eyes squeezing shut for a second. A thousand voices rise in immediate comfort, a wordless roar of love. She lowers her hand, manages a watery smile. 

"But you—" Yunjin gestures vaguely, encompassing the entire neon blue ocean. "You were our life raft. Every message. Every stream. Every time you fought back with love when they threw hate. You held us up. You made us believe we weren’t alone in that storm."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, squaring her shoulders. That familiar fire reignites in her eyes, the one you fell for: unyielding, persistent. 

"This tour? This concert, right here, right now?" She sweeps her arm out, again claiming this wave as their own. "This is it. Our ‘we made it’ moment. Not because of charts, or sales—" 

She shakes her head, dismissing the trappings. "—but because we’re here. Still standing. Still performing. Still being—Le sserafim. Because you are still here. After everything." 

Her voice gains strength, the conviction gradually growing with every word. "You never let us sink. You are—" 

She searches for the word, quickly finds it. "Irreplaceable. Thank you so much. Thank you for believing in us when we couldn't believe in ourselves."

Her gaze sweeps across the front sections as she speaks, radiating sincerity, genuine connection. Then, for a fraction of a heartbeat—a skipped beat in the universe’s rhythm—her eyes seem to snag, catching something special. 

You. 

Time distorts. The noise fades to a dull throb in your ears. Her expression doesn’t change, not outwardly. Still the grateful idol, overwhelmed by the collective love. But in her eyes, there’s a microsecond of—something. Recognition, perhaps shock. A ghost flickering across the bright stage lights reflected in her dark pupils, or just the delusional projection of a heart that never truly let go.

It’s gone before you can truly grasp it, her focus already shifting fluidly to the next sea of irrecognizable faces, her smile never wavering. But the trace of that glance lingers, a brand on your skin hotter than any stage pyro.

The final song begins; the opening chords of Perfect Night pulse through the arena, a complete tonal shift. It’s bright, infectious, celebratory. The members instantly transform, two hours of exhaustion momentarily banished by the song’s pure, euphoric energy. They bounce, they grin, perform some of the choreography. Then they interact with fans, blowing kisses, reading raised signs, waving wildly. They run along the extended stage, high-fiving outstretched hands. Yunjin is radiant, laughing freely as she dances, the weight of her speech momentarily lifted by the song’s joyous abandon. 

She looks—happy. Triumphant. Free. Everything she fought for, bled for, left you for, was realized in this glorious, shining moment.

You watch, mesmerized and hollowed out. The melody is catchy, the performance flawless. It’s the soundtrack to a victory lap in their young careers. But all you hear is the echo of her confession, the microscopic trace of that impossible glance. You see her laughing, bathed in adoration, and superimposed over it is the memory of her standing in the doorway of your shared apartment, duffel bag at her feet, eyes blazing with a different kind of determination. 

"I have to try. Properly. No distractions. Not even—not even us. It’ll kill me if I don’t." 

You’d nodded, numb, the taste of goodbye like vinegar in your mouth. Four years of silence, save for her soaring voice through speakers, her image plastered on screens. Four years of watching her climb that summit, alone at first, then with the four sisters beside her.

They make their final rounds, waving, calling out final thank-yous, soaking in the last waves of love. Yunjin is near your section again. Close enough to see the sheen of sweat on her neck, the genuine crinkles at the corners of her eyes as she smiles. 

She scans the crowd, waving broadly. Her gaze seemingly hesitates, just for a millisecond, as it passes over where you stand, frozen. Or it’s just desperation twisting perception. 

She blows a kiss towards the general direction. A gesture for thousands, not one. Then she’s turning, linking arms with Chaewon, heading back towards the main stage for their final bow and goodbye as the final notes fade and the house lights begin to rise, leaving the glittering darkness behind.

The roar of the crowd swells one last time, a deafening, beautiful agony. Then the spell breaks.

Fearnots around you start chattering, gathering belongings, leaving with that post-concert high. You remain rooted. The stage, now empty under work lights, looks impossibly small. The lingering image isn’t of the final, polished group bow, but of Yunjin’s face in that fractured second: the vulnerability beneath the idol, the echo of the girl who kissed you like it was breathing, the woman whose success is a monument built on the ruins of what you shared. 

She made it. She truly did. And you’re now just another face in the neon ocean she conquered.

The crowd’s departing roar still vibrates in your molars when you feel the hand clamp your elbow: firm, insistent. A burly man in all-black security gear materializes beside you, the solitary earpiece coiled around his ear like a serpent. 

"Come with me," he insists, already steering you against the human current. No given explanation, no special fanfare. Just the scent of industrial cleaner and the dissonant clang of folding chairs as staff dismantle the dreamscape. Your VIP lanyard feels suddenly counterfeit.

—————

"It’s pointless!" 

Yunjin, seventeen and teeming with exhaustion, slams her water bottle down. 

The sterile light in the corridor bleeds into another blinding flash: the glare of a Pledis practice room, seven years ago, charged with ambition and smelling of reheated noodles. 

"My Korean pronunciation is garbage. My dancing looks stiff. They’ll cut me episode one." Her declaration tears through the humid silence. 

You lean against the mirrored wall, feeling the cool glass bite through your thin shirt. The reflection shows her hunched shoulders, the tremor in her fingers she tries to hide by shoving them into her track pants pockets. 

"Cut you?" Your tone is deliberately light. Hell or high water, you’re her biggest cheerleader. Anything she wants, you're two feet deep in. 

"Based on what? Your ability to turn a practice session into a tragedy?" Pushing off the wall, you step into her space. Close enough to smell her skin, the cheap strawberry shampoo. "They’ll see what I see: someone who doesn’t know what quit means."

Yunjin whirls, eyes blazing. Not anger. Terror. 

"You don’t get it! This isn’t some—some school talent show! This is Produce 48. Thousands auditioned. Girls who trained since they were six. Girls who belong on stage like they were born right on it." 

Her gesture encompasses the cramped, peeling room, the entirety of Seoul itself, a world you were always just visiting. "What do I have? A foreign face and a dream bigger than my skills."

"You have this," you insist, catching her wrist before she can turn away, your other hand tapping lightly against her temple. Her pulse thuds frantically against your thumb, your hearts coming together as one. "That brain. That fire. That ridiculous laugh that sounds like a dying seagull." 

A reluctant twitch touches her lips. 

"You have a voice," you continue, carefully avoiding the banned phrase, "that doesn’t sound like anyone else’s. Like you’re singing straight from your soul." 

Leaning closer, forcing her frantic gaze to hold yours. "That’s why they’ll love you. Not if you become some perfect idol robot. Only if you stay exactly this. Loud, messy, stubborn, brilliant Jennifer Huh."

Her defiance flickers. You see it: a crack in her fortified walls. 

"Millions," she scoffs, but it’s weaker than before. "You talk like it’s guaranteed."

"Because it should be." The conviction in your tone surprises even you. "You walk onto that stage, you look those cameras dead in the eye, and you show them you. The girl who argues about pizza toppings for twenty minutes. The girl who cried watching that turtle documentary. The girl who—" 

You hesitate, the unspoken implication hanging thick between you. The girl who I love.

"The girl who believes in the impossible. Show them that. Not some polished version. The real thing. The world’s starving for it."

She stares at you, breathing hard. The fear in her eyes doesn’t vanish, but something else sparks alongside it: a fragile, desperate hope. 

"And what about you?" she asks, a sudden sharpness returning. "What’s your grand plan, Mr. Ye of Little Faith? Still leaving in December?"

The question lands like an abrupt undercut. Your temporary visa, your life back home. It’s an expiration date stamped on everything you’ve built here in Seoul, especially this. Not to mention the distance and timezone difference. 

"Yeah," you admit, already feeling regret for the inevitable. "Flight’s booked. Back to—figuring it out. University applications gathering dust somewhere." 

You try for a smile; it feels hollow. "Doesn't mean we vanish. Seoul to—wherever I land. It’s not Mars. We call. We message. We argue over bad internet connections about terrible survival show edits." 

You squeeze her wrist gently. "You climb that mountain. I’ll—find my place. We keep climbing. Just maybe not side by side."

Her eyes search yours, wide and dark and impossibly young. The future yawns before you both: her path lit by brutal, dazzling spotlights, yours disappearing into fog and silent hills. The inevitability of your parting lingers in your ribs.

"Promise?" The word escapes her, quiet but emphatic. Not about the show. About the connection. The delicate thread across the coming distance.

A lump forms in your throat. "Promise," you echo, the vow settling heavy in the sticky air. "You be you. I’ll—be somewhere. Watching. Always." 

You let go of her wrist; she doesn’t pull away immediately. Her fingers brush yours, a fleeting, intimate contact. A silent pact sealed beneath the lights and dreams on the brink of coming true.

—————

The jarring beep of a security scanner slams you back into the present corridor. Concrete underfoot, not peeling linoleum. Here, the air smells of hairspray, and distant cigarette smoke, not cheap takeout and teenage angst. 

Stay exactly this. Seven years on, those same three words echo in your skull as you’re ushered past a heavy fire door marked ‘Artist Only.’ 

The corridor narrows to a straight line with soundproofed doors lining each side. The staffer guiding you in offers no clues; his face is impassive granite. The abrupt summons feels less like an invitation, more like an ambush. Muffled laughter spills from one side: high-pitched, exhausted, familiar. Chaewon’s distinct cadence, Sakura’s softer chime, and Yunjin’s loud chortles that can be recognized anywhere. 

Your heart races the same exact way anyone in your position would: as a fan, not an acquaintance.

It’s a confrontation you never prepared for, orchestrated by a ghost from a life you packed away the day your plane left Incheon. 

—————

Then, another phantom from that past life:

Here comes Yunjin, returning home in tears—tears she couldn’t afford to shed on screen—running headfirst to a family showering endless praise and comfort to their daughter for giving it her all. But to her, it wasn’t enough.

And the numbers do, in fact, corroborate: 26th. A step short from the finale. Against a level of unprecedented competition: AKB icons, young prodigies, battle-tested veterans, hidden gems. First was never in the cards; you quietly admitted it was an uphill struggle, but to be knocked out in this manner is a whole new level of hurt. 

And you weren’t even competing in the damn thing.

You’re right there with the rest of the Huh family, watching helplessly while she’s surrounded by loved ones, her sister Rachel included, as she continues to let the emotions gush. After all, this had been her dream, the dream she so desperately wanted to realize ever since she understood her Korean heritage and the impact her culture had been making on the world. How she wanted to leave her own mark and legacy, to be a beacon for others to open that same light she’d unabashedly, proudly shone.

Now that light was so close to burning out in a sea of her own insecurity and heartbreak, amplified tenfold when you’re left alone in her room.

Late night summer rain lashes the windowpane, mirroring the relentless storm inside. Yunjin sits hunched on the edge of her bed, back rigid, facing away from your carefully tender gaze. The glow of a muted TV casts flickering blue shadows—a replay of the elimination episode she can’t bear to watch but can’t escape. The dreaded number hangs in the air like smog, invisible but choking. 

26th. It’s the unlucky number doubled for a reason.

Downstairs, you hear the muffled rise and fall of her family’s voices: her mother’s gentle whispers, her father’s low rumble, sister Rachel’s sharper, comforting tones. A fortress of love she’s retreated from. You perch awkwardly on her desk chair, the one plastered with peeling stickers of indie bands she loved at fourteen. 

"It’s—it’s just a show, Jin," you try again, the same hollow, practiced reassurance you’ve offered for hours. "Doesn’t define you. You were amazing. Everyone saw it." 

You gesture uselessly towards the blank space where a screen might show her performance. "Your high note? In the position battle? It was—" 

You fumble, banned phrases and buzzwords serving as a minefield. "Incredible. People talked about it for days."

She doesn’t turn. Her shoulders tense further, knuckles white where she grips the edge of her mattress. 

"Talked," she echoes, the sound flat, stripped bare. "Then voted for someone else." 

A bitter, mirthless puff of air escapes her. "Amazing doesn’t get you into the finale. Amazing doesn’t get you a career." 

Her voice cracks on that last word, revealing a fissure flooded with pent-up molten hurt beneath the frozen surface.

Helplessness claws at you. You want to cross the room, pull her into your arms, absorb the tremors you know are shaking her core. But the space between the chair and the bed feels like a canyon carved by her despair. 

"You’re seventeen," you press, the desperation fraying at your own control. "This isn’t the end. It’s—it’s a detour. A really shitty detour. But you’ll find another way. You have to keep going. Keep singing. Keep being you. That’s what matters. That’s what people loved." 

You’re parroting your own past assurances, the ones from the practice room months ago that now sound naive, insulting against the finality of finishing 26th place.

"Loved?" She whips around finally. Her face is utterly ravaged, tear tracks glistening on cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation. Eyes red-rimmed, swollen, blazing with a pain that steals your breath. "Past tense. Because that’s it, isn’t it? Done. Over. All that work—all that hope—" 

Her voice rises, quivering frantically, charged with emotion of every color. "And for what? To be told thanks, but no thanks on national television? To be almost?" 

She’s had enough; it’s evident in her eyes, the rage on her lips. "Stop telling me it’s okay! Stop telling me people loved me! It wasn’t enough! I wasn’t enough!" 

Sobs wrench from her chest, raw and guttural, doubling her over. "Just—just go. Please. Leave."

The chair scrapes harshly against the floor as you rise. Hovering for a second, feeling utterly lost, watching her shoulders convulse, utterly alone in her grief despite the family rumblings downstairs. Your presence, your words, are only salt in the wound. 

So you turn and step out into the hallway’s dim light, closing the door softly on the wreckage of her dream.

Descending the stairs slowly, the aroma of comfort soup wafts up from the kitchen. Rachel leans against the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, watching you emerge from the darkness. Her eyes, close to Yunjin’s but sharper, more pragmatic, hold understanding and a deep weariness.

"She kicked you out," Rachel states, no question in her tone. She heard everything.

You nod, running a hand through your hair, feeling utterly, utterly useless. "I just—I didn’t know what to say. Everything sounded stupid. Insulting."

Rachel pushes off the doorframe, stepping closer. "Yeah. There is nothing to say. Not right now." 

She sighs, the sound heavy with the weight of years watching her sister’s obsessive drive. "This—this dream of hers? It’s not just a hobby: it’s her oxygen. Since she saw BTS take over the industry. Finding her Korean roots, wanting to stand on a stage like that—wanting to mean something in that world? It’s everything." 

She glances towards the stairs, a flicker of pain haunting her own eyes. "Getting that close—and having it ripped away? It’s like cutting off the oxygen. She needs to feel that. Fully. Ugly as it is." 

Looking back at you, her gaze softens slightly. "You were good for her. Patient. You believed in her harder than anyone, maybe even harder than she did sometimes. That mattered. It still does, even if she can’t see it tonight."

Her words are comforting, but they’re also twisting the knife. You had believed. Fiercely. Now, faced with the crushing reality of the numbers and the general public, that belief feels fragile. 

"My flight," you suddenly blurt, the words feeling alien, abrupt. "It’s—been pushed up. Stanford. They moved up the orientation for international transfers. I leave next week. Tuesday."

Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up. "Next week? But—you were supposed to stay till the holidays." A flicker of concern crosses her face, for you this time, not just Yunjin. "Does she know?"

Shaking your head, you stare at the worn pattern on the hallway rug. "Not yet. Tonight wasn’t—" 

You gesture helplessly towards the upstairs. "I’ll tell her before I go. Somehow."

Rachel studies you for a long moment. Silence hums in the background, filled only by the gentle simmer of soup from the kitchen and the distant sound of the rain outside. 

"Look," she says finally, low and firm. "You stepping back tonight? Giving her space? That was the right thing. Hard, but right. And leaving—" 

She sighs again. "That’s life, huh? Paths diverge. But listen—" 

Rachel puts a hand on your arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You did your best. You loved her through the crazy dream, the doubts, the endless practice. You saw her, the real her, loud and messy and brilliant, and you told her to never change that. That’s—rare. That’s gold. Whatever happens next, wherever you both end up—remember that part. Hold onto that. And if she ever needs a reminder of who she really is, who she was before the cameras and the rankings—you’ve got her back, right? Even from Stanford?"

She offers a small, sad smile. The lump in your throat is back, massive and painful. You manage a nod and reciprocate the gesture.

"Always."

Rachel squeezes your arm once, then releases you. "Good. Now go home. Get some sleep. Let the storm pass." She turns back towards the living room, pausing at the doorway. "And—thanks. For loving her like that. We noticed. We appreciated it. Really."

Her words follow you out into the damp Seoul night, a bittersweet benediction as you walk away from the house, the muffled sobs, the shattered dream. 

That was the last time you saw Yunjin for the next three years.

—————

The heavy door swings inward on silent hinges. Light, laughter, and the cloying sweetness of stage-wilted flowers rush out. 

Chaewon’s sharp, bright eyes find you first, widening slightly above a half-eaten protein bar. Sakura, mid-sentence to a stylist wielding a lint roller, turns, her expression shifting from animated to politely curious. Kazuha pauses in her stretch near a mirrored wall, limbs impossibly long, head tilting like a curious heron. Eunchae, perched on a dressing table swinging her legs, stops mid-swing as a giggle dies on her lips.

And then, movement from the room's dimmer corner. Yunjin unfolds herself from a plush sofa, setting down her phone. The practiced ease of her stage exit melts, replaced by a stillness that feels tectonic. Her gaze lands on you: not sweeping, not scanning, but locking. A direct hit. 

Her eyes, dark and fathomless under the stark dressing room lights, hold yours for a heartbeat that stretches into geologic time. There’s no flicker of surprise, just a profound, unnerving recognition. The kind that bypasses the present and drills straight into years of shared history.

"Everyone," she declares. The word cuts cleanly through the room’s suspended animation. Not loud, not soft, but carrying the effortless weight of command honed over years in the spotlight. It’s a voice sculpted by countless interviews, singing lessons, fan chants: resonant, controlled, utterly unlike the raw instrument that once argued over pizza toppings in a humid practice room. 

"This is—" A fractional pause, microscopic. Her eyes never leave yours. "An old friend. From—before."

"Old friend," Kazuha repeats, a low, melodic chime breaking the present silence. She unfolds from her stretch, approaching with the quiet grace of her ballet roots, offering a small, genuine bow. Her eyes, warm and intelligent, hold open curiosity, no trace of idol mask. "Welcome. It is—an unexpected pleasure." 

Chaewon recovers fastest, her leader’s instinct kicking in. She discards the protein bar, stepping forward with a hand extended, her smile professional but warm. "Kim Chaewon," she introduces, grip firm, efficient. "Thank you for coming. It’s a surprise for sure, but a welcome one." 

There’s a subtle assessment in her gaze, cataloging a new, unexpected variable.

Sakura’s curiosity blooms into a wider smile, the practiced idol charm dialed down to something warmer, more personal. "Ah! Yunjin's mysterious past!" she teases gently, giving a playful little wave. Her eyes sparkle with unspoken questions. "Very nice to meet you. I am Sakura. We’ve heard—whispers." 

Eunchae hops down from the table, bouncing over with youthful exuberance hardly dimmed by fatigue. Her gaze is wide, innocent, soaking in the novelty. "Hi! I’m Eunchae! Are you really from before? Like, before before? Trainee days?" 

They orbit you, a constellation of vibrant personalities: Chaewon’s grounded intensity, Sakura’s seasoned charm, Kazuha’s serene observation, Eunchae’s effervescent curiosity. Their warmth is disarming, genuine in its collective exhaustion and post-show high. Yet, your focus narrows, tunneling past the stars to the anchor point in the room.

Yunjin hasn’t moved. She hovers near the sofa, a few paces apart, observing the introductions. The stage glow has faded from her skin, leaving her looking simultaneously formidable and fragile under the practical dressing room lights. Her gaze hasn’t wavered from yours. There’s a depth in her eyes now, a complexity carved by relentless pressure and global fame, etched from the very summit she’d clawed her way onto. The youthful fire is banked, refined into a steadier, more potent burn. Her hair is different, styled sleekly back, a few damp strands escaping near her temples. Her clothes are simple post-performance gear: black joggers, a cut encore tee, yet she wears them with an unconscious authority the girl in the tear-streaked practice gear could never have mustered.

"Quite the transformation, hm?" she finally remarks. Her tone is light, conversational, a carefully calibrated instrument. A small, wry smile touches her lips, not quite reaching those watchful eyes. She gestures subtly towards you, encompassing the years, the distance, the shadowy figure standing before her now. "Stanford suits you. You look so polished." 

Her head tilts, a fraction, the movement reminiscent of old habits but executed with new precision. "You look—different. Good different."

The air hums. The members’ chatter softens, sensing the shift, the electric current flowing solely between you and Yunjin. 

You take her in: the strength in her posture, the quiet confidence radiating from her, the sheer presence she commands even in this casual setting. The girl who wept over 26th place is buried six feet under, under triumph and tireless effort. Yet beneath the polished veneer, beneath the years and the fame and the unimaginable pressure, something flickers. A vulnerability not shown on stage. A question held in the stillness of her gaze. Waiting.

When your own words come, they’re quiet but clear, cutting through the low hum of the backstage room, resonating with a truth that bypasses the polished surface, the fame, the seven-year chasm. Looking straight into those dark, fathomless eyes: past the idol, past the superstar, and see the stubborn, brilliant, heartbreakingly real girl who argued about documentaries and kissed you like it was muscle memory.

"You haven’t changed at all."

—————

Four months into your freshman year, you’re hunched over a desk, the glow of your laptop screen a pale moon against the oppressive darkness outside. 

It’s 2 AM. Your eyes are worn the fuck out, burning from a neverending round of lectures, problem sets, the frantic, lonely scramble to catch up, to belong in this new world of relentless achievement. The time difference is a 16-hour chasm, a constant disorientation. Your days are their nights; your deepest solitude coincides with their bustling afternoons.

Your phone buzzes on the textbook-strewn desk. A KakaoTalk notification. Rachel Huh. The sight of her name sends a familiar, complicated jolt through the guilt, the longing, and the desperate need for a tether to the life you’ve left behind.

> Still awake?

> Unfortunately. Midterm hell. What’s up?

The three dots bubble. You watch them, your heart doing a stupid, hopeful little thump against your chest. It’s always like this, even if it’s just her sister. A Pavlovian response to any string of connection with her.

> Just got off the phone with her. Long night at the studio.

You don’t need to ask who ‘her’ is. There’s only one. The pronoun hangs there, a ghost in the digital space.

> Everything okay?

> Tired. Frustrated. You know how it gets. Pledis is—being Pledis. They’ve got her training with five girls they just scouted. New blood. She says it feels like starting over from zero. Again.

A cold knot forms in your stomach. The image is immediate, vivid: Yunjin in some mirrored room, drenched in sweat, pushing her body past its limits, her jaw set with that familiar, terrifying determination, surrounded by new faces, new competition. 26th place is a scar on her soul, and they’re making her relive the audition process every single day.

> Tell her to hang in there. She’s stronger than all of them combined.

The words feel hollow, pathetic, typed from a world away. You can’t send her a care package. You can’t show up after practice with her favorite drink. You’re a digital ghost, offering platitudes across an ocean and several continents apart.

> I do. Every day. She doesn’t listen. You know she doesn’t.

A pause. The three dots bubble again, staying longer this time.

> By the way: you hear the rumors?

> What rumors?

> BigHit. The BTS company. Word is they’re starting a new sub-label. Entirely separate. Just for a new girl group.

You sit up straighter, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. BigHit. The name is a monolith in the industry despite housing only one admittedly stratospheric group. A different kind of air from Pledis and its messy, chaotic management, despite their alarming similarities, most notably: boy group with all sorts of talent doing the heavy lifting.

> Seriously? When? Who’s running it?

> Dunno. Soon, I think. Some big-shot creative director they poached, I heard. A woman. Has a real specific, artsy vision. Whole new vibe. Not like anything out there. Been in the industry since before I was born.

The description is vague, but it crackles with potential. A clean slate. A visionary approach. It sounds like the antithesis of the survival-show grind, the Pledis treadmill.

> They’re being crazy secretive. Holding auditions in weird places, not the usual channels. Looking for a— feeling, not just skill. Namjoon’s heard whispers. It’s all anyone in the trainee circles can talk about.

A spark ignites in your chest: a faint, dangerous hope. A feeling, not just skill. It sounds like a description befitting Yunjin herself. The very thing you’d always told her was her greatest weapon.

> Do you think—? Could she—?

> Who knows? It’s a long shot. A crazy long shot. And she’s under contract with Pledis. But—it’s something to dream about, right? A real light at the end of this fucking tunnel.

You can feel Rachel’s own hope bleeding through the text, a shared, desperate prayer across the continents. 

You cling to it; this rumor becomes your new ritual. You scour obscure Korean music forums in the dead of night, looking for crumbs, for any hint about this mysterious new label, this enigmatic female creative director and her unconventional methods. You’re imagining Yunjin there, in a practice room that isn’t peeling, being valued for the very fire that sometimes threatened to consume her.

> If it happens—if she gets a chance—tell her I’ll be watching. From here. I’ll stream every video, buy every album. I might not be there in person, but I’ll be there in spirit.

The promise feels both monumental and utterly insignificant. A digital vigil, sent from a ghost in the machine, cheering from the shadows.

> She knows. She misses you, you know.

The words appear on the screen, simple but devastating. You stare at them until the letters blur. The hum of the library’s climate control fades into a high-pitched whine in your ears.

> Don’t.

> I’m not supposed to tell you. She’d kill me. But it’s true. She plays it tough, focused on the dream, always the dream. But sometimes, after a really bad day—she gets quiet. Asks if I’ve talked to you. Asks how Stanford is. She listens so carefully when I tell her. Then she just—goes to her room.

The image is a physical ache. Picturing Yunjin, alone in her room, not so different from the night of her elimination, but now the grief of your absence is a constant, low hum of loneliness beneath the ambition. Asking about your life, a life she’s no longer part of. Listening to stories she can’t participate in.

> Rachel—

> I know, I know. Paths diverge. Life happens. But it’s the truth. You should know it. Hold onto it or whatever. Gotta go. Don’t stay up too late, nerd.

Her icon goes gray, and you’re once again left alone in the silent, sterile dorm. The warm Californian night remains an impossible promise beyond the dark windows. The glow of your laptop screen is your only light, illuminating the phantom of her words. 

Yunjin misses you. It’s a breadcrumb trail of emojis from a world away, a silent question asked in the void, a yearning that mirrors the one gnawing a hole in your own chest, several time zones away from everything that ever felt real. 

—————

The silence after your declaration doesn’t break so much as it curdles. It thickens, souring the air with everything left unsaid for years and years. 

Momentarily stripped bare, Yunjin’s face slowly reconstructs itself. The vulnerability hardens into something more guarded. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor in her jaw is the only show of betrayal. Having performed their delicate ballet of faux-distraction, the other members realize the atmospheric shift. Any pretense of normalcy is too flimsy to maintain.

Chaewon is the first to act, moving like a general sensing a lost battle. She claps her hands together softly, echoing in the hush.

“Alright, monsters,” she declares, her tone forcibly bright. “Let’s give the stylists their dungeon back. They need to murder these looks.” She herds a wide-eyed Eunchae towards the door with a gentle push. “Eunchae-ya, come help me find the snack table they hid from us. Sakura, Kazuha, let’s go.”

There’s no attempt to protest. Sakura offers one last, deeply curious glance over her shoulder. Kazuha’s serene expression is now etched with a faint line of concern. They file out in a silent, understanding exodus. Then the heavy door clicks shut behind them, sealing you both in. 

The sound is deafening. The vast dressing room suddenly feels claustrophobic, shrunk down to the few feet of charged space between you and the woman you once knew better than yourself.

Now alone, the silence is a physical presence. The hum of the climate control, the distant thump of bass from the departing crowd, the rustle of her clothes as she shifts her weight—each sound is amplified tenfold, creating tiny explosions in the void. 

Yunjin doesn’t look at you. She pivots, picking up a bottle from the sofa, her movements deliberate, slow, as if moving through water. She takes a long, slow sip. Buying time. Assembling armor.

When she lowers the bottle, her eyes find yours again. The warmth from the members’ introduction is gone, replaced by a cool, assessing distance. The idol is back, but it’s a different kind of performance now. This is the CEO of her own pain, the curator of her own history.

“So,” she says. The word is flat, devoid of its earlier musicality. “Stanford.” Not a question. A statement. A verdict.

You nod, feeling your own throat coil defensively. “Yeah.”

“Polished.” She echoes her own earlier observation, but the tone is different now. Not an acknowledgement, but a dissection.

“Tried to be.”

Another sip of water. A beat of silence that feels like a lifetime. Her gaze flicks over you, from your shoes to your hair, a clinical, unnerving assessment. “You look—put together. Successful. Like life worked out exactly according to plan.”

There’s an edge there, finely honed, hidden just beneath the surface of her words. You say nothing; after all, there are no right answers.

She takes a step closer. The scent of her—sweat, perfume, the faint, clean smell of her shampoo—washes over, a sensory ambush that threatens to buckle your knees. It’s a scent from a thousand memories, now weaponized against you.

“Why now?” 

The question comes out quiet, but it lands like a punch to the solar plexus. It’s not curious. It’s accusatory.

You open your mouth, but no sound forms.

Her eyes flash, the control she holds beginning to fissure. “Seriously. I’m asking. Why show up now?” 

Yunjin gestures vaguely around the opulent, empty dressing room, a cage of triumph. “After the concert was a success? After the world decides they love us again? After we’ve already—already—” 

She struggles for the word, her composure cracking even further. “—clawed our way back from the edge? When we needed—when I needed—” 

Before she breaks down, she cuts herself off, shaking her head. A bitter, mirthless sound escapes her lips.

“Where were you then? Huh? When the comments were a bloodbath? When the articles were writing our obituary? When every day felt like walking through a minefield in heels?” 

Her voice trembles with a pent-up fury that’s been simmering for years, quietly waiting in the depths waiting until you show up. “Where was my ‘old friend’ from before when it actually felt like before? When it felt like I was seventeen again and getting told I wasn’t good enough?”

Each question is a lash. You just stand there, taking it, because you deserve it. Because she’s right.

“I was—” you start, but she talks over you, unwilling to hear any argument.

“Watching from Stanford, I know!” The words are blunt, laced with a venomous sarcasm. “Watching from your perfect, polished, successful life. Sending—what? Good vibes? Positive energy?” 

She takes another step, close enough that you can see the faint dusting of glitter still clinging to her cheeks, the slight puffiness under her eyes from the emotional speech on stage. “Did you get the notification on your phone? ‘Le sserafim hate train’? Did you read the comments and think, ‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ before you closed the app and went on with your studies?”

Her pain is a living, breathing thing in the room, ugly and completely justified. This isn’t the controlled narrative of a documentary; this is the unedited footage, the screaming match after the cameras stop rolling.

“It wasn’t like that,” you force out, roughened by the harshness of her voice. You’re back in her room again, relieving that same feeling of helplessness seven years ago.

“Then what was it like?” she demands, her eyes blazing. “Enlighten me. Because from where I was standing—crying myself to sleep, feeling like I’d dragged four other people down with me, wondering if my entire life was a fucking mistake—it looked an awful lot like radio silence. It felt like being left alone in the fire again.”

—————

In San Francisco, the place has become a barren desert in and of itself.

Late 2019 bleeds into the eerie, suspended animation of early 2020. Your world has shrunk to four walls, the blue light of your laptop screen, and the constant low-grade panic of a pandemic locking down the globe. The California sun still shines, but it feels like a lie, illuminating an empty, frozen world.

Your phone is pressed to your ear. On the other end, Rachel’s voice is tinny, stretched thin by thousands of miles and the weight of shared anxiety.

“—and they just announced a complete lockdown,” she’s saying. “No flights in or out unless it’s, like, an absolute emergency. It’s insane. No live crowds or fan interactions whatsoever. The streets are empty. It feels like a movie.”

Your planned summer retreat to Seoul, the one you’d been counting down the days to, the one you’d saved for from your shitty campus job, evaporates with a single breaking news bulletin. 

“Yeah,” you say, the word ringing hollow. “Same here. Campus is a ghost town. We’ve been told to go home. All of us. Not sure how we’ll carry the rest of the semester moving forward.”

A heavy sigh crackles down the line. “She was asking about it,” Rachel says softly, no need to specify who. “Your visit. She’d never admit it, but she’d been—planning things. Places she wanted to show you. Like an idiot, trying to act like it was no big deal.”

You can only imagine the look on her face: Yunjin, pretending nonchalance, secretly mapping out a travel vlogger’s itinerary for your return. The hope in her eyes that you’d only ever heard about secondhand, now extinguished by the centennial reincarnation of the Spanish Flu. 

Closing your eyes, you press the heel of your hand against your forehead. “Rachel, I’m so sorry. As soon as this is over, the first flight I can get—”

“I know,” she cuts in, weary sounding but completely understanding. “It’s not your fault. Nothing is anyone’s fault. It’s just—the world’s ending.” 

She tries for a laugh, but it comes out strangled.

“There is—some news, though,” Rachel says after a beat, her voice shifting, grasping for a thread of light in the midst of all this doom and gloom. “The BigHit thing. The new label. It’s real. It’s moving. They’ve got a name, a team—it’s happening.”

You sit up straighter, a spark igniting in the general despair. “Yeah?”

“And it gets weirder,” she continues, a note of incredulous awe creeping in. “You’re not going to believe this. BigHit—they bought Pledis.”

The words don’t compute for a second. “They—what?”

“Acquired them. Took over. It’s all official. So, technically—Jen’s under BigHit now. Well, a subsidiary, but still. The same roof as BTS. The same company as that new girl group she’s been obsessing over rumors about.”

The irony is so profound it’s almost laughable. The chaotic, often-mismanaged Pledis, swallowed whole by the industry’s new juggernaut. Yunjin’s fate, once so uncertain, now tied to the most powerful machine in K-pop. A hail mary shot at the dream, delivered through corporate consolidation amidst a global plague. It feels surreal, dystopian, and like the only piece of good news on the entire planet.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a real smile crossing your lips for the first time in weeks—hell, a lifetime. “That’s—that’s incredible.”

“I know,” Rachel says, and you can hear her own smile through the line. “Jen’s—she’s trying to play it cool. But I can tell. It’s all she can think about. It’s the only thing keeping her going through all this—this.” She means the empty streets, the masked faces, the pervasive fear. “A real chance. A real, proper chance.”

Hope is a fragile thing, a seedling pushing through cracked concrete. It’s tarnished by the fact you can’t be there, by the oppressive uncertainty of the lockdown, but it’s there, alive and in bloom. 

“Tell her—tell her I said that’s the best news I’ve heard all year. Tell her I’m—I’m so proud of her. That she deserves this more than anyone.”

“I will,” promises Rachel. Then her voice softens, becomes more intimate, more burdened. “She misses you, you know.” 

It’s the same old refrain, but it lands differently now in the midst of a global crisis. It’s no longer about teenage longing; it’s a deeper, more personal ache. A need for an anchor in a world that’s lost its mind.

“Like, badly. It’s different now. It’s not just—missing her boyfriend. It’s—she feels alone. Really alone. And with this news, with everything—I think she wishes you were here to talk to about it. For real. Not just through me.”

You’re separated by an ocean and a plague, your promised reunion ashes. But her dream is finally, impossibly, within reach. But she’s alone, missing a ghost from her past, a phantom currently trapped in a room on the other side of the world, helpless to do anything but watch the news and clutch a phone, desperately trying to send love across a connection that feels thinner and more futile with every passing, isolated day. 

The distance has never felt more vast, or more cruel.

—————

Spring has bled into a miserable, indistinct summer. The world still remains on severe lockdown, the promise of your visit to Seoul now a pathetic, dusty relic of a naive past. Time has lost all meaning, measured only in Zoom lectures, sourdough starter deaths, and the slow, agonizing drip of constant news alerts, protests, and social media doomposting.

The blue light of your laptop is a cruel sun, bleaching everything in its glow. So when it comes, the ringtone is a shock, a violent tear in the fabric of your isolated reality. 

Rachel’s name flashes on the screen, a jolt of adrenaline so sharp it hurts. You fumble for the phone. Maybe it’s news. Maybe the borders are easing. Maybe—

“Hey,” you answer, the word too eager, too hopeful.

The silence on the other end is all wrong. It’s not the comfortable, conspiratorial quiet you’re used to. This is a void. A black hole of a pause that sucks all the air from your lungs.

“Rachel?”

A shaky inhale. The sound of someone trying to physically pull air past a weight on their chest. 

“She’s out.”

The words mean nothing. They’re just white noise. “Out of what? Training?”

Another silence, deeper, heavier this time. You can picture her, somewhere in Seoul, in her own version of this quarantine prison, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Out. They cut her. Pledis. She’s done.”

The world doesn’t tilt; doesn’t need to. It simply ceases to exist. 

The blue light from your laptop, the messy desk, the view of the empty Stanford courtyard—it all dissolves into a featureless, gray static. 

Done. The word is akin to an executioner’s axe. It falls, clean and final, severing years of struggle, of hope, of desperate, clawing belief. The dream she’d given you up for, given everything up for. Done.

“What?” The word is a stupid, breathy reaction. “How? Why? The BigHit acquisition—I thought—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rachel’s tone is flat, exhausted, scraped dry. “New management. New ‘vision’. They’re cleaning house. She wasn’t part of the new—whatever the fuck it is. They called her in. Gave her a thanks-for-your-service speech. That was it.”

The image blooms in your mind, horribly graphic: Yunjin in some bland corporate office, being told her life’s purpose is no longer fiscally viable or creatively aligned. The drop of her shoulders. The way her face would have gone perfectly, terrifyingly still. The second monumental failure, delivered not by a public vote but by a faceless executive in a pandemic-empty building.

“Is she—where is she? Is she okay?” 

The questions are idiotic. Of course she isn’t fine.  

Rachel’s laugh is a short, harsh, ugly sound. “What do you think? She’s—I don’t know. Not here. She left. Won’t answer her phone. I’m just—waiting.” 

A beat. “And she’s angry. So fucking angry.”

The anger feels like a tangible thing, a heat you can feel through the phone, across the ocean. 

You wait for it. You deserve it. You braced for the directed fury, the how could you not be here tirade.

It doesn’t change how hard it hits when it happens.

“She’s angry at you.”

The sentence makes no sense. It just hangs in the dead air between continents. A non sequitur. A misfired nerve. You’re genuinely baffled.

“Me? Why? Because I’m stuck here? Rachel, you know I’d be on the first flight if I could—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, gaining a sharp, frantic edge. “Logic doesn’t matter! You think she wants to listen to reason? She’s thinking you promised. Promised you’d have her back. And when it all goes to shit—again—you’re just a voice on the phone. A text message. A—a ghost. You’re not here. You’re not in the room when they tell her she’s worthless. You’re not there to catch her when she falls apart. You’re just—a memory that hurts.”

Painful as it is to hear, she’s right. Your distant guardianship, your digital vigil—it was all a pathetic fantasy and a desperate form of copium. A salve for your own guilt, not genuine support. You were a spectator to her life, and spectators don’t get to run onto the field when the player gets injured.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your cadence fading with every word. “Tell her I’m so sorry. Tell her I—”

“I can’t.” Rachel’s response is final, resigned. “This is it. This is the last call.”

The static in the room seems to grow louder, filling your head. “What? Rachel, no. Don’t—”

“She doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want this.” 

Rachel spits the word, encompassing the calls, the updates, the entire fragile, long-distance architecture of your connection to her sister. “This whole—distant guardian schtick. It’s over. It failed. Spectacularly. It just—it just reminds her of what she doesn’t have. What she lost. Twice.”

Your plea reeks of late-game fourth quarter desperation, sounding absolutely pathetic. “Just—keep me posted. However you can. A text. Anything. I need to know she’s okay.”

An anxious pause, followed by a long, weary sigh from the other side. 

“I’ll try.”

The line goes dead. The noise that follows is absolute. 

It’s not the quiet of before. This is uncharted territory. A post-apocalyptic silent. The sound after the last star in the universe has been snuffed out.

Several days go by. The texts come, at first. Sparser than before, laced with a new, permanent tension.

> She came home. Didn’t speak for two days.

> She’s applying to normal universities. Can you believe it?

> She threw out all her old practice notebooks.

Each message is a tiny, distant explosion on the horizon of a world you’ve been exiled from. You respond with useless platitudes: I’m here. Tell her I’m thinking of her. 

The words look hollow and stupid on the screen. The digital ghost, still trying to haunt a life that has boarded up its windows and banished its unwelcome spirits.

The intervals stretch. A week between messages. Then two.

> It’s her birthday next week. Don’t send anything. It’ll just make it worse.

You stare at the message for an hour. You don’t send anything back, as she instructed. It’s gonna pass. Life goes on.

The final message arrives on a Tuesday in March. The screen lights up with Rachel’s name, and for a second, a foolish, hopeful jolt goes through you. Maybe things are better. Maybe—

> Source Music. It’s a HYBE label. They called her.

That’s it. No context. No emotion. Just a statement. Just three sentences lobbed into the void.

You type out a response. You wait. An hour. A day. Three days.

The message remains on delivered. Then, after a week, the little checkmarks appear. Read. But no response ever comes. 

The line doesn’t simply go dead this time. It’s been severed, cleanly and completely. The final thread of the life you knew, the love you held onto, has been silently snipped by a thumb on a screen thousands of miles away. 

The static in your room is now permanent. You are truly, utterly alone with it.

—————

Walking through the walls of Incheon Airport feels like a scene ripped straight out of those dystopian films portraying some world-altering event that humanity's last remnants are trying to fight off. It’s the kind of sterile, processed chill that gets into your bones and makes a home there, a permanent winter you didn’t sign up for. 

You are the only event here. Your own footsteps are too loud on the otherwise polished floor, a solitary echo against the vast, impersonal silence. Announcements in almost every language crackle and die overhead, meaning nothing. Everyone moves with a purpose you can’t fathom, going to places you can’t see. You are a ghost in the machine, a glitch in this perfect, humming system. 

Keep walking. No one’s getting in your way.

You’d sent the messages days ago. A simple, hopeful line to Rachel, another to her parents:

Flight lands 3:15 PM Tuesday. Can’t wait to see you all. 

Read receipts glowed back at you in the dark of your Stanford dorm room. No reply. You’d chalked it up to time zones, to busy lives, to the general chaos of existing. You’d pictured it a little upon the plane’s slightly erratic landing: Rachel’s sharp grin at the arrivals gate, maybe with Mrs. Huh by her side. A wave, followed by a hug that smells like home, perfume, and forgiveness.

But the reality is this: a sea of faces behind a barrier, none of them looking for you. Drivers holding signs with other people’s names. Families reunite in tears and laughter that feels like a personal insult. You stand there until your legs feel stiff, until the flow of passengers from your flight dwindles to a trickle and then stops entirely. 

Until you’re all alone. Of course. 

You zip your jacket higher, as if it can protect you from the sheer, empty silence of your own arrival.

The cab ride to her place is a blur of disorienting color: June skies as clear as the memory of her smile, passing highways snaking between anonymous towers, everything sparkling with a fine, ray of sunlight that simply isn’t there. 

The driver doesn’t speak. You watch the world you used to know scroll past the window, now cold and foreign. You’d held onto the address like a sacred text, a spell that could summon a past life. You recite it to the driver in clumsy, forgotten Korean, and he just grunts, nodding, only wanting the pricier-than-usual tourist fare. 

After all these years, their house hasn’t changed all that much. It’s a small, neat thing tucked into a row of other equally compact and tidy things, but a little more worn at the edges than you remember. The potted plants on the step are different. You stand on the sidewalk for a full minute, duffel bag at your feet, just looking. It feels like trespassing. 

This isn’t your memory anymore; it’s someone else’s life. 

You finally will yourself to climb the steps, and ring the bell. The sound echoes absurdly loud in the otherwise quiet street.

The door swings open and out comes Mrs. Huh. She looks older. The lines around her eyes are deeper, her hair has more silver woven through the black. She’s wearing an apron dusted with flour. For a heartbeat, her face is a perfect, uncomprehending blank. Then recognition flickers, followed by a wave of something unreadable—surprise, yes, but also a sharp, fleeting panic that she smoothes over into a smile so tight it looks painful.

“Oh.” Her voice is higher than it should be. “You’re here.”

“My flight got in,” you reply, as if this explains your unwelcome presence on her doorstep after three years of radio silence. 

She steps back, a wordless invitation. The entryway smells the same—like lemon cleaner and simmering broth and faint, floral perfume. It’s a scent that used to mean safety. Now it just feels like a museum exhibit. 

“We got your message,” Mrs. Huh says, leading you into the living room. You toe off your shoes, lining them up neatly beside a pair of worn sneakers that must be Mr. Huh’s. It’s tidier than it ever was when Yunjin and Rachel lived here. Their absence is a shadow towering over your nerves. “Things have been—busy.”

Mr. Huh is sitting at the low table, reading a newspaper spread out before him. He looks up, and his reaction is a slower, heavier version of his wife’s. A blink, followed by a slow lowering of the paper. 

“Well,” he booms, but the force behind it is weak. A performance. “Look what the cat dragged in. Stanford man.”

You force a smile, your cheeks aching with the needed effort. “Yes, sir. Just finished my junior year.”

“Good, good. Business, still? Making your parents proud.” He gestures for you to sit; you sink onto the couch opposite him. Mrs. Huh hovers near the doorway to the kitchen, her hands twisting in her apron.

“It’s—challenging,” you say. It’s the understatement of the century. Stanford had been a gauntlet, a beautiful, sun-drenched purgatory where every success felt like a betrayal and every failure felt like proof you’d chosen wrong. You’d traded your future for her heart. You’d traded her for organic chemistry textbooks and a diploma that felt more and more like a receipt for a transaction you never meant to make.

“I bet,” Mr. Huh replies. He folds his paper with a crisp, final sound. “But you’re here now. On break?”

“A long one,” you say. “I—I thought I’d come back.”

The silence that follows is thick enough to chew. Mrs. Huh finally moves, bustling into the kitchen. “I’ll make tea,” she announces to no one in particular.

Mr. Huh watches her go, then turns his steady gaze back to you. He knows; you can feel it. This isn’t a social call. This is an autopsy.

“So,” you start, the word scraping your throat. “How is everyone? Rachel?”

“Rachel is good. Busy with her studies. She’s seeing a nice boy from a good family.” He says it like he’s reading from a script. “Very responsible.”

You nod, constantly glancing over your shoulder, your stomach clenching. “And—Yunjin?”

There it is. Her name hangs in the air, a detonation waiting to happen. Mr. Huh’s expression doesn’t change, but something shutters behind his eyes. He takes a slow breath. “Yunjin is also well. Very busy. Very focused.”

You push. You have to. “I heard—Rachel mentioned a while back, before—I heard about Source Music. About HYBE.”

This time, he can’t hide the flicker of surprise. He thought he was the one with all the information. 

“Ah. Yes. That. It happened quite quickly. Last spring. They called her. A new group.” 

He says it with a practiced casualness, but you hear the bedrock of pride beneath it, and something else, something harder. Fear, maybe. “She’s a trainee there now. It’s a very big opportunity. Very demanding.”

“I bet,” you echo his earlier words, feeling numb. 

So it was true. The rumor you’d clung to, the spark of hope that had gotten you through another semester, through the crushing silence from this very house, it was all real. She was in. She had what she’d always wanted. Without you.

Mrs. Huh returns with a tray, her hands shaking just enough to make the teacups rattle. She sets it down with a clumsy clatter, pouring steaming green tea into three small cups. The ritual of it is agonizing. You take the cup she offers, the porcelain scalding your fingertips. You don’t take a sip.

“Where is she?” The question comes out quieter than you intended, almost drowned by the gentle steam rising from your tea. “Is she—is she staying at the dorms? I’d—I’d really like to see her.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Mr. and Mrs. Huh exchange a look—a quick, terrified darting of eyes that speaks volumes. It’s a silent conversation held in a fraction of a second, a decision made and confirmed. Mrs. Huh looks down at her lap. Mr. Huh clears his throat, rough, uncomfortable.

“That’s the thing,” he answers, and his voice has lost all its false bonhomie. It’s flat now. Weary. “We don’t know.”

You stare at him. “You don’t know where your daughter is?”

He’s reciting lines again, but they’re weak and transparent. “The company is very strict. Very private. The trainees, they are kept on a tight schedule. They move them sometimes. For security. For focus.” 

“But you must have a number. A way to contact her. To let her know I’m here.” 

The desperation is seeping into your voice, a crack in the wall. You are three years too late, standing in the ruins of a bridge you burned yourself.

Mrs. Huh makes a small, wounded sound. She looks at her husband, her eyes pleading. He sets his jaw, showing a stubborn, familiar set you’ve seen on Yunjin a thousand times. He’s protecting something. Or someone.

“We have a number,” he admits, each word dragged out of him like you’re playing bad cop. “For emergencies.”

“And this isn’t an emergency?” You can’t hide the bitter edge seeping through.

“She called us. After she got in.” 

He won’t meet your eyes anymore. He stares at a point somewhere past your shoulder, at the wall where family photos used to hang. There’s a new one now, you realize. Just Mr. and Mrs. Huh, standing stiffly in front of a cherry blossom tree. 

“She was very clear. After everything. The hard times. She said—she said if you ever came back. If you ever asked.” 

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is full of a pity so profound it feels like a direct gut punch: “She told us not to tell you anything. Not a single thing.”

The words land, one by one, like stones dropped into the abyss. The finality of it is heartbreaking. 

You’d prepared for anger, for tears. For a cold shoulder, even. In your innermost delusional heart, you’d prepared for a joyful reunion. You had not prepared for this: this administrative deletion. This complete and total erasure from her narrative. You are not even worth being angry at anymore. You are classified information, and her parents are merely following standard procedure.

It’s a worse feeling than being shouted at. At least when they yelled, they fucking cared. Not anymore.

The tea feels cold in your hands. The warmth of their house comes off like a taunt. You are sitting in the heart of the only place that ever felt like a second home, and you have never been any more of a stranger. You are persona non grata. The term, something you’d read in a political science textbook, flashes in your mind with cruel, academic clarity: an unwelcome person.

You set the untouched tea down on the table. The gentle click of porcelain on wood is deafening.

“I see,” you say, deadpan, but coming apart at the seams.

Mrs. Huh is crying now, silent tears tracking through the powder on her cheeks. She doesn’t make a sound. Mr. Huh puts a heavy hand on her knee, a gesture of comfort that looks more like an anchor, holding her in place, stopping her from saying more, from offering you the crumbs of contact you so desperately crave.

There’s not much else to talk about. The conversation limps on for a few more painful minutes, a dirge of pleasantries about your studies, about the weather, about anything except the bleeding truth sitting right there in the room with you. You are a ghost they are being forced to host, a memory they’ve been ordered to forget.

You make an excuse about a hotel, about jet lag. It’s your signal to leave. 

They don’t protest. They walk you to the door as a united front of miserable, guilty relief. Mrs. Huh reaches out as you step into the evening air, brushing your arm with her hand. It’s the first time she’s touched you since you arrived.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, so faint they are almost carried away by the breeze. It’s not an apology for her daughter; it’s an apology for following orders. For choosing her daughter’s present over your past.

Unable to speak, you simply nod, and walk down the steps without a second look back. The door closes behind you with a soft, final click. 

The streets are quiet. The dystopia isn’t just at the airport anymore. It’s right here, in this perfect, ordinary neighborhood, in the devastatingly simple act of a door being shut. 

You heft your duffel bag onto your shoulder, its weight suddenly feeling unbearable, and start walking, with no idea where you’re going.

—————

The city doesn’t care. It carries on without care or concern for broken hearts. You walk. For three days, you just walk. Just you and your thoughts, you walk.

The soles of your shoes wear thin against the endless pavement, from the hyper-curated chaos of Hongdae to the silent, moneyed grace of Apgujeong. You are a ghost in the system, a corrupted file, a syntax error in the code of this place you once, foolishly, thought you knew. 

You barely sleep. You pick at convenience store kimbap, the rice tasting like dust, the seaweed like old paper. You are a spectator in your own life, watching a movie you don’t understand.

The thoughts come in waves, ugly and recursive, a feedback loop of your own failures. You dissect the past with the blunt, useless tools of a business major—cost-benefit analyses of emotional decisions, SWOT analyses of a relationship already in ashes. 

You’re aimlessly searching for the inflection point. The precise moment the venture capital of your shared future was pulled, the IPO of ‘us’ indefinitely cancelled. A few plausible points manifest: when she lashed out at you for offering sweet nothings after she was eliminated. When you left prematurely and left her to wallow in the chaos of her own grief. Or when the pandemic came and went, and you weren’t there to offer a hand on her shoulder. 

It’s all of those, or ultimately, nothing. There was nothing you could do to keep her away from her dream.

On the fourth day, the rain comes. A fine, needlesharp mist that soaks through your jacket and finds the cracks in your resolve. You’re in Itaewon, of all places, drawn by its messy, foreign energy, a place that feels as displaced as you are. You’re leaning against a damp brick wall, watching the world blur, when you see it: the HYBE building. It looms at the end of the street, a monolithic slab of dark glass and ambition, both a temple and a fortress. You weren’t even looking for it. It just found you.

And then she finds you.

A black van pulls to a smooth stop at the curb. The side door slides open with a soft hydraulic sigh. And there she is.

Huh Yunjin.

She’s not the girl from your memory, all soft edges and desperate hope. This is someone new, polished and mature. Her hair is darker, longer, falling in a sleek curtain around her shoulders. She’s dressed in clothes that look both incredibly expensive and effortlessly casual, all oversized silhouettes and stark blacks and whites. There’s a sharpness to her jawline you don’t recall, a new definition in the set of her shoulders. But it’s her eyes that stop your heart. They scan the street with a focused, professional detachment, taking in the scene, assessing for threats. They are the eyes of someone who has learned to be watched.

This is it. The moment. This is the pivot. The strategic intervention. 

You push off the wall. And you call her name.

It doesn’t come out as a shout. It’s not a desperate cry. It’s softer than that, a breath pulled from the deepest, most ruined part of you, given sound. Just her name. A statement. A fact. Yunjin.

Her head whips around. Those professional, detached eyes lock onto you. For a second, there’s nothing. Just blank recognition of a disruption. Then, the facade shatters: her eyes widen, the professional cool vaporizing into pure, unadulterated shock. Her lips part. The world narrows to the space between you, the rain-misted air crackling with a sudden, impossible charge.

“Oh my God.”

It’s not a question. It’s a gasp. A punch to the gut. 

She takes a half-step forward, then stops, as if an invisible leash has snapped tight. Her security detail, a large man in a black suit, shifts his weight, his gaze darting between you and her.

She says something to him, low and quick, a hand raised. A gesture that says, ‘It’s okay. Stand down.’ 

He nods, but his posture stays rigid, watchful.

Then she’s moving, closing the distance between you, her boots clicking on the wet pavement. She doesn’t run. It’s more purposeful than that: a claiming of space. 

She stops an arm’s length away, and just—looks. Her eyes drink you in, tracing the lines of your face, the way you’re standing, the water beading on your cheap jacket. The professional idol is gone. In her place is the girl from the practice room, the one who knew the weight of your silence.

“You’re here,” she remarks. Her voice is lower than you remember, huskier, but the cadence is the same. It’s the voice that used to whisper intimate secrets to you in the dark, about ambition, about her fears. “You’re actually here.”

You can only nod, your throat sealed shut just staring at her. The walls you’ve built, the ones you’ve been reinforcing for three years with business models and case studies—they crumble. It all comes gushing out, not in words, but in a tremor that surges through your entire body. The guilt, the loneliness, the stupid, unwavering love you thought was completely gone—it’s all there, utterly exposed in the rain.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. It’s inadequate. It’s everything. “Yunjin, I am so, so sorry. For everything. For leaving like that. For not being there. For—all of it.”

She doesn’t say it’s okay. Doesn’t offer cheap forgiveness. Rather she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your wet sleeve before closing around your wrist. It’s a circuit finally completed after years of dead air. Her skin feels warm against the cold damp of yours.

“I know,” she says, sounding of relief and pain all at once, like she’s welcoming a soldier at the end of a long, long war. “I know you are. God, look at you. You look—”

“Tired?” you offer, a half-assed attempt at a joke that dies in the air between you.

“Real,” she corrects softly. “You look real.” 

Her thumb strokes a slow, absent rhythm against your pulse point. “It’s been a really long time.”

“Too long.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile crosses her lips. “Yeah. Too damn long.” She glances back at the van, at the waiting building. “I have to—I have practice. I’m already late.”

The dismissal should feel like a door slammed shut, but it doesn’t. The way she says it, the way her fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, it feels like a comma, not a period. This isn’t the end. Not yet.

“Can I—” you start, the proposition by itself daunting. “Can I see you? After?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

The answer is immediate, solid. “Tonight. There’s a place. A little bar in Hapjeong, near the old river wall. Do you remember?”

Of course. You remember everything. The sticky table, the soju, her head on your shoulder as you watched the lights reflect on the water. “I still remember everything. A little too well.”

“Nine o’clock.” She gives your wrist a final, firm squeeze, then lets go. “Don’t be late this time, Mr. Stanford.”

And just like that, the professional mask slides back into place, but it looks different now, softer at the edges. 

Yunjin offers you one last, long look, a look that holds three years of silence and promises a night of noise, then turns and walks back to the van. She doesn’t look back; doesn’t need to. 

The door closes. The van pulls away, merging into the river of traffic, taking her with it.

You stand there, in the rain, for a full minute. Five. The world rushes back in: the sound of traffic, pedestrian chatter, scents of wet asphalt and grilled meat from a nearby stall. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, disbelieving, giddy. 

It’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. You feel lighter than you have in years, the ache in your chest finally, finally laid to rest.

So you turn with a new purpose in your step, already thinking of what you’ll wear, what you’ll say, the thousands of words you need to pour out to her. 

You take two steps, your mind racing, your heart soaring.

And then you stop.

The van is gone. The street is only that: a street. The rain is just rain, cold and impersonal. The warmth on your wrist is gone, replaced by the chill of damp fabric.

There was no van. There was no conversation.

You’d taken half a step off the wall. Your lips had parted. You’d shaped her name in your mind as a silent scream, a quiet prayer. That was all. The entire exchange—the shock in her eyes, the touch on your wrist, the promise of the bar by the river—it had all happened in the space between one heartbeat and the next, a full-color, surround-sound fantasy born from sleep deprivation and a heart so desperate for closure it would rather visualize it than face the truth.

Yunjin never actually saw you. She’d gotten out of a different car, farther down the street, her head tucked down against the rain, a manager holding an umbrella over her. She’d walked quickly, surrounded by staff, and disappeared through the rotating glass doors of the HYBE building without a single glance to the left or right. She was a satellite, locked in her own orbit, and you were just a speck of dust on the surface of the world, utterly beneath her care or notice.

The reality of your situation isn’t a sucker punch; it’s a lingering absence. It’s the vacuum left behind when a beautiful, perfect dream implodes. You’d just stood on a public street and had a complete, devastatingly detailed hallucination. You’d felt her touch.

You are sick. You are broken. You are so, so tired.

You watch the spot where she disappeared for another minute, waiting for the feeling to return to your limbs. It doesn’t. Right there, in the middle of the street, you are a statue of regret. 

Then, slowly, mechanically, depressingly, you turn.

There’s no looking back at the fortress. No intention to find the bar in Hapjeong. Never was. You just start walking in the opposite direction. Away from the dream, from the promise, from the girl. 

For your sake—and for hers—you let her go. 

—————

A week of ghosts and rain and the taste of your own failures passes, and now you’re back where you started: the great glass throat of Incheon Airport ready to swallow you whole again. Your duffel bag feels heavier, packed with more than clothes. Packed with the weight of a decision you’re trying to convince yourself is noble. 

This is it. The clean break you should have made three years ago. The strategic exit. You’re letting her go. 

Not for you—never for you—but for her. She has a universe to conquer now, a stage to command. The last thing she needs is the anchor of your complicated, messy history dragging her back into the deep end. You are a liability. A risk to her brand. A boy from a past life with a heart full of static. 

You’re doing the right thing, you’re telling yourself. You repeat it like a mantra, a business case for emotional disinvestment. Maximize her potential. Minimize your disruptive influence. This is the ideal outcome.

And yet, your feet slow as you near the departures drop-off. Your eyes, the absolute traitors that they are, scan the crowds. A foolish, dying ember of hope sputters in the innermost depths of your chest. 

Maybe her parents told her. Maybe Rachel, with her soft heart, couldn’t help herself. Maybe, just maybe, she’d see the profound, self-sacrificing poetry of it all—you leaving for good, for her—and she’d come. She’d be there. A final scene. A better goodbye than the one you got.

But the curb is a river of unrecognizable strangers. A mother scolds her crying child. A group of students take a clumsy selfie. A celebrity waves to the paparazzi. No familiar face. No shock of dark hair, no sharp, knowing eyes searching for you. Of course not. You’re a ghost. The moment you chose the earlier flight was the most you stopped existing. 

You exhale, and the last of the hope goes with it, a final wisp of smoke from a doused fire.

The process is automatic. Check-in, baggage drop, passport control. You move through the steps like a program executing its final lines of code. The departure lounge is a purgatory of soft lighting and overpriced duty-free. You buy a bottle of water you don’t want and find a seat facing the giant windows, the tarmac outside stretching out like a gray sea under a flat, colorless sky. This is the last image of Korea you’ll let yourself have: the silent, waiting planes, the slow crawl of fuel trucks, and the complete, utter lack of drama.

You take a sip of water; it tastes like plastic and nothing. You let your gaze drift across the lounge, over the heads of other travelers—a businessman on his laptop, a family arguing over passports, a couple entwined on a love seat. This is it; this is how it ends: not with a bang, not with a reconciliation, but with the quiet whimper of airport noise. 

It’s better this way. It’s—

Your heart stops.

Not figuratively. It seizes. A violent, painful lurch in your chest that steals the air from your lungs.

There.

On the other side of the thick, soundproof glass that separates the secure area from the main terminal. 50, maybe 60 feet away. A commotion.

Yunjin.

Her hair is a mess, thrown into a haphazard ponytail as if she ran out the door the second she heard. She’s not in some chic, idol-ready outfit; she’s in sweatpants and a hoodie—your hoodie, one you’d forgotten a lifetime ago, swallowed by her smaller frame, the sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her face is pale, streaked with tears that haven't stopped falling. Her hands are pressed against the glass, as if she could push through it. Her shoulders are shaking.

She’s saying something. You can’t hear a single word: the glass is too thick, the distance too great, but you don’t need to. You can read her lips. She’s mouthing your name, over and over, in a silent, desperate scream. Her eyes are wide, red-rimmed, scanning the crowds behind the glass, wild and panicked. She hasn’t seen you yet.

And behind her, holding her up, are her parents and her sister, Rachel. Mr. Huh’s face is a mask of grim concern, an arm around her shoulders, trying to steady her. Mrs. Huh is crying too, one hand over her mouth, the other clutching a crumpled tissue. Rachel’s eyes are red, her gaze darting from her sister’s crumbling form to the departure board, then scanning the lounge. It’s Rachel who sees you first.

Her eyes lock onto yours across the vast, crowded space. Her breath hitches. She says something, sharp and urgent, and tugs on Yunjin’s sleeve, pointing directly at you.

Yunjin’s head snaps around.

The world narrows to that single, devastating point of connection. Her eyes find yours. The panic in them crystallizes into a raw, unbearable agony. The silent scream on her lips dies. Her face just—collapses. 

It’s the look of someone watching the last lifeboat row away. It’s the expression you imagined a thousand times but were never cruel enough to truly picture. It’s the absolute, certain knowledge that Huh Yunjin is too late. Again.

She understands. She sees your bag at your feet, the boarding pass in your hand. She sees you, already on the other side of the divide. Her hands slide down the glass, leaving smudges behind. Her knees buckle; only her father’s firm hold keeps her upright. She doesn’t look away from you. Not for a second. 

Ragged tears gush over once more, tracking clean lines through the ones already dried on her skin. This isn’t the angry crying from three years ago. This is grief. Pure, undiluted, final.

Your own breath is ragged in your throat. Every cell in your body screams at you to run. To vault the barrier, to smash through the glass, to cross the impossible distance and catch her before she falls apart completely. To tell her you’re a fool, that you were wrong, that nothing is more important than this, than to be with her.

But you don’t move. You made your choice. The noble, stupid, heartbreaking choice. 

Her career over her tears. Her future is more important than the desperate, broken present. To go to her now would be to give her a distraction she cannot afford. You would be the boy who made the idol miss her schedule. You would be the scandal waiting to happen. You love her too much for that. Or maybe you’re just, at the end of the day, no matter how well intentioned it is, a coward.

So you stand your ground. You let her watch. You let her see the goodbye you’d planned to give her in person, the one you’d been too afraid to deliver. You let her see it all in your face: the love, the regret, the stupid, unwavering devotion, the profound, soul-crushing apology. You pour every unsaid word of the last three years into your gaze and send it across the void. 

I’m sorry. I love you. I’m doing this for you. Forgive me.

A final boarding call for your flight echoes through the lounge, tinny and impersonal. It’s the gunshot at the end of the race.

You see her flinch at the sound. She understands that, too.

Slowly, so slowly, you raise your hand. Not a wave. A gesture of acknowledgment. Of seeing. Of farewell. It feels like lifting the entire world on your shoulders.

On the other side of the glass, Yunjin, held fast by her family, brings a trembling hand up. She doesn’t wave back. She just presses her fingertips to the glass once more, a final, fleeting point of contact against an impossible barrier. A silent, desperate touch against a cold, unyielding, unforgiving surface.

That’s all you get.

Looking back feels like a betrayal of your own principles. But you turn away. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

You walk down the jet bridge, the sounds of the airport fading, replaced by the hollow echo of your own footsteps. You find your seat by the window. You stare out at the gray tarmac, at the Korea you are leaving behind. You don’t let yourself look toward the terminal.

You don’t need to. The image is already burned onto the back of your eyelids, leaving a permanent scar: Yunjin, behind glass, crying for you.

That was the last time you saw her for the next four years.

———

The plane begins to move.

From the terminal window, Yunjin watched the giant metal bird push back from the gate. The tears wouldn't stop: a silent river she had no strength to dam. Her parents’ arms were a barricade of good intentions, holding her together when all she wanted was to fall apart. The hope that had exploded in her chest when Rachel burst into the practice room, breathless with news from their mother—“He’s leaving, right now, the flight’s in an hour!”—shattered into a million piercing shards. 

She ran. Mama Huh had driven through traffic like a madwoman, praying to any god that would listen. Just this once.

And she’d been too late. Again. 

She saw him turn away. She saw him choose the walk down the bridge over her. The pain was a physical thing, a fist closing around her heart, squeezing the air from her lungs. He was really gone. And in his eyes, she’d seen the truth she’d been too angry and too proud to see for three years. He had loved her. Really, truly had. And he’d just chosen to break both their hearts because he thought it was what she needed. 

The plane began its slow taxi toward the runway, and a choked sob finally broke free from her throat. Yunjin watched until it was a speck in the distance—until you were nothing at all.

—————

Three years have gone by in a flash. Stanford recedes into a fond, golden-hued memory, the launchpad for what comes next. 

An MBA from Wharton, collected not with the wide-eyed wonder of an ambitious undergrad but with the sharp, acquisitive focus of a strategist moving pieces on a board. The years don’t so much pass as they accumulate, a fine, glittering dust settling over the scorched earth of your early twenties. 

You become a master of accretion. You layer success over silence, achievement over absence. 

You are good at this. Scary good. 

You speak the language of leveraged buyouts and market disruption like it’s your native tongue, which, in a way, it now is. The ghost of a different life, of a different boy who loved a different girl, is neatly filed away under Sentimentality: Non-Essential.

Your new Manhattan residence is all sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows, a testament to clean lines and cleaner breaks. It smells of big money. The view is a sprawling, twinkling grid of ambition, and you are at the very center of it. 

Your name now carries weight in certain circles. It opens doors to rooms you used to only read about in Forbes. You wear tailored suits that cost more than your first car. The world has become your oyster.

You’re dating a woman, Alexandra—same age as you—who has walked runways in Milan and Paris, whose laugh is a bright, calculated chime at charity galas, and whose touch is as warm and substantive as polished marble. She is beautiful in a way that feels like a public service, a benefit to everyone who gets to look at her fine glory. 

You are, by every conceivable metric, thriving. You have built a life so pristine, so enviable, it’s practically a museum exhibit. 

Alexandra is holding court at a dinner where the food is more concept than substance, discussing the metaverse with a venture capitalist whose name you’ve already forgotten. Meanwhile, you’re nodding along, acting as the perfect, attentive partner, resting your hand on the small of her back. 

This is your life now. It is seamless. Too perfect.

One of your junior analysts, a sharp kid named Benjamin straight out of Harvard, is there, trying to keep up. The conversation lulls for a moment, the space between courses filled with the clink of crystal and the low hum of curated conversation. Eager to impress, the young lad leans in.

“Speaking of market penetration and brand loyalty,” he says, and you can already tell he’s been rehearsing this segue, “the entertainment sector, specifically the K-pop model, is a fascinating case study. The ROI on fan engagement is insane.”

You take a slow sip of wine. Napa Valley, 2018. A very good year.

“We’re looking at a few for a potential brand partnership,” Benjamin continues, pulling out his phone. “The global reach is just—unreal. There’s this one group, LE SSERAFIM—you might have seen the buzz? They killed it at Coachella a few months back. Huge stateside push. Honestly, a bit overhated online, which is crazy: the data on their engagement is wild, pure cult following stuff. And one of the members, this Korean-American girl, she’s got this—hot girl vibe. The girls love her. The antis really hate her. It’s this whole thing.”

The words don’t land. They detonate.

Le sserafim.

The brand hits you like an undercut to the solar plexus. The air leaves your lungs in a silent, agonized rush. The taste of the expensive wine turns to vinegar in your mouth.

Korean-American girl.

Overhated.

The museum glass of your perfect life splinters, just like that. One careless comment from an eager kid, and the past has completely spilled from its filing cabinet, ripping through the deliberately-curated silence of the last four years with the force of a Category 5 hurricane.

You don’t flinch. You are too well-trained for that. Your face remains a placid mask of mild professional interest. You even manage a slight, thoughtful nod. 

“Is that right?” you say, your voice remaining steady, a miracle in and of itself. “I’ll have to take a look at the data.”

Alexandra glances at you, a flicker of curiosity in her famously cool blue eyes. “K-pop? Really, Benny? All that manufactured bubblegum nonsense?” 

She says it with a light, dismissive laugh, the kind that ends conversations.

Benjamin, wisely, backs down. “Yeah, well, the numbers don’t lie,” he mumbles, retreating into his phone, effectively letting himself out.

The conversation moves on. You pick up your fork, eating the next course, a deconstructed something-or-other that tastes like absolutely nothing. You are a perfect simulation of yourself. But inside, you are rubble.

The dinner ends. You smile, shake hands with the associates, help Alexandra into her coat. The gesture feels alien, like maintaining a mannequin. 

In the back of the town car, Alexandra rests her head on your shoulder, filling the narrow space with her perfume. It’s a scent designed to be desirable, but it feels more like a suffocating blanket. Not even with the windows down can the cold night air clear your head.

“You were quiet after that K-pop talk,” she softly remarks, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your chest. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering investing in teenybopper music.”

“Just thinking about the market analytics,” you lie, the response sounding foreign even through your ears. “It’s quite the unique space.”

Satisfied, she hums, and nuzzles closer. “Well, think quieter. I missed you tonight.”

You stare out the window at the blur of lights. Each one feels like a pinprick of accusation.

Moments later, you’re home. The apartment is eerily silent: a monument to your success. 

Alexandra goes to shower. You stand in the middle of the vast living room, the city ahead sprawling at your feet, and you feel a loneliness so profound it is vertigo. You are at the top of the world, and it is a desolate, icy peak. Not even your most bitter enemies can withstand it all the way up here.

There’s no stopping it; the compulsion is a burning ache, a pull stronger than logic or reason. You walk into your study and close the door. 

The click of the latch is obscenely loud. You are cheating. You are about to cheat on your perfectly curated present with the past.

Your hands are not quite steady as you open your laptop. The screen glows blue in the dim room. The search feels like a betrayal. It feels like coming home.

You type the name. LE SSERAFIM.

The screen floods with them: Five young women, sharp and powerful and hauntingly beautiful. The aesthetics are flawless and fierce, a world away from the tired trainee you saw in a dusty practice room. You click on a music video. The production value is astronomical. The choreography is razor-sharp. They are perfect. They are monsters of performance.

And there she is.

Huh Yunjin.

Time has not passed for her; in fact, it has refined her. 

The youthful softness is gone, carved away and replaced with a breathtaking, almost dangerous elegance. Her face is all sharp lines and knowing eyes, her body a weapon of precise, controlled movement. She is luminous. She is untouchable. She is everything she ever said she would be, and the sight of it is an awestruck blow to the senses.

Her command of the camera, her direct and challenging gaze, is something else. She hits a high note that seems to fracture the air around it. Her smile is a brilliant, polished thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. As you watch more of her performances, the years of silence evaporate. You are right back in that airport, watching her cry. You are right back in that practice room, telling her to stay exactly this. Except she didn’t. She became this. Something more. Something you helped create and were then forced to exile yourself from, perhaps for your own good.

Then, like a fool, you do the one thing you know you shouldn’t. You type her name and “controversy.” You type “Le sserafim hate.”

The internet, that bottomless pit of curated vitriol, opens up and swallows you whole. Forums seethe with absurd, borderline incomprehensible conspiracy theories. Comment sections are battlefields of mindless hatred. Video compilations twist her every word, her every expression, into something malicious and calculating. They call her arrogant. A try-hard. A hypocrite. They pick apart her body, her face, her accent. They call out her mantra about ‘changing the idol industry’ and superimpose it with some of their lapses. They hate her because she is bright, because she is talented, because she exists with a confidence they find offensive. They hate her for the very things you loved most.

A particular thread catches your eye, a long, vicious dissection of some off-hand comment she made on a variety show months ago. The malice is so petty, so creatively cruel, it makes your stomach turn. Overhated, Benjamin had said. The word was an understated, inadequate umbrella for this torrent of toxic sewage.

Your hands curl into fists on the keyboard. A white-hot, protective rage flares in your chest, so intense it steals your breath. You want to find every single one of these faceless, cowardly trolls and—and then what? 

You have no recourse. You are a titan of industry in a glass tower, and you are utterly powerless to stop the river of hate flowing toward the girl you once knew. The girl you still—

You miss her.

The admission is a quiet, devastating earthquake in your soul. It levels the carefully constructed city of your new life. You miss her so acutely it feels like a phantom limb, an ache for something that was amputated years ago but whose presence still haunts every nerve ending. 

You miss her stupid, snorting laugh. You miss the way she’d chew on her pen when she was trying to write lyrics. You miss the weight of her head on your shoulder, the specific scent of her shampoo. You miss the girl who was determined and delicate and entirely, devastatingly real, before the world got its hands on her and turned her into an idea to be loved or hated.

Suddenly, the study door opens. Alexandra stands there, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair freshly damp, her face scrubbed and perfect. 

“What are you doing here all alone?” she asks, tilting her head. “Come to bed.”

She smiles, a slow, inviting smile. She is breathtaking. She is everything anyone could ever want. But looking at her, all you can see is a stranger. A beautiful, placid mask behind which you are expected to hide forever.

You can’t bring it up. The reasons are a list as long as your arm. She wouldn’t understand. It’s pathetic. It’s unprofessional. It’s the past. It would require explaining a part of myself that was sealed away. It would be a weakness. She loves the man you’ve built, not the boy you buried.

So you do what you’ve become an expert at. You perform.

You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face. Close the laptop, cut off the light, exorcise the ghost. As you should. You’re above these childish things.

“Just finishing up some work,” you lie again, shifting your voice into a convincing replica of normalcy.

You stand up and walk toward her, taking her hand. It feels smooth and cool in your touch, brimming with polish that never fades.

But as you lead her out of the study, away from the screen and the silence and the secret, the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids: Yunjin, on a stage drenched in light, smiling brilliantly into a sea of faces, some cheering, some screaming hate, completely alone. And you, in your tower of glass and steel, watching from an impossible distance, powerless to do anything at all.

—————

“Potential investment summit in Seoul,” you tell Alexandra over breakfast, the excuse tasting like expensive coffee and betrayal. The lie is a clean, hard bullet of a thing.  

You don’t look at her directly; you focus on the financial times spread between you, the newsprint a flimsy papermache of a shield. You chamber it with the ease of long practice. “The tech sector there is exploding. It’s a prime opportunity.”

Alexandra’s fork stills over her avocado toast. Her eyes, blue as a frozen lake, narrow a fraction. She has a predator’s instinct for evasion, a model’s eye for the slightest shift in posture and voice. 

“Seoul,” she repeats. The word is neutral, but the air in the room thickens. “Since when do you do field research for potential investments? You have people for that.”

“Some things require a personal touch.” You keep your tone light, dismissive. “First-hand impression of the market culture. It’s a different world over there.”

She is silent for a moment, the delicate scrape of her knife the only sound. You can feel her dissecting you, layer by carefully constructed layer. 

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?” she says finally. Her voice is dangerously calm. “The one from your—past. The Korean-American singer.”

Your blood runs cold. Caught. Red-handed. She hardly broke a sweat scrutinizing it.

You’ve never spoken of Yunjin. Not a single mention, not even an implication. You’ve buried her in your past so deep you thought she was geologic. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t test my intelligence, darling.” She sets her fork down with a precise, quiet click. “I’ve seen the way you go still when her music comes on in a restaurant. The way you never, ever look at any news about K-pop. It’s the only thing that makes you flinch. You think I haven’t noticed?” 

Alexandra leans forward, her perfume now feeling like a sudden, aggressive cloud blocking the sunlight. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her picture on your secret little phone searches when you think I’m asleep?”

The foundation of your meticulously built life cracks open. Just like that, you are openly exposed. And all you can do is stare into her cold, judgmental eyes.

“It’s a business trip,” you insist, the lie sounding more obvious than it’s ever been.

“Right. And I’m the queen of England.” Alexandra laughs, a short, hollow sound. There’s no anger in her eyes, not really. Just a cold, clinical disappointment. Like a collector realizing a prized possession is a forgery. A sham. “Fine. Go.”

The concession is so sudden it throws you off. “What?”

“Go to Seoul. Chase your ghost.” She picks up her fork again, her movements stiff. “But understand something. You walk out that door for this, and you’re making a choice. This—” she gestures between the two of you, at the perfect apartment, the perfect life, “—is a partnership. It’s built on a certain reality. You go and shatter that reality, and this part is over. I won’t be the consolation prize for a man who’s in love with a memory.”

The ultimatum hangs in the air, stark and final. You look at her—beautiful, composed, a trophy you worked so hard to win—and you feel absolutely nothing. 

“The flight is next Thursday,” you say, and it’s the only answer you can give. Not when she already knows what you’re up to, probably has your secret itinerary mapped out in the back of her mind.

Her face closes off. She gives a single, sharp nod and returns to her breakfast. 

The conversation is over. You have made your choice.

—————

Now here you are: seven years gone by in a flash, and you’re back at square one.

The air around you crackles with a violent, barely contained energy. Standing inches away, still in her encore outfit, glitter dusted across her cheekbones, her hair damp with sweat. Yunjin’s there, and you still don’t know what to say. She is breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts. She doesn’t look like a goddess anymore. She looks feral. 

For a heartbeat, you just stare into each other’s eyes. The years collapse. You see the girl in the practice room, the woman crying at the airport, the idol on the stage, all superimposed into this one furious, breathtaking person.

Then she swings her arm.

The slap isn’t a gentle thing. It’s not a theatrical gesture,  not the exaggeratedness of a soap opera, nor is it a light jest between friends catching up. It is pure, uncut emotion given physical form. 

Her palm connects with your cheek with a crack that echoes in the silent room. It isn’t just a hit; it’s a transfer. Four years of stored pain, of angry silence, of wondering, of reading about your perfect life in Forbes while she weathered storm after storm of hate. It all pours out of her and into you in that one, searing point of contact.

Your head snaps to the side. The sting is immediate, a hot, bright brand on your skin. You bring a hand to your cheek, too shocked to comprehend what she just did.

Before you can even process anything else, Yunjin moves again.

She doesn’t hit you again; she crashes into you. 

Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you down to her with a force that is almost desperate. Her body collides with yours, a shuddering, solid weight. And then she breaks.

The sound she makes is not a sob. It’s a fracture, a dam giving way. It’s a vulnerable thing that she muffles against the collar of your stupid, expensive suit. Her entire frame shakes with the force of it, her tears hot and immediate against your skin.

“Why?” The word is ripped from her, torn and ragged. “Why now? Why like this? After all this time—why?”

You’re frozen for a second, unsure of what to do, but it happens naturally: your arms come up around her, holding her tight, as if you can keep her from coming completely apart. That delusional, childish belief in you never really died; it went into hibernation, waited tirelessly, until this very moment. 

You can feel the sequins of her outfit digging into your palms, the solid muscle of her back beneath. She is real. She is here. And she is breaking down in your arms.

“I don’t know,” you mumble into her hair, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve said in years. The confession is both a relief and a torment. “I just—I had to see you. I couldn’t—live any further without ever seeing your face again.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes swimming, her makeup smudged into a tragic, beautiful mask. “I can’t—I try. I try so hard to forget you. To bury you. I have a whole life. I have everything I ever wanted. And then you just—reappear. And it’s like no time has passed at all. How is that fair?”

You have no answer; you’re trying to figure it out yourself. You simply hold her gaze, letting her see the same conflict mirrored in your own eyes. The same useless, endless yearning.

Her expression shifts, the vulnerability on her features hardening into something sharper, more accusatory. “I know how successful you are,” she remarks, gaining a sharp edge. “I’ve seen everything. The business magazines love you. And the model.” 

The word—the implied name—is a dart, thrown with precision. 

“Alexandra Watney. Your girlfriend. Does she know?” Her eyes scan yours, demanding the truth. “Does she know you’re here? With me?”

Looking at this woman in your arms, this brilliant, furious, heartbroken star, you know there is only one answer you can give. The only one that matters.

“You already know.”

—————

“Come on,” Yunjin says, her tone shifting into something softer, more practical. “We can’t stand out here arguing.” 

She takes your hand—a simple, nostalgic act—and leads you away from the dressing room, deeper into the labyrinthine belly of the arena.

The room she takes you to is a small, cluttered green room. A couch upholstered in scratchy blue fabric, a table littered with half-empty water bottles, energy drink cans, and a scattering of makeup wipes. It’s where backstage shenanigans and social media pictures come to life. 

The air smells of hairspray and adrenaline. It’s gloriously, mundanely real. A stark contrast to the celestial goddess who just commanded a stadium.

She drops onto the couch, kicking off her sneakers with a groan of relief. She pats the space beside her. The space is so small your knees almost touch.

For a moment, you just stare at each other. The initial shock and angst has worn off, leaving a raw, tentative curiosity in its wake.

“So,” Yunjin starts, picking at a loose sequin on her sleeve. “Stanford. Wharton. Business titan.” 

She says it without looking at you, smiling at the thought, at visualizing your own stratospheric rise. “I googled you. It’s a very impressive—list of accomplishments. Very shiny.”

“It’s just a job,” you say, the deflection automatic, honed from countless cocktail parties and mundane conversations.

She snorts—a soft, undignified sound that is so her it steals the air from your lungs. “Right. Because everyone gets a ‘just a job’ that lands them in the pages of Forbes before they’re thirty.” 

Yunjin finally looks up, her gaze sharp, insightful. “It looks—seamless. From the outside. Just success, stacked on top of more success. No messy parts.”

You think of the late nights, the brutal negotiations, the cold, calculated decisions that felt like carving off pieces of your soul. You think of Alexandra’s glacial eyes across the breakfast table, judging the decision that brought you to this very moment. “It’s not as effortless as it looks.”

“Nothing ever is,” she concedes, her smile gradually fading. “But my mess—my mess has always been so public. You know?” 

Yunjin lets out a long, slow breath. Unlike your journey of success on top of success, her career, from what you’ve amassed, is a winding rollercoaster. “One day it’s a stadium screaming your name, the next it’s a thousand forums dissecting your every blink, calling you a fraud, a bitch, a failure. It’s like living in a house made of glass, and everyone outside has a rock.” 

She hugs a cushion to her chest. “With your mess, you at least get to settle it in private.”

The observation is so astute it leaves you speechless. You’d only ever seen the hate hurled at her; you’d never considered the isolating architecture of the pedestal she was on. Dirty money can block out the noise. Idols can’t.

“Your sisters seem to keep you grounded,” you offer, grasping for a safer topic. “The group, I mean. They seem—good.”

A real smile breaks through her face, warm and genuine. “They’re monsters. I love them. They’re the only ones who really get it. That’s what bonding over shared trauma does.” 

Then her eyes light up with a different kind of energy. “And my actual sister. Rachel. God. You will not believe it.”

“She finally hard-launched that guy on Instagram,” you say, the response slipping out before you can stop them.

Yunjin’s jaw drops. “You saw that?”

You shrug, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I might have been keeping up in my free time. A little.”

“Oh my God. You’re such a stalker.” 

She stares at you, a slow, delighted grin spreading across her face. The tease is affectionate, familiar. It feels like coming home. “Yes! Mr. ‘We-Met-In-Organic-Chemistry.’ The posts are nauseating. It’s all sunset hikes and matching sweaters. I’m happy for her, I really am, but it’s so disgustingly wholesome it makes my teeth hurt.”

You laugh, the sound strange and foreign in your own ears. “Send them my way. I know a guy who rented a yacht in Monaco last summer. They can borrow it. Get some suitably nauseating ocean content.”

Yunjin barks a laugh. “You have a yacht?”

“A colleague rented it,” you correct, a little too quickly. “For a corporate gig.”

She just shakes her head, amused and something else, something more poignant. “See? This is what I mean. Your life is just—a whole different planet. Yachts in Monaco. Investment summits. Celebrities and political figures. Meanwhile, my big news is that I finally learned how to make decent kimchi jjigae without burning down the dorm.”

“I’d take your kimchi jjigae over a yacht any day,” you say, and you mean it. Really.

For a few precious minutes, it’s easy. It’s just you and her, falling back into the old, nostalgic rhythm, the years apart melting away. You talk about nothing and everything. You complain about the terrible coffee at Wharton; she complains about the grueling year-end schedule. It’s comfortable. It’s dizzying.

Then, a sharp rap on the door breaks the spell. A staff member pokes their head in. “Yunjin, five minutes. Weverse live. Everyone’s waiting.”

Her idol mask doesn’t so much slip back on as she consciously reassembles it. The ease in her posture tightens. The warmth in her eyes is banked, filled in by that professional gleam she carries on stage, in the public eye.

“Okay! Be right there!” she calls, bright and energetic, like she’s ready to go another three hours again.

Yunjin turns back to you, the shift in attitude and expression suddenly jarring. “I have to go be—on for a bit,” she says, slightly apologetic in her tone. “Don’t go anywhere. This’ll be—interesting.” 

She grabs her phone and heads for the door, throwing you a look over her shoulder that is pure, unadulterated challenge.

Alone in the quiet room, you pull out your own phone. Your thumb hovers over the Weverse icon. 

This is a terrible idea. A spectacularly bad idea. 

You download the app, join their fanclub membership, and find their live stream right as it begins.

There they are. All five of them, crowded around a phone, seated on a couch, still in their encore outfits, faces glowing with post-concert high. They are bubbly, laughing, talking over each other. Yunjin is in the middle, her smile brilliant and practiced. She looks happy. She looks perfect.

You watch for a minute, your thumb hovering over the comment box. A demon perched on your shoulder whispers in your ear: You already know.

So you type a comment, your username a random string of letters and numbers for discrepancy.

16cl0.leo.016: The silver outfit tonight was a religious experience.

It gets lost in the flood of hearts and emojis and screaming declarations of love. You see her eyes flicker to the phone, then away. Nothing.

You try again, a little more specific this time:

16cl0.leo.016: That high note in No-Return actually ended me. I am deceased.

One of the other members reads it out loud with a giggle. “Someone says the high note in No-Return ended them!”

Yunjin laughs: a light, airy sound. “Oh, thank you! It’s a fun one to sing! Gotta end our concerts on a high, right?” 

Her eyes dart to the screen again, a little more deliberately this time.

Emboldened by the response, you go for the kill. 

Channeling every bit of the old, familiar banter, the shorthand only the two of you ever shared, you type: Hope the kimchi jjigae backstage is better than the airport coffee.

The comment scrolls up. You see her notice it. Her breath hitches, just for a fraction of a second. Her perfectly curated smile wavers. A faint, delicious blush creeps up her neck. She tries to play it off, leaning into another member, making a joke about being hungry, but the stumble is there. It’s tiny, microscopic, but you catch it. The other members don’t, but the fans—the fans are always perceptive. 

A few comments pop up, pointing out the elephant in the room:

valentinnn: ??? Yunjin what coffee?? Is someone bringing her food?

kooper: Yunjin-unnie can cook? What?

Meera: WHO’S THIS LUCKY BASTARD SERVING OUR JENJEN FOOD.

She shoots a look directly into the camera, a quick, fiery glare that says, ‘I know it’s you, and I am going to murder you later.’ It’s all you can do not to laugh out loud in the empty green room. The game is on.

For the rest of the stream, you are a shadowy lurker. You leave a few more innocuous but deeply personal comments: a reference to a movie you’d watched together years ago, a lyric from a song she’d written after late-night practices. Each one lands like a carefully aimed pebble, each little push makes her fluster just slightly, her professional composure cracking around the edges to reveal the gloriously flustered, real Yunjin you’ve always known underneath. 

She is terrible at hiding it. She is magnificent.

When the stream ends, you are brimming with a strange, giddy energy. You eagerly wait while they clean house and prepare to leave. 

The door swings open a few minutes later. Yunjin doesn’t say a word; just walks in, picks up a cushion from the couch, and hurls it directly at your head like a boulder.

“You are the fucking worst, you know that?” she declares, but she’s trying hard not to laugh. “The absolute worst. The comments section is going to be unhinged for a week.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, your face the picture of innocence.

“‘The airport coffee’?” she repeats, her hands resting on her hips. “Really? You’re lucky the translators are slow tonight.”

You just grin. The tension from before is gone, replaced by this new, electric current. It’s familiar. It’s dangerous.

The other members appear in the doorway suddenly, their faces a chorus of poorly concealed curiosity and glee. The one with the sharpest eyes—Kazuha, you think her name is—looks between the two of you with a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face.

“So,” she says, her voice lilting. “Yunjin. You are leaving with your—friend?” She imbues the word with a world of implication.

Yunjin’s blush returns full force. “We’re just going to talk. Catch up. Four years is quite a lot of missed time.”

“Mhmm,” another member—Eunchae—chimes in, wiggling her eyebrows. “Talk. I’m sure that’s all you’ll be doing. At his hotel.” She says the word like it’s the most scandalous thing imaginable.

“So much talking,” Chaewon adds dryly, though her eyes are sparkling. “Try not to—lose your voice. We’re filming Leniverse tomorrow, just so you don’t forget. Wouldn’t wanna be recorded like—that, if I were you!”

Yunjin buries her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my God: stop. All of you. Out. Get out.”

They comply, leaving in a wave of giggles and exaggerated winks trailing behind them. 

The door clicks shut, leaving the two of you in a silence that is now profoundly, palpably different. The air is thick with everything that’s been said and everything that hasn’t. 

Now alone once more, Yunjin looks at you, her expression flying through every phase of tension imaginable: exasperation, amusement, and a nervous anticipation that mirrors your own. 

“They’re the worst.”

“They’re great,” you counter, still staring at the closed door where her members had been before you returned to her gaze.

She takes a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “So. Your hotel?”

“If you want to. We could just—talk. If you’re down with that.” You echo her weak excuse, a trace of a grin tugging at your lips.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s already grabbing her bag. “Shut up. Let’s just go before they come back with a camera.” 

Yunjin heads for the door, then pauses, glancing back at you. The challenge is back in her eyes, now softer. Warmer. “And you’re buying me real coffee. The ones at the airport are still terrible.”

—————

Drifting further into your rather expensive hotel room, her dainty fingers trail over the back of a velvet armchair. She’s shed her stage jacket, leaving only just the sequined encore top and those impossibly small shorts, her body all toned muscle and exhaustion. She looks both out of place and utterly captivating against the muted beige and gray of the suite.

“Nice digs, Stanford,” she remarks, tone light but her eyes taking in the impersonal luxury with a wary curiosity. “This where you do all your high-stakes deal-making?”

“It’s just a room,” you say, the deflection a tired habit. You then gesture to the minibar. “Coffee? Or something stronger? Sorry I forgot to stop at that coffee shop; was too focused on getting here quicker. Er, I mean—driving.”

“Water’s fine.” She perches on the edge of the large bed, then seems to think better of it and moves to the armchair, tucking her feet underneath her. The distance feels both vast and insignificant.

You hand her a cold bottle of water. Your fingers brush. A static jolt, familiar and terrifying. Then you take the couch opposite her as she drinks, the low glass table separating you a flimsy border. 

“You were angry,” you start, the words feeling too loud in the otherwise quiet room. “After Produce. When you told me to get out.” 

You’re not looking at her; you’re studying an abstract painting on the wall, all slashes of muted color. “I get it now. I didn’t then. I just—stood there. Felt useless. Like everything I said was wrong. Like my presence itself was just a reminder of your failure.”

Yunjin remains quiet. She takes a slow sip of her water. 

“I wasn’t angry at you,” she replies. “I was angry at everything. The world. Myself. You were just—there. The closest target. An unfortunate one.” 

She sets the bottle down with a precise click. “I wanted to apologize. But you left. You just—disappeared.”

“My flight,” you say, the memory feeling like reviving a rotting corpse, “My dad’s secretary—she moved it up. An earlier direct flight. A ‘better opportunity to get settled’.” 

This is it. The confession you’ve carried like a shard of glass in your heart for years.

You finally risk a glance at her. Her expression is unreadable.

“I was at the gate. My phone was in my hand. I saw your last text. And I thought—I thought me staying, forcing some big goodbye after what you’d said—it would just be a burden. Another mess for you to deal with. So I got on the plane. I thought I was being—I don’t know. Merciful. Or a coward. Probably both.”

The silence that follows is heavier than before. She absorbs this, her gaze fixed on her hands. “A burden,” she repeats, the word flat.

“And then COVID,” you press on, the bitterness you’d buried now rising to the surface, “The world shut down. I was stuck. And you were—God, I can’t even imagine everything you went through. And then you were angry about that, too. That I wasn’t there. That I was just a ‘ghost.’ That one—that one almost rubbed me the wrong way, Jen. There were no planes, no way to leave. I would have moved heaven and earth to be there, you know.”

She flinches, just slightly. 

“I know,” she mumbles. “I know it wasn’t fair. I was just—so scared. And so alone. And it was easier to be angry at you, a ghost, than at a virus, or a company, or a world that had stopped making sense.” 

She looks up, her eyes now glistening with tears ready to drop. “But the rumor—about Source. You heard that?”

A dry, humorless laugh escapes you. “It was the only thing that kept me afloat. This stupid, desperate little life raft of a rumor. I clung to it. I thought, when this is over, when she gets her chance, I’ll go. I’ll be there. I’ll make it right. And then when the opportunity arose, I finally came back. Your parents—they said you weren’t there. That you were training. You told them I was persona non grata. And it was like—the air just changed. The fight was over. You’d won. And I realized—“ 

You run a hand through your hair, the memory of that dreadful week a dull throb. “—my part in it was done. I couldn’t be the guy from the past showing up for your future. I’d just be a distraction. A complication you didn’t need.”

A sad, knowing smile crosses her lips as Yunjin slowly shakes her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

You blink. “What?”

“You saw me cry,” she says, her voice regaining some strength. “At the airport, four years ago. I tried to chase you down. You saw me completely fall apart in public. You saw me, snotty and pathetic, pressed against the glass. And you still think I give a single damn about looking strong? About not having ‘messy parts?’” 

She leans forward, her gaze intensifying. “I wear my heart on my sleeve. Always have. You’ve known this. For the longest time. You, of all people, should be familiar with how my mind—and my heart—works.”

The reality of her statement lands: a simple, devastating wrecking ball to the elaborate fortress of logic you’d built, the excuses you made to justify and shelter your own ego. You’d spent years constructing a narrative of noble sacrifice, of strategic withdrawal. And she’d just reduced it to rubble with one undeniable fact: 

She never wanted a manager. She wanted you. Always have, always will.

“We could have had both,” she says, softening into something unbearably wistful. “Us thriving—and supporting each other. We didn’t have to pick one. We could have been—parallel lines. Not diverging ones.”

You look at her, at this magnificent, resilient, heartbreakingly honest woman, and you finally voice the cold, hard calculus that has been your religion for years. “Maybe it had to happen this way. Maybe we had to be apart to get here. To this.” 

Gesturing around the room, at the two of you, at the impossible distance you’ve somehow bridged for one night. “You’re at the top of your world. I’m—somewhere in mine. And I know you. This isn’t the end for you, far from it. This is only a stepping stone for greater things. You’ll want to do this for as long as your mind and body will let you. You’ll want to write, produce, perform, until you’ve wrung every last drop out of it. While I—I would just be waiting. Again.”

She opens her mouth to deny it, a reflex, then closes it. The fight drains out of her in an instant. Yunjin slumps back in the chair, suddenly looking very young and very frail. 

“Chaewon’s right. We film Leniverse tomorrow,” she says; not a denial, but a cold truth. Just because of nights like this, doesn’t mean the 9-to-5 mentality is completely gone. If anything, it’s just as prevalent, if not worse. Even in your line of work, no matter how good it is, the level of commitment is all too familiar. “It’s not just performing. It’s—everything. All the time. The dream isn’t a destination. It’s a neverending treadmill. And you have to keep running.” 

She looks at you, her expression raw. “You’re right. I’m not done. I don’t know how to be done.”

The admission hangs in the air; it’s a shared, painful understanding. The hatchet, buried for years, is finally out of the ground. 

You stand up and cross the flimsy fortification of the glass table. The movement is slow, deliberate. Kneeling in front of her armchair, you’re looking up at her. The city lights paint her face in silver and shadow.

“I know,” you reply, borderline inaudible but clear in the hushed space. “And it’s one of the million things I love about you.”

The solitary word hangs in the air between you. Love. Not loved—but love. Even now.

Her breath catches. Her eyes search yours, suddenly wide and vulnerable. “What did you just say?”

“I said I love you, Yunjin,” you repeat, each word a vow, a risk, an undeniable truth you can no longer contain. “I never stopped. Through all of it. The anger, the silence, the distance. Through every article and every hate comment and every stupid, perfect day with someone who wasn’t you. It was always you. It’s only ever been you.”

You see the tears well in her eyes again, but this time they don’t fall. They just shimmer, reflecting the entire glittering city behind her. She brings a hand to her mouth, her fingers trembling.

You don’t wait for a response. There’s no more use in waiting. Reaching up, your hand cups her jaw, your thumb gently stroking the apple of her cheek. Her skin feels warm against your touch. Leaning in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to stop this, to uphold the careful boundaries of idol and fan.

She doesn’t move. You close the final, impossible distance.

The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s not a question; it’s an answer. Four years of silence and longing and regret and fury, all distilled into a single breakpoint.

Her lips are softer than you remember, much more luscious than ever, and they yield to yours with a hunger that mirrors your own. A small, broken sound escapes her throat, and then her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, erasing any last pretense of space between you.

It tastes like tears and the faint, sweet remnants of stage lip gloss. It feels like coming up for much-needed air after a lifetime drowning underwater. It feels like your first and last kiss all at once, a desperate, passionate promise made with no future guaranteed. She kisses you back with a ferocity that steals your breath, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

For a brief, timeless moment, there is no past, no future. The hatchet is buried. The ghost has been finally, finally laid to rest. And all that’s left is this: her mouth is on yours, a desperate, hungry thing, with all the unspoken words you didn’t say for years translated into the slick, hot slide of her tongue.

The hotel room air feels dense with her perfume. The roar of the crowd is still a phantom echo in your ears. 

Or maybe it’s just the blood pounding in your own head, surging through your veins.

Her fingers are at the buttons of your shirt, nimble and impatient, popping them open with a series of sharp, tiny sounds that echo louder than gunshots. You fumble with her cut shirt, the fabric slithering through your grasp until it parts over her shoulders and past her long, brunette hair. She tosses it aside, lets it fall to the floor forgotten. The impossibly short shorts follow suit not long after.

Now it’s only her. Only Yunjin. Bare and hiding nothing to the imagination.

The girl from the practice rooms, the one with tired eyes and dreams bigger than both of you, is gone. In her place is this: a sculpture of muscle and will, a body honed for the stage and now, apparently, for this. 

Your hands slide down her back, over the hard, defined ridges of her spine, the impossible dip of her waist, the flare of her shapely hips. Your palms skate over the taut plane of her stomach, every ab a perfect, rigid band beneath her skin. You’ve seen it in music videos, on magazine covers, and her Instagram posts, but feeling it with your own touch is a different kind of heresy. This is a body built of discipline and desire, and you are utterly, completely awestruck.

“Jesus, Yunjin,” you breathe into her mouth, the words mangled.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and glittering with something like triumph. Her hands are on your bare chest now, pushing the ruined shirt off your shoulders. Her thumbs brush over your pecs, down the center of your torso. 

“What?” she teases, low and husky from all the singing, from all the yelling, from all the yapping, “You thought I was the only one who got a glow-up?” 

Her mouth finds your collarbone, her teeth scraping your skin. “Not even your precious Wharton schedule gets in the way of you working out, huh?” 

Followed by a kiss, right over your heart. “Still so solid.” Another bite, gentler this time, which isn’t all that apparent from before. “Still you.”

You loll your head back, groaning as her mouth works its way down your chest. Your hands come up to tangle in her hair, but she catches your wrists, her grip surprisingly strong. She pins them to your sides for a moment, just looking at you, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matches your own frantic heartbeat.

Then, with a sudden, shocking force that knocks the air from your lungs, she shoves you backward. 

Stumbling, losing any sense of rhythm or balance, your legs hit the edge of the mattress, and you fall away, bouncing on the expensive hotel duvet. Before you can even process the fall, Yunjin’s already on you, one knee on either side of your hips, straddling you, pinning you down to the bed. She’s a silhouette against the soft lighting, all sharp edges and soft curves, a goddess of vengeance and absolution.

Leaning down, her hair curtains her face, her lips a breath away from yours. 

“Your girlfriend,” she whispers suddenly, and the word is a venomous, delicious thing on her tongue. Like discovering a hole in your walls, ready to breach it. “isn’t gonna be very happy about this.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” you reply, almost immediately, looking at her with a seemingly offended scowl. But your hands find her waist, your thumbs stroking the sharp bones of her hips, savoring her divine figure. “It’s—purely transactional.”

Yunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. 

“Transaction-al,” she repeats, drawing the word out, tasting it. She grinds down against the hard length of your cock still trapped in your trousers, and you buck beneath her, a helpless, involuntary reaction. “You buy her things? She looks pretty on your arm at investor meetings? That's the deal?”

“Something like that,” you grit out, your eyes squeezing shut at the growing friction.

“Well,” she hushes, leaning down so her lips brush your ear. “Consider this transaction as officially closed.”

In one fluid, powerful motion, she pushes herself up your body. Your hands slide from her waist to her thighs. 

And God, her thighs. They’re solid, sculpted marble beneath your palms, a testament to countless hours of dance practice and working out. She doesn’t stop until she’s kneeling over your face, her knees framing your head, the heat of her needy core radiating against your skin.

The world narrows to this: the shadowed, intimate space between her legs, the faint scent of her arousal, and the overwhelming reality of Huh Yunjin presenting her most vulnerable self to your mouth. You can see the slight tremble in her muscles, the way she’s holding herself back, not to let things get too carried away.

“Well?” she says, her voice tighter now, the teasing edge softened by a need that matches yours. “You know how this works, Mr. Stanford? Or did she never let you hit?”

You don’t need a second invitation. Your hands clamp onto her hips, anchoring her, and you lift your head to meet her.

The first touch of your tongue to her pussy is an electric shock that arcs through both of you. Yunjin gasps, a sharp, punched-out sound, and her hands fly to the pillows before her for balance. She’s already so wet, so alarmingly desperate, her flavor an intoxicating blend of sweetness and salt that is uniquely, utterly her. You delve in, licking a slow, firm stripe from her entrance to her clit, and her whole body jolts above you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, her head dropping forward. 

You set a deliberate, languid pace. This is not a race. This is an excavation. This is communion. 

You worship Yunjin with your mouth, tracing every fold, drawing every drop of slick, circling her clit with the tip of your tongue before sucking it gently between your lips. Your hands slide from her hips to grip the formidable muscle of her ass, kneading the plump flesh, pulling her harder against your mouth. You want to drown in her, die in her.

She begins to move in response, a slow, tentative roll of her hips that quickly gains confidence. The banter is gone, replaced by ragged breaths and low, guttural moans that seem to be torn from somewhere deep inside her. 

“Right there,” she grunts, one of her hands leaving the pillows to fist in your hair. “Don’t you fucking stop—just like that—”

It’s the easiest command in the world. 

Doubling your efforts, you heartily comply. You fuck her with your tongue, plunging deep before returning to circle her clit, over and over. It’s a relentless, wet rhythm. Her thighs, already tight around your head, begin to squeeze. It starts as a pressure, then builds into a vise-like grip that should be suffocating but feels like the most perfect embrace you’ve ever known. You are encased by her, consumed by her, your world reduced to the scent of her skin, the taste of her cunt, the incredible, crushing pressure of her thighs.

Her moans climb in pitch, losing their coherence, becoming a continuous, desperate stream of sound. Her grip on your hair is punishing, holding you exactly where she needs you: right at home, between her legs. You can feel the tension coiling in her body, the tremors starting deep within her muscles. Her abs contract sharply above you, a hard, rippling board of muscle.

“I’m—oh, God—I’m gonna—” she chokes out, the rest of her words dissolving into a broken cry.

Her orgasm hits her like a seizure. Her body locks up, every muscle going rigid for a breathtaking second. A gush of her release floods your mouth, hotter than you remember, and then she’s coming apart, shaking violently, her thighs clamping down on your head with a final, incredible strength as she rides your face through the climax, her cries muffled by the room, by her own ecstasy. It seems to go on forever, wave after wave wracking her frame, until she finally slumps forward, her reserves utterly spent.

Slowly, carefully, her thighs loosen their death-grip on your head. She moves off you with a slowness that speaks of exhaustion, collapsing onto the bed beside you with a soft, boneless sigh.

You both lay there in the aftermath, naked and glistening with sweat, the bedroom air thick and humid with sex. The silence is heavy, but comfortable. For a seemingly eternal moment, there is only the sound of her ragged breathing and your own. 

You turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are closed, but a faint, sated smile plays on her swollen lips. The defined lines of her torso rise and fall steadily.

“Well,” she finally says, her tone completely wrecked, reduced to a hoarse scrape of sound. “They couldn’t be any more right.”

“About what?” you ask, your own voice rough from its own form of overexertion.

She cracks one eye open to stare at you. “That I’d lose my voice after tonight.” Yunjin gestures vaguely between the two of you. “I just didn’t think it’d be from—this.”

You chuckle, low, warm. “What excuse are you gonna make for tomorrow’s filming?”

She sighs; it’s a theatrical, weary thing. Like she’s camera ready. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll say I caught a cold. Or that I was screaming at an obsessed stalker for following me all the way from the other side of the planet.” 

Yunjin turns onto her side to face you, propping her head up on one hand. Her free hand traces idle patterns on your chest. “Though somehow, ‘I was getting my brains fucked out by my boyfriend’ probably won’t make the approved list of reasons for vocal fatigue.”

The casual, crude way she says it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you. You capture her wandering hand, lacing your fingers with hers. “Probably not.”

She looks at your joined hands, then back up at your face. Her expression softens, the teasing glint fading into something more vulnerable, more genuine. 

The performance is over. It’s just her again. The girl from the practice rooms is still in there, after all.

You don’t answer with words; you just lean in and kiss her. 

Slower now, deeper, less frantic hunger and more aching recognition. You taste yourself on her lips, and it feels like claiming and being claimed all at once. Pulling her closer, she comes willingly, folding her body against yours, tucking her head under your chin. Then you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight against the chill of the air-conditioned room and the vast, uncertain future waiting outside the door. 

For now, in this tangled nest of sheets that smell of her, there is only this.

Her breath evens out against your neck, her body a heavy, perfect weight against yours. You trace the notches of her spine, the incredible architecture of her back, and feel the fine tremor that still lingers in her muscles. This is the quiet part, the part you never got to have before. The after.

But with Huh Yunjin, the quiet never lasts.

Her fingers, which had been splayed flat against your chest, begin to move. A slow, deliberate crawl upwards, nails scraping lightly through the hair there, over the hammer of your heart, up the column of your throat. She tilts her head back, her eyes open now, dark and unreadable in the low light. The sated softness is gone, replaced by that familiar, challenging glint.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs. Her thumb brushes your lower lip.

“Just memorizing,” you say, and it’s the truth. She can see it through your eyes. The uncertainty. The unease.

A slow smile curves her mouth. “Yeah? What’s on the test?”

“This.” Your hand slides down to the incredible swell of her ass, gripping her flesh hard, drawing out a husky moan. “You. The way you feel. The way you sound. I’m making sure I don’t forget again. Never wanna live another day without thinking about it.”

Her smile widens, turns carnivorous and wicked. “Better get a bigger hard drive.” She leans in, her mouth hovering a breath from yours. “Because we’re not done.”

The kiss is different now. Not desperate or charged with yearning, but claiming. It says ‘I know what I want, and you’re going to give it to me.’ 

Yunjin nips at your lip, relieves it with her tongue, and all the while her hands are on you, mapping, rediscovering, taking purchase of familiar ground. The solid width of your shoulders, the tense cords of your arms. She breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your cheek.

“I want to see you,” she says, and it’s not a request. It’s a command.

Before you can process it, she’s rolling off you, her body a fluid twist of limbs and muscle. Standing beside the bed, backlit by the city lights bleeding through the gaps in the curtains. She is a silhouette of impossible perfection, every curve and angle a deliberate provocation. 

She holds out a hand. “Come on.”

You take it. There’s no universe where you deny her after—everything.

Her fingers lock with yours, her grip surprisingly strong, and she pulls you to your feet. The room tilts for a second, the world still narrowed to the space between her thighs, the taste of her on your tongue. She doesn’t lead you to the bed. She leads you to the window.

With a sharp tug, she yanks the curtains apart. They slide open with a faint whir, revealing the sprawling, glittering panorama of Seoul at night. It’s like stepping onto a stage, a million tiny lights shining like a captive audience.

Yunjin presses her back to the glass. The cold surface makes her gasp softly, a sharp contrast to the heat of her skin. Her eyes are huge, reflecting the city’s glow. 

“Here,” she says, a low thrum that vibrates through your bones. “I want you to look at me. I want to see you looking.”

Your hands find her hips, anchoring her against the window. The glass feels cool under your palms. 

“Everyone can see,” you say, though the idea is less a warning and more a thrill, a current that arcs straight to your hardening cock.

She grins, a flash of blinding white in the dimness. “Let them.” 

Yunjin reaches down between your bodies, her fingers wrapping around your length. Her touch is sure, a firm, knowing stroke that makes your knees threaten to buckle. 

“They see me on stage. They see the performance. Not this.” 

She guides you, not to her warm entrance, but higher, pressing the head of your cock against the slick, hot junction of her thighs. “This is just for you.”

Closing her legs, trapping you between them. The mounting pressure is instant; incredible. Her thighs are like soaked velvet, impossibly soft yet firm with trained muscle. She is soakingly wet from your mouth, drenched from her own arousal, that your cock slides effortlessly in the tight, slick channel she’s created.

“Fuck,” you groan, your forehead dropping to hers. The view is staggering: the endless city, and her, Huh Yunjin, using her body to milk your cock. It’s lewd and beautiful and so deeply intimate it feels like a violation even with the whole world theoretically watching.

You begin to move—a slow, experimental rock of your hips. The sensation is maddening. It’s not the tight clutch of her cunt, but something else, something possessive and slick and intimate. The head of your cock nudges against her clit with every forward thrust, and she shudders, a sharp, broken sigh escaping her lips.

“That’s it,” she encourages, her hands coming up to frame your face. Her thumbs stroke your cheekbones. “Look at me. See what you do to me.”

And you do. You watch, mesmerized and hypnotized, as her expressions shift with every little movement. The playful teasing evaporates, replaced by a raw, unfiltered hunger. Her lips part, her eyes glaze over, her brow furrows in concentration. This is the transformation you saw on stage, the shift from girl-next-door to sex incarnate, but it’s real now, and it’s all for you. It’s the way she bites her lip when you thrust particularly deep into the warm, wet vise of her thighs. It’s how her eyes roll back just a little when you grind against her. It’s the tiny, breathy whimpers that are so much more potent than any scream.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you grit out, your control starting to fray at the edges. What started as a controlled, almost reverent pace, begins to quicken, threatens to spin into something insane. “On stage—the way you move—God, I thought I’d go insane watching you dance.”

Yunjin grins at your remark, tightens her legs around you. The pressure becomes exquisite, a perfect, suffocating heat. The way she shifts her luscious lips when she groans against you makes it worse. “Yeah? What did you think about? In your fancy investor meetings? In your perfect bed?” 

She’s goading you; her words are a weapon, and her body’s the battlefield you’ll shed everything on.

“This,” you pant, driving into her, feeling every inch of her warm skin. “Only ever this. You. Under the lights. Sweating. Knowing everyone wants you. Knowing I—” 

The sentence dies as she clenches around you, a deliberate, muscular contraction that steals your breath.

“Knowing you what?” she demands, her own breathing ragged. Her nails dig into the nape of your neck, branding herself deep into your skin. “Knowing you what, baby? Answer me. Tell me what you really feel.”

“Knowing I had you first,” you admit, and the admission unleashes something feral in you. 

The controlled pace shatters. You lose yourself to the rhythm, to the primal need to claim, to mark, to fuck yourself into the memory of her skin. Your hands slide from her hips to her ass, lifting her slightly, getting a better angle to piston into the slick, tight space between her legs. The sound is obscene, a wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin that echoes in the quiet room, underscored by both your ragged gasps.

Her head falls back against the glass with a soft thud. Her teasing is gone, replaced by a keening, wanton need. 

“Oh, God, yes—just like that—don’t stop, please, don’t fucking stop—”

Her animated expressions are your undoing. The way her perfect mouth forms a perfect ‘O,’ the way her eyes squeeze shut then fly open, wide with pleasure, the way a faint blush spreads across her chest. She is a masterpiece of ecstasy, and you are the artist unraveling at the sight of his own work.

You can feel it coiling in your gut, a white-hot wire pulled taut. You’re close, so fucking close, teetering on the razor’s edge. You try to hold on, to make it last, but she sees it, feels it in the frantic, losing rhythm of your thrusts.

“Let go,” she demands, her voice a wrecked, seductive thing. She brings one hand down between your bodies, her fingers finding her clit, circling it in time with your frantic strokes. Her back arches off the glass. “Come on. I want to see it. I want to feel it. Let go for me.”

It’s the final, irresistible push. The wire completely snaps.

A guttural, broken sound is ripped from your throat. Your hips stutter, slamming into her one last, final time as you cum. It’s a violent, mind-blanking release, a geyser of bliss that erupts from your very core. Your vision whites out at the edges, the glittering city below blurring into a smear of light. Pulsing against her, over her, thick streaks of your release painting hot stripes across her stomach, her thighs, spattering against the cool glass of the window behind her.

Collapsing forward, bracing your hands on the window on either side of her head, your body trembles uncontrollably with the aftershocks. Your forehead rests against the glass, now fogged with your breath. For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing intertwining with hers.

Slowly, you open your eyes. Yunjin is watching you, her expression unreadable. Her chest is still heaving. Your cum is slick, sticky and warm on her skin, a stark, possessive contrast against her toned stomach.

A slow, utterly wicked smile spreads across her face. “Messy,” she calmly observes, her voice a bit too husky, too dangerous for your delicate ears.

Before anything can register, she sinks to her knees in front of you. Holding your gaze, her dark eyes never leave yours as she leans forward. Her tongue, pink and deliberate, flicks out. She licks a long, slow stripe up her own thigh, collecting your release.

The sight is so profoundly erotic it makes you dizzy. You can only watch, hypnotized and spellbound, as she tidies herself and your cock with a languid, unhurried dedication, her eyes remain on yours the entire time, barely breaking contact. She makes a show of it: a silent, filthy performance meant only for you. She slides her tongue around your shaft with intentionally loud, pornographic slurps, and takes you deep into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with a playful pout. Like she’s daring you to cum it down her throat.

When she’s done, she rises back to her feet, her body once again pressed against the glass, now somewhat clean where she’d been.

Reaching for you, her hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you into a deep, consuming kiss. You can taste yourself on her lips, a salty, intimate tang. It’s a seal. A brand.

When she breaks away, she’s breathing heavily again, but her smile is back. Playful. Teasing. Yours.

“Management,” she says, her ruined voice sounding lower, more shredded than before, “is definitely going to ask about my voice tomorrow.”

“Tell them you overexerted your voice from singing tonight,” you repeat her joke from earlier, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. 

“Nah. Too boring.” Yunjin laughs, a soft, crackling sound. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear. “I’ll just tell them I had a very—persuasive—fan waiting for me after the show.”

The kiss deepens, becomes something slower, hungrier. It’s a wordless conversation.. Her hands are in your hair, not pulling, just holding, as if she’s afraid you’ll dissolve into nothing the moment she ever lets go.

But you are solid. You are here. And the feel of her, naked and pressed against you with the cold glass at her back, is a drug you’ve been craving for four long years. The high has already worn off from the last hit, and your body is already screaming for the next.

You break the kiss, your breath coming in ragged pulls. Your eyes travel over her shoulder, down the elegant line of her back, to the perfect, outrageous curve of her ass. A memory flashes, unbidden: watching her on screen, mid-performance, her in that inviting position during Unforgiven, bold, defiant and provocative. 

“Turn around,” you say, your own tone hardly recognizable in the haze.

A slow, knowing smile plays on her swollen lips. She doesn’t ask. She just knows. 

With a fluid twist, she spins, presenting her back to you. She braces herself flat against the cool window. Then, with a deliberate, theatrical grace that is pure performance, pure Yunjin, she bends forward, arching her back and pushing her ass out toward you, spreading it wide with her hands in a perfect, lewd mimicry of that move. 

It’s an offering. A challenge.

The view is devastating. The city below sprawls behind her, a million pinpricks of light, but all you see is the shadowed cleft between her cheeks, the glistening evidence of your possession still slick on her inner thighs. Your hand moves of its own volition, lifting, and you bring it down in a sharp, thunderous crack against the roundest part of her ass.

It echoes in the quiet room. Her whole body jolts: a sharp inhalation hissing through her teeth. A perfect, red handprint blooms on her usually pristine skin.

“Again,” she breathes, a ragged plea muffled against the glass.

You happily oblige. Another spank, on the other side, your palm connecting with a satisfying smack that makes her gasp and push back against your hand, seeking more. The contrast is erotic violence: the vulnerable, heated flush of her skin under your punishing hand to the unyielding cold of the window under her palms ,and the indifferent glitter of the city she commands.

“You’re mine,” you growl, thick with a want that feels like rage. You lean over her, your chest pressing against her sweaty back, your mouth at her ear. “This fucking cunt. Mine. All night. You understand? I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll have to call in absent tomorrow.”

A chilling shudder wracks her frame. She cants her hips higher, an even more explicit invitation. “The night is young,” she taunts, though her tone wavers, already breathless with heightened anticipation. “You’ve got all the time in the world to claim whatever part you want. Pick any hole. I’m all yours.”

The offer hangs in the air, blunt and dizzying. Your cock, already hard again, aches at the thought. That tight, forbidden heat. But no. Not yet. This is about reclamation. This is about the ghost that haunted you, the one that belongs to you alone.

“Just this,” you reply, your hand smoothing over the reddening skin of her ass in a brief, apologetic caress before positioning yourself. The head of your cock nudges against her soaked entrance, drawing out a deep moan from her. She’s so wet, so ready, she opens for you like a flower. “This perfect, suffocating cunt. This is mine. All fucking mine.”

You push inside.

It’s a slow, inexorable invasion. Yunjin is so dangerously tight, her inner walls fluttering around you, trying to adjust to your length. A broken, guttural moan is ripped from her throat, her forehead pressing hard against the glass. You sink into the hilt, buried deep inside her, and for a moment you just stay there, welded together, feeling the frantic beat of her heart through the place where you’re joined.

Then you move.

You set a brutal, punishing pace from the start. There is no slow burn now, only conflagration. 

Each thrust drives her forward into the window, each withdrawal is a near-complete loss before you slam back into her. The world narrows to this: the slap of your skin against hers, the borderline animalistic sounds she makes, the fog your ragged breaths leave on the glass. You are fucking the memory of every lonely night into her, the image of her on a thousand screens out of your mind, the four years of silence into oblivion.

Your hand comes down on her ass again, a sharp punctuation to a particularly deep thrust. Yunjin cries out, between the cursing and praise, between sounds of pure, undiluted pleasure-pain: “Yes! God, yes! Every part of me belongs to you!”

Her words are gasoline poured on the fire of your unquenchable need. Within seconds, you lose all rhythm, all control. It’s just a frantic, driving need to get deeper, to fuse with her, to brand yourself inside her. You’re wildly hammering into her, your own grunts filling the air, your vision starting to blur at the edges. The city lights below smear into streaks of gold and white.

She looks over her shoulder, her face a crumbling mask of ecstatic ruin. Mascara smudged, lips swollen, hair stuck to her damp temples. She is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. 

“Cum on me,” she pants, meeting your frantic rhythm with a roll of her hips. “In me. Anywhere you want, this is all yours. Make it yours.” 

She grins then, a wild, feral beast that sends you flying over the edge. “Cum all over your fucktoy!”

It’s the final, devastating blow to your crumbling control. The coil in your gut snaps white-hot as quickly as it ignites, if not quicker. 

A raw, ragged cry is ripped from the depth of lungs as you plunge into her one last, final time and cum again. It feels endless: a volcanic eruption that empties you completely, pouring into her with pulse after pulse after pulse, leaving you a throbbing puddle of nothing. You collapse forward over her back, your body shuddering, your arms buckling as your legs finally give out completely. The remaining parts shortly follow suit.

You slide down her body, your spent cock slipping from her, and you land in a heap on the floor at her feet, your back against the glass, your chest heaving. You are utterly, completely wrecked.

Yunjin pivots, her movements slow, languid. She looks down at you, a goddess surveying her handiwork. She doesn’t say a word. She just sinks to her knees, straddling your limp legs, and leans down to capture your mouth in a searing, deeply possessive kiss. 

When she pulls back, you manage a breathless, dazed laugh. “You never stop kissing me.”

Her smile is soft, but her eyes are serious, shadowed by the same thought that’s been haunting you since you walked into that dressing room, now a lifetime ago. 

“I don’t know when I’ll get to see you like this again,” she replies, and the brutal honesty in her tone is more devastating than any of her filthy promises.

Then, as if to banish the melancholy, Yunjin shifts her weight. Her hands push your thighs apart. Her dark eyes lock with yours as she lowers her head with an innocuous grin. Before anything registers in your mind, she’s all over you again. And again.

“So I’m not wasting a second we have tonight.”

—————

The first thing that registers is the light. It’s not the gentle, forgiving glow of dawn, but the sharp, blinding glare of mid-morning, slicing through the gaps in the curtains and painting bars of gold across the rumpled duvet. 

The second thing is the silence. It’s a heavy, suffocating shadow, broken only by the distant hum of the city below, a world already in motion.

The third thing is the emptiness beside you.

The sheets on her side are cold. Not the simple kind of cool, but a deep, profound void, as if no one had been there to begin with. 

Pushing yourself up on your elbows sends a dull throb through your muscles you’d forgotten you had. The entire room lingers of her: her perfume, her sweat, the faint, sweet-sharp scent of sex that had saturated the air for hours—and still does. It clings to everything you feel, you see, you touch.

Your eyes scan the room; it’s a frantic, desperate inventory. The chair by the desk is empty. The bathroom door stands open, the lights inside completely. Her sequined tour shirt and shorts are gone from the floor. The rest—her shoes, her small purse, all of it—nonexistent. 

When it hits, the realization is heartbreaking: Yunjin’s gone. Like nothing ever happened at all.

It’s only then you see the evidence, the traces of your busy night, the last several hours burned into the expensive hotel linens. A faint, dried smear on the pillowcase next to yours. A larger, darker patch on the sheet near the foot of the bed, a map of your own reckless abandon. On the floor, a single, crumpled tissue, a stark white flag in the dimness.

Memories come flooding in, unbidden, a dizzying montage against the droning morning light: Yunjin on her knees by the window sucking your cock, her back arched over the edge of the shower in a half-assed attempt at ‘cleaning-up,’ her laughter as you’d stumbled from the shower back to the bed in the blue-hour gloom, still tangled together, still insatiable. The way she rode you as the endless dark of the night turned into the blue of dawn, with her head thrown back, screaming your name like her voice had never gone completely hoarse. And then, the final, exhausted collapse into a sleep so deep it felt like death.

All of it. Gone. Now resigned to the etches of history, only remembered in bits and pieces, just like everything else.

A hollow ache opens up in your chest, a vacuum that threatens to swallow you whole. You fumble for your phone on the nightstand, the screen blindingly bright. 10:47 AM. No new messages. No missed calls. You swipe down, refreshing the screen. Nothing. 

Then you see it. A text from Alexandra, sent five hours ago:

Landed in Brussels. The D’Arenberg account needs your final notes by EOD. I’ve forwarded the files to your assistant.

You read it once. Then a second for good measure. The words are perfectly polite, impeccably professional. There is no I’m leaving you, no we need to talk, no how could you. Just the cold, hard facts of business. The D’Arenberg account. Your assistant. It’s over. 

Alexandra knows. She had always known you, perhaps better than you know yourself. She’d seen the ghost in your eyes long before you’d ever boarded the plane to Seoul. This isn’t a breakup; it’s a severance package. Clean, clinical, and final.

You drop the phone onto the mattress. It lands with a soft thud against the stain she left behind. The silence in the room is deafening. You are alone. At the top of your mountain of success, in a five-star hotel room that smells of another woman’s cunt, and you have never felt more utterly alone.

The next several months unspool in a monotone blur of motion without progress. You sign the D’Arenberg deal. Your already massive portfolio grows. You move into a new apartment with a view of Central Park that would make a king weep. You date a socialite who loves the sound of her own name, then a journalist who’s writing a book on disruptive markets. It all feels like watching a movie of someone else’s life, a perfectly curated, achingly dull film.

You officially end things with Alexandra over a three-minute phone call. She says, “I understand. I wish you the best.” 

“Thank you. You too.” 

It is the most civil, soul-crushing exchange of your life.

And through it all, her absence is a constant, low-grade hum more incurable than cancer itself. 

You don’t hear from anyone. Not Yunjin, not her members, not even her family. Not a text, not a call, not even a postcard. But you see her everywhere: on billboards in Times Square, her face ten feet tall, smirking down at the traffic, in the background of coffee shops, her group’s music a sugary, infectious poison. She’s even on your own goddamn phone, the algorithms shove fancams and concert clips into your path with malicious glee.

You watch her from the shadows. You watch them: Le sserafim embarking on their world tour, a conquering army of glitter and synth beats. Taipei, Hong Kong, Manila, Bangkok, then Singapore. She’s thriving. Every performance, she appears luminous on stage, her energy explosive, her smile a weapon that eviscerates entire arenas and tens of thousands. She looks happy. She looks free. She looks like she has forgotten you entirely.

The emptiness hardens into a permanent, fossilized thing. You are a ghost in your own pristine life, haunting the halls of your own success.

Then the US tour dates are announced. Newark. Prudential Center. A 40-minute drive from your empty, perfect apartment.

You don’t decide to go; your body decides on your behalf. 

One moment you’re staring at the tour poster on your screen, the next you’re clicking through a resale site, paying a ludicrous sum for one of the VIP seats. It feels less like a willing, voluntary choice and more like a gravitational pull, a celestial body being drawn back into the orbit of its star.

The night of the concert, the arena is a throbbing organism of light and sound. The air vibrates with the screams of almost 10 thousand fans, a collective euphoria so potent it’s almost nauseating. You are a ghost here, too. A man in a too-expensive coat surrounded by teenagers in lightstick merch. You feel ancient.

And then she is there. On stage, under the lights. She is not the girl from your hotel room; she is a star, burning hot with blinding luminosity. 

Their choreography remains sharp, lethal. It never gets tiring to watch. Her voice, when she sings, is powerful and clear, showing no trace of the hoarse, broken thing you’d wrung from her throat. She performs with a joyous, ferocious energy, feeding off the crowd, becoming one with the spectacle. 

She doesn’t see you. You are a single face in a sea of adoration. You are nothing.

The main set ends; the encore begins. The opening chords of Fearnot start once more, and the crowd loses its collective mind. When Perfect Night starts, she’s at the front of the stage now, working the crowd, holding out her microphone, letting them scream the lyrics back at her. Her smile is radiant, effortless. She moves down the catwalk, pointing, waving, blowing kisses.

Her gaze sweeps over your section—a practiced, professional scan. It glides past you, then snaps back.

For a single, heart-stopping second, the world grinds to a standstill. The music, the screams, the light—it all dissolves into a dull roar. Her eyes lock with yours. There is no shock, no surprise. Just a slow, dawning recognition, a flicker of something deep and unreadable in the dazzling stage persona.

The smile on her face doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens, curving into something more intimate, more knowing. She brings her hand up, a playful, fluttering wave directed right at you. A perfect piece of fanservice for a lucky fan. But her eyes never leave yours the entire moment.

She takes a half-step closer to the edge of the stage, leaning forward slightly as if to hear the crowd better. The music swells around her. And then, clear as day, her lips form the words. A silent message meant for you and you alone, a secret passed through a wall of screaming strangers:

“See you tonight.”

Before anyone else can catch it, she is moving again, spinning away from your section, her hair flying out around her as she runs back to join her members for the final bow and star-shaped pose, leaving you standing there in the roaring dark.

The house lights blast on. The spell is broken. Around you, fans are already shuffling toward the exits, buzzing with the usual post-concert afterglow.

You don’t move. Not right away. Amidst the discarded cups, confetti, and fading energy, and you feel a slow, impossible smile spread across your own face. Not the polished, empty smile you use for boardrooms. It’s something else entirely—something real.

For the first time in months, the hollow space in your chest doesn’t feel empty. It feels like anticipation. You’re seventeen again, seeing her after practice. The ice is cracking. And the realization hits: 

Neither of you have to wait years to run back into each other’s arms. ————— (A/N: Well this easily snatches the record for my longest fic ever. It's almost a month since I've seen Le sserafim in person, and I still haven't gotten over it. Got interactions from all five members but the one from Yunjin feels especially special. Like I can't not be fucking delusional after she did that, even if its fanservice. So a whole ass fic came from a few precious seconds. After thinking about it, they really might have been my favorite concert experience. Will definitely see them again for sure. Thank you for reading!)

[devilhuntingslayer]

The girl caught in the rain is often the most thankful.

Yena x Male Reader (smut)

Smut Tags: soft, vanilla, fingering, minor oral, missionary, not particularly long smut in general

Word Count: 9150 (Why does this girl always have the longest fics?)

I got my blooming wings album (earth version, i'm a gambling prodigy.) and found out this photo exists, so it inspired this.

Another fic i'm pretty proud of, seems like that happens more frequently these days :) Let me know if you enjoyed, didn't have the energy to proofread this.

Damn, the rain is pouring.

Hard, fast, unrelenting. It was all over the place, trying to drown everyone in its cold presence.

You were quite far away from your car, walking through the park to clear your head from the endless intrusive thoughts that had formed over the last stressful week.

It came suddenly and without warning, from a nice blue sky to a miserable grey. Clouds hanging without forthcoming warning, the dirt path turning a deep brown as opposed to its usually gravelly self.

People ran in each direction, trying to get out of its wrath. Hands covering their precious hair. Heads tilted towards the floor as if they are shamed to be present at this moment.

You threw the hood of your jacket overhead. Moving at a brisk jog but nothing more, the rain was calming.

Serene.

Its rage wasn't placed on you, but its appearance let you concentrate away from the plights that bothered.

The sun was hiding away until the clouds could cease, only a dim white circle you could stare down while moving.

You had to sidestep a few dogs, apparently courtesy was too much to ask for as they roamed free as feral beasts to harass any passerbys. Just barely not gnawing your leg off.

Shit, the rain is escalating.

Now it wasn't super enjoyable, splashing down with full force, creating white lines against the earth. Fuck.

And the wind was making sure it was going to snipe your face.

The rain water had to be kept out, unable to breathe out of anything but your nose. It's cold.

There wasn't much distance left to cross, thank god.

"Ah! Excuse me!" A voice rang to your left, coming to a halt you turned.

It was a girl– completely drenched in water. Her clothes weren't applicable to this weather, more like the scenic picnic vibe 20 minutes prior. Wearing a white and red plaid dress, the whites starting to get muted by the rain. Her face was etched with worry.

She looked right out of a fairy tale.

"Can I help you?" You asked politely, she held her arms together, rubbing any body heat out of her slender form.

"Yeah– do you have an umbrella? I can wait out the rain but its so cold..." Her voice was solemn, shaky. Clearly you didn't, but it seemed like she was asking everyone.

"Erm, no."

"That's alr–" You had an idea, the rain was getting even fucking heavier. This was a borderline flood. Puddles made up the majority of the floor, an endless obstacle course to just get out.

"Do you want a lift? You could drown out here, my cars not too far." You gestured vaguely somewhere to the right, the bench she was on was completely drenched. But it didn't really matter when everywhere was wet.

She had a look of relief, "Really? It's no worry I can just wait..."

You shut that down quickly.

This monsoon didn't look like it was going to get better, damn forecast didn't warn of such a travesty.

"Nonsense, you'll freeze. Here." You unzipped your jacket, handing it to the girl's shaking arms, she took it graciously. Putting it on.

The two of you began to sprint, the girl was fast. Matching the pace you set, jumping between muddy puddles in a desperate attempt to get out of this deluge.

You shoved the small orange gate out of the way, holding it just long enough for the girl to get through. Thankfully your car was just outside. Fumbling for your keys, somehow eluding your grasp awkwardly. But you eventually got it.

Unlocked.

Click.

The girl slid inside at the same time. Once the doors were closed you took a moment. The car may have been smallish, but it was a shelter, even a bunker against the weather.

Your hands found the button, cranking up the hot air. "Phew, safety. It should warm up soon, hopefully enough."

"Thank you! Ahem– thank you. Eugh, my clothes are dripping.." You could see that, your seats already completely doused in water. Same goes for yours, it'll dry. Hopefully.

"Right, where to? Don't wanna linger, you'll get a cold." The wheel was in your hands now, ready to go.

"Oh yeah, I don't wanna get ill! I have so much awesome stuff planned, hold on. Let me..." The stranger fiddled with your GPS, her fingers swiping against the map until she found her address. "There we go, not too far from here."

She adjusted the bonnet in her soaked hair, removing it. Hissing slightly when it touched against her thighs. "Cold."

You began to pull out of the parking lot. "Music?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Knock yourself out, second button." Your eyes were already diverted to the window, making sure you didn't hit any children on the way out.

Gentle vocals started to fill the car.

In summer, I told you to stay away because it was hot In winter, I told you to come closer because it was cold

You recognised that song. It's played on the radio before, pretty good tune.

Onto the roads. Following the purple line that led you on the right track. "So, picnic gone wrong or something?"

"Kind of, I was going to meet someone but they were late! Then, the rain. So they rainchecked– then I had nothing." She said, evidently peeved. Looking down at her water soaked phone. Wiping it off as well as she could with the corner of your jacket.

"Sounds dire, maybe next time bring an emergency umbrella." You jested, fingers grabbing onto the wheel a bit tighter.

I've come to hate the word “annyeong” That word is both a beginning and an end

"Ha, I'll keep it in mind. Thank you, again."

"Don't mention it, just look outside. Can't imagine walking home in that."

It was truly a cloudburst, window wipers working a triple shift just to keep your front window even semi-visible. Side windows completely obscured by nature, thankfully the roads weren't super cramped this way. Making good progress in good time.

"It is quite bad... at least I didn't get my new shoes dirty." She analysed every nook of her outfit, checking for traces of mud. Her investigation coming up empty with a noise of glee.

There wasn't much left of this journey, which was bittersweet. She seemed friendly and conversational. But you also really wanted to get out of these clothes, the feeling against your feet becoming nigh unbearable.

What did you even like about someone as moody as me? Why did you give me a heart I can't even let go of?

You parked in the street next to her apartment block, the music stopped.

"When you open that door get ready to sprint." You warned, the lashing weather outside seemingly even harsher against concrete.

"Do you want to come in? I got coffee, tea– hot chocolate. I think that's fair payback." She offered, removing the jacket clinging to her body. You pondered for a second, it'd be nice. Can you endure the clothes weighing down on you any longer?

Unfortunately, no.

"I really need to change, so unfortunately I'll have to decline." She frowned slightly, disappointed. Your heart hurt.

"Oh, okay. That's fine, but I'm giving you compensation for this lift! Pass me your phone." You were confused and handed her it unlocked. She typed her number in, creating a contract. "Here." She handed it back.

Yena.

That's her name.

"Nice to meet you Yena." You replied, watching her open your car door. The immediate sound of rain flooding in.

"Likewise! I'll text you, we'll go somewhere! I'll pay. Bye!" She jumped out, slamming the car door. Rushing into the apartment complex.

You drove home. Turning the radio back on.

When I open my eyes tomorrow, I won't see you Maybe I’ll just sleep in tomorrow

A few hours later, when the rain had ceased and the sun had set Yena messaged.

You were lounging around in dry and warm clothes. Having music play against the walls of the room, just reveling in the calm relaxed vibe compared to the earlier havoc.

The message from Yena illuminated the screen, capturing your gaze. Quick to open it.

Yena (rain girl): Hey! I finally got a moment to message so when are you free!?

After chuckling at the nickname she gave herself and the energy she messaged, you thought up a reply and quickly shot back.

You: Heya, I've got the week off. If that helps.

The response didn't take long to come, a little beep interjecting into the music.

Yena (rain girl): Yay! That makes it simple I like it simple I'm free tomorrow and thursday if you have a preference?

Hm, nothing going on either day. But the dread of meeting up with someone is mitigated if you don't have twenty-four hours to think about it.

You: Tomorrow, where you trying to meet?

Yena (rain girl): Loosen up :( speaking like an android 🤖I know a cute hot chocolate place! Relatively unknown

Android? You chuckled slightly. Trying to reduce the amount of formality to appease her, not wanting to give off a cold impression.

You: Sounds nice, what time you thinking?

The next notification didn't come for a few minutes.

Yena (rain girl): Sorry I had to check something 7am sound good?

7am, wow. That's really early. Don't think you've woken up that early for anything in your life, but if that's what she wants. You'll oblige.

You: Yeah that works, see you then?

Yena (rain girl): See you then :)

Well, you better get to sleep if she wants to meet at such an ungodly hour.

5:30am.

Fuckkk.

That feels miserable.

Your eyes are heavy, bones stiff and the operational power of your brain is at an all time low. Hands stretching towards the air, light not even phasing through curtains yet.

This is far too early.

But sleeping more is pointless, 30 minutes max before you'd need to get up.

So it's time to move.

The warmth of your bed regrettably seeped away with the blanket getting shoved off to the side, something about the early bird getting the worm never sat right with you. But it seems Yena has taken this mantra to heart.

It was a depressing stroll to the shower, a very in and out procedure compared to the longer ones sometimes taken. But there was no energy to enjoy its warmth.

And you are out of energy drinks.

Double fuck.

Stores not open yet.

Triple fuck.

You settled for a bowl of cereal (without milk because remembering to buy things is simply a herculean task) and a cup of water. It'll do the job.

You checked your phone.

6:15.

Messenger - One New Notification.

It was Yena, sending you the coordinates of the meet up spot. About 30 minutes away from your home, so it was close to hers.

You really better get a move on.

Clothes have never been thrown on so fast.

There was a sprint out of the door, flinging yourself into the car at a rate unspeakably fast.

You'll make it in time.

If only by the finest hair on your hand.

Now's the time to be thankful there was no more sleeping, otherwise that'd be a horrendous second impression.

Traffic wasn't forming yet, maybe Yena was onto something.

The small building hugged against the larger ones on the street, a glass door with a miniature sign on the door that expressed no more than the opening hours. No name given, no name needed.

The chime of a small, clearly damaged bell rang out upon coming inside. It looked like your average little spot, auburn pillars piercing large chunks of white paint. The smell of cacao permeated every part of the shop with its pleasant coziness, your eyes scanned around looking for any sign of Yena.

Who happened to be nestled in the corner, handbag resting in the side, she began to energetically wave you over. "Heya!"

Yena looked far more like a morning person than you did, for one her eyes were actually fully open. You sat down adjacent to her on the cold wooden chair, "Hey."

Her face was on the verge of laughing, only when prompted did she tell you why. "You are certainly not a morning person. Haha."

"Can't say I normally meet someone before the birds start chirping." You pulled out your wallet, "So– you know whats good?"

Yena's hands formed a cross. "I'm paying, remember! I know all good drinks though."

She didn't look like the kind to back down, so you withdrew your wallet. "Alright then– so what should I get?"

Her fingers absently tapped on her sparkly phonecase, eyes looking upwards in thought. "Hm. You like white chocolate?"

"Eugh, does anyone?"

Her face flashed in exaggerated heartbreak, "Wow! How can you say such a thing? White chocolate is awesome. I should just leave now."

"Just maybe, not sure I can hang out with someone like that..."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, white chocolate is a no go, just normal chocolate. I'll be back in a second." And she was off to talk to the sleep deprived barista.

What an eccentric girl.

You watched her order, the lack of activity allowing you to hear one of the most abominable string of food related words possibly fathomable. It just went on and on and on, diabetes itself would fear whatever Yena chose to consume today.

Maybe you are judging too much, the barista though. He definitely had rights to judge and it was painted on their face.

Yena came back with the two drinks, her drink had whipped cream, sprinkles, sauces, god knows what the thing on the top was. Thankfully, she made yours a lot more pedestrian.

"Wow. I– how do you drink that?" You looked at her in awe as she took a sip, seemingly unbothered by the surge of sugar entering her mouth.

"What? It's fantastic! You can try if you want." You were honestly curious.

"You know what? Sure, let me see what this concoction could possibly taste like." Yena pointed the straw towards you, letting you take a sip of the hot chocolate.

Damn.

That is teeth-rotting poison.

Wow, that is far too much.

What hubris.

"That is cough fucking cough wow. You sure have taste."

"Ha, it's not that sweet, you just need to liven up a bit!" Her tastebuds may be completely destroyed if that abomination could be classified as 'not sweet'.

You took your compartively bitter drink, something that could be conceived as consumable. "I don't know how you drink that, is that just... a regular occurrence?"

"...maybe..."

You sighed.

"Don't judge me! It's good."

"Hey you can do what you want, just wow."

She looked at you with deadly eyes as she took a long sip just to make fun of you.

The topic needed to shift before she downed that entire sugar bomb, "Any cool plans coming up? You mentioned them off-handedly in the car."

That got her to stop funneling the coma fuel into her mouth, thankfully. You don't want to call an ambulance. "Oh yeah, I get to go to that Suki concert which is really cool!"

"Who?"

Her hand clutched her chest firmly. "The audacity! Suki Waterhouse!"

"Who?"

Yena rolled her eyes, taking another sip. "I can't believe this, first white chocolate now you are uncultured? Gosh." She was acting like it was the biggest act of tyranny ever committed, voice loaded with faux offense. Or maybe it was real, hard to tell.

"My deepest condolences for such an unforgivable act, I don't know how you will ever find it in your heart to forgive me."

Yena snickered, "Yeah, I have no idea. Guess I'll just make you listen to all of her discography! That will right this wrong, I think." Oh god.

"Err, any other punishment? Maybe beheading?"

Sigh. "Okay, I can do that one."

Her drink was starting to deplete, yours was barely touched.

"Soooo, what about you, how's it like being under a rock?"

You'll park the existential discussions for now, surely you've done something recently, like... anything?

"Been– erm– yeah, like. Stuff." Fantastic job, truly a masterclass in sheer incompetence. Yena giggled though.

"Nice! Doing stuff is fun, you look so dead haha."

You couldn't argue with that. Certainly had better days, your hands gripped the warm cup, letting the warmth leech into your skin. Sighing at its comfort.

"You've got enough energy for the two of us, maybe a small village."

"No time to be miserable! You like the spot or?" Yena gestured towards the place.

"Yeah it's pretty cozy. I like it, you've got it figured out." It was nice, the sun shining through the singular window to the side, shining against dark wooden tables.

"You are pretty funny– Y/N, we can meet up here again if you want!" She offered.

"I'd like that, maybe just not at 7am..."

"I can move it back a bit for you! 8am."

"Now that's reasonable."

She laughed, slurping up the rest of her drink as it was now empty. "So strange! But– I'm looking forward to meeting up again. Though I've got to bounce soon." There was twinge of sadness in her words, tapping her nails against the desk again.

"No worries, I'll be around."

"Yay! Okay, I do have to leave, but I'll text you, thanks for coming out, night owl."

She left, you sat there for another few moments to finish your drink.

Damn, she sure is something.

The next week went smoothly, nicely.

Yena and you exchanged messages whenever the two of you were free, learning fun trivia about each other. Truly riveting stuff such as favourite colour, favourite shape, favourite scientific equations. All the true hallmarks to know if someone can be your friend.

But apart from that, you've met up a few more times. Getting to witness that nightmarish creation in the flesh even more. Still in awe at how she could possibly consume that.

She positively barraged you with concert videos, which you watched attentively. Being able to hear her screaming over the music every time.

You on the other hand, hadn't been doing much at all.

It was about 8 o clock on a friday, give or take. When Yena sent you another message. Since you were slogged down in boredom it acted as a beacon of light against the dull monotony of sitting on the sofa.

Yena (rain girl): Heya! My new board game just came in and was wondering if you wanted to try it with me

Board game? This girl seems to have every single hobby on this planet, gotta respect that. Your fingers tapped away, replying within 30 seconds.

You: What board game?

Yena (rain girl): Can't tell you that what if you decide to reject? Just gotta come and find out

Of course. That shouldn't surprise you, in fact it doesn't. You sat up.

You: Sure, give me 5 minutes to get presentable and I'll right over.

Yena (rain girl): Don't bother with all that! I want to play! Just come over

Aish, this woman.

You: Okay, on my way

You sprayed some deodorant, the can letting out its final breath before being completely drained. You'll buy more later, get on top of it at some point.

Not today though, not tomorrow either.

You drove for awhile, just shy of 9pm when you finally arrived at her place.

You: Here, what number?

Now was the time she took awhile to reply, of course.

After a few minutes of standing around aloof she finally responded.

Yena (rain girl): sry I was setting up, 302

The weathered yellow button responded with a harsh crack, static harassing your ears until finally a scratchy voice responded.

"Come in!"

And the door was open. Letting you into the apartment entrance. The entire thing reminded you of a hospital, from the foul clean odour to the cold white lights. And the eery silence.

It was certainly uncomfortable.

But you didn't dwell for long, walking across the squeaky tiled floor that made up the distance between the door and the elevator.

The elevator was dysfunctional, so you had to take the stairs. The smell even more potent in the stairwell, bleach heavy in your nostrils as you went up each of the pale coloured steps. Each noise reverberating across the empty room.

You got to the third floor, scanning around for 302. Knocking on the green door when you found it.

"Unlocked! Just come in!" You could hear a muffled Yena shout through the wall.

You let yourself in to Yena's apartment. The space an immediate stark contrast from the grim outside. Floral air freshener immediately overriding all previous odor. "Welcome! Just kick your shoes off and come over!" She chimed, you complied, putting them next to her sneakers.

Yena's home was unsurprisingly full of energy and personality, not much in terms of space but every inch was used to its maximum. Various posters and paintings and framed images hanging onto the wall, some slightly crooked in their presentation. Her 'living room' consisted of one sofa overflowing with pillows and a TV surrounded by two on lamps.

There was also a lot of plants, like a comical amount of plants. Plastic, probably but they elevated the room.

You should take notes.

Yena however, was quite the contrast. Wearing a simple combo of pajama shorts and a band shirt. You didn't recognise who they were, hanging loosely around her body in a way that made the text completely unreadable. Her hair flowing loose against her back.

She was sat cross legged by a board, one quick scanned confirmed it was monopoly.

"Hey Yena." You greeted, sitting down on the carpet adjacent to her.

"Hope you like monopoly! I got the Pokemon kind, its so cool!" She looked like a kid in a candy store, beaming brightly as she took a little figure between her fingers.

"You are so going down."

"Pft– do you even know who you are talking to? The Choi Yena? Monopoly master and Pokemon extraordinaire. No chance."

She claimed the Sprigatito figure for herself, vaguely gesturing towards the other 3. You inspected your options, opting to settle for the Fuecoco one. Spoke to your senses.

She distributed the 20 required pokéballs alongside the reference card, not explaining what any of this meant.

You are going in blind.

"Fire vs Grass? so mean... If only it mattered, I'm going first because I paid!" You shook your head, watching the dice land a six first thing.

"The luck! Already rigging the game?" You gasped, watching her land on the challenge card.

"No rigging, just skill! Crying already is so sad." Her hand grabbed a challenge card, reading the contents of the card. "Better not battle me, going to kick your ass."

You took the dice from her hand, rolling a 3.

Rigged.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

You tapped your poor Fuecoco against the board, tap tap tap landing on a cliffside. "The hell does that even mean? This version is so confusing."

Yena's hand threw a card at you, "So, read that number. That's how many pokéballs it costs to explore, then you roll the other dice to see if you can catch something. It's simple!"

Two cost, huh. 10% of your pokéballs for this. You can do that.

You rolled the dice.

And...

Nothing.

Damn.

"Now you can choose to either go for it again or send the turn back to yours truly."

"Watch this, easy." You had confidence, sacrificing another two balls.

No luck.

"Haha. Again?"

You grunted. Handing the dice back to Yena, "Slow start, still going to demolish you."

Yena shook her head, rolling again. A four. "Adventure! I should go on one of those, maybe a hike."

"You a hiker?"

"No, but try everything once!"

Yena grabbed an adventure card from the corner of the map, holding it between her nails. "All players have to give three pokéballs..."

"What the fuck! Okay, here." You threw three paper things into her lap, which she brushed onto her pile.

You were down, but never out.

Roll again. five. Just visiting jail. Great. "At least you aren't on the other side haha." She was mocking you.

Yena had a competitive side and it was coming out in full force here, the game kept going on. You kept rolling, she kept rolling.

The scales weren't turning.

She was always up, you were always down.

This wasn't even close.

She had seven pokémon caught, about to roll the final area.

You had two. This was an absolute landslide. "Rigged I'm telling you."

And she landed the dice roll, of course she did. Yena hasn't missed one. "Just skill! Maybe try getting some?"

"Just get it over and done with, can't bare to witness this level of bullshit any longer."

She put the final pokémon on her card, concluding the game.

"Haha, good game! Told you that you stood no chance."

"I didn't know you were the luckiest person in the fucking world!" You were genuinely stunned, Yena should buy a lottery ticket, perhaps even 50. She'd probably hit them all.

"Yeah yeah, stop being a sore loser please." She smiled, packing up the game. Never have you been so happy to see cardboard get boxed up away.

It was now 10pm, a bit later than you meant to be here.

But, stuff happens.

"Want a drink? I got, apple juice." Yena was up, walking barefoot to the fridge.

"I was going to head out.."

"Really? That's lame, stay a little longer? I have a movie we can watch." She frowned, her sofa looked comfortable, she looked like she wanted company.

To be honest you wanted company.

"On second thought? I think I can stay a little while longer."

She beamed again, you were suddenly aware of your heartbeat.

"Yay! Sit down, make yourself nice and comfy while I get us some apple juice!" This girl, sure is something. But her happiness was contagious, you haven't felt quite this joyful in as long as you could remember.

Your body found solace in the thick white cushions, sinking into them with a gasp of relief. The lights were shut off, the world basked in temporary darkness. Yena followed behind a few moments later, carefully handing you a decorated pink and blue cup full of precious juice. That clinked against the small oak table to your left, resting on a black rubber coaster.

Yena's hand found the remote, the room becoming illuminated by a ocean blue, her face scrunched slightly as she tried to find the channel it was on. Fighting with the inconsistent signal to navigate the menus, twisting her hand in every angle like it'd help.

"Stupid piece of junk! Come on!" Yena vs TV remote was truly the fight of the century, the piece of 'junk' seemingly coming out on top until one strong slap from Yena made it work.

"Finally, so what movie is this?"

"Pft, no idea. Just wanted to watch something, want a blanket? It's kinda cold tonight."

It wasn't that cold to you, given that you were wearing more layers, but you nodded regardless. She seemed to need it, with her rubbing her thighs together every few seconds while playing Monopoly. She disappeared for a brief moment.

"Here we go, nice king sized quilt." Yena fluffed out the black blanket, throwing it up and down a few times before cascading it upon the two of you.

Yena's feet kicked up against yours, the two of you sitting and enjoying in the movie. Whatever it was, a terrible viewing experience. The acting was equivalent to a school drama project, audio balancing focusing on the dull soundtrack over what the voices were saying.

You and Yena were sat in shock, awe even. Its only when you looked down you realised she was now hugging into you, head leaning into your shoulder. She looked cute like that.

What are you even saying?

Control yourself.

"I don't even know how to process what I just watched." You said blankly, rubbing your eyes as if to make sure you weren't just dreaming that atrocity.

Unfortunately you weren't.

"What do you meannnn, that was truly a masterpiece." Yena cranked the sarcasm to fourteen, pushing herself up. "Some people should keep their hobbies as hobbies and not televise them."

You looked down at your phone, 12:32am.

"I gotta go, it's late." You stood up yourself, taking the now depleted cup to the sink.

"Awe, alright. Thanks for coming over, I had a blast!" She ran over, wrapping her arms around you, smacking your back a few times to conclude a goodbye.

"So did I– just no more Monopoly ever. I'll text you if I survive."

She followed you out to your car, waving you a wistful goodbye while you drove off.

Life moved on, your break was over so you and Yena ended up talking less. Way less, from over 100 messages a day to a maximum of 10.

Also the two of you met up less, which was the real tragedy.

You replied when you could, she replied when she could.

The two of you made it work, often waking up and falling asleep with a text from the other to reply to.

And that was how it was for a few weeks.

Until one day, Yena sent you a message that shocked you to your very core, something that you wouldn't have ever expected.

It was late, 11pm.

Yena (rain girl): Hey, look this is taking a lot of courage so please respond as soon as you read it. I've been thinking of the last few weeks, that I really like you. A lot. But I've been putting off asking this for a bit, because I didn't want to get the wrong impression and ruin our friendship. Though I'm sick of feeling like this, feeling like things could be different if I just muster up the courage to actually ask you. And I'd never have the confidence to ever ask in person, so, would you like to go on a date with me?

Many things took you aback, the fact that she can use punctuation in messages, that she could type it all in one block as opposed to 8 lines. But the main thing was you felt the same way. You would just never ever ever admit such a thing.

The hard part is done, she did it for you.

You just had to respond an emphatic yes.

And that you did, instantly.

Yena read it before the message even finished sending.

Yena (rain girl): Oh thank god, I genuinely thought I was going to have a heart attack if I had to wait another second. Let me check my schedule and we can sort this out. I'm so happy :)

God she's cute.

You: Alright, let me know

She came back a whole 35 minutes later.

Yena (rain girl): Friday, 7pm I know you are free, we can have a late night picnic in that cool forest!

You: Sounds good, fantastic even, I got work in the morning so I must sleep. Have a good night, Yena.

Yena (rain girl:) Goodnight Y/N.

That's the best sleep you've had in years.

Tonight was the night, after some very exhaustive planning from your part. Trying to figure out what this eccentric somehow incredibly picky eater would dare even touch has caused you great stress.

It was sweets.

A lot of them.

You've been spending the last few hours of the day trying to make yourself look even the slightest bit presentable. To not the best results, maybe you are being too negative on yourself. It's a picnic, not an opera.

A picnic huh? Sounds familiar.

Different woods though, maybe this girl's on a lifelong conquest to find the best picnic spot.

That'd be something for the bucket list.

Your hands adjusted your freshly ironed shirt, keeping it casual. Making sure to spray ample amounts of cologne, almost to the point of suffocation. That feeling of paranoia crept up your veins though. You've known each other for maybe two months? Better not fuck this up, sometimes the best things ignite quickly.

Good enough.

You arrived 20 minutes earlier than agreed to surprise Yena with a nicer presentation.

Sprawling out the chequered blank over the naked grass, it was slightly chilly out. The gentlest breeze from the air capturing on each individual hair of your cheeks.

The serenity was perfect.

You were ornate with every little decoration, there wasn't much to set up. Putting a few paper plates on the ground, with one lavender scented candle you picked up while driving here.

Speaking of last moment, the picnic basket. Relatively cheap, looked pretty as a side piece, let you carry everything. Genius.

Apart from the sweets which you fanned out like a bloomed flower, you bought some fried chicken and some kimbap. Keeping it nice and simple.

Even brought an umbrella in case the weather gods decided to smite you for a previous deed.

"Aweee! This looks so cute!" You turned to your left, Yena was jogging hurriedly over. Though she looked fucking incredible. A humble blue top with a thin plaid overshirt draped over her arms. Her hair curled up in an entirely different style than what you've ever seen before.

It seems though she had faith in the elements yet again, even after last time proving to hold no reprieve. Wearing a very, frilly? pair of shorts, you have absolutely no fucking clue. But it is a good enough guess. Though this time she brought her own umbrella as well. Blue to your white.

She descended onto the floor, putting her umbrella next to yours. "Hey! I brought some stuff as well–" Her hands rummaged through the handbag hoisted on the side of her body, pulling out some makgeolli of her own.

"That's good, if you don't like lavender I can put the candle out."

"Nonsense– it's cute, very romantic. I also bought some glasses, care for me to pour you some?" You nodded, dolling out the food onto the plates.

"Thank you Yena." The glasses had a satisfying clink as you hit them together. Taking a sip of the dessert like liquid.

"It's no biggie! I'm just glad we are here. Look how pretty the sunset is!" Yena pointed ecstatically towards the magenta hued sky, sun hidden behind orange clouds.

"That's pretty, like you." You cringed internally at your own line, actively feeling regret. Until you turned around, Yena's face burning red in fluster.

"Ah– thanks..." She took another sip from her glass, eyes dancing everywhere but at yours. "Not so bad looking yourself."

You didn't know exactly where to go from here, dates aren't your strong suit. Awkwardly tucking into some of the kimbap below you, throwing a piece into your mouth as you savoured its saltiness.

"It's pretty nice out here." You said offhandedly, looking at the grass.

"It really is, yknow.... I used to come out here a lot when I was younger. Set up a stolen tent and sat here on my own for days. Parents got pissed." She gestured absentmindedly towards a bush that had lost most of its branches. "That one was my favourite to camp by, used to carve a lot of random bullshit into it. Doubt most of it is still visible."

"A tent? How the hell you lug that around?"

"Great effort, I would walk for a good 45 minutes with a tent on my back– probably why it always hurts." She ate some food accidentally in sync with you.

"Sounds fun, what would you even do in that tent?" You questioned.

"Reading mostly, would take some of my pillows with me and just disappear to the world for a bit, was my escape from the cruelty of exams."

"God exams fucking sucked. Glad that shits over." The two of you drank to that, if only you had something actually properly alcoholic.

You two ate for a bit, sharing no more than just hms and yeahs. The food was actually very good, knocked this out of the park. The sounds of birds tweeted throughout the air, the occasional one getting far too close for comfort.

Maybe it was wrong to steal so many glances, she looked beautiful. Even more so in the pale light, face bordered by her glasses. The slightest hint of blush applied to her cheeks, Yena was so pretty.

"I was thinking, maybe one night we could come out here again, sleep in the wilderness. Would be nostalgic, better with you..." She asked, looking at the sweets you bought "Wow! You actually got my favourites."

"You told me them– what kind of person would I be if I didn't? And I would absolutely love to come out here with you Yena."

The candle burned brighter now with the sun completely died out, the faint stars shining against the light polluted air. Individual dots fragmented away, except two. Which were budding together.

Reminded you of a duo.

"Hm, these clothes are so cute but fuck its getting cold." She frowned. Finished with her kimbap, moving onto the probably now frigid chicken.

"Sigh. Do you want my jacket?"

She nodded quickly, smiling as she put it on. It was definitely a size too big, maybe a few sizes too big. Sagging off of her body. It was practically swallowing her whole, adding to how cute she was. "Smells like you, I think this will be mine now."

"Oh nooo, I may just have to concede it to you."

"Yep, mine now."

Thank god there was a spare in the wardrobe.

You were far too full to indulge in the variety of sweets bought, thankfully Yena had no such qualms. As the moon started to rise higher and higher the amount started to lower.

But never dwindle, there was far too much.

"This date's been really nice, like really nice." She began to speak.

"Absolutely, it's been great."

Her smile was sweeter than the sweets next to her, bright and addictive. You wanted more.

"And we should head back soon, but." She leaned over, getting close. "There's just one last thing I think we should do before this ends."

"And what would that be?" You had a good idea, with how her lips were inches away from yours, her candy breath breathing against you.

"Just shut up and kiss me, I've been waiting for hours." That was enough permission, pressing your lips against hers. It was slow and full of affection, making sure between each individual kiss the passion was felt.

When you pulled away Yena chased, immediately recapturing the distance. Pushing her tongue into your mouth, swirling it around in a dance.

The demand of oxygen though did make her back down, panting with glee and satisfaction. "Just as good as I hoped..."

"Wow."

Yena hugged you again, "Let's go. It's starting to get far too cold even with this very comfy new jacket I just got." You had to agree, the once serene cold was now a knife piercing under every fibre of your skin. Sowing discomfort in its wake. But you endured it for Yena.

"Yeah, brr."

The two of you put everything awake, walking her home. Stopping each other's advance to make out three times among the way. You walked her to her car, then having to double back.

Worth it.

What a first date.

The relationship between you and Yena was now established.

Blooming with every subsequent date after the first.

She looked like a fairy tale but this was definitely one now. Every moment perfect and delicate.

The second date was simple, carrying out her nostalgic desire and setting up a tent. The same one she used back then, it was a bit cramped for two people but you made it work through the power of cuddles.

Though your ideas for dates after that kind of stalled, not that it mattered. Inviting each other over to watch a movie or play a board game (that wasn't pokémon monopoly.) was equally as enjoyable. More about the company that the destination.

Thankfully, as if fate intervened. You two were actually given an idea for a sixth date, a pop up carnival. Two days, which you both had off. And even more luckily you just got paid, whatever god you appeased was really looking after you.

Tonight was the night, you got yourself looking as good as possible, grabbed your wallet and headed outside. Yena was staying over the night before, quickly darting home to change.

Right on cue she pulled back into the drive, ushering you into the car. She wanted to drive today and you had no objections. You opened the car door, the outfit chosen was the same as you first met her.

You really liked that outfit, it looked really fucking good on her. Especially when its not absolutely dripping with water. Again, not appropriate for the overtly cold weather. But it's cute, so can't complain.

"Heyy!" Yena beamed as the car door slammed behind you. The scent of your air freshener filled the small space, vanilla.

"Heya." You started to talk like her recently, language assimilating into one hivemind.

She gave you a quick peck on the lips before leaning back. "Ready to get scammed?!"

"Yeah!"

Yena began to drive, a few short minutes and you were here. She was giddy upon escaping the confines of the car. Skipping towards the carnival as you desperately tried to keep up. "Look at this!"

You caught up slightly out of breath, in front of Yena was a game of ringtoss. An endless array of drink bottles neatly ordered in a circle, so obviously a scam. Her gaze quickly set on the giant fluffy stuffed animals hanging above hopelessly, your heart going soft at how she looked at them.

"Step right up step right up who is going to claim the next prize! You, young lady! Dare to challenge the Surprising Spin challenge!?" The vendor reeked of performativity, spinning one of the green rings on their pointer finger.

Yena's competitive streak was set ignite, face shifting to one more than happy to take on such a challenge. Throwing some of her money right into the plastic cup sat on the table.

"You got this, beat this shit!" You cheered, watching her narrow onto one. Preparing like a predator who's found its prey. And she tossed.

Landed.

Thats one.

"Congratulations! You have won a drink of your choice! If you want one of those big things you need to land two more! Areeeee you up to the challenge?!"

Yena threw a second one.

Landed.

"Come on Yena!"

"Woah! Two out of three, that's nottttt shabby! But can you SECURE THAT WIN!" The vendor's voice boomed, clearly enjoying themselves, watching in hope for a potential victory.

Yena was ready. Hand steady, Taking one deep breath.

And she went for it.

Succeeded.

"Oh my god! I did it I did it!" Yena freaked out, jumping into your arms.

"Congratulations!!!!!!! You are the first person to do it tonight! Legendary! Take a pick right above–" Yena cut him off, mind long decided on the cute fat raccoon that spoke to her on a spiritual level.

"Alright well you two have a good day! Thank you for playing the SURPRISING SPIN!!" You laughed, that person very much enjoyed their job. Already attending to the next customer.

Yena had a new backpack in the form of the fat raccoon that was clinging to her body, its stubby little hands wrapped around her neck.

"Good job, what you gonna name them?"

"Figgle."

"Fantastic name."

"I know! Welcome to the family Figgle."

The three of you continued to walk around the vibrant carnival, games every which way with a bunch of people walking around. Mainly parents with kids, though a few other couples populated the joyful space.

"Oh there's a water game!" You pointed, now it was time for Yena to catch up to you. Since you darted into the small booth, capitalising on the fact it was empty.

"To beat this game you must hit all thirty targets in one minute. But you have limited ammo. Do you wish to proceed?" You nodded, throwing a few coins into the basket.

The gun had a small display on it, 35 best not miss.

The targets were weathered, reds damaged by however many rounds of water had been fired at them. You moved quick. Shooting every individual target with reckless abandon.

Half the targets had been felled.

Less than half of your bullets remained.

Shit.

There was some feeble attempts at multi shots, but there was no chance. There was just too much distance between them.

"Ah fuck." You muttered.

"Unlucky, well. Thanks for playing." The vendor sounded bored. So you just left.

"It's okay, those shitty games are rigged anyway." Yena comforted you, "Here. You can hold Figgle for a little bit..." She handed the fluffy companion. Very soft, incredibly soft. You gave them a big squeeze and held onto the critter.

"Huge fan of Figgle." You praised.

Yena rushed off again, it seemed like this was a character flaw for the two of you. After catching up you saw what caught her attention. "Cotton candy?"

"Yep, want some?" You nodded, she got you the pink fluffy candy while she took the blue one. The two of you taking a bite of the sweet cloud, small granules of sugar clicked against your teeth. Putting you off slightly.

"Mmh– love it." Yena praised, taking off big chunks of the snack in front of her. "There's not that many games here... Explains the no admission fee."

"Yep. What you wanna do next?" Yena stopped still, scanning around the carnival looking around for anything that caught her eye.

"Mmh, Figgle's good enough, let's get out of here. We can continue our date at home." She began to walk away, cotton candy in tow. "I think– nevermind, I'll talk about it when we get back."

That concerned you a little bit, but you pushed it to the back of your mind, choosing not to dwell on the potential meanings of her words. The two of you driving back to her place.

"I want to go further tonight..." Yena whispered quietly, barely within earshot. While sat on her plush bed, you turned to face her from the other side.

"Are you sure? We don't have to do anything you aren't sure about." You said, dropping Figgle gently onto her black office chair.

"I'm sure, I trust you– just. Come over here." She stated, taking your lips within hers once more. Each kiss felt more charged than ever before, a mixture of lust and passion for the other evident in every action. She sucked on your tongue, taking the lead this time.

And you let her, gasping as she went for more. The taste of candy lingering on, "You are such a good kisser, god." She praised, backing down on her advances so you could enjoy her as well. Sucking her bottom lip into your mouth, your hands running up and down her back. "Help me out this dress, please?"

You moved quickly, navigating the dresses intricacies to help her get out of it, unclicking the buttons that held it in place. Lowering the fabric from top to bottom, slowly more and more of Yena's body was revealed. She looked absolutely heavenly, statues should have been made in her image even if it'd be a shame others got to witness such beauty. She was all yours to look at tonight, and that meant you were going to enjoy every second of it.

All that remained was her underwear, a cute matching set of plain white. She was visibly embarrassed to be looked at so intimately, face burning the same pink whenever you complemented her off guard. Legs wrapping over each other to avoid the shame.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just been awhile."

"We'll go slow."

"Thank you."

You were sat next to Yena on her bed, she gingerly climbed into your embrace, sitting on your lap, kissing up and down your neck. Leaving small nips on the exposed skin. "You have such a nice body, something that shouldn't be hiding behind so many clothes." Yena made it her goal to undress you, throwing every fabric on your body off into the floor.

Now you were both in underwear, Yena got back into your lap, grinding herself against your clothed erection. Gasping slightly at the pleasure. "Sit back baby, let me take care of you." You whispered, feeling Yena fall into your embrace.

Her head leaned back as you began your soft assault on her neck, licking up and down the soft skin between open mouthed kisses. Your hand slipped inside her cotton underwear, rubbing her folds in a slow circular motion. "Mmh! Give me more please."

You slipped a finger into her pussy, Yena's warmth squeezing around the invading digit. Going in and out as she gasped in lust.

"You are so pretty, fuck." You watched your hand work underneath her panties, kissing against her neck. "Just perfect." Yena completely melted under your touch and words.

"Mmh– that's so nice." You gave Yena more, spare hand finding her clothed breasts, grabbing a nice handful while another finger slid inside. Her moans found increased volume, breath hitching while she shuddered. "Ah! That's good. Keep fingering me, please!" Her wetness was plentiful, staining your palm.

Your rhythm was steady, finding the spongy spot deep within her, legs struggling to stay still as you hit it repeatedly. "Ah! Fuck...!" The room was filled with gentle moans, the moonlight the only thing illuminating the room. "I love you! Ah!"

"I love you as well, fucking so cute." Your hard cock pressed against Yena's ass, the strain providing minor discomfort which was promptly ignored like the cramp in your hand.

"Mmh, your fingers are so good, way better than mine..." She cooed, Yena was a trembling mess in your embrace. Curiosity guided you, thumb rubbing against her clit. Letting her buckle against you, she sounded so good, heavy moans filling the air like a mist.

"Mmh, stop." You halted, she pulled herself off your lap. "Let me return the favour."

"You sure?" Her hand had already lowered your boxers. Her dark eyes showed no plan to stop, She wanted this.

"Of course, let me taste this fucking cock." Yena's head descended upon your shaft, swirling her tongue all across your length. Taking her time between flicks, "So good, I love it."

Yena's confidence had grown, like she wanted to prove something. Licking your tip in a circular motion, the wet heat of her mouth was unrelenting, swallowing your shaft inch by inch. Your hand pushed the hair out of her face, getting a prime view of how well she took your hard cock.

"Keep going Yena." You groaned, she bobbed her head up and down, saliva coating the inches she could take in her mouth. Her throat gagged violently up whenever she took too much. "Careful, no more than you can." She listened, using her hand to jerk off whatever she didn't take inside her sinful mouth.

Her slick made you buck into her, trying to restrain yourself. "Ooh fuck, that's great. You are doing so well." She was hungry for your shaft, slurping on every inch within her reach. Fluttering eyes looking up at you for more praise. "So so well."

She gave head like a professional, that much was clear. She kept it up until she needed to breathe.

"Fuck me, push my panties to the side and fuck me." Yena fell back, resting against the bed waiting for you to take action. Arms spread out, lips slightly swollen from sucking you off. She looked perfect.

You followed her request, moving her now soiled underwear out of the way. Revealing her puffy cunt, slick with arousal and need. Your dripping tip rubbing against her. "Ready?"

"Yes, please.." You pushed in, feeling the slick walls of Yena grip onto you needily, devouring every inch that she took inside her pussy.

"Oh fuck." Was said in harmony. The feeling of getting filled up euphoric for Yena, it'd been so long since the last time.

And there wasn't anyone in the world she'd rather experience this with.

She has fallen hard.

She came to that realisation long ago, but in this shared intimacy it was ever more apparent.

You bottomed out inside Yena, "Give me your hands." She moaned, lifting hers off the bed. You interlocked yours with hers, watching her smile right before the face shifted into a moan while you began to thrust. "That's so good– just keep going Y/N..." Her mouth didn't bother to close, instead letting out an endless stream of soft whimpers and gasps.

There wasn't many words that needed to be said, the way your cock thrust inside her spoke every syllable possible, maintaining a slow consistent pace. Yena seemed to appreciate that, your cock stretched her so well, this night wasn't about some crazy act of intense pleasure. Instead the confirmation of two lovers appreciation for the other.

Your brain felt light, utterly intoxicated with arousal. Enjoying every moment you were inside of her. The smallest traces of sweat forming on her flushed red skin, "Fuck, baby..."

The night went on, hips connecting every time you fully penetrated Yena. She was reaching the apex of her orgasm.

So were you.

But she was going to reach it first.

You made sure of it.

"Keep going, I'm going to cum... fuck Y/N." Her fingers tightened around yours, making sure you weren't getting away. "God!" She came around your cock, head falling into the mattress.

The rope inside you were about to snap, so close to exploding. "Where..?" You groaned.

"Mmh, all over my stomach." She gasped as you pulled out, stroking yourself to completion. Your orgasm ripped through your core, body going static as rope after rope painted Yena's stomach, a stray shot hitting her chin and another falling onto her bra. But the majority pooled around her belly button.

The two of you collectively basked in the joyful afterglow of what just transpired, "Carry me to the bathroom."

You and Yena were tucked into bed, wearing comfortable pajamas after a quick shower, her head nestled into your chest as the blanket covered the two of you.

"Mmh baby?" She said, checking if you were awake.

"Hm?"

"I love you, a lot."

"I know that, but you'll never love me more than I love you."

"That's not true!"

"You can't prove otherwise."

"I will one day, for now. I wanna sleep. Hold me tight."

How fortunate you were to be out in the rain that day.

The luckiest alive.

[devilhuntingslayer]

Helloo!! Lewd thoughts on Alo Sana making fem reader ride her after she films her ad? Thanks in advance <3!!!

Hi hi! How could you not want that if Sana offers??

Sana’s hands lingered on your waist, guiding you along as she gives you a toothy smile. She plants her lips between your breasts, "Mmm that's it, keep moving," she coos

Sana giggles at your whimpers, enjoying the way your body squirms as her cock pushes back into you. "Don't look at them, focus on me."

She just had to remind you. You shut your eyes, blocking out the fact that the camera crew was still around. Sana hadn't waited even a minute before calling you over and telling you to ride her. She knew you wouldn't refuse after all.

Sana giggles again when she sees you act shy. "Poor baby, acting shy while enjoying my cock in front of so many people," Sana whispers into your ear before delivering a smack to your ass. You whine, feeling the sting of the hit.

Your climax was slowly approaching, your toes curling as Sana sped up. You could hardly believe you were going to cum in front of so many people. You bury your head in her neck, wrapping your arms around Sana. The tightness im your core coils more and more until you explode, cumming all over Sana’s cock. Your body shakes and shivers as Sana continues to move you along her cock, her strong arms refusing to stop until she reached her climax.

Your walls clamped down on Sana’s veins cock, you could feel them throb as she got closer. You whine as Sana buries herself inside you, her seed spilling into your womb in front of so many people. "Ah, that's one," she moaned, her hot semen pouring into you. You felt it move around you as she rocked you back and forth. "I'm going to need you after every outfit change. Be ready," Sana said with a smile.

[devilhuntingslayer]

Photo Story

Word Count: 3.1K

Jang Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags: Smut, Blowjob and a whole lotta stuff

a/n: Thank you so much for trusting me with this piece, I appreciate it deeply for commissioning me-- it goes a very long way...thank you so much once again and hope to work with you more in the future!

"School Bathroom Later?"

Your heart pounded with anticipation as you made your way through the bustling hallways, weaving between your fellow students.

You couldn't stop thinking about Wonyoung's seductive text message from earlier. The provocative selfie of her delicate neck and teasing tongue had ignited a fire within you, and the suggestive words "School bathroom later?" had left you in a constant state of arousal and suspense.

Wonyoung had been your fake girlfriend for weeks now, a ploy to make your ex-girlfriend jealous. But as the days passed, the line between pretend and reality had blurred, and you found yourself increasingly drawn to the beautiful, vivacious Wonyoung. Late-night study sessions had evolved into intimate conversations, and the occasional stolen kisses had turned into passionate make-out sessions in dimly lit corners of the campus.

Now, with just a hint of her desire, Wonyoung had you on edge, eagerly awaiting the chance to be alone with her once more. You knew the risk of getting caught together in a restricted area like the bathrooms, but the thrill of potentially being discovered only heightened your excitement.

As you reached the second floor, you discreetly glanced around to ensure no one was watching. With a deep breath, you slipped into the girls' bathroom, locking the door behind you. The small room was surprisingly quiet, with only the sound of running water from the sink faucets breaking the silence.

You leaned against the wall, your heart racing as you waited for Wonyoung to arrive. The minutes ticked by slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. Just as you began to wonder if she had changed her mind, the door creaked open, and Wonyoung slinked inside, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Took you long enough," she purred, closing and locking the door behind her. Her black hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her school uniform was already partially unbuttoned, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her lacy bra.

Wonyoung sauntered up to you, her hips swaying seductively with each step. She looked up at you through her long lashes, her pink lips curved into a sultry smile. "I've been thinking about your cock all day," she whispered, her voice low and husky.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. Wonyoung pressed her body against yours, her hands sliding up your chest to loop around your neck. "I need to taste you," she murmured, her hot breath tickling your ear.

Without further hesitation, Wonyoung sank to her knees on the cold tile floor. Her nimble fingers made quick work of your belt and zipper, freeing your already throbbing erection from the confines of your pants. You groaned as the cool air hit your heated skin, your member twitching with anticipation.

Wonyoung licked her lips hungrily as she admired your length, her fingers wrapping around your shaft with practiced ease. She pumped you slowly, her thumb swirling around the sensitive head, collecting the beads of pre-cum that had already gathered there.

"Mmmm, you're so hard for me already," Wonyoung purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I love how much you want me."

She leaned forward, her pink tongue darting out to lap at your cock like a lollipop. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Wonyoung continued to tease you, running her tongue along the underside of your shaft, tracing the veins and ridges with excruciating slowness.

Just when you thought you couldn't take the torment anymore, Wonyoung wrapped her lips around the head of your cock and sucked hard. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers tangling in her silky hair. She took you deeper, inch by inch, until your entire length disappeared into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth.

"Fuck..." you groaned, your head falling back against the wall. Wonyoung's lips stretched obscenely around your girth as she bobbed up and down, taking you all the way to the back of her throat with each downward motion.

The sensation was incredible, the slick heat of her mouth engulfing you completely. Wonyoung's tongue worked magic along your shaft, swirling and twisting around you as she sucked with increasing urgency. Her hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she devoured your cock with gusto.

"Oh god, Wonyoung," you panted, your hips involuntarily thrusting forward to meet her eager mouth. She moaned in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You could feel your climax building rapidly, your balls tightening with impending release.

Wonyoung seemed to sense your impending orgasm as well. She doubled her efforts, sucking harder and faster, determined to milk you dry. Her nails dug into your hips as she held you in place, taking you deep into her throat.

With a final, guttural moan, your orgasm overtook you. Wonyoung swallowed eagerly as spurt after spurt of your hot seed pulsed into her mouth and down her throat. She continued to suck gently, coaxing every last drop from you until you were spent and trembling.

Wonyoung released you with a wet pop, licking her lips in satisfaction. She looked up at you with lust-glazed eyes, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Mmmm, delicious," she purred, standing up and pressing her body against yours once more.

You knew the night was far from over, however. Wonyoung had teased you with promises of more, and you were determined to make good on her desire. With a growl of possession, you spun her around and bent her over the sink, hiking up her skirt in one swift motion.

Wonyoung gasped in surprise but quickly melted into your touch as you ran your hands over the smooth skin of her ass. You pulled her panties aside, exposing her glistening folds to your hungry gaze. She was already wet, her arousal coating her inner thighs.

"Please," Wonyoung whimpered, wiggling her hips back against you in invitation. "I need to feel you inside me."

You couldn't resist any longer. With one swift thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her tight heat, groaning at the exquisite sensation. Wonyoung cried out in ecstasy, her walls clenching around you like a vice.

"Oh fuck yes," she moaned, pushing back against you as you began to move. You set a hard, fast pace, each snap of your hips making her tits bounce in her bra. The bathroom echoed with the obscene slap of flesh and their combined moans.

"You're mine," you growled possessively, one hand reaching up to wrap around her delicate throat. "This tight little pussy belongs to me."

"Yes! All yours!" Wonyoung babbled incoherently, losing herself to the relentless pounding. Her knees shook and her moans turned shrill as she quickly neared her peak.

You could feel your own climax building again already, your balls tightening with pressure. "Cum for me, now," you commanded, slamming into her harder. With a keening wail, Wonyoung obeyed, convulsing around you as her orgasm crashed over her.

The rhythmic spasms of her pussy milking your cock pushed you over the edge as well. You buried yourself deep one last time as your seed erupted inside her, flooding her womb with your essence. "Take it all," you grunted, holding yourself against her as you pumped her full.

Finally spent, you both collapsed against the sink, panting heavily as you caught your breath. After a long moment, Wonyoung straightened up and turned to face you, a satisfied smile on her flushed face. She kissed you slow and deep before pulling away.

"Mmmm, I needed that," she purred, discreetly fixing her uniform and underwear. "Thanks for the quickie."

With a wink and a swish of her ponytail, Wonyoung slipped out the door, leaving you alone and thoroughly fucked silly in the aftermath.

A week had passed since your last rendezvous with Wonyoung in the school bathroom, but the memories of that heated encounter still lingered in your mind. You couldn't help but think about the way she had eagerly taken you into her mouth and begged for your cock, pleading to be filled with your seed.

As you sat in your room, engrossed in thoughts of your fake girlfriend turned real, your phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Wonyoung, of course. With bated breath, you opened the message, hoping for another seductive photo or suggestive comment.

What greeted you, however, was even exactly what you thought.

"I'm Home Alone"

Your heart raced at the implication, and you quickly texted back: "I'll be there in 10."

Without hesitation, you grabbed your keys and raced out the door, making your way to Wonyoung's house on the other side of town. Your mind was a whirlwind of anticipation and desire as you navigated the streets, each second feeling like an eternity.

When you finally arrived, you hastily knocked on the door, eager to be let inside. Wonyoung answered almost immediately, pulling you into her home and crushing her lips against yours in a searing kiss.

"Took you long enough," she panted as she pulled away, her hands already working to unbutton your shirt. "I need you so bad."

Wonyoung tugged you towards her bedroom, her eyes dark with lust. As soon as the door closed behind you, she pushed you onto the bed and climbed on top, straddling your hips. She grinded against you, her panty-covered pussy rubbing against the growing bulge in your pants.

"Mmmm, I can feel how much you want me," Wonyoung purred, her fingers deftly unzipping your fly. She reached inside to free your erection, stroking it slowly as she gazed down at you with a sultry smile.

"I want to feel you inside me," she whispered, leaning down to press kisses along your jaw and neck. "I need you to fill me up with your big, hard cock."

You groaned at her words, your hips bucking up into her hand. Wonyoung chuckled softly, knowing exactly what effect she had on you. She continued to tease you, running her fingers along your shaft and tracing the sensitive head with her thumb.

"Wait," you gasped suddenly, reaching for your wallet. You fished out a condom and held it up between your fingers. "We should use this, just to be safe."

Wonyoung's expression softened for a moment before turning determined. She took the condom from your hand and tossed it aside, shaking her head. "No," she said firmly. "I want to feel you raw, skin on skin. I need to feel all of you."

Before you could protest, Wonyoung leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. She rocked her hips against yours, grinding her panty-covered pussy along your shaft as she tangled her tongue with yours.

You knew you should stop her, insist on using protection, but the sensation of her hot, wet folds sliding against you was too much to resist. With a growl of surrender, you let your hands roam over her body, squeezing her ass and slipping under her bra to palm her full breasts.

Wonyoung moaned into your mouth as you pinched her nipples, arching her back to press herself further into your touch. She lifted her hips and pushed her panties aside, allowing you to slide between her slick folds without any barriers.

"Oh fuck," you groaned as the head of your cock slipped inside her tight heat. Wonyoung gasped at the sudden penetration, her inner walls clenching around you like a vise.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto you, inch by inch, until you were buried to the hilt inside her. "So big," she whimpered, her head falling back in ecstasy as she adjusted to the stretching sensation.

Wonyoung began to move then, rolling her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. She rode you with practiced ease, her slick walls gripping you tightly with each rise and fall. You matched her movements, thrusting up to meet her descending hips, driving yourself deeper inside her core.

The sounds of your bodies joining filled the room, a symphony of moans and grunts as you lost yourselves in the pleasure. Wonyoung leaned down to kiss you again, her tongue dancing with yours as she increased her pace.

"Harder," she demanded breathlessly, breaking away from your lips. "Fuck me harder, please."

With a grunt of exertion, you flipped their positions, pinning Wonyoung beneath you on the bed. You hooked her legs over your shoulders and drove into her with renewed vigor, each snap of your hips hitting a new depth within her.

"Oh god, yes!" Wonyoung cried out, her fingers digging into your shoulders. She clung to you desperately as you pounded into her, your bodies slapping together in a frenzy of lust.

You could feel your climax building rapidly, your balls tightening with impending release. But you wanted Wonyoung to come first, wanted to feel her convulse around your cock before filling her with your seed.

Reaching between your bodies, you found her swollen clit and began to circle it with your thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild. Wonyoung's moans escalated to high-pitched wails as her orgasm approached, her pussy clamping down around you like a fist.

"Cum for me," you growled, pressing harder on her clit. "Now."

With a shrill cry of ecstasy, Wonyoung came undone beneath you, her body shaking and spasming as waves of pleasure washed over her. Her inner walls contracted rhythmically around your pistoning shaft, milking you for all you were worth.

The sensation was too much for you to resist. With a final, deep thrust, you buried yourself balls-deep inside Wonyoung's spasming cunt and let go, filling her with spurt after spurt of your hot, sticky release.

You collapsed on top of her as the last tremors of your orgasms faded away, both of you panting and sweat-slicked in the aftermath. Wonyoung wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she peppered kisses across your face and neck.

"That was amazing," she whispered, nuzzling into your chest. "I love feeling your cum inside me."

You knew you should feel guilty about neglecting the condom, about potentially putting Wonyoung at risk of pregnancy or disease. But in the heat of the moment, with her soft body pressed against yours and her walls still fluttering around your spent cock, all rational thought fled your mind.

You had given in to your basest instincts, allowing the primal need to dominate your better judgment. And as you lay there with Wonyoung in your arms, basking in the afterglow of your raw coupling, you couldn't help but wonder what other risks you might be willing to take for her pleasure.

As you lay there with Wonyoung, basking in the afterglow of your raw, unprotected coupling, you thought the moment of passion had passed. Your spent cock remained nestled inside her slick heat, a reminder of the intense pleasure you had just shared.

But then, to your surprise, Wonyoung began to wiggle beneath you. She gently pushed on your chest, signaling for you to roll off her. As you complied, pulling out of her warm, tight sheath with a wet squelch, Wonyoung scooted down the bed until her head was level with your groin.

You watched in fascination as she wrapped her fingers around your softening shaft, pumping it slowly as she gazed up at you with a mischievous smile. "Mmmm, look at this mess," she purred, swirling her thumb through the mixture of your combined fluids leaking from your slit.

Before you could respond, Wonyoung leaned forward and ran her tongue along the underside of your shaft, lapping up the sticky essence. You groaned at the sensation, your half-hard cock twitching against her tongue.

Wonyoung chuckled softly before wrapping her lips around the head and sucking gently. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive glans, teasing the ridge and flicking over your slit to gather more of the combined juices.

"Fuck..." you moaned, tangling your fingers in her hair as she bobbed her head, taking you deeper into her warm, wet mouth. Wonyoung hummed in satisfaction, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

She continued to lick and suck at your cock, cleaning it thoroughly of any residual fluids. The sensation was incredible, her expert tongue working magic on your sensitive flesh. You could feel yourself hardening again under her ministrations, your hips lifting involuntarily to push more of yourself into her eager mouth.

Wonyoung picked up on your increased arousal and doubled her efforts. She took you deeper, her nose pressing against your pubic bone as she swallowed around your length. Her throat constricted rhythmically, massaging your shaft and pushing you closer to the edge.

"Oh god, Wonyoung," you panted, tugging on her hair as you thrust shallowly into her mouth. "I'm gonna cum again if you keep that up."

Wonyoung moaned in response, the vibrations making your cock throb with need. She looked up at you with lust-glazed eyes, nodding to indicate she wanted you to finish in her mouth.

That was all the encouragement you needed. With a few more sharp thrusts, you buried yourself deep in Wonyoung's throat and let go, spilling your seed directly into the warm cavern of her mouth. She swallowed greedily, her throat working to gulp down every last drop as you pumped what felt like an endless stream of cum into her waiting mouth.

Finally, as your orgasm subsided, Wonyoung pulled back, releasing your sensitive cock with a pop. She licked her lips clean of any stray drops, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Mmmm, delicious," she purred, crawling back up the bed to curl against your side. "I love tasting us together like that."

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as you both caught your breath. Your mind was a whirlwind of pleasure and awe at Wonyoung's insatiable appetite for you. You had never experienced anything like this before, this intense connection and desire.

[devilhuntingslayer]

Second Skin [TW]

(Twice Sana X Male Predator) Word Count: approx 9k.

The Alo studio gleamed white, mirrors reflecting every angle, cameras mounted in all corners. The staff spoke in hushed tones, clipped and professional, as Sana adjusted her yoga top nervously.

She gave her trademark bubbly laugh, covering her chest with one hand. “Ahh—this is so tight, really, do you think… it’s too much?”

The stylist fussed with her straps. “It’s perfect. Athleisure is about confidence.”

But Sana could feel the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. The tights clung like second skin, riding so snug it made her aware of every inch of her hips, her thighs, her slit.

When she stretched for the test shots, the cameraman lingered. Sana noticed. Her laugh was too high-pitched when she called out: “Y-yah… don’t film down there too much, ne?”

The director only smiled. “That’s what Alo sells. You.”

Her cheeks burned. She forced another giggle, pretending she wasn’t already being undressed by every lens in the room.

Hours passed. Sana had changed into three sets of yoga tights, each one tighter, shinier than the last. By the fourth look, she refused to look in the mirror anymore.

The neckline plunged deeper. The leggings hugged harder. Her cameltoe peeked through under the lights.

She tugged her hem nervously between takes, whispering to the stylist. “Unnie, can’t we… adjust this? It’s showing everything.”

The stylist smiled tightly. “That’s why they booked you.”

During the stretch shots, the cameraman crouched low. Sana pulled her top up instinctively to cover her cleavage, her laugh wobbling. “Ahhh—it’s embarrassinggg! Don’t zoom thereee~!”

The director’s gaze was heavy. He never looked at the clothes. Only her chest, her thighs. Every correction he gave was about “angles,” but his eyes never left her body.

By the time the shoot wrapped, Sana felt naked even in full Alo gear. She bowed politely, smiling, but inside her stomach twisted.

And when the director said, “Stay behind for a private review,” she froze, pulse racing.

Only Sana, the director, and two cameras remained.

She tugged her jacket on quickly, hugging it across her chest. “T-thank you for today. I’ll, um, wait for the edited cuts?”

The director tilted his head, smiling politely. “No. We need to review raw footage. Alone.”

Sana froze. “A-ahhh, is that… necessary? I trust the editors—”

“It’s about brand trust,” he said smoothly, already walking toward the monitor. “Your body sells the product. We can’t risk flaws.”

The phrasing made her stomach twist. She forced a small laugh. “Y-you make it sound scary. My body isn’t…” Her voice trailed as the monitor lit up.

Her own cleavage filled the screen. Her own cameltoe, framed perfectly under studio lights.

She gasped, covering her face. “A-ahhh! W-why are there… so many shots like that?”

The director leaned closer to the screen, ignoring her protests. “Because that’s where the fabric clings most naturally. Don’t be shy, Sana-ssi. Everyone saw already. Everyone loved it.”

Her lips trembled. She shook her head, tugging her jacket tighter. “N-no, I… I didn’t agree to this kind of focus…”

The director smiled, calm, almost kind. “Then we’ll need a private session. To fix what you don’t like. To make you comfortable in your body.”

His words dripped like honey, but Sana’s chest tightened.

She realized then—professionalism had ended hours ago.

The director didn’t blink. He stood behind her now, arms crossed, voice calm. “See how the fabric hugs? That’s what sells. People need to imagine touching it. Touching you.”

Her head snapped up. “T-touching… me? This is clothing, not—”

But his hand was already on her shoulder. Heavy. Pressing. She froze.

“It’s both,” he murmured. His palm slid slowly down her arm, grazing her wrist, then curling deliberately across her hip.

Sana stiffened. She laughed nervously, batting weakly at his hand. “A-ahhh~ director-nim… that’s not… you don’t need to touch to explain…”

His thumb dragged across the waistband of her tights, rubbing the elastic where it hugged her waist. “Fabric is intimate. You can’t sell without intimacy.”

The word made her shiver. She wanted to pull away. But his body loomed, blocking the only exit.

“Here,” he said smoothly, tugging her jacket open.

Sana yelped, clutching it shut again, but too late—the mirror showed her cleavage, spilling inside the yoga top.

She flushed, eyes darting everywhere but the reflection. “D-director-nim! I—ahhh—it’s too much already, you’re not supposed to—”

His hand brushed the curve of her breast through the fabric, fingers testing the thin stretch of lycra. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even pretend to be accidental.

“No seams here,” he commented, almost like he was talking about tailoring. “Just soft. Smooth. You fit the brand perfectly.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “S-stop… ahhh~ don’t say it like thattt~ it sounds dirtyyy~”

He ignored her. His hand slid lower, pressing along her inner thigh, stopping just before the fabric dipped into the outline of her sex.

The monitor looped again—her own cameltoe framed in HD.

“Here too,” he said flatly. “The camera can only show. But the hand confirms.”

Her whole body jolted. “N-no! That’s private—ahhh, you can’t—”

But his fingers pressed harder against the seam, slow, deliberate.

Her knees buckled. Her laugh came high, nervous, breaking. “I—I’ll complain… this is harassmenttt~”

The director leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “Complain? To who? The brand already loves what they see. Without me, you’ll never work again.”

Sana squeezed her eyes shut, heart hammering. His hand stayed there, obscene in its calmness, pressing against her most private seam.

She whispered, voice cracking between protest and fear: “Ahhh~ please… stoppp… I’m not… I’m not this kind of girlll~”

But the director’s smirk in the reflection told her otherwise.

Her back pressed against the cool mirror, jacket half-slipped from her shoulders, breath coming too fast. The director’s hand was still cupping her hip, his thumb rubbing the seam of her yoga pants like it was part of his work. She wriggled, squealed in her bubbly tone that now cracked with panic.

“Ahhh—stoppp—d-director-nim, that’s not for the cameraaa~!”

He didn’t move his hand. His other palm slid upward, flattening against her chest. Fingers spread, kneading through the thin sports bra fabric. Her nipple betrayed her immediately, stiff against his touch.

Sana gasped, clutching at his wrist with trembling fingers. “N-nooo… ahhh… y-you can’t…”

The words died when she felt it.

Something hard pressed against her hip. Heavy. Obvious. She froze, eyes darting down—and there it was, straining against the fabric of his slacks.

Her cheeks flushed crimson. Her mouth fell open. “Y-you… ahhh, director-nim, is that…?”

He smiled, casual, shameless. “The faster I enjoy this, the earlier you go home.”

Her heart dropped. She glanced toward the open doorway, hoping. Staff moved somewhere distant, laughing faintly, voices muffled. None of them came. None of them heard.

Her lip trembled as her wide eyes met his again. “P-please… someone… help…”

No one came.

Her voice cracked. “What… what do I have to do?”

The director didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His hand left her breast only to take her wrist, guiding it slowly down. Sana resisted for a moment, squeaking softly—then her palm brushed the outline of him. Thick. Hot through the cloth.

She whimpered, trying to pull away. “Ahhh, n-nooo… I-I can’t touch thattt~”

But his body pressed closer, caging her against the mirror. His cock throbbed against her palm, twitching alive under her reluctant fingers.

Her hand trembled, half-closed around him, the fabric of his slacks hot and damp from the pressure. She glanced up, face twisted in a mix of shame and panic. “D-director-nim… this is… so wronggg~ I can’t… I really can’tttt~”

But he didn’t say a word. His smirk said enough.

The silence pressed down heavier than commands ever could. She realized—this was happening whether she voiced it or not.

Her body sagged, her bubbly protest coming out as a broken giggle. “Ehehe… ahhh… it’s… really big… I didn’t mean to noticeee~”

Her hand squeezed him reflexively. His groan filled the small room.

Her knees shook. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: the idol in Alo tights, hand wrapped around her director’s cock.

Her lips trembled. “If… if this is the only way… then…”

Her hand began to move. Slow. Hesitant. Stroking him through the fabric, her face wet with tears.

No one told her what to do. No one had to. It just flowed.

The director leaned back against the monitor table, his slacks pulled open just enough. His cock stood heavy, thick, veins prominent under the dim studio light. Sana knelt before him, still trembling, still hugging her jacket half-shut like it could shield her from what was happening.

Her lips quivered as she looked up, eyes glossy. “I… I don’t… I really don’t do thisss~”

The director chuckled, low and casual, like they weren’t alone in a locked room. “Your mouth was made for this. Cute lips. Straight teeth. Perfect idol image—makes men want to see what you look like with their cock down your throat.”

Her cheeks burned hot, tears spilling faster. “S-stop saying it like thattt~ I’m… I’m not that kind of girl…”

He brushed his thumb along her cheek, smearing the wet streak. “Then prove it. Prove you’re not. Or prove you’re better.”

The silence pressed her down harder than his hand ever could. Her chest rose and fell. Her fingers, shaking, reached up and wrapped around him. He was so warm, so heavy in her hand.

Sana took a shaky breath, puffing her cheeks in that nervous, bubbly way. “A-ahhh… okay… if I do this… then you’ll… let me go?”

The director smirked. “Make me cum, Sana. Then you can go home.”

She closed her eyes, lips parting, and leaned forward. Her tongue touched his tip, soft and tentative. He groaned immediately, head tilting back.

“That’s it. Cute idol tongue. Perfect.”

Her face flushed. She forced herself further, lips wrapping around his head, cheeks hollowing as she sucked lightly.

“A-ahhh…” She pulled back, gasping, a line of spit stretching between her mouth and his cock. “It’s… too biggg~ ahhh, it doesn’t fitttt~”

“Keep trying,” he said calmly. “That’s what people pay to see. Their favorite idol struggling on a dick.”

Her stomach dropped. Tears ran freely now, but she opened wider, shoving more of him inside, gagging as his length pressed her tongue flat.

She whimpered high, muffled around him. Her hands braced on his thighs as her head bobbed, spit spilling down her chin.

Desperate to finish quickly, she began to perform. She pulled her jacket fully off, letting her breasts strain against the thin yoga bra, nipples stiff and visible through the stretched fabric. Her cleavage pushed together as she leaned, making sure he could see.

Between wet gags she forced a bubbly whine: “Ahhh~ director-nim, you’re so mean… staring only at Sana’s body while she’s suckinggg~”

Her tears streamed, but her movements grew more frantic—slurping, twisting her hand around his shaft, arching her back so her ass was high, yoga tights splitting tight across her cheeks.

“Good,” he groaned, fist tightening in her hair. “Now you look like a real ambassador. Not for clothes. For cock.”

Sana’s sob shook through her throat, vibrating against him. She pulled back just enough to whimper, voice cracking:

“P-please… cum already… my mouth hurts… I can’t—ahhh, I can’t keep up with thisss~”

But he didn’t.

He only stroked her cheek, pushing her back onto him, calm and cruel.

“Not yet. Not until you stop pretending and really use that mouth.”

Her tears dripped onto his thighs as she obeyed, shoving him deeper into her throat, gagging louder, spit pouring down her chin.

The mirror in front showed her ruined face—idol hair messy, lips swollen around his cock, body displayed like a product.

And still he didn’t cum.

Her body shook with sobs. “Ahhh~ pleaseee… please, I’m begginggg~”

But the director’s smirk told her—he was going to enjoy every second.

Sana’s throat burned. Her lips were raw, swollen from dragging up and down the director’s cock. Spit dripped down her chin, stringing between her chest and his shaft. Her yoga top was soaked, nipples stiff under the thin lycra, her bra pushed crooked from his grip.

She pulled back, coughing, gasping for air, her eyes red and glassy. “P-please… I’m tryinggg~ I’ve been doing it for so long… just cum alreadyyy~”

The director chuckled, smirking down at her wrecked face. His hand stroked her hair like she was a pet. “Cute. But not enough.”

Her heart dropped. “Wh-what more do you wanttt~? I—I used my tongue, my throat, I—”

His voice was calm, almost tender. “Show me your tits, sweetheart. And love my balls.”

Sana froze, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Her blush spread down her neck, her whole body trembling. “Ahhh—n-nooo~ you’re… you’re saying it like…”

But his cock pressed against her lips again, heavy, slick with spit and pre-cum. She whimpered, knowing resistance meant nothing.

With shaky hands, she grabbed the hem of her sports bra and peeled it upward. Her breasts spilled free, small but perky, nipples stiff from the cold air. She tried to cover them with her arms, but the mirror caught everything—the idol on her knees, tits out, tears streaming, lips wrapped around her director’s cock.

“A-ahhh~ don’t look sooo closeee~” she whined, voice cracking. “It’s embarrassinggg~”

“Perfect,” he murmured, smirking. “Now use them.”

Sana leaned forward, pressing her tits together around his shaft. Spit smeared across her cleavage as she slid him between the soft flesh, moaning weakly as the head bobbed near her chin.

The director groaned, head tilting back. “That’s it. An idol titfucking me. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Her tears spilled harder. “Ahhh~ s-stop calling it like thattt~ I’m… I’m not a pornstarrr~”

But she kept moving, squeezing her tits tighter, her hands stroking the base while she kissed and licked wherever she could reach.

He tilted his hips, pressing his balls against her chin. “Now love my balls. Show me.”

Sana’s whole body shook. She looked up, pleading with watery eyes. “N-nooo… ahhh, it’s too muchhh~ that’s so… so dirtyyy~ idols don’t…”

But his cock rubbed against her lips again, smearing spit.

Her resistance collapsed. She lowered her head, tongue trembling as it slid over the heavy sack.

She gagged softly at the musky taste, but forced a bubbly whine: “A-ahhh~ director-nim’s balls… so saltyyy~ Sana’s licking like a doggg~”

The crew camera still blinked red, recording.

She licked them slowly, carefully, sucking one into her mouth as her hand stroked his shaft, spit and tears dripping onto her bare tits. She bounced them around his cock, kissing upward until she was back on his head, sucking desperately.

Her whole body was on display now: tits out, yoga tights clinging to every curve, ass arched, face ruined with spit and tears.

She moaned broken lines as she worked. “Ahhh~ Sana’s showing everythinggg~ just cum alreadyyy~ pleaseee~”

The director groaned, fist in her hair. “Good girl. Now you look like you belong here.”

And Sana sobbed harder as she sucked, licked, and pressed her tits around him, praying he would finally finish. Her lips swollen, her chest bare and streaked with spit. Her tits pressed tight around his cock, her tongue lapping desperately at the head as he groaned above her.

She was crying, snot mixing with the spit dripping down her chin, yet her voice still came out in a broken sing-song: “Ahhh~ director-nim… cum alreadyyy~ Sana’s mouth and titties are readyyy~ pleaseee~”

His groan deepened, hand gripping her hair hard, hips bucking into her ruined face.

Then he laughed low, predatory. “You look just like Jisoo when I painted her face. Same messy tears. Same slutty pout.”

Sana’s eyes widened. Her heart stuttered—another idol? Another victim?

Before she could ask, his cock throbbed violently.

Hot jets of cum burst across her face, streaking her cheeks, lips, nose. She squealed, eyes squeezing shut, her whines muffled as she obediently held still, taking it all.

Her voice cracked, but she forced filth out between sobs: “Ahhh~ director-nim’s cum all over Sana’s faceee~ idols aren’t supposed to look like thisss~ ahhh, so dirtyyy~”

More ropes splattered across her lips. Her tongue lolled out automatically, catching the last drips, gagging at the bitter taste but licking greedily anyway.

He stroked his softening cock across her cheeks, smearing his seed into her skin.

“Perfect,” he groaned. “Alo’s real ambassador. My cumrag idol.”

Her body slumped, cum dripping down her chin to her tits. She should’ve crawled away, covered herself, begged for mercy.

Instead, her hips shifted. Grinding down against the floor, dry-humping against nothing, whining softly.

Her own shameful moan slipped out. “Ahhh~ why… why am I… moving like thisss~?”

She lifted herself, tits still sticky, and pressed them against his stomach, nuzzling upward like a cat begging for attention. Her nipples dragged across his skin, leaving cum streaks behind.

She pouted, tears still streaming. “Director-nimmm~ feed on my titties againnn~ pleaseee~ Sana’s body wants itttt~”

He chuckled darkly, cupping her chin, smearing his seed into her lips. “Round one was for me. Round two…”

His cock twitched against her chest, already stirring again.

“…is for fucking.”

Sana gasped, cheeks blazing, but her giggle broke through the tears—high, shameless, needy. “Ehehe~ ahhh… Sana’s so exciteddd~”

And in that moment, she wasn’t just objectified. She was his.

[devilhuntingslayer]

https://www.instagram.com/p/C58JZcdpeZm/?igsh=MW51bjJ6bjNwNW5wMg==

https://www.instagram.com/p/C2lUFDevVBb/?igsh=MXNhM3lhcGtldXF1

Could you do a color piece for actress Go Youn Jung, where she does not know how the entertainment world works and the producer takes advantage of that? Thanks!

Red Brown

(Go Younjung X Male Reader) Wordcount: 1267 words

Younjung sits across from you in the small meeting room. Her posture is straight but her hands are folded tightly in her lap. She’s fresh in the industry. You can see it in the way her eyes keep darting to the posters on the wall, the way she nods quickly at anything you say.

You lean back in your chair, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her shift in her seat.

“So, you want to make it big.”

“Yes.”

She replies quickly.

“I’ve… I’ve always dreamed of acting, and now that I’ve got this role—”

“Small role.”

You cut in, watching her flinch slightly.

“You’re a background character for now. But…”

You let the word hang, your gaze sweeping over her.

“…with the right help, you could move up fast.”

She bites her lip, clearly eager.

“What do you mean by ‘help’?”

You smile faintly.

“I mean someone in your corner. Someone who knows how to make the right calls, open the right doors… and make sure your name is on everyone’s lips.”

Her shoulders relax slightly at first, but then your tone changes.

“But I don’t do that for free, Younjung. And I’m not talking about money.”

She blinks, caught off guard.

“Then… what?”

You lean forward, elbows on the table.

“I think you know.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. The uncertainty in her eyes tells you she’s already guessing exactly what you mean. Younjung’s gaze drops to the table, but she doesn’t move. You can see her breath quicken, the hesitation warring with the ambition you’ve already read in her. You stand, circling around the table until you’re beside her chair.

“Stand up.”

She hesitates, then obeys.

You guide her by the chin to look up at you.

“If you want the kind of roles you dream about, you have to be willing to give something in return.”

Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip.

“And right now, I want this.”

She swallows hard, but doesn’t step back when you unzip your pants. Her eyes widen slightly, and you can almost see the calculation behind them. The cost versus the reward.

“Kneel.”

She sinks slowly to her knees on the carpet, her hands resting awkwardly on her thighs until you take one and guide it to wrap around your cock. The tentative stroke makes you smile.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“…Not like this.”

She admits softly.

You thread your fingers through her hair.

“Then I’ll show you how.”

Your length brushes her lips, and she parts them reluctantly at first, letting the tip slide in. You control the pace, rocking your hips just enough to make her take more each time. She gags once, her nails curling into your thigh, but you hold her there for a moment before letting her breathe.

“Good. You learn fast.”

She tries again without prompting, her lips sealing tighter, her tongue brushing along your length. You keep your grip in her hair, guiding her rhythm. Her inexperience is obvious but her effort grows with each stroke. The sight of her, polished, pretty Younjung on her knees in your office, her eyes flicking up for approval, makes it almost too easy to push her further. Your grip stays firm in her hair as you guide her pace. Your hips roll just enough to keep her mouth full. She’s getting better over time. Less hesitant, more willing to take you deeper. But you can still feel the tension in her jaw.

“You want to be more than a background face, don’t you?”

You murmur, looking down at her.

She glances up, lips stretched around your thick shaft as she hums faintly in agreement. The vibration makes you groan.

“Lead roles. Big dramas. Red carpet premieres.”

You push forward a little deeper, feeling her throat tighten around your length.

“I can make that happen, Younjung. I can make you the name everyone’s talking about.”

Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of excitement cutting through her discomfort. You smirk.

“But it’s not just about talent. It’s about who’s willing to put you there. And right now,”

You say, thrusting a little harder.

“you’re showing me how badly you want it.”

She gags softly but stays in place. Her hands now resting lightly against your thighs for balance. You guide her faster, letting her hear the wet sounds filling the office.

“Imagine it.”

You continue, your tone carrying a fake warmth.

“Billboards with your face on them. Scripts written just for you. Awards.”

You pull her nearly all the way off before pushing back in, making her lips meet your base.

“All because you knew how to keep me happy.”

Her breathing is uneven when you let her come up for air. A thin string of spit connects her upper lip with her lower one. Her ambition is written all over her face now. It’s mixed with the flush of arousal you’ve been building in her.

“Ready to show me you deserve it?”

She nods, and you push her back down.

At first, it’s all you. Your hand in her hair. Your hips setting the rhythm. Her mouth just taking what you give. But something shifts. Younjung’s hands come up to your hips, not to push you away, but to steady herself. Her tongue starts moving more skillfully. It curls along the underside of your length each time she pulls back. She takes you deeper on her own. She swallows around you before retreating just enough to catch her breath. Her eyes lift to yours, searching for approval.

“That’s it.”

You ease your grip just slightly.

“Now you’re working for it.”

Encouraged, she speeds up. Bobbing her head with a smoother rhythm, her lips glide over your cock with more confidence. She uses one hand to stroke the part she can’t fit, twisting her wrist around your base as her other hand braces against your thigh.

“Good girl. You’re learning fast. This is how you make people want to give you everything.”

Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are slick, but she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she pushes herself harder, chasing your praise as much as the promise behind it.

“That’s it, Younjung. Just like that.”

You add, a faint smirk curving your lips.

“You keep going like this, and maybe I’ll start making those calls tomorrow.”

You feel the tight knot building low in your stomach. Every smooth glide of her lips pushes you closer. Your fingers tighten in her hair, slowing her just enough to pull yourself free.

“Stop.”

Your voice is rough with pleasure.

 “Show me your beautiful face. Give me a nice pose.”

Younjung sits back onto her heels, catching her breath. Her lips are red and glistening. She tilts her chin up, brushing her hair back with one hand while the other rests lightly on her thigh. It’s almost instinct. The perfect mix of innocent and inviting. And it makes your pulse jump.

“That’s it.”

You stroke yourself now, your eyes locked on hers.

“Hold it. Just like that.”

She tries to keep her expression steady, but there’s a faint flush in her cheeks. Her lips are still parted as if she’s ready to take you back into her mouth at any second. The heat surges, and you groan as you reach the edge. A hot streak lands across her cheekbone. Another across her lips. More paint her skin until she’s marked completely.

Younjung blinks, glancing down at herself before looking back up at you, her face glistening with your cum.

“Perfect. Now that’s a face people will remember.”

[devilhuntingslayer]

can I request vampire wonyoung & yujin??

COLLEAGUES AFTER DARK

vampire!Wonyoung & vampire!Yujin x Male Reader

You never really liked the night shift. The office was too quiet after 9 p.m.—that kind of quiet where even the hum of the vending machine sounded like a scream. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, and the whole floor smelled faintly of printer ink and coffee that had been sitting too long.

But tonight wasn’t like the other nights.

It wasn’t the emptiness that bothered you—it was your co-workers.

Ahn Yujin and Jang Wonyoung.

On the surface, they were perfect. The kind of co-workers everyone wanted to be around.

Ahn Yujin was the one who always volunteered to stay a little late when deadlines loomed, her easy grin putting people at ease even during the most stressful projects. She remembered birthdays, covered shifts, and somehow always made people laugh in those long, fluorescent-lit meetings.

Jang Wonyoung was no different—precise, organized, the kind of person who never missed a detail. She’d bring coffee for the whole team some mornings, smile politely when praised, and handle clients with the kind of polished charm managers loved to brag about.

Together, they were the golden pair of the office. Reliable, friendly, admired.

But you noticed things others didn’t.

How, despite those morning coffee runs, neither of them ever actually drank from the cups they bought. How at lunch breaks, while the rest of you ate, they’d just sit together with those sleek, dark tumblers at their desks, sipping slowly, never once opening a packed meal or ordering food.

How their desks, no matter how well-lit the office was, always seemed… shadowed.

How their eyes lingered too long, too sharp, as if every glance was dissecting you.

And tonight, you decided you weren’t going home at the usual time. Tonight, you’d stay behind. Watch them. Prove to yourself you weren’t imagining it.

The office clock blinked 11:42 p.m. You’d hidden yourself in the small storage room at the end of the hall, the door cracked just enough so you could see the two women lingering near the elevator.

They weren’t leaving.

You saw Yujin check her phone, then look at Wonyoung, smirking.

“Another late one, huh?” Yujin’s voice carried in the empty office.

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a smile that wasn’t really a smile—it was sharper, crueler.

“You know I get hungry at this time.”

Your chest tightened. Hungry?

And then the elevator doors opened.

A man—someone you didn’t recognize, maybe a janitor or just someone working late—stepped out. He barely had time to greet them before Yujin moved. Too fast. Too smooth. She pressed him against the wall with one hand like he weighed nothing.

The sound of his surprise choked into silence as Wonyoung leaned in, her fingers caressing his jaw almost tenderly. Then she bared her teeth.

You saw them.

Fangs.

“Shhh,” Wonyoung cooed, before sinking her teeth into his throat.

The man’s muffled scream filled the empty office for a moment before it was cut off. Yujin leaned in too, tearing into his wrist. Blood dripped down their chins like wine.

Your stomach turned, horror flooding your veins. You tried to back away—

—but your shoe scraped against a metal shelf.

Clang.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

Both of their heads snapped toward the storage room.

You froze.

“…Did you hear that?” Yujin whispered, her lips red.

Wonyoung licked her mouth slowly, her eyes gleaming like knives in the dark.

“I did.”

You ran.

You bolted out the other door of the storage room, your heart slamming against your ribs, sprinting down the office hallway as the sound of heels clicked behind you—faster, faster than human.

“Where are you going, huh?” Yujin’s voice rang out, amused, taunting. “You think you can hide from us?”

“Don’t run,” Wonyoung purred. “It only makes us hungrier.”

You didn’t look back.

You nearly made it to the stairwell when a hand—cold and impossibly strong—grabbed your wrist and yanked you back. You shouted, thrashing, but Yujin was already shoving you against the wall, her grin wide.

“Got you.”

Wonyoung’s fingers curled around your throat lightly, almost tender as she leaned in. “You’ve been watching us, haven’t you?”

You tried to speak but choked on air.

Yujin tilted her head. “Always staring. Always suspicious. We noticed.”

“Cute, isn’t it?” Wonyoung’s voice was velvet, but her nails dug into your skin. “He really thought he was safe.”

Something hard cracked against your temple, and darkness swallowed you whole.

When you woke up, the smell hit you first.

Copper. Rot.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the abandoned meeting room, and your stomach lurched. Bodies. Piled in the corner, drained and pale, their eyes glassy and lifeless.

You gagged.

And then you heard them.

“Look who’s awake,” Yujin said, crouching in front of you, her grin sharp as ever. You realized your wrists were tied behind the chair with some kind of thick cord.

Wonyoung leaned against the table, her long legs crossed elegantly, watching you with a predator’s calm.

“You really shouldn’t have spied on us,” she said.

You trembled. “Y-You’re monsters.”

Wonyoung tilted her head. “And you’re food.”

Yujin leaned in close, brushing her fingers along your cheek. “But you’re interesting food. You noticed things no one else did.”

Her breath smelled metallic, and you turned your face away.

“Stay away from me,” you hissed.

Wonyoung laughed softly. “Look at him, trying to be brave.” She uncrossed her legs and walked toward you slowly, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown. “Should we play with him a little first?”

Yujin smirked. “Oh, definitely.”

You thrashed against the ropes, panic flooding you. “Let me go!”

“Shhh,” Wonyoung whispered, pressing a cold finger to your lips. “Don’t scream. No one will come.”

Desperation burned through you. As Wonyoung leaned closer, you spotted it—on the floor, a shard of glass from a broken window.

When Yujin grabbed your shoulder, you lunged, twisting just enough to grab the shard and drive it into her thigh.

“Ah—fuck!” Yujin hissed, stumbling back.

You slashed at Wonyoung next, cutting into her leg. She let out a sharp gasp, staggering.

It was the opening you needed.

You bolted for the door, blood pounding in your ears, the shard still in your hand. Freedom was just steps away—

Until something cold and sharp clamped around your ankle, yanking you down hard.

“Did you really think you could get away?” Yujin’s voice growled, low and furious. Her grip on your leg was iron.

You screamed, kicking, but she sank her teeth into your calf. Pain exploded, white-hot, and your body convulsed as she tore into your flesh.

You tried to crawl, clawing at the floor, nails splitting against the tiles as you dragged yourself inch by inch. Your voice tore out of your throat, raw and broken.

“HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE! I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

Your cries echoed through the empty office, but the silence that answered was suffocating. No footsteps. No doors opening. No one is coming.

“PLEASE! I’LL DO ANYTHING—JUST DON’T—” Your words dissolved into a sob as Yujin yanked your ankle back, her teeth ripping into your calf. The pain was blinding, your scream rising into something inhuman, echoing down the hallways like a siren.

“LET GO! PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU!”

But Yujin only laughed against your flesh, blood dripping down her chin as she tore another piece free. “Mmm… you taste so good when you’re scared.”

You sobbed, chest heaving, as you reached out blindly toward the door. “HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DIE LIKE THIS!”

Wonyoung’s shadow fell over you, her heels clicking slowly, deliberately, until she crouched by your head. Her long fingers slid into your hair, stroking almost tenderly as her fangs caught the dim light.

“Shhh… don’t waste your voice,” she whispered, her tone sultry and cruel. “No one will hear you. No one ever does.”

You thrashed weakly, your body shaking with terror. “NO! PLEASE—DON’T—”

Your plea ended in a strangled scream as Wonyoung’s teeth pierced into your throat. The hot flood of agony made your back arch off the floor, your fists slamming helplessly against the tiles.

“STOP! PLEASE—SOMEONE HELP ME! ANYONE!” you wailed, your voice cracking into sobs. But your cries faded, choked by the blood filling your mouth.

Yujin lifted her head, smearing crimson across her lips, and looked down at your tear-streaked face with a smirk.

“Keep screaming,” she whispered. “It only makes you taste better.”

Your body trembled violently as Wonyoung drank deeper, your sobs fading into wet, gurgling gasps. The edges of your vision darkened. The office—your workplace, your normal life—slipped away into nothing.

And your last thought, as the world collapsed into silence, was the bitter truth:

You had been right all along.

[devilhuntingslayer]

A Second Chance to Catch Up

Velvety 2: Yeri x Male Reader

counts: ~6.100 words

It's a late evening, city's busy crowds of after-work people.

You're at a small little coffee shop, the kind with exposed brick walls and overpriced lattes, waiting for a client who canceled last minute.

You're scrolling through your phone, a junior analyst now, your tie loosened, suit jacket draped over the chair.

A familiar voice catches your ear.

You glance up. Yeri, standing at the counter, ordering a drink.

Her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her black dress hugging her curves, accentuating a chest that's noticeably fuller than you remember from high school.

The dress is semi-formal, elegant but not stiff, making her look stunning, more polished than the shy girl you once knew.

Your heart skips, the old "thing" between you stirring, but you push it aside. That was many years ago, then faded after graduation when she dove into her career, and you buried yourself in work.

She turns, her eyes scanning the room, and they land on you. A smile spreads, and she walks over, her heels clicking softly. "Hey... is that you?" she says light, a surprise tone rising at it.

"Yeri?" you say, standing, "Wow, it's been... forever."

"How long? Three years, was it?" she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile growing. "You look... different. All grown up in a suit."

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Corporate life, you know. You look..." you pause, catching yourself, "gorgeous. That dress is really suit you."

Her cheeks flush, "Thanks. I'm trying to adult, I guess. Just came from a work thing." She gestures to a chair. "Mind if I sit?"

"Sure..." you say, pulling out the chair for her. She sits, crossing her legs, the dress riding up slightly.

You force your eyes back to her face, "So, what's up with you? good thing back there?"

She chuckles, sipping her coffee, "Trying to. I'm in marketing now, social media campaigns mostly. It's crazy, but I love it. What about you? You look... suit up"

"Analyst, typing numbers, making reports. It's not glamorous, but its goods," you say, leaning back, "You seem... different. More confident."

Her smile softens, "Took a while for me to get here. After school, I had to figure myself out. You know how it is."

You nod, sensing the weight of those years apart, "Yeah, life moves fast. You still in the city?"

"Moved back last year," she says, setting her cup down. "Got an apartment downtown. You?"

"Same, not far from here," you say, surprised at the coincidence. "Small world."

"Too small," she laughs, easing the tension. "So, you still keep in touch with anyone from school?"

"Not really," you admit, shrugging. "Work's been my life. You?"

"Same," she says, "Lost touch with most people. Kind of nice running into you, though."

"Feels like a second chance to catch up," you say, smiling.

Her lips quirk, "Maybe it is. You free to hang out sometime? Grab dinner, talk about something other than work?"

"Yeah, sure. I'd like that," you say, heart beating up.

She pulls out her phone, her fingers quick, "Give me your number, I'll give you mine."

You exchange contacts, her new number on your phone now, "Don't ghost me," she teases, standing, her dress hugging slightly

"Wouldn't dare," you say, standing too, her smile lingering as she grabs her coffee and heads out.

Night falls.

You're at your apartment, sprawled on your couch, still in your work shirt, tie long gone, scrolling through emails.

Your phone pings.

A text from Yeri's new number lights up the screen, and your heart gives a quick beat.

"Hey, you up?" it reads, simple but enough to pull a smile.

"Yeah, just chilling. You?" you text back, settling deeper into the couch.

"Same. Couldn't stop thinking about today. Crazy running into you." Her reply comes fast.

You type, fingers quick, "Same here, you looked amazing, by the way. Hard to miss."

"Flatterer. You didn't look bad yourself. 😜"

You hesitate, but still giving a try, "Feels like high school was forever ago. That "thing" we had... kinda came out of nowhere, huh?"

Her reply takes a moment, three dots bubbling, "Yeah, it did. I was so shy back then," A second text follows. "Ever think about it?"

"Sometimes, you admit. Didn't expect it to tie into Ms. Seulgi's project, though."

"OMG, right?" she texts, her excitement clear. "Ms. Seulgi's biology project on attraction was wild. We were basically her lab rats."

You laugh, typing fast, "Yeah, her "human behavior" study. Felt like she knew exactly what was going on with us."

"She totally did", Yeri replies. "I swear she'd smirk when we'd get all flustered in class. Sneaky teacher."

"Sneaky but smart," you text. "Wonder what she'd say about us now."

"Probably "still got chemistry" lol," she writes, adding a winking emoji. "We should catch up for real. Dinner tomorrow?"

You reply, grinning. "Sure, Pick a place,"

"Cool. I'll text you tomorrow. Night! 😴" her message reads.

"Night, Yeri," you text back, setting your phone down.

The "thing" from high school, feels like it's sparking again, and you wonder how this is going to drag you.

The next evening.

You arrive at the place Yeri picked, a quiet, dimly lit bistro tucked away in a corner of the city, with soft jazz playing, wooden tables draped in white linen, and the faint aroma of garlic and wine in the air.

You're early, dressed in a blazer and open-collared shirt, laptop open as you review work emails.

Your phone buzzes, a text from Yeri. "Almost there!"

You smile, closing your laptop, and glance around. The door chimes, and there she is, striding in, turning heads.

She's in a glamorous black dress, tighter than yesterday's, hugging every curve, her shoulders bare, the neckline low, accentuating her chest, definitely fuller than you remember from high school. Her long black hair flows loose, and her heels click softly as she spots you, a bright smile forming across her face.

"Waiting long?" she asks, sliding into the seat across from you, her dress shimmering as she moves.

"Just got here," you say, leaning back, trying not to stare too obviously. "You look... wow. That dress is something else."

She laughs, a soft, musical sound, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks. Wanted to dress up a bit. You clean up nice too," she says, her eyes scanning your blazer, lingering on your open collar. "Mr. Analyst, all professional."

You grin, shrugging, "Gotta keep up with you. Marketing star, right?"

"Trying to be," she says, her smile softening, grabbing the menu. "This place is my favorite. Quiet, good food. Perfect for... whatever this is."

"Catch-up session? Reunion?" you offer, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Feels good to see you again,"

"Same," she says quieter, "Last night, texting about high school... brought back a lot. That project with Ms. Kang was wild, wasn't it?"

You nod, chuckling. "Yeah, her whole 'attraction study' thing. Felt like we were under a microscope."

"She knew something was up with us," Yeri says, smirking, her fingers tracing the rim of her water glass. "I was so shy back then, but you... you made it easy to open up."

"You weren't that shy," you tease, raising an eyebrow. "Not by the end."

Her cheeks flush, but she laughs, leaning closer. "Maybe you brought it out of me. So, what's your life like now? All work, no play?"

"Mostly work," you admit, sipping your water. "What about you? Marketing sounds intense."

"It is," she says, "But I love the creativity. Keeps me on my toes. Still room for some fun, though. You?"

"Trying to find the balance," you say, meeting her gaze.

The waiter arrives, breaking the moment, and you both order, her a pasta, you a steak. As he leaves, Yeri leans forward again, "So," she says low, "we gonna keep this going? More dinners, more... catching up?" Her eyes sparkle, hinting at more.

"Why not?" you say, heart picking up, the promise of something new simmering between you for whatever comes next.

You and Yeri finish your meal, plates of pasta and steak cleared, wine glasses half-empty.

The waiter drops the bill, and you reach for your wallet. "I got this," you say, pulling out your card, but Yeri's hand shoots out, stopping you.

"No way," she says firm "We're splitting it. I pay for what I ordered." She grabs her purse, pulling out her card, "I'm not that girl, you know."

You chuckle, raising your hands, "Alright, alright. Split it is."

The waiter processes the payment, you're covering your steak, she's covering her pasta.

As you two step outside, the night air cool, the city alive with honks and neon lights, you turn to her. "You got a ride?" you ask, eyeing her heels, impractical for walking far.

She shakes her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Was gonna get an Uber, but..." She pauses, glancing at your car parked nearby. "You offering?"

"Hop in," you say, gesturing to your sedan. "Where you headed?"

"My place isn't far," she says, sliding into the passenger seat, her dress riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of thigh. "Downtown, near the river."

You start the car, and pull into the city's flow, the silence between you feels comfortable enough.

"This was nice," she says soft, turning to you, "Better than I expected."

"Same," you say, glancing at her, her sharp side profile, "Feels like we picked up right where we left off."

She laughs, low and warm. "Minus the awkward high school vibes, yeah." Her hand rests on the console, close to yours, not touching but tempting. "You should come up for a bit when we get there. Just... hang out. No pressure."

Your heart skips, her invitation hanging in the air. "Yeah?" you say, keeping your tone casual, "Sure, I'm down."

"I've got coffee, wine... or we can just talk," her voice is light, but there's a hint of something more.

You pull up to her apartment building, a sleek high-rise with glass windows reflecting the city's glow.

She leads you to the elevator, her heels clicking, her dress shimmering as she moves. Inside, the ride up is quiet, her standing close, her perfume subtle but intoxicating.

The doors open, and she glances back, her smile inviting. "Come on," she says.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

Her space is modern, all clean lines and soft lighting, with a plush gray couch and a glass coffee table.

She kicks off her heels, her long black hair swaying, the tension from your dinner at the bistro follows you here.

"This is awkward," you say, standing by the couch, rubbing the back of your neck, then sink to the couch, "Next time, let me invite you to mine."

"Sure, sure," Yeri laughs light, teasing, as she crosses to a sleek desk by the window.

She grabs a bottle of red wine and two tall glasses, "It's cold in here," she says, glancing back with a playful smile, "wine might help."

She sits next to you on the couch, close enough that her thigh brushes yours, her dress riding up slightly, revealing more of her smooth skin.

She pours the wine, the deep red liquid catching the light, and hands you a glass, "Cheers," she says, clinking her glass against yours.

"Cheers," you both sip, the wine rich and bold, warming your chest as the silence thickens.

"You've changed,” you say, setting your glass down, your gaze drifting to her dress, the way it clings to her fuller chest now, "More... confident."

She smirks, sipping her wine, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing yours, "You're not so bad yourself," she says, voice low, her eyes flicking to your lips.

"Less of that shy high school guy I knew," her hand rests on your thigh.

"Yeah?" you say, heart picking up, leaning in slightly, "Guess we both grew up."

"Guess so," she murmurs, her lips parting, her breath warm with wine.

She sets her glass down, her hand sliding higher on your thigh, fingers teasing the seam of your pants. "You ever think about… what could've been? With us?"

Your pulse races, her touch igniting you, your cock stirring under your slacks. "Maybe," you admit, voice rough, meeting her gaze. "You're making it hard not to now."

She laughs soft, leaning in, her lips brushing yours, not quite kissing. Her hand sliding to your chest, feeling your heartbeat. "I like making things hard."

Her fingers undo a button of your shirt, her dress slipping slightly, revealing more of her side boobs.

You groan softly, your hand finding her waist, pulling her closer, "Fuck, Yeri," your lips grazing her jaw.

She gasps, her hand sliding to your crotch, palming you through your pants, your cock hardening fast, "Feels like you missed me," she teases, breathy, her fingers squeezing lightly, making you hiss.

She kisses you, deep and slow, tongue slipping against yours, her moan soft, her dress riding higher as she straddles you, her pussy brushing your bulge.

Her hand cups your face, nails grazing your jaw, while her other hand presses against your bulge, stroking lightly, making you groan into her mouth.

"Fuck, Yeri," you murmur, voice rough, breaking the kiss, your lips trailing to her neck, kissing her soft skin, tasting her warmth.

She gasps, head tilting back, her moan soft, "You're driving me crazy," you say, hands sliding to her waist, fingers digging into her curves, pulling her closer, her pussy grinding against you, hot through her panties.

"Missed this," she whispers, voice breathy, her fingers unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your chest. "Missed you." Her hand slips inside, nails scratching lightly.

She grinds harder, her dress slipping higher, revealing the edge of her black panties, damp against your slacks. "Feel that?" she teases, her voice sultry, her hips rolling slow, making your cock throb.

"Fuck... yeah," you groan, hands sliding under her dress, gripping her ass, firm and warm, pulling her down harder.

She whimpers, her lips finding yours again, kissing you fiercely, tongue diving deep, her moan vibrating against you.

"You're so fucking hot," you say, one hand slipping to her thigh, tracing the edge of her panties, feeling her wetness seep through.

"Don't stop," she gasps, her hips moving faster, grinding against your cock.

Her hand slides to your zipper, tugging it down, fingers brushing your cock through your boxers, making you hiss. "God, you're so hard," she murmurs, her lips brushing your ear, "Want you so bad."

You kiss her collarbone, sucking lightly, leaving a faint mark, your hand slipping her panties aside, fingers grazing her slick, warm pussy.

She moans louder, her body arching, her chest pressing against you, her dress barely holding her in. "Fuck... touch me," she begs, her hand stroking you through your boxer, slow and teasing.

Your fingers slide along her folds, wet and hot, circling her clit, making her cry out, her hips bucking. "Like this?" you ask low, rubbing faster, her juices coating your fingers.

She nods, whimpering, her lips crashing into yours, her kiss sloppy, needy. "Yeri... you're so wet," you murmur, slipping a finger inside her, feeling her tighten, her moan high and sharp.

"Oh... shit, yes," she gasps, her pussy pulses around your finger, her hips grinding, chasing more.

Her lips crash against yours, tongue diving deep, her moan vibrating as she kisses you hungrily, her hand stroking your cock, fingers teasing through your boxer.

"Fuck, Yeri, you're killing me," you groan, breaking the kiss to suck on her neck, tasting her sweet skin.

She gasps, head tilting back, her moan high and needy. "God, your cock’s so hard," she murmurs, her voice sultry, fingers slipping inside your boxers, wrapping around your bare shaft, stroking slow and firm. "Feel how much I want you?"

Your hands sliding under her dress, gripping her ass, pulling her closer, her pussy soaking your boxers. "You're so... so fucking wet," you growl, fingers slipping her panties aside, brushing her slick folds, circling her clit.

She cries out, hips bucking, her moan sharp. "Oh... shit, right there!" she gasps, her hand tightening on your cock, stroking faster, precum slicking her palm.

"Like that?" you ask, voice low, sliding two fingers into her tight pussy, curling them, hitting her G-spot.

She whimpers, her body trembling, her chest pressing against you, nipples hard through her dress. "Fuck... yes, don't stop," she begs, grinding against your fingers, her pussy clenching tight, juices dripping down your hand.

You kiss her hard, tongue tangling, her moan muffled as she strokes you faster, her hand slick and hot. "Goddamn, Yeri, you're gonna make me cum," you groan, your lips brushing her ear, your fingers thrusting deeper, her pussy pulsing.

"Not yet," she teases, pulling back to meet your eyes, her smile wicked. "I want this cock inside me first."

She shifts, yanking her panties down, kicking them off, her dress riding higher, exposing her glistening pussy. "Fuck me," she says, lying back on the couch, legs spreading wide, her fingers spreading her folds, showing you her wet, pink core. "Come on," she whimpers, one hand pinching her nipple through her dress, making her gasp.

You shove your boxers down, your cock springing free, hard and throbbing, precum beading at the tip. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," you say, positioning between her thighs, rubbing your cock against her slick entrance. "Ready?" you ask, voice low, teasing her clit with your tip.

"Do it," she moans, hips lifting, her pussy begging. You thrust in, slow at first, her tight pussy swallowing you, making you both groan.

"Oh... fuck, you're big," she gasps, her legs wrapping around you, pulling you deeper. You thrust harder, her pussy gripping you, wet and hot, the couch creaking under you.

"God, Yeri, you feel so good," you groan, hands gripping her hips, pounding faster, her moans loud "Yes... fuck me harder!" she cries, her fingers rubbing her clit, her pussy clenching tight, pushing you to the edge.

"Goddamn, Yeri, I'm gonna..." you groan, voice rough, your cock throbbing inside her.

She laughs, breathy and wild, her eyes blazing with hunger. "Not done yet," she pants.

She pulls you up, her nails digging into your arms, and shoves you toward her bedroom. "Come on, I want more," she says, her tone urgent, pushing you through the door.

You stumble into her room, Yeri shoves you down, and you lie back, your shirt open, pants gone, cock hard and glistening.

She straddles you, yanking her dress off completely, revealing her bare, curvy body, her breasts fuller than you remember, nipples hard. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," you say, hands reaching for her hips, but she swats them away, smirking.

"My turn," she says, climbing onto you, guiding your cock to her dripping pussy.

She sinks down, moaning loud, "Oh... shit, so good!" Her hips roll fast, riding you hard, her pussy clenching tight, her ass bouncing against your thighs.

The bed creaks, her moans filling the room, "Yes... fuck, you fill me up!" Her hands brace on your chest, nails scratching, her hair swinging as she moves, wild and hyper.

"God, Yeri, slow down," you start, your cock throbbing, but she cuts you off. "No slowing down," she gasps, her voice breaking, grinding harder.

She shifts, turning to ride you reverse, her ass in full view, round and perfect, her pussy swallowing your cock as she rides even faster. "Fuck... look at that," she moans, glancing back, her eyes glinting. "You love this, don't you?"

"Fuck, Yeri," you groan, hands gripping her hips now, guiding her relentless pace, her pussy so wet it's dripping down your balls. "You're so fucking tight," you say, thrusting up to meet her.

Her moans turning to cries, "Oh... god, I'm gonna cum!" she whimpers, her fingers rubbing her clit, her ass bouncing faster, her pussy pulsing.

"Fuck, Yeri, me too..." you growl, thrusting harder, your cock throbbing.

She screams, her pussy clamping down, her orgasm hitting hard, juices gushing, soaking you, "Fuck... yes!" she cries, her body shaking, her hair a wild mess.

You groan, cumming inside her, hot spurts filling her, her pussy milking you dry as she grinds through her climax.

She collapses forward, panting, your cock still inside her, her ass trembling against you. "Holy shit," she gasps, turning to glance at you, her smile tired but satisfied. "You're... too good."

She slumps beside you on the bed, her long black hair splayed across the dark sheets. Her chest heaves, breasts full and heavy, as she catches her breath, your cum dripping from her pussy.

She turns to you, a lazy smile on her lips, "Fuck, that was intense," she says, laughing softly, her hand resting on your thigh.

You chuckle, still panting, your cock softening but sensitive. "You're getting wild, Yeri," you say, lying back, the bed creaking. "Haven't felt like that in... years."

She props herself on an elbow, her eyes glinting playfully. "Yeah? Like back in school, when we had our 'thing'?" she teases, her fingers tracing circles on your chest. "Sneaking around, making out in the library... Ms. Kang's project really fucked us up, didn't it?"

You laugh, nodding. "Her whole 'attraction study' bullshit. Felt like she was setting us up." Your mind flickers to those days, but you keep it light, not diving too deep. "We were her guinea pigs."

"Totally," Yeri says, giggling. "Remember when we practiced before facing Ms. Kang. Thought we'd shock her with our 'research.'"

You grin, shaking your head. "We were so dumb. She probably knew we were messing around."

"Oh, she knew," Yeri says, her tone turning sly. "Speaking of... you still got that armpit fetish?" she lifts her arm, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her underarm, inching closer.

You groan, half-laughing, your face flushing, "You're never letting that go, are you?" you say, but your cock twitches as she smirks, her hand sliding down to your shaft, stroking slow, bring it back to life.

"Nope," she murmurs, leaning in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "I bet you'd love to lick me there while I jerk you off, huh? Dirty boy." Her fingers wrap tighter around your cock, stroking faster, her thumb teasing the tip, slick with precum.

"Fuck, Yeri," you groan, your cock hardening under her touch, "Your boobs... they're bigger than I remember," you say, eyes fixed on her chest, full and heavy, nipples hard and begging for attention.

She laughs, low and teasing, arching her back to push her breasts closer. "Noticed that, huh?" she says, her free hand cupping one, pinching her nipple, making her gasp. "Go on, latch on. Suck them," her hand stroking you faster, urging you on.

You lean in, lips closing around her nipple, sucking hard, tasting her skin, warm and slightly salty.

She moans, high and sharp, "Oh... fuck, yes!" her hips squirming, her hand jerking you slick and hot. You swirl your tongue, milking her nipple, her whimpers growing, her other hand tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

"God, you're so good at that," she gasps, her strokes speeding up, your cock throbbing, precum dripping over her fingers. "Keep sucking... fuck, I love it."

"Fuck, Yeri... slow down," you groan, pulling back from her nipple, your breath short.

Your cock throbs, almost painfully sensitive, but her grip tightens, stroking faster, her thumb teasing your tip, slick and hot. "Too much," you gasp, hips twitching, pleasure bordering on pain.

"No way," she whispers, leaning in, her lips brushing your ear, her breath hot. "I want you to cum again. For me." Her eyes glint as she jerks you harder, her fingers squeezing, "You love it, don't you? My hand on your cock, making you squirm."

"Shit... Yeri," you moan, head falling back, your chest heaving, barely able to breathe under her pace. "It's... fuck, it's..." you say, voice breaking, your cock pulsing, your thighs tremble.

Her other hand cups your balls, squeezing lightly, sending a jolt through you, making you hiss. "Poor baby,” she teases, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, her lips kissing your jaw, sucking lightly.

"Can't handle me? Too bad," she strokes faster, her hand slick, her breasts bouncing as she leans closer, her nipple brushing your lips. "Suck it again," she demands, pushing her chest forward.

You latch on, sucking hard, tongue swirling her nipple, her moan high and sharp. "Oh... fuck, yes!" she gasps, her hand never slowing, jerking you ruthlessly, your cock throbbing, pushing you to the edge. "Cum for me," she whispers, her fingers tightening, stroking with purpose. "I want it all over me."

"Goddamn... Yeri!" you groan, muffled against her breast, your hips bucking, no chance to catch your breath. Her strokes break you, and you cum hard, shooting spurts across her hand, splattering her chest, dripping down her full breasts.

The release is intense, almost painful, your body shaking, lungs burning as you gasp, "Fuck... fuck," you pant, head spinning, her hand still moving, milking every drop.

She laughs, soft and sultry, slowing her strokes, her fingers slick with your cum. "That's it," she murmurs, licking her lips, her eyes locked on yours, satisfied.

She leans back, smearing your cum across her chest, her nipple glistening, her smile wicked. "Look at the mess you made," she says, voice teasing, her fingers trailing through the sticky warmth.

You collapse back, breathless, chest heaving, the room a haze of her perfume and sex. "You're... fucked me," you say, voice hoarse, a weak grin tugging at your lips.

She giggles, lying beside you, her body warm, her hand resting on your stomach, "Told you I've changed," she whispers, her tone playful but soft.

You're shifting down the bed, your hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wide. Her pussy's exposed, pink and slick, glistening with arousal, her clit swollen, begging for attention.

"Fuck, you're soaked," you murmur, leaning in, your breath hot against her folds.

"Oh... shit, do it," she whispers, propping herself on her elbows, her eyes locked on you.

You dive in, tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her sweet, tangy arousal, her juices coating your lips. Your tongue swirls her clit, sucking hard, then slides down, plunging into her tight hole, fucking her with slow, deep strokes.

She moans loud, "Fuck... yes!" her hips bucking, pushing her pussy against your mouth, "Goddamn... your mouth," she gasps, her voice breaking, one hand tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, her thighs trembling around your head.

"Eat me... fuck, don't stop!" her pussy pulses, soaking your chin, her moans turning to whimpers as you tongue-fuck her harder, your lips and tongue relentless, savoring every inch of her.

You groan into her, the vibration making her cry out, "Oh... fuck, right there!" Her hips grind, smearing her juices across your face, her scent overwhelming, driving you wild.

Your hands grip her ass, lifting her slightly, giving you better access, your tongue diving deeper, curling inside her, her walls clenching tight, "Shit... you're so good," she pants, her voice high, desperate, her other hand clutching the sheets, knuckles white.

You suck her clit hard, flicking it with quick, precise licks, then plunge your tongue back into her pussy, alternating, keeping her on edge. "Fuck... I'm gonna cum," she whimpers, her thighs squeezing your head, her body arching. "Keep going... please!"

You don't stop, tongue fucking her faster, lips sucking her clit, your hands gripping her ass tighter, "Cum for me," you murmur against her pussy, your voice muffled.

She screams, "Oh... fuck, yes!" her pussy pulsing, juices flooding your mouth as her orgasm hits, her hips bucking wildly, her hair a mess, her breasts heaving.

She collapses back, panting, her thighs still trembling, your lips glistening with her arousal. "Holy shit," she gasps, a tired laugh escaping, her eyes half-lidded, meeting yours.

"You've... gotten better," you wipe your chin, grinning, crawling up beside her.

Your mind blanks, your eyes locked on her underarm, the soft curve and faint musk drawing you in, your cock twitching despite the sensitivity from come twice.

"Fuck, Yeri," you murmur, voice hoarse, leaning closer, your nose brushing her armpit, inhaling her scent, sweaty, intimate, intoxicating. "You're gonna kill me," you say, your lips grazing her skin, tasting the salty warmth, making her shiver and moan softly.

"Oh... shit, you're really into it," she gasps, her voice teasing but needy, her hand sliding to your cock, stroking slow, coaxing it back to life.

"Dirty boy, sniffing me like that," she whispers, her fingers tightening, jerking you faster, your cock hardening, throbbing painfully.

You lick her armpit, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste, then bite gently, making her cry out, "Fuck... yes!" Her hips squirm, her pussy glistening, wet and ready again.

You sit up, her hand still stroking you, your cock rock-hard, pulsing in her grip. "Need you again," you growl, shifting between her thighs, lining your cock up with her slick pussy, her juices dripping.

You keep your face near her armpit, sniffing deeply, licking and biting as you thrust in, her tight pussy swallowing you, making you both moan. "Goddamn... so fucking tight," you say, your voice rough, pounding into her, the wet slap of your bodies loud, her armpit's scent driving you wild.

"Oh... fuck, harder!" Yeri cries, her voice breaking, her legs wrapping around you, pulling you deeper.

Her hand grips your hair, keeping your face pressed to her underarm, her moans high and desperate. "Lick it... fuck, bite me!" she begs, her pussy clenching, soaking you, her hips bucking to meet your thrusts.

You bite harder, teeth grazing her sensitive skin, tongue lapping, her scent and taste overwhelming, your cock throbbing inside her.

"Shit, Yeri, your pussy's perfect," you groan, thrusting faster, your lips locked on her armpit, sucking and biting, her cries louder, her body trembling.

"Your boobs... fuck, they're huge now," you say, one hand squeezing her breast, thumb flicking her nipple, making her whimper, "Oh... god, yes!" Her hand rubbing her clit, chasing her own pleasure, her pussy pulsing, pushing you both to the edge.

"Cum in me," she gasps, voice raw, her armpit pressed to your face, her scent consuming you. "Fill me up!"

You thrust hard, biting her underarm one last time, and cum, hot spurts flooding her pussy, her orgasm hitting with a scream, "Fuck… yes!" Her pussy milks you, juices mixing, her body shaking under you, you collapse, breathless, her hand stroking your hair.

Your body collapses onto her, your cock still pulsing inside her tight, slick pussy, as she clings to you, her breaths heavy and ragged. Her long black hair sticks to her sweaty skin, her full breasts pressed against your chest, and the musky tang of her armpit lingering on your lips.

Her hand strokes your hair, her voice soft but teasing, "Fuck... you're too much," she murmurs, laughing breathlessly,

"Me? You're the one who wouldn't stop," you say, pulling back to meet her eyes, you shift, slipping out of her, your cock sensitive, her juices and your cum mixing on the sheets.

You lie beside her, catching your breath, your hand resting on her thigh, her skin warm and slick, "That armpit thing... you really leaned into it," you add, grinning, your face still tingling with her scent.

She giggles, rolling onto her side, propping her head on her hand, her breasts swaying slightly. "Had to see if you were still that freak from high school," she teases, her fingers tracing your chest, playful but gentle. "Guess you are. But I like it."

Her eyes soften, fading into something warmer. "Tonight was... more than I expected."

"Yeah," you say, your hand brushing her hair back, "Didn't think running into you would end like this. Worth it, though."

She smiles, leaning in to kiss you softly, her lips tender, "Me neither," she whispers, pulling back, her eyes searching yours. "But I'm glad it did. You're not just that shy guy from high school anymore."

"And you're not that shy girl," you say, chuckling, your hand resting on her hip, "You've... changed. In a good way."

Her laugh is soft, her hand covering yours, squeezing gently. "We both have. But this... feels like us. The real us."

She pauses, her voice dropping, serious now. "You wanna keep this going? Not just tonight?"

Your heart skips, the weight of her words sinking in. "Yeah," you say meeting her gaze. "I'm in. Dinners, nights like this... whatever you want."

"Good," she says, her smile returning, bright and genuine.

She sits up, grabbing her dress from the floor, slipping it on to hugging her curves again. "Let's clean up. You head off soon, right? tomorrow grinds hard again?"

"Damn right," you say, standing, pulling on your boxers, the room quiet except for the city's distant hum.

You follow her to the bathroom, the night settling around you, the connection rekindled and sealed, no more sneaking around, no more projects, just you and Yeri, a new chapter born from an old spark, now steady and bright.