elvhensinner

[elvhensinner]

The Aide Next Door

Word count: 15.6k

The first time you meet your next-door neighbor is the first day you’re moving into your new house. Building the mattress frame took you well into the afternoon, and after taking a short break, you go back outside to retrieve some other things before catching sight of her.

She can’t be real.

That’s your first impression of her.

Is this a heavily photoshopped picture, projected in 3D and walking about before you?

But that impression morphs into something else: a homely feeling. A warmth, a comfort, like she’s beckoning you home. This woman, allegedly your next-door neighbor, gives off that aura about her: her beauty, while striking, is soft. Underspoken. You know that tendency that people have, of assuming people they are attracted to are nicer, kinder, and likes them more than not? This woman seems to embody that. Except this time, you just know. It can’t be any other way. At a cursory glance, you can immediately tell: this woman is probably one of the kindest souls on the planet. It’s such an absurd conclusion to reach, but the connection forms in your head before you can really resist it.

“Oh, hello there.”

The woman, watering the quaint, expansive garden surrounding her house, waves at you with a friendly smile on her face. “Hi! So you’re my new neighbor, huh?” You quickly tell her your name and your situation, that you’re here for your new job, to which she responds with, “You look so young, but have such a high-paying job already?”

You shrug. “My dad paid the house off, but yeah, my job’s pay is good enough that I could’ve afforded the mortgage. So I’m just paying off my dad for the house, except without interest rates.”

“Oh, smart boy.”

You laugh a little at that. “Not sure about ‘smart’, more like ‘lucky’ that I have such a rich dad that can do that for me.”

The woman smiles back. She’s fairly attractive as it is—scratch that, she’s extremely attractive as it is—but you find that her smile makes your heart skip a beat or three. She called you ‘young’, didn’t she? But she doesn’t look much older than you. In fact, if you have to guess, you would say that she’s younger than you. “Well, you have to take advantage of your circumstances whenever you can, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Taeyeon, by the way. I’ll let you get back to moving in. Nice meeting you!”

You thank her and get back to it. A few hours later, while you’re building your desk, you hear a knock at the door, and by opening it, are greeted with a warmly smiling Taeyeon, this time up close and personal, holding a tray of what appear to be freshly-made, piping-hot brownies. “Hi again! Thought you might need a break, so I brought over a snack.”

This is the moment you fell in love with her.

Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

Maybe it’s when she offers to help while you two are enjoying her absolutely scrumptious brownies, or maybe it’s the following day when she invites you over for dinner and treats you to some amazing Seolleongtang, an ox bone soup bursting with its signature savory flavor and creamy texture. Or maybe it’s in the little things: how she would sometimes see you leaving for work in the morning and wave to you, or how she would drop off some strawberries or peaches that she ‘accidentally bought too much of’, or how she would be so ecstatic but also demurring in taking some carefully-sliced cubed watermelon you’d return the favor with. Or maybe it’s the in-between: how you’d catch each other lounging outside, reading or gardening or whatever either of you were doing, and talk about how your week was; how she initially suggested that you let her drop off the defective stool at the post office because the manufacturer offered to trade it for a functional one since she needs to go there anyway to drop off her own packages for her work, which involves shipping various self-made hair products to various customers around the globe, and how that evolved to you dropping off her packages at the post office on your way to work; or how the two of you caught each other walking around the neighborhood so often that you decided to just take walks together.

It’s simply inevitable. Taeyeon, ever the chipper, friendly ball of positivity and joy, never looking less than an eleven out of ten, the warm way she talks with you and sometimes just, enjoys your company as you with her. Her very presence is simultaneously nerve-wracking and soothing: your heart starts beating faster and faster every time she smiles at you, but seeing it rids your mind of any anxieties about work or other living-by-yourself troubles; your body jumps a little bit more every time she accidentally grazes your hand while handing off her packages to you, but knowing that she depends on you, and even insisted on paying you an albeit small portion of her earnings to you makes your chest swell with pride; your heart melts a little bit more every time you catch her smile warmly, in an almost maternal manner, at you every time you’re enjoying one of her meals, but being in her homely abode and just eating dinner with her makes you feel like you’re finally home.

Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s the lack of a motherly figure in your life that’s drawn you towards Taeyeon: her warmth, her kindness, her caring nature, how she makes you feel so welcome and comfortable. You had your reservations about moving so suddenly, so far from home, but Taeyeon made that transition in your life seamless. Enjoyable, even.

The more time passes, the more you start caring about things you’ve never even thought about: your fashion (because you don’t want to appear sloppy in your choice of clothing, especially since Taeyeon’s outfits, every day, are so perfect), your hair (before, you’ve only went to go get a basic trim whenever your hair gets too long, but now, you’re doing research on how to style your hair and even bought hair products, not from Taeyeon because that would be a bit awkward, so that you can practice styling it every day), even smaller things like washing your car more frequently and touching up the interior of your house so that it looks nice on the infrequent occasion Taeyeon comes in. Every day, it feels like a battle between your previous, lazy self who didn’t care about such trivial, vain matters and your current self, that wants to make Taeyeon like you even 0.1% more.

Work is its own beast. Transitioning from undergraduate college to self-studying for the CPA to a full-time job is jarring, but not too overwhelming. Thankfully, your boss is extremely lenient to not only you, the young, new undergrad just entering the workforce, but to everyone, symbolized best when, one Friday, he randomly tells everyone to head home two hours early. You’re a bit reluctant at first, having been taught by your father to be diligent about your work ethic and fastidious about the work, but when everyone else gets up to leave, you figure you should follow suit.

The good mood that leaving work early for the weekend is instantly quashed when, as you arrive home, notice a man standing on Taeyeon’s balcony, holding the door open and shouting at the woman, who is clearly trying to shrink away but is unable to.

You’re out your car before even bothering to park it correctly, making a beeline for the aggressive man.

“…can you be living so well like this, huh? Just living off my money—”

“Hey!”

“—so casually—” the man turns at the sound of your fierce interjection. “Huh? Who’s this? Your boyfriend? Moved on so quickly, huh, you sl—”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” In the back of your mind, you think about the fact that this is the first time you used a swear word in Taeyeon’s presence, but at the forefront is your bubbling anger, boiling over into the tightly balled fists at your side, it being all you can do to restrain yourself from clocking him in the face. “I’ll give you five seconds before I call the cops.”

“Beat it, this is none of your business, boy.”

Taeyeon, although clearly frightened, nods at you. For all the times she gave you more warmth and friendliness than you even perhaps deserved, all the times she’s managed to calm you down with just a smile or a wave, this is not one of those. This time, it’s you who needs to be there for her, to be the calming presence that quells her worries. “Taeyeon is my friend. Her business is my business.”

The man looks back at Taeyeon, letting loose a stunned, indignant laugh. “Would you look at this guy? You already found yourself a boy to date, huh? This young, too? Is his cock that good?”

“Shut up!” The shout that erupts from Taeyeon’s throat is the single, loudest sound you’ve ever heard her made. You find yourself jumping a little at it. You, frankly, didn’t know such a small, kindly woman was capable of producing such a sound. “Don’t speak to him like that!”

“I’ll speak to him however I want to, you cowardly, conniving, stealing, rott—” his words are cut off by himself when he flinches at your fist, stopping just short of his face.

You can’t help but break out into a grin. “Who’s the coward now?”

“I’ll charge you with assault!”

“You think you’re going to win? I didn’t even touch you, you fucking idiot.”

“I don’t think you understand who—”

“Five.”

“—you’re talking to, you—”

“Four.”

“—punk—what are you—”

“Three.”

“—are you counting down?”

“Two.”

“Oh no, what’s going to happen when you reach zero?”

“One.”

“Am I going to be in trouble? Are you going to beat me up?”

“Zero.”

“Go ahead, dare to touch me. I’ll—”

You reach into your pocket and dial the police, slotting yourself between the man and Taeyeon while the ringtone goes off.

“Remember, I have a restraining order on you. You better be gone by the time that call goes through.”

“You little—”

When the man reaches for the phone, you step away and catch his wrist with your free hand. “I have reason to exercise my right to self-defense if you—hello? Hi, I’d like to report—” before you can finish, the man shakes off your grip, huffs, and stomps away. “—sorry, never mind, the man is leaving now. Thank you anyway.”

When you hang up the phone, Taeyeon throws her arms around your waist and wraps you in a tight hug. “Thank you so much…”

With a certain softness pressing against your lower back, you try not to let how flustered you are show. It helps that you aren’t facing her; as you’re gathering your thoughts to come up with a response, you’re also mentally reprimanding yourself. Taeyeon just had this random man come up to her house, somehow bypassing the security of the gated community, and started yelling at her, insulting her, aggressively posturing at her … she’s showing her gratitude for you stepping in between him and her now, and this is what you’re thinking?

“Screw that guy. What is he even doing here, anyway? How’d he get past the gate in the first place?”

“He’s my ex-husband. He probably paid off the security guard.”

Later that same day, you notice some police pulling up to her house, and you see them talking to Taeyeon at her doorway for a few seconds before leaving. And that’s the last of Taeyeon you see for a few days following.

So, you’re left to stew on those last few words she said to you. All-in-all, you shouldn’t have been too surprised to learn that Taeyeon is divorced, but the next thing she said answered one of the questions you’ve been keeping in the back of your mind: you can’t imagine that her business makes her that much money, or at least enough money to pay the costs of living in such a rich neighborhood. So then, how is she able to afford the house?

The answer, or at least your speculation, albeit one you’re very inclined to trust, is the money she got from the divorce. And, judging from the fact that her ex-husband is psychotic enough to come to his ex-wife’s house, bribe a security guard into letting him through, and found it an acceptable, or perhaps even justified, to knock at her door at start yelling and abusing her in her own house, even when Taeyeon supposedly has a restraining order on him … it goes without saying who’s in the right in the divorce. The next question followed shortly after: what happened?

In those few days, you haven’t even seen so much as a text message from Taeyeon, although you eventually learn that it wasn’t because Taeyeon was avoiding you, but because her ex-husband snatched her phone out of her hand before she could call the police herself and threw it as far as he could, causing it to smash against her concrete driveway.

The next time you see Taeyeon, it’s at a high-end restaurant that she invites you to. It being the first time in a while you get to see her, and being a fancy restaurant with a dress code, you make sure to put on your best attire, do your hair properly, and put on some not-too-strong cologne while you’re at it too. Even you have to admit that you look pretty good when you’re checking yourself out in the mirror, but when you lay your eyes on her…

“Um … hi…”

You’ve only ever seen Taeyeon in casual attire. Of course, she looks amazing in even a plain T-shirt and a pair of shorts, but it’s her that’s beautiful, not the outfit. When you’re picking up your mail and happen to lay eyes on Taeyeon doing the same, it’s her beauty that makes your heart stop. Her clothes usually only highlight her beauty, but this time, it’s part of it. Sleek, black hair spilling over her shoulders, wispy bangs draped over her crown and creating a curtain around her otherwise immaculately trimmed eyebrows, heavy eyeshadow with an orange-ish hue surrounding her eyes being the only dark part of her face save for the soft, red glow of her lips, a pair of subtle, golden earrings hanging from both ears, her slim nose and her high cheekbones and her V-shaped jawline and her large eyes and the way the corners of her lips curl upwards ever so slightly—Taeyeon is the embodiment of regal beauty. It isn’t just her face that leads you to that conclusion though; her dress, matching her hair in its soft appearance and its jet-black coloration, following the inward swell of her hips and the outwards swell of her hips before tumbling down the rest of her legs, stopping past her knees, the dress’s left breast pad strung over her left shoulder while the other stretches across her collarbone, hugging the left side of her neck to reach across her back, both of which decorated with lacy frills along her cleavage. And then, just to add the finishing touch, both hands are covered with a pair of sleek, black leather gloves, reaching up to and covering her elbows.

The Taeyeon that you met on your first day moving to this new city was staggeringly attractive, but also warm and approachable. The light makeup she normally choses to wear, the comfy clothes she normally choses to put on, her gentle smile and the warmth she gives off that exudes an aura of comfiness, her soothing voice and her playful and positive demeanor, all of it works to dismantle the intimidation her lethal beauty that would ordinarily shy you away. Now, as she is right now, if you didn’t know her and if she wasn’t the one who invited you here, you would’ve started running away for two reasons: one, because surely someone who looks like that is wealthy or powerful beyond belief and you do not want to mess with someone like that; and two, because you know you’re bound to embarrass yourself in front of her, and that memory will live as a black mark in your mind forever.

But her bashfulness, the shy way she greets you and the way she smiles at you, running away gets tossed aside as an option. She’s here for you; or rather, you’re here for her. Her. Kim Taeyeon. The woman standing in front of you, who is the most beautiful woman in the world at that moment.

And honestly, it’s a nerve-wracking kind of pressure. You feel like you need to do something to make up for how ridiculously well dressed up Taeyeon is, because otherwise, what are you in her presence? But while Taeyeon has the wherewithal to say something, you, on the other hand, are a stammering idiot, trying your best to come up with something, anything, to respond with. Instead, you say some unintelligible mess of a string of semi-coherent almost-words that ends with, “—amazing. Wow. You are—you look, you, you’re just … wow.” You can feel the tips of your ears turning more and more red as you continue to make yourself look like an idiot, but hearing Taeyeon giggle, smile, and thank you is enough to dispel that embarrassment.

“Thanks. You look amazing, too.” When the waiter comes along to seat the two of you, Taeyeon looks over at you, that smile still lingering on her face. Are you smiling back? You can’t really tell. You just want to stare at her all day. “Shall we?”

Taeyeon only makes mention of that day right after the two of you sit down; otherwise, it’s just her thanking you, explaining how she’s been working with the police to locate her ex-husband so that they can properly punish him for violating his restraining order as well as sorting out some other things, although she doesn’t mention what those ‘other things’ are. You don’t pry though: there are things that you haven’t told Taeyeon about yet, so why should you pressure her into telling you about anything? Moreover, you’re just trying your best to listen attentively; Taeyeon’s beauty, her dress, even the slight bit of cleavage the dress is showing off are all working deviously at attempting to grab all of your attention away from the words leaving her mouth.

Past that, conversation between you two goes back to how it usually is. You try not to stare too hard at Taeyeon, and fail miserably, and the waiter mistakenly calls you a couple to which you both, simultaneously, deny, although you swear you can see Taeyeon blush. You, certainly, did feel your face exploding into a fit of red, the best you can do to hide it being to just look down at your plate of the most divine steak you’ve ever eaten in your entire life.

After that meal, things gradually return to normal. Post-dinner walks, watching a movie at her house, inviting Taeyeon over to your house to try this new recipe that you recently learned from YouTube, and Taeyeon occasionally texting you in the morning to ask you to deliver packages to the post office. However, almost a month after the incident, Taeyeon makes a rather strange request: rather than giving you her normal package, she gives you a small bottle that contains something that looks very much like milk. She doesn’t tell you anything more than the address to deliver it to, so you try not to think too deeply about it. However, when you arrive at the address, you do a double-take.

‘Human Breast Milk Donation Facility’

Do you have the right address? No, you for sure do. You triple checked. Then, that means, your suspicions were…?

The entire rest of the day, you can’t stop thinking about it. Is Taeyeon pregnant? Is she seeing someone? The thought of that makes your heart sink to your stomach. But, it’s not like she owes you anything. She’s free to do whatever she wants. Why would she be obliged to tell you who she’s been seeing?

During your lunch break, you can’t help but do some googling, and upon learning about a condition called galactorrhea, in which women lactate despite not being pregnant, you feel just the tiniest bit better. Surely, Taeyeon has this condition. It’s not that she’s pregnant with someone’s child. Otherwise, if she was, why would she tell you to deliver the bottle, and not the father of the baby?

For a second, you ponder if the theoretical child in Taeyeon’s belly could be that of her ex-husband’s, but when you consider the number of months you’ve known Taeyeon and how you haven’t seen her stomach bulging even slightly, you dismiss the idea.

You don’t see Taeyeon when you get back from work, perhaps fortunately, as you’re still trying to collect yourself for your inevitable evening walk after dinner. And when that comes around, you still haven’t fully collected yourself: in recent weeks, Taeyeon has returned to her normal, chipper, happy-go-lucky self, but perhaps sensing the turmoil in your mind, even she seems pensive, or perhaps even somber. You somehow feel like Taeyeon’s quietness is due to something else unrelated to your own quietness, and maybe it’s just the mood she senses from you that caused her to start spiraling into whatever train of thought she was trapped inside. It isn’t until the two of you are almost back home that Taeyeon speaks up.

“Was it too forward of me?” Her voice is hesitant, scared. She’s tiptoeing around something, but you aren’t sure of what. Around you? “To just, give that to you…?”

“Oh, no, I was just a little surprised about it.”

You can see some relief wash over Taeyeon, and it gives her enough confidence to continue. “I’m not pregnant. At least, not right now. With that ex-husband you saved me from, he got cold feet when it first happened, so he snuck something into my meal one day that caused me to miscarry. I found out and divorced him over it, but the…” Taeyeon’s voice is low, and you almost can’t hear her over the whistling wind, but it feels like by just looking at her, you’re being transmitted her words and her emotions. “…but that caused me to develop galactorrhea. It’s a con—”

“A condition that causes a woman to lactate despite not being pregnant.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can even comprehend what you’re doing. Perhaps you’re just too relieved to hear it, or perhaps it’s your tiny way of bailing her out of the clearly uncomfortable topic Taeyeon is struggling to speak about.

Was it rude of you? Should you not have—

“Yes.”

Taeyeon nods and offers you a small smile, but that small smile is enough to blow away all your concerns.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just, um, heard about it from someone in college, I think.” It’s a dumb excuse, but Taeyeon doesn’t pry.

“It’s ok. I just thought…” the tips of Taeyeon’s ears turn red, and she turns her face away from you. “I don’t know what I was thinking, asking you to deliver that. I’m so sorry.”

“No! Don’t apologize! I think it’s super cool that you’re taking advantage of your circumstances to donate there. It seemed like they really needed it too, when I entered that building.”

You don’t really know what exactly you said or did, or maybe it wasn’t you at all, but you can feel that those words empower Taeyeon to return to her usual, charming, joyful, whimsical self. “There are some issues with it, too. Like, for example, I have to wear nipple patches to avoid accidentally leaking.” Maybe ‘whimsical’ isn’t the right word. Just the mention of that word, ‘nipple’, makes you feel like you’re a little kid again, who is talking to his crush and failing, miserably, to hide how both delighted and embarrassed he is to be addressed by her.

“I see. That’s … rough.” Dumb. Stupid. Idiot. Can’t you think of something better to say? You might as well have not said anything.

“Well, here’s home. See you tomorrow?”

On one hand, the customary smile she gives you at the end of your walks causes you to nod back in agreement, a Pavlovian kind of response Taeyeon has unknowingly ingrained into your psyche, but on the other, every step she takes away from you makes you antsy.

Why would she say that? Did she mean anything by that sly smirk she hid into that little tidbit of TMI that she gave you?

That’s not important: your father has taught you well enough to not pussyfoot around too much in pursuit of a woman. You quickly catch up to her in a few strides, and when you grab Taeyeon’s hand, she turns around with a face mixed with equal parts surprise and delight. “Can you … teach me more about it? Or, maybe, in what ways I can help?”

The surprise in her face gets quickly overtaken by the delight. “Of course! Come in, please. Just … let me change first. I’m too hot and sticky and gross right now.”

To you, Taeyeon looks no less than perfect, but you nonetheless patiently wait on her living room couch. She comes back downstairs with a lounging, comfy, at-home outfit, showing a considerable amount of skin and more of her—more of her than you’ve ever seen before, and something in her hand.

You don’t know where to look. You know where your body wants to look, but your mind, your conscience, opposes it. Her exposed midriff, the moderate amount of cleavage that she’s showing off, even her neckline looks a bit more dangerous than usual to look at. Worst of all is her face, which is wearing such a mischievous, playful grin that you can’t bring yourself to keep eye contact with her for more than one second before glancing away. You’re maybe not the best at reading people’s facial expressions, but undoubtedly, Taeyeon’s facial expression is one of mischief, and one of triumph. ‘Oh, you don’t know where to look? Poor baby. Let me give you some more to look at.’

“You wanted to learn more, right? Do you want me to show you how I usually go about producing that milk I had you drop off earlier today?” You’re so eager to look at anything but what you feel like Taeyeon is trying to get you to look at, so your eyes magnetize to the thing she’s holding in her hand: a bottle similar to the one she had to deliver, but with a suction cup attached to it, funnel-shaped, with the neck connected to what looks like the top portion of a spray bottle, except instead of a handle to spray fluids, there’s an opaque tube extending out from it, connected to some kind of miniature electronic device that you figure is the actual pump.

“That’s…”

Taeyeon nods. “It’s what I used to fill that bottle. I don’t know how much I can get out today, but I can show you how I use it.” You can feel your heart beating in your throat. Are you about to have a heart attack? Is this how you’re going to die? Before you can even see her, fully? “But first…” with little hesitation, Taeyeon pulls the small top covering her chest over her head, letting her full breasts come out from its confines.

“Oh, holy—”

Thankfully, you’re able to keep your voice low enough that Taeyeon doesn’t catch you muttering the interjection, but unlike with your voice, you are not able to control your gaze. Your eyes are firmly locked onto the round mounds of flesh hanging from her chest, pale and plump, looking very much like they’re still full with an untapped source of milk waiting to be siphoned off. What adds to the appeal of an already eye-poppingly lascivious sight are two skin-colored patches covering what would be her areola, and what adds to it even more are the little bumps at the center of each patch.

Oh, fuck.

It takes barely a second before a tightness starts forming in your pants. Ordinarily, somewhat embarrassingly, even mundane things can make it feel like you’re back to being a hormonal teenager: when Taeyeon bends down to water a plant and you happen to catch a glimpse down her low-neckline shirt, when Taeyeon is wearing a shirt that’s a little more frame-hugging than usual, when Taeyeon is wearing a pair of shorts that show off a mouth-watering amount of her creamy thighs. For such a small woman, with such a slim frame, you’ve always thought that Taeyeon’s chest appeared quite large, and now that you’re seeing them in person, you can verify it. Maybe it is her slim waist and her tight stomach that adds to the visual, but seeing her boobs just like that, unimpeded by any fabric or cloth, framed by her thin arms that come around to hug her stomach, emphasizing them more by pushing them out, makes you realize that you perhaps have even been underestimating them.

“Are you going to stare all day?”

Taeyeon’s voice snaps you out of it, but only for a brief moment.

“Um, sorry…”

It’s so shitty of you to just stare like that, is the brief thought that crosses your mind before Taeyeon starts moving towards you and you lose all semblance of self again. Watching them sway slightly with her every step, looking at those little bumps on those nipple patches, imagining what lays beneath … the tension in your pants is getting unbearably tight. You can feel your heart beating a million miles a minute, and every time you blink, you tell yourself, ‘on the next one, I’ll look away’, but fail to do so every single time.

It’s a simply mesmerizing sight. Captivating, like a singer belting out a high note on stage.

“Do you want to see how I do it?”

Hearing her voice again is what finally breaks the spell. You look up at her, and when you see that playful, teasing grin on her face, you realize something: this isn’t a shitty thing to do. She is intentionally doing this. She’s doing this for you. There’s no way she doesn’t know what she’s doing. In fact, she’s enjoying this. She’s reveling in this.

And you are no coward when it comes to a woman who is clearly demonstrating interest in you.

“Forget the pump. I want it.”

“Hm?” The playful smile is playing at Taeyeon’s lips. “You want what?”

“Don’t play coy. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, alright then.” Taeyeon sits down on the couch next to you. You’re mostly playing a façade of confidence, but now that she’s sitting right there, so close that you can even smell the subtle, flowery perfume she no doubt just put on, you can feel the panic settling in a bit.

No. No time to hesitate. She wants this. You want this.

“Then, do you want to remove these, or do you want to watch me remove them?” Taeyeon says, her fingers brushing against the nipple patches.

You want to do it. You’re yearning for it, to touch the plush skin, to feel the fullness of her breasts in your hands, to squeeze those delectable looking mounds with your fingers, to feel it fill up your palms, to watch her sigh as you do so—but, not yet. There’s something electric about watching Taeyeon throw her top off: the teasing smile, the seductive look in her eyes, the way she carries herself, the confidence with which she bares her tits at you. It’s something you can’t hope to replicate, and as much as you want to hurry up and feel those hefty looking bags of flesh, the thought of Taeyeon doing it, Taeyeon being the one to reveal all of herself to you, pushes you to say, “I’ll watch you take them off.”

And take them off, Taeyeon does. But, as if to read your mind, she plays with you while doing so. Her smile, her eyes, seductive, alluring, aroused, and her fingers, playing at the edges of the patches, her thumbs slipping under them and pulling at them slightly, enough to raise off her skin but not enough to show anything. It’s an entire show, and you’re at the edge of your seat, watching, eager, as Taeyeon teases you again and again, running her thumb along the crease of the tan-colored patches, biting the corner of her lower lip, holding back a sigh when she does so, slipping her thin index finger underneath the sticky material and rubbing it between the finger and her thumb. With every passing moment, you can feel yourself falling deeper and deeper, your breath deepening, your fists subconsciously tightening, your eyes absolutely glued to the spectacle before you. Taeyeon is almost laughing at you with her eyes, but you don’t even see it. At this moment, your eyes are for one thing and one thing only: watching Taeyeon tease and tease and tease you until, eventually, her digits slide underneath the material one last time, gripping the patches with both thumbs firmly, and peels them off in one go.

It’s an even more erotic sight than you could’ve ever imagined: the light brown areola that stretches across the peak of each of her breasts, decorated at the top with a twin pair of dark-brown, hardened nubs, swollen, eager to be squeezed and sucked.

“Come here, baby. Mommy’s got some milk for you.”

This tone of voice that Taeyeon is using is something you are all too familiar with; whenever you’re talking about the stresses of your job to her, she’ll calm you down and comfort you with this exact tone of voice. Calm, gentle, caring, motherly … now, being used to speak such a sentence? A sentence that should be uttered in the only most intimate interactions between mother and infant, being used to beckon you, an adult man, to taste the milk her condition has stored in her breasts … you can feel your dick twitch at it. It’s starting to get painfully hard.

It is a bit strange, to say the least, to be addressed as such; Taeyeon isn’t even an entire decade older than you, and probably even yesterday you wouldn’t have even fathomed responding so positively and eagerly as you are now, closing the distance between you and Taeyeon in a second and reaching for her. The smile on her face turns into that of shock when you turn her towards you and push her onto the armrest of the couch, her head hanging off the side of the furniture while her legs naturally shift onto your lap.

It’s right there. She’s so vulnerable, head craning over and watching you, her chest heaving and her eyes clouded over with lust—but, among the many things your father taught you, it’s to always be respectful. And, somehow, that lesson stuck in your mind even as horny and chomping-at-the-bits as you are—literally and figuratively. “May I?”

Taeyeon nods. “Please.”

You start by brushing over her areola and her nipples with your thumbs. At that simple gesture, Taeyeon lets out a soft moan. You can see the shudder that runs up her body in response, and, invigorated by it, the rest of your fingers come down onto her boobs, pushing at the soft texture of her skin, watching her boobs give way to the slightest bit of pressure exerted onto them. Your thumbs go to the side, a disappointed sigh escaping Taeyeon’s lips. You sink deeper, letting your fingers spread out across the vast surface area of Taeyeon’s tits, letting your palm fill out with them. Unable to help yourself, you give them a gentle, yet firm, squeeze, and instantly, Taeyeon responds by letting loose another moan, throwing her head back and lettering her eyes flutter shut. “Ooh, gosh…”

Fuck.

It’s even better than you imagined. The soft moan coming from Taeyeon’s lips, her reaction to your hands, how unbelievably soft her boobs feel in your hands, watching the soft flesh crease at your fingertips, and then watching how Taeyeon shudders and inhales sharply when your fingers come close to her areola and how she lets out a disappointed, whiny sigh when your fingers retreat. However, the more you massage them, letting her boobs roll beneath your fingers and palms, gently squeezing them, the more Taeyeon’s disappointment fades into ecstasy. “Hmm, yes, keep massaging them like that…”

“Does it feel good?”

Taeyeon nods. “It feels amazing, baby.” The pet name, whether intended for the ‘roleplay’ or as something that just slipped out, invigorates you more. You feel your face closing in on its target. You want to fulfil your part of the roleplay quickly, but Taeyeon seems to be enjoying this too much for you to be fine with stopping short. “Mmm, oh my…”

It’s driving you crazy. You don’t know how long you can hold out: it’s true that the feeling of Taeyeon’s boobs inside your hands feels amazing, but watching them shift between your hands as they rise and fall with the deepening breaths from her heaving chest, and looking at the swollen nipples sitting atop the peak of each mound, wears at your self-control. You’re purposefully avoiding them, but with each passing moment, that task becomes harder and harder.

“Yes, gosh, your hands … keep going, please…” Taeyeon’s voice, wispy and needy, pushes you over the edge. You relent, but just barely: your thumb brushes over the engorged nipples, and when it does, Taeyeon jumps. “Mmm!”

“Do you like that?”

Taeyeon weakly calls your name, eyes opened and head turned to look at you.

“Hm?”

“Are you—?” This time, you let your index finger join in on the fun, surrounding the plump teats and give them a light squeeze. “—ahn!” Taeyeon moans and shudders, but that’s not what has your attention: it’s the light, thin stream of white substance that shoots out and hits you square on the face.

You knew this was going to happen. Or rather, you should’ve expected it. You knew Taeyeon is lactating—she even told you herself. Still, somehow, you find yourself recoiling a little at the warm fluid hitting your face. Seeing this, Taeyeon giggles. “Why so shocked?”

You dab the fluids dripping down your cheek with your index finger and direct it into your mouth. There’s barely enough to properly taste it, but you can barely distinguish a faint taste of sweetness.

“Wasn’t expecting it to be so easy.”

“Only for you.” You can’t help yourself. This time, you’re more prepared when you squeeze on her nipples, and Taeyeon lets out a little louder of a moan as she sprays you with a bit more of her self-made milk. It’s way too erotic a sight, seeing the way Taeyeon’s back arches slightly, how she shudders slightly, as the stream of white liquid squirts out from her breasts. “All of it belongs to you now.” You scoop up as much of the fluid onto your finger and direct it into your mouth. “Does it taste good?”

You nod. “Sweet.”

“Have some more,” Taeyeon tells you, her hand reaching behind your head and gently guiding it to her chest. You let her do so, and when your face is close enough, you direct the nipple to your lips with one hand while you let the swollen bud graze them. A soft sigh escapes Taeyeon’s lips; you do it a couple more times, letting your fingers rub her areola softly, goading more of her milk to the surface, before letting your lips close in on her nipple.

You’ve seen a clip or two of babies being breastfed—not that you were specifically looking for such videos, but incidentally as you were scrolling through social media, or part of a news story, something like that. In those clips, the mother would always be gently caressing the child, who fits neatly into the mother’s arms, as the little hands of the infant would try its best to hold onto the source of its nutrients, its tiny fingers usually dwarfed by the size of the breast it’s so desperately clinging onto. The mother would be smiling happily at her child, or perhaps just wearing a generic peaceful expression, as it happened; no sign of discomfort, no signs of the act being tiring, nothing.

With Taeyeon, it’s completely different. Then again, the situation is completely different: her tiny frame is half-draped over the armrest of the couch, her head thrown back and her back arching into your mouth, her legs now splayed on the couch and tucked between your knees planted into the couch’s cushions, her hands tightly gripping the hair on the back of your head, sighs and moans flying out her mouth as the sustenance, usually for infants, is being sucked into your eagerly awaiting mouth. The creamy fluid flows over your tongue, its sweetness leaving you wanting more; but, there’s only so much that comes out at once. The stream is too thin to fully enjoy the taste; maybe, for an infant, it’s perfect, but for you, it’s not nearly enough. You want more. The pleasant taste is almost addictive, and the knowledge that Taeyeon made this in her own body only adds to its appeal. You try not to suckle too hard, but the volume of the fluid that hits your tongue starts to feel like it’s diminishing by the moment.

Wait. Didn’t Taeyeon milk herself recently? Then, she probably doesn’t have much left in her body, right?

You release her nipple from your lips and lift your head to look at her. Taeyeon, confused, opens her eyes to look back at you. “Do you…” you didn’t think this through. “…have…” how are you supposed to word this? “…enough?”

Taeyeon smiles. “Such a greedy baby. Does baby want more of mommy’s milk?”

The thought has crossed your mind, but you never dared even ponder it for too long, for fear of making things awkward, even inadvertently, with Taeyeon. The fact that she’s older than you, how unafraid she is to flaunt her assets from time to time, how caring and kind she is, Taeyeon definitely gives off mommy vibes. And this, you fear, solidifies that idea in your mind.

To you, it’s barely even worth double-taking when Taeyeon speaks like this. It’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Yes…?”

Taeyeon giggles. “Well, mommy’s sorry but she doesn’t have much more. But the other boobie does have a little bit for baby to enjoy.” The sound that comes out of her mouth is a mix of laughter and ecstasy as you attack the other breast, suckling eagerly on her engorged nipple like a starving baby. “Good boy, good boy,” Taeyeon says, stroking your hair, a loving look befalling her face as she does so.

There’s something about that feeling, of the slight tugging at her boobs every time you suck out one stream more of Taeyeon’s milk, the feeling of the elastic skin following the motion of your lips, how she syncs up her breathing with your suckling so that her chest inflates as you take the creamy, sweet substance into your mouth, the comforting rhythm she strokes your head with. But there’s also something else that, you feel, makes it distinctly different than a mother breastfeeding her child: you can also hear her soft moans and sighs, the way she lets you know how good it feels, how you can feel her legs rubbing against each other beneath you, the slight tension that’s in her fingers that’s also present in every other part of her body language: Taeyeon is horny, equally horny, if not more so, than you.

This time, when you come back up for air to meet Taeyeon’s gaze, her face is considerably more flushed, and the lust that’s clouding her eyes, her entire face, is much more evident. “Did baby have his fill?”

It’s quite clear that Taeyeon also derived pleasure from that, but it was still at her expense. Give-and-take: not just with women, but with everyone, your father made sure to teach you that life is all about give-and-take. Taeyeon just gave you her milk, so now it’s time for her to take something from you. “I think mommy needs a well-deserved reward.”

“Hm?” so Taeyeon says, although you can clearly see an excitement in her eyes and in her body language, the way she perks up and shifts slightly on the couch so that more of her body is atop it, and so that she can more easily face you.

“Come here.” You lead her back onto her couch and into a normal seated position, kneeling before her as if she were some kind of royalty and the couch was her throne. “This is in the way of your reward. May I?” Your fingers play at the hem of her sweatpants, and when Taeyeon nods, you curl your fingers around it and tug at it. Taeyeon lifts herself off the couch, helping you remove the pesky piece of clothing, eventually leaving her in nothing but a nude-colored thong.

“Do you want to take this off too?”

You can’t help but notice how cleanly shaven she is down there, but somehow even more arousing is how clearly moist her choice of lingerie is. Your hands move forward on its own accord, and before you even fully cup her soaked entrance, you can feel the heat emanating from it. “So wet.”

“Hmm, and whose fault is that?”

Coy, mischievous, playful. Qualities that may not normally be used to describe an older woman, but ones that perfectly fit Taeyeon right now. And, it just so happens to be exactly how you like her.

“So eager to accept your reward?” Taeyeon nods, and then, when two of your fingers unabashedly push the thin undergarment to the side to push inside her, just to test the waters, she lets out a sharp moan.

“Hnng!” You can see her entire body bucking at the sudden intrusion, but before she can fully process it, it’s gone. “…hm?”

“Let’s take it slower.”

When Taeyeon walked back down to the living room, you weren’t expecting her to show the amount of cleavage she was showing. When she offered to show you how to use the milk pump, you weren’t expecting her to just take off her shirt. So, you figured Taeyeon was just brazenly bulldozing ahead, and you were perfectly ok with that; then, when she offered to take off her nipple patches, she teased you for so long and made it so performative that you were, again, thrown in for a loop.

This day, that’s full of Taeyeon showing you unexpected sides of herself, hearing her vehemently respond to your suggestion with a, “No!” is also, definitely, not what you’re expecting her to say.

“Uh—”

“I don’t want to wait any more. Don’t think I didn’t see how hard you are, even through your pants.” Guilty as charged. While transitioning to this new position, you tried to shift things around in your nether region as comfortably as possible, but it seems like you weren’t being as subtle as you were hoping you were being. “I want that.”

“But, shouldn’t we get a condom first?”

Instead of answering you right away, Taeyeon reaches up and cups your cheek. “Do you trust me?” You nod. “Then don’t think. You want to give me a reward, right?” You nod again. “Then bring that monster out and give it to me.”

In a second, your pants and boxers are on the floor, and the next, you kick them away. Taeyeon’s eyes zero in on your erect member, and unlike you, she doesn’t seem even remotely ashamed or bashful at the sight of it. In fact, you barely have time to situate yourself before Taeyeon reaches forward and grabs it, giving your shaft a quick tug. Your entire body jerks, but Taeyeon ignores it, letting her other hand join in, giving you a few, quick rubs. “Hmm, so hard, so warm.”

“Gah, Taeyeon…”

“Oh!” Her hands, in addition to the culmination of everything leading up to this point, drew out a sliver of pre-cum that she collects with her index finger and thumb. “Looks like it’s my turn to milk you.”

You would be lying if you said you never had fantasies about Taeyeon before. Recently, it’s even gotten to the point where any hint of her curve of her ample bosom is enough fuel for that night, and if she ever wore a shirt tight enough that it stretched between her boobs? It was damn near impossible to continue with the rest of your day after the sight of that.

Were you an ass or a tits guy? In these last few months, it’s become extremely clear to you: you are most definitely a tits guy. Taeyeon doesn’t have the biggest rack in the world, but they’re certainly big enough to admire, and now that you’ve seen them in person, you can verify that they look even better uncovered. As much as Taeyeon seem unphased about showing them off, her general demeanor made you figure that she’s demurer in bed. Obedient, pliant, responsive to compliments, eager to please, flushing and nervous to demonstrate her pleasure to you, but unabashedly screaming out your name in the end: this is how the Taeyeon in your head is.

“But I thought it was me giving a reward to you?”

“Oh, you are. Come, sit down.”

In reality, Taeyeon is nothing like that. She throws off her shirt to show off her tits to you, and you sit there and stare. She commands you, and you listen. She tells you to take off your own shirt, you do so without so much a second thought. She mounts you on the couch, you use your hands to guide her properly onto your lap. She grabs your cock with her hands again, you tell her how good it feels with a soft groan.

In reality, Taeyeon is much crazier than you ever expected. Brazen, confident, sexy—in every other part of her life, Taeyeon fulfils that considerate, homely, benevolent image of the perfect housewife, but now, all those seem to have flipped in the best way. The idea that, often the gentlest and most innocent-looking ones are the craziest in bed seems to be playing out in real time before your very eyes.

“You’re so hard for me.”

“God, Taeyeon, that feels so good…”

“Do you know what would feel better?” She doesn’t give you much of a chance to react, shifting in your lap before you can respond. Your hands naturally slide along her waist and cup her shapely ass, another part of her that Taeyeon seems to have no trouble showing off in her choice of tight jeans and shorts that hug her romp so perfectly. Taeyeon lets out a soft sigh, shifting her weight on your lap to better align her entrance with the cock she’s holding in her hand.

“Oh, fuck—” is the last word you can muster before Taeyeon sits all the way down. In one single, fluid motion, you’re buried all the way to the hilt inside Taeyeon.

Truthfully, in the back of your mind, you were thinking some pretty nasty things: that Taeyeon���s done this with another man, wondering if she looked this sexy while fucking her ex-husband, how a younger Taeyeon might’ve reacted, was she a little more reserved or was she always like this—all those inappropriate, unnecessary thoughts vaporized that very second. You always had the impression that thoughts came from the brain, but feeling Taeyeon’s pussy squeezing your cock so tightly, feeling her vaginal walls slathering you with its moist heat, how they cling onto your member and try to coax you back in every time you reel back and try to keep you trapped like that, the tip of your dick kissing Taeyeon’s cervix, that you shift your thinking. If It’s your cock that’s being messed with that causes those thoughts to disappear, maybe that adage, that men will sometimes think with their reproductive organs has more truth to it than you initially thought.

“Yes! More! Pound my naughty little pussy harder!”

Your brain—your entire body—is being flooded with ecstasy, and it feels like you’re struggling to stay afloat. Just as you feel like you’re about to regain your bearings, Taeyeon ramps it up, and you find yourself lost at sea yet again. You don’t even know what you’re thinking, if anything is going through your mind at all, or if you’ve just turned into some dumb, carnal beast that’s responding to its most primal instincts. The added benefit of the lack of a plastic covering on your dick makes it that much harder to regain your senses; with every thrust, you can feel every crevice of her walls, you can feel the copious amounts of fluids that her pussy is slathering your length with, so much that it starts to leak onto your crotch. It doesn’t take long for the sounds of her ass slapping against your loins join the cacophony of sex filling her living room, and not much longer after that, those slapping sounds gain a wet quality to them.

The first time you’re able to come up for air and take a deep, lungful of crispy air, your eyes are captivated by something in your peripheral vision. Your gaze falls onto the suspect: her boobs, wildly swaying in tandem with Taeyeon’s wild riding motions, and those same, swollen teats drawing random, uneven shapes in the air.

Keeping one hand on her waist, your other hand comes up to cup her right breast, wasting no time in giving it the same rough treatment that she’s giving your dick.

“Nng, oh gosh, yes! That feels so good, babe!”

Such a small woman, producing such a loud volume … it’s the second time you’ve ever experienced it, although this time, it’s under much happier circumstances. This time, you aren’t as caught up by it; this time, you’re anticipating it, and when she does let loose, your self-confidence roars to life.

“Taeyeon, how are you so goddamn sexy?”

Taeyeon doesn’t answer, or more like doesn’t seem to be able to, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, her back arching into your hand, but even like this, she’s unbearably sexy. Every time she lets out another moan when your fingers rub her nipples, the feeling of her tits bouncing in your hand, feeling her legs tensing and flexing against your hips, it feels like she becomes sexier to you. Even the musky aroma arising from Taeyeon’s perfume mixed with sweat, the feeling of the occasional sliver of milk leaking out from her tits whenever you squeeze a bit too hard on her nipples, the occasional groaning and squeaking of the couch struggling to keep up with the ferocious movements of both Taeyeon and yourself contribute to the fog that starts to reappear in your mind, intensified by the growing tightness in your nethers.

“Taeyeon…”

“Am I doing a good job?”

You are nowhere close to being in the right state of mind to comprehend that question, much less answer it, so all you’re able to respond with is, “huh?”

“Am I doing a good job at milking you?”

You don’t want this to end. Even the feeling of Taeyeon’s weight pressing against you, her warmth, the sounds of her ecstasy ringing so close to your ears, it’s all an experience that envelopes you with such intense pleasure that, to think about escaping it is almost blasphemous. The tightening knot in your lower abdominal region is threatening to force you into committing the sacrilegious act, but fighting it is an uphill battle; so, when you hear Taeyeon ask the question, a relief washes over you. Finally, a reason to let yourself just, indulge in that feeling. Let it wash over you, let go and—

“Yes, fuck, Taeyeon, I’m cumming—!”

“Don’t leave out a single drop!” As far as you’re concerned, Taeyeon’s commands are absolute. It’s not like she even needs to warn you; the how hard she’s riding you, with how vigorously her pussy walls are rubbing your cock, the wet, warm muscle act as a suction of its own, mercilessly extracting you for all you’re worth. “More! Give me more of your milk, baby! Fill me up with your thick, warm milk!”

You swear, with the sheer volume the sound of Taeyeon’s ass slamming against your groin, it should hurt, but you can’t feel it. You can only feel the overwhelming ecstasy that’s flowing throughout your body, pushing into Taeyeon relentlessly, depositing stream after stream of your seed directly into her womb until, half a minute later, your orgasm finally subsides.

Taeyeon slows to a halt, visibly and audibly panting, looking at you with a satisfied expression on her face. You, however, see something in your peripheral vision that takes ahold of your attention: from your rough squeezing motions, little drizzles of milk trail down from each of Taeyeon’s teats, dripping off the curve of her boobs, down her body, and coalescing in the creampie that’s starting to leak out of Taeyeon’s core.

Fuck.

If it weren’t for your refractory period hitting you extremely hard at the moment, the mere sight of that would’ve been an instant turn-on.

“Mmm, that was incredible.”

You can only nod in response, needing another second or two to catch your breath before replying, “Yeah. You’re … amazing.”

Taeyeon giggles. “I’m glad you think so highly of an old woman like me.”

“You’re not old! Being in your thirties is still young! Plus, you don’t even look much older than twenty!”

Taeyeon pats your cheek affectionately. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“I just … didn’t expect this.” Taeyeon raises her eyebrows. “From you.” Her bemused expression stays on her face. “Being so…” your hands make a gesture at her, as if to encapsulate the commanding, outgoing, generally overwhelming, but in a good way, Taeyeon was in the invisible pot your hands are cupping. “…so much.”

“Do you hate it?”

“No! Not at all!” It’s clear Taeyeon is teasing you after her pout quickly transforms into a playful smirk.

“Next time, I should have more milk for you,” Taeyeon tells you as she dismounts you. A soft groan escapes her lips as your cock pops out of her, as a rush of your mixed fluids, two parts from Taeyeon and one from you, starts to stream out of the glistening, pink folds between her legs. “Since you seem to like it so much.”

“But what about the milk bank?”

Dumb. Stupid. Idiot. Why would you bring that up? Are you trying to make Taeyeon feel bad?

“I think I found a baby who’s in greater need for my milk.”

Outside of the heat of the moment, it’s slightly strange to hear Taeyeon refer to you as ‘baby’. But, in a good way. In a, you-can-get-used-to-this kind of way.

“And it looks like my milk is still coming out.”

Taeyeon looks down and purses her lips. “So ungrateful, aren’t I?”

You laugh. “Do you want me to help you clean up?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine by myself. Do you want to stay for some tea?”

Never one to turn down an extra excuse to stay with Taeyeon, you put your clothes back on and wait patiently at the dining table until Taeyeon shows back up, now fully clothed, with two cups of hot tea in her hand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” The two of you sit in silence for a few seconds, sipping the aromatic drink, broken when you ask, “So, then … are we…?”

Taeyeon giggles at that. “You cum inside me, and you don’t even want to be my boyfriend?”

“No! It’s not like that! I was just—” seeing Taeyeon’s grin calms you down, “—well, you know. Wanted to make sure.”

“I’m not at the age to sleep around anymore. Not like I ever was the type of woman to do that.”

“I can tell.”

Shit. Was that too much? “Thank you.” Maybe not? “But, if you don’t mind, then I’ll be in your care from now on.”

Despite solidifying your relationship, the two of you still live in your separate houses. It’s Taeyeon who first suggests that you sleep over at her house when the two of you play a board game until well past midnight. You hesitantly accept, immensely insecure because you haven’t shaved down there in a few days because of how busy work has been, and are mostly relieved when it ends up just being that: sleep.

“What do you think about moving in with me?”

Taeyeon poses the question over dinner. It’s starting to become a more recurring event: because Taeyeon’s kitchen is better equipped for cooking, sometimes it’ll be her that cooks, and sometimes, it’s you. Today, it’s Taeyeon who cooked: a simple chicken ramen, not the instant kind, decorated with narutomaki and served with two halves of a soft-boiled egg, with the kind of fragrance that got your stomach rumbling well before the soup noodles were ready.

“Hm…”

It is a thought that has come across your mind before. With how often the two of you go to each other’s places, you’re essentially already living together—the only hold up you have is the experience you’ve had with roommates in college. In your experience, living with someone you like, in the long run, will never improve your relationship: maybe the relationship won’t suffer because of it, but it didn’t ever improve.

“What are you thinking?”

“Is this house paid off already?”

Taeyeon nods. “A lot of the divorce money was used to buy this house.”

“Hm…” Taeyeon waits patiently for your response. In a way, it only makes you feel worse: here she is, open and honest, asking you a simple question, and you won’t even give her a straight answer. Did your father teach you to be such a terrible communicator? “…honestly, I haven’t had good experiences with roommates in college. In my senior year of college, I shared an apartment with one of my friends, and our friendship suffered because of it. So, I’m a little hesitant, because I don’t want you to have to suffer all of my bad habits and make you dislike me.”

“Aw, baby…” you let Taeyeon wrap her arms around your head and pull her onto her bosom. It’s still a little strange, how easily Taeyeon adopts a motherly attitude towards you at times, but you aren’t one to deny her when she does. “You’re so kind, worrying about me so much. How about we make a deal, then? The moment either of us start to be annoyed or frustrated at each other, or the moment either of us realizes it, let’s not bottle it up and talk about it immediately. And then, once a week, let’s tell each other one thing we love about the each other. I’ll go first: I love how you are so careful around my plants.”

You’re surprised at how easily Taeyeon takes your pushback, and especially how she quickly offers a solution, and not only that, how she suggests that last part of the solution as a preventative measure to counteract potentially future negativity. So, in a way, you feel you have no choice but to say, “I love how you aren’t afraid to take the lead sometimes.”

Somehow, that is the thing that causes Taeyeon to bashfully smile. “Really? Thank you.”

As the two of you are washing dishes, you realize something. “Wait. If I move in with you, then it would probably be best to sell my current house, right?” Taeyeon nods. “But then … I mean, I did tell my dad about you, but I feel like he would be a little surprised to hear that I’m selling the house he specifically bought for me so that I can move in with my girlfriend of not even a month.”

“Oh? Is that not common these days for younger people?”

You laugh. “Stop saying that as if you aren’t young, yourself.”

“Well, why don’t you think your dad wouldn’t approve? He seems like a money-conscientious guy, wouldn’t moving in with your girlfriend to save money make sense in terms of finances?”

“He’s pretty conservative, so…”

“Oh.” Taeyeon puts the last dish into the dishwasher and turns to you. “Then, what does he think of me? Did you tell him that I’m older than you?”

“He’s not conservative in that way. My mom was older than my dad, too.”

“Oh, so you’re just a family of cougar-chasers, huh?” You let out an uncontrollable burst of laughter.

“Wha—”

“Like father, like son.”

“Well, if my dad met someone like you, I can see why he ended up with my mom.”

Taeyeon slaps your shoulder. “You sweet-talker, you.”

“Speaking of sweet…” over the months you’ve known Taeyeon, you swear there are moments where her boobs look a little bigger than usual. You have no reason to believe that to be the case, and also were, at the time, trying not to look at them too hard. Now that you know that Taeyeon is lactating, and now that she’s your girlfriend and essentially have permission to look at her boobs as much as you want, there’s not a doubt in your mind. It’s been about just short of a month since you’ve started dating Taeyeon, and as time has passed, it’s one thing you’ve been keeping track of. At the current moment, Taeyeon’s milk jugs look just about overflowing: maybe it’s the shirt she’s wearing that are accentuating her curves, or maybe her breasts are really this swollen, but they look incredibly heavy with sustenance.

You can expect that most women would not respond so favorably to such a statement, even if she were your girlfriend. But with Taeyeon, who seemed to derive so much pleasure from feeding you the small amounts of milk she had the first time, the sentence makes her smile. Despite the rather explosive first day as a couple, the two of you have refrained from sex, and while the topic hasn’t been brought up, the silent agreement between the two of you has been this: to wait for this day to come, when next Taeyeon needs to be milked, and who better to do the milking than her loving boyfriend?

“Oh, did I get figured out? Did you notice I didn’t use any garlic in the ramen?”

Taeyeon’s pull is magnetic. Her voluminous, jet-black hair, her big eyes and long eyelashes, her plump, cherry red lips, the light tones of her clothes and how they mesh so perfectly with her pale and unblemished skin, how they follow the swell of her breasts, how they threaten to spill out of her top nonetheless, every aspect of Taeyeon brings your arms around her waist, her craning her head to look up at you while you tilt your face downwards. You’re enraptured in her gaze. She effortlessly seduces you, and when she leans upward, your face comes down and captures those plump, red lips in a kiss.

Cherry.

So her lipstick tastes exactly what you’d expect it to taste like.

“Mmm…”

The kiss starts off chaste at first, peppering each other with kisses, but when Taeyeon lets out that throaty half-sigh, half-moan, it’s like the sound unlocks something inside you. A heat that rapidly expands from your chest, and when Taeyeon pushes herself into you to deepen the kiss, you can feel her boobs pushing against your chest as well. Your hands roam up from her waist to the small of her back and pull her closer, tilting your face for a better angle and responding to her in kind.

“Hmm…”

The sweet taste of her lips, the sweet aroma of her perfume that you’re finally able to fully experience, before only catching a whiff from your hug earlier when you arrived, and now, the way she pushes further and deeper, her hands coming up and grabbing your shoulders, the longer the kiss lasts, the more it starts to feel like Taeyeon and your body are molding into one. You only separate for brief moments, a brief second to suck in as much air as possible before going back to devouring each other’s faces. Eventually, the kiss gets so intense that Taeyeon gets pushed up and onto the kitchen counter, and after some slight shifting of your positions, Taeyeon’s hand now capable of reaching the back of your head while you’re leaning up ever so slightly, your hands on the opposite side of her now bare shoulder blades.

Neither of you give the other much time to breathe, but you, at least, don’t feel like you need it. Right now, oxygen isn’t your priority: Taeyeon’s lips, her warmth, feeling her face molding perfectly into your own, feeling the velvety texture of her lips massaging yours, your tongues grazing and dancing around each other, that is what you need. And it’s never enough; now, despite not having to crane your head at a somewhat awkward downwards angle, her body is noticeably further away from you. You feel that Taeyeon can feel the lack of warmth, of direct physical contact of your bodies too, because this new position doesn’t last long before Taeyeon starts wrapping her leg around your waist. Your hands go down to cup her romp for support, Taeyeon gasps slightly into the kiss, and then gasps louder when you break the kiss to pick her up.

“Your bed?”

“No, our bed.”

You make it to the bedroom in no time, and when you dump Taeyeon onto the mattress, she lets out a soft squeal. “You really spent all this time and effort…”

“I know how much my baby has been looking forward to this,” Taeyeon tells you, already in the motion of throwing her shirt off. It’s the second time ever that you’ve been graced with the presence of those salacious nipple patches covering her otherwise bare chest, and somehow, this time, it’s getting you acting up even more than the first time. The image, ingrained in your head, of Taeyeon’s tits and her beautiful areola and her swollen, squeezable nipples, overlaying the nude-colored patches stamped across her bust, except this time, you can see hints of the light-brown areola sticking out. Is it intentional? Was Taeyeon just in a rush this morning when putting them on? Did she leave just a hint of her buried treasure exposed on purpose, a cheeky little provocation that elicits such a strong arousal, impatience from you? Or maybe it’s none of the above: maybe it’s not intentional, and she really did try her best to cover up, but her breasts have swollen to such a point that it’s now impossible.

Which one is sexier? You honestly can’t decide.

“They look so…”

“…full?” Taeyeon bites back the moan that threatens to escape her throat when your hands make contact with her tits, but is unable to hold back the sigh that comes out when you use both hands to give her a nice, firm squeeze. “That’s because they are. Just for you.”

“They feel so full too.”

“You want a taste?”

Instead of answering, your fingers graze the edge of the nipple patches, specifically the edge that comes up a little bit off her skin because of the uneven texture of her areola. Taeyeon inhales sharply, and when you peel the patches off, Taeyeon lets loose a shuddering groan. “Mmm~”

“Hmm…”

It’s so addicting. Just feeling the heft in your hands, letting your palms fill with her full breasts, bouncing them up and down a little bit and watching them jiggle, letting your fingers sink into the skin, ghosting your index finger against her areola but just barely missing the nipple, watching Taeyeon’s eyes narrow and her back arch into your hand in reaction to the simple action, everything from the previous time somehow feels even more amazing than you remember. “Gosh, so good…”

You barely even realize that you’ve mounted her bed and are straddling her lap until you can feel her legs tensing against yours, attempting to keep herself upright as the massaging, kneading motions of your hands become rougher over time. “So heavy…” this entire time, you’re trying to resist the urge. The more you build up to it, the greater the payoff. You can feel it in Taeyeon’s body language too: how impatient she is, how she’s shifting around, how she seems to be subtly twisting her body to get you to do it already, but the most contact she gets is your digit barely grazing her nipple. And that’s enough to elicit a moan from her, but nothing stops her from keeping her eyes on your hands on her boobs, teasing her endlessly, warming her up and readying her to a perhaps excessive extent. Your eyes are also trained on it, and it’s not only looking at those swollen buttons, begging to be squeezed, but feeling how Taeyeon is reacting so positively to your every movement, that, a mere minute or so into it, you give in. And when you do, when your index finger and thumbs are caressing both of those plump teats, you can feel Taeyeon’s entire body tense up. Just for a brief moment, you indulge in this: such a powerfully, dangerously sexy woman, topless before you, horny and eager and waiting for you to milk her for all worth, almost literally. You. You are the one who gets to experience this.

You barely feel like you applied pressure before a stream of the creamy, white liquid shoots out of her chest. Taeyeon’s voice is a gargled mess of a moan of ecstatic pleasure and sigh of blissful content, her back arching even more into your hands. You can feel her body shuddering—you can see it shuddering—and the shock at the ease of which it takes to tease the milk out is all that stops you from squeezing harder.

“Baby—” Taeyeon doesn’t get a chance to say much else, you diving in and capturing the right nipple between your lips. “—nng!”

There really is something immensely satisfying and arousing about it, the feeling of your lips pulling at her boobs, the softness of her skin against yours, the way she wraps her arms around your head as she transitions into a laying-down position, and then, how her legs start to wrap around your waist, that makes the liquid gold hitting your tongue all the sweeter. The sweet taste and the creamy texture is just as you remember it, but there is one very noticeable difference: this time, there’s enough fluid to actually fully enjoy it. That sole fact perhaps makes you a little overzealous, a little too absorbed into drinking the substance, that Taeyeon has to tap the side of your face to get your attention.

The tips of your ears burst in red as you remove yourself from her. Taeyeon calling you ‘baby’ affectionately—what, did it actually turn you into one? “Sorry, what?”

“I want you too.”

“…Hm?”

It only when Taeyeon’s eyes fall onto the tent that’s formed in your pants that you finally notice that tension in your groin, yourself. “It’s not fair that I’m the only one being milked, right?”

It doesn’t take long for the rest of your clothes to come flying off, and when you stick your raging hardon into her wet heat, you can feel her pussy immediately beginning on its efforts to milk you. “Taeyeon, oh my god—”

“Mmm, so hard for me, baby…” For a moment, you forget about everything but the intense heat and pressure Taeyeon’s pussy is exerting on your cock, simultaneously coaxing you in by how her walls tug at your member and squeezing you hard enough that it takes considerable effort to fit everything inside her. “Gosh, you feel so big inside me, babe.”

“You’re really working overtime for that milk, aren’t you?”

Taeyeon nods. “Feeling your milk filling up inside me…” the words elicit the memory of last time, and it makes you heat up. With the swing of your hips, Taeyeon lets out another moan at the feeling of your cock’s tip pressing against her cervix again. “…so warm and so thick inside me, I loved it so much.”

“Who’s the needy one now?”

Taeyeon just smiles and stretches her arms open, beckoning to you. “Shut up. Are you going to drink the rest of my milk or not?”

You accept the invitation, diving into Taeyeon’s open arms and taking the other nipple into your mouth. From the way Taeyeon’s arms are hugging you to her chest, your ability to hear is impaired, but you can still make out the moans that arise from the continual rocking of your hips into her sopping wet pussy, and from how close you are to her body, you can just about feel her breathing deepening as well. The position is slightly awkward, forcing you to curl up so much, but it’s barely a concern in your mind: more important is the sweetness flooding your mouth and the intense heat and pressure rubbing against your cock as it pounds, repeatedly, into the deepest depths of Taeyeon’s core.

It’s when you start feeling the milk thinning out that you slow down and eventually, remove yourself from Taeyeon’s chest.

“Did you enjoy?” So Taeyeon asks, but from the distant look in her eyes and the sweat glistening on her forehead and how her hair is wildly strewn about the mattress and her askew limbs tensing in the overabundance of ecstasy her tiny frame is being overwhelmed with, you can’t bring yourself to answer. All you can do is to renew your efforts in full, digging your knees into the bed and pounding her with all the ferocity Taeyeon deserves from you. The moans from the older woman turn into screams, which only double in volume when you bring your right hand to her clit and start rubbing it too, and, a few minutes later, leave her in shambles as her body is overwhelmed with a mind-shattering orgasm from both herself and from you.

And when you finally come to, your face is hovering inches above hers, staring at her tired but pleased expression, trickles of the milk you promised her in return for the milk she fed you now threatening to escape your hot, tight connection.

“Did you enjoy?”

“No, you answer me first.”

You laugh. “I did. But…” Taeyeon waits, patiently, and when she meets your eyes, she nods and smiles, and that’s all the courage you need to say this thing that you, frankly, feel too greedy to say, “…if it’s at the cost of another full month of no sex, then…”

Taeyeon laughs. “I agree, it was torture for me too.”

Your dad eventually comes around to the idea of you moving in with Taeyeon, but that’s not even the most surprising thing. That’s how frequently Taeyeon seduces you, how she is often the one initiating, and you soon learn that, despite her appearances, she is one of high libido and one of exceptional stamina.

“Oh, one of my friends told me that they have an interest in the house.”

It’s not the most normal thing, to bring up the topic of selling your house so that you can pay off your debts to your dad and move in with your girlfriend while said girlfriend is giving you a titjob, but you aren’t complaining. “Really?”

“She said she wanted to come over and take a look at the house first, but I think it’s more of a formality than anything.”

Another unexpected facet of Taeyeon: despite her normally homey and innocent appearance, she is far kinkier than you could’ve ever imagined. Like, for example, right now: she offered to lubricate your cock with her milk, instead of the normal lube or even her saliva, before doing anal. Which is another thing that you’ve grown to get used to, that she is a woman who likes to use all available options to her. Is that two holes she has down there? Well, best make full use of both of them.

“I see. Should I tidy it up?”

“Hm … nah, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” While Taeyeon’s rubbing her tits along your length, she stops every so often to squeeze out some of that creamy substance from her fleshy, weighty milk jugs before going back to slathering your now considerably shinier member with said milk jugs. “I think they just want to see how the layout, think about where they want to put what furniture, what they could use each room for, that sort of thing.”

“Ok, great.”

“I think it’s about ready.”

“Um … are you sure this’ll be fine?”

Taeyeon shoots a smile at you. “Of course! Are you ready?”

You nod, and Taeyeon gets up on her feet only to turn around and bend over. Your hands take hold of her waist, guiding her romp down onto your lap, and as she shifts her weight onto the couch, her hands come down to guide your cock into its place as your hands part her cheeks.

“Mmm, come on…”

You can feel her sphincter muscles tense as your cock prods the entrance to her backdoor, but it takes just a firm push to break the barrier. Taeyeon lets out a throaty moan, letting herself sink onto your cock as it burrows deep inside her ass.

“Ooh, gosh…”

As she sinks into your lap, her legs naturally spread apart, and you’re left with a conundrum: what do you do with your hands? With Taeyeon leaning her head back on your shoulder, she grants you the ability to look over her shoulder and down to see the mountainous swell of her chest, but on the other hand, seeing those creamy legs split apart on either side of yours makes you want to burrow a hand in between them. So, you compromise: your left hand reaches up while your right dives down.

“Nnng!”

Feeling her shuddering and her body tensing at your touch is something you’ll never stop loving the feeling of. “So sexy, Taeyeon.” She turns her face towards you, nuzzling your cheek with her nose, slowly rotating her hips against you. You can feel her deep and heavy breaths on your cheek, and that, along with her soft, yet firm, ass grinding against your crotch, her back flush against your chest, her silky smooth, creamy legs rubbing against yours, the feeling of the plush texture of her tits and watching it responding eagerly to the rough massaging motions of your left hand, and the feeling of her pussy convulsing against the two digits of your right hand burrowed knuckle-deep inside her, you’re in over your head. Her body moves in perfect unison with yours, pliable and moldable: she is the frame, and you are the painter. Every time the fingers of your left hand ventures too close to the peaks of her mountains, Taeyeon reacts with a moan and an arching back, a bit of milk leaking out of the nipple; every time your finger presses against her G-spot, Taeyeon reacts with a squeal and pushing her ass deeper against your groin. When you fit the third digit inside Taeyeon, she lets loose an ecstatic scream, slightly muffled by her lips brushing against your cheek, and when the fourth joins the trio, Taeyeon starts to lose the ability to form coherent words. Your fingers, combined with the rough rocking motions of your hips forcing her to bounce ever so slightly off your lap only to come crashing back down, your cock penetrating her ass over and over again without a hint of mercy, your left hand moving from breast to breast, kneading it and coaxing out a small stream of the creamy, white fluid before switching to the other, the pleasure starts to overload Taeyeon’s brain. She can feel her brain slowly turning to mush, a string of incomprehensible words and moans and screams flowing out of her lips, her orgasm building, exponentially so when you start using your thumb to play with her clit.

“Taeyeon, fuck, I love you so much.”

“I—nng!—I, I, oh my god, I’m—I, aang!—I’m, I can’t, I’m, I’m—!” Her voice crescendos to a shrill scream when her climax hits her all at once. You bite back a groan, the pressure at which her sphincter muscles are squeezing your cock bordering on painful, but continue to vigorously ride out Taeyeon’s orgasm, a fountain of cum squirting out in full force past your fingers and all over the living room table and floor, her breasts also squirting out their fluids simultaneously at the firm squeezing of your right hand.

“Mmm, that’s right, let it all go.”

“Aah, ah, oh my god, please, oh my god—” Taeyeon’s orgasm lasts for well over a minute, and when it finally dies down, you start taking your hands off her body. Although tired from the sheer power of that orgasm, Taeyeon still turns to you with enough strength to say, “That was amazing, baby, but you didn’t…”

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not ok.” Her voice is firm. You know there’s no arguing against her—rather, you don’t really have a desire to. You’re so close as is, all you need is just a nudge, the slightest hint of consent, and Taeyeon gives you more than enough by saying, “use me to finish yourself off.”

Your hands grip her waist, and in a second, Taeyeon is bouncing up and down your lap even more ferociously than before.

“Fuck, Taeyeon.”

The sound of her ass, moist with the remnants of her own orgasm moments before, slapping against you echoes about her—about your—house.

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck me harder!”

You can feel a little bit of that bodily fluid dripping onto your cock, and it acts as the lubrication you need to push harder.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

“Pound me! Use me as your personal sex toy!” It really does feel like you’re doing exactly that: her body is light enough that you can lift it up with ease, and repeatedly doing so barely fatigues your arms. Again and again, you lift Taeyeon’s body off your dick and slam it back down, digging deep inside her, and every time, Taeyeon lets out a moan of her own. Taeyeon, your girlfriend, and your personal fleshlight. “Dump every last drop of your semen into my naughty little ass!”

A groan and a shout of warning later, you do exactly that. As spent as you are, Taeyeon seems to have second ideas. She leaves you in the living room for a second, promising to be right back, and returns with a plug that she fits nicely into her battered and bruised, gaped asshole.

“You already made me make such a mess of the living room, don’t want to ruin the couch, too.”

“Me? You were the one who greeted me at the door, completely naked.”

Taeyeon shoots a wicked smile at you. If you weren’t so deeply in love with her, the smile might’ve sent shivers down your spine. Instead, what it does to you is just send a tingle up your body. It’s a warning, one that you aren’t even close to prepared to heeding.

“Wait, Taeyeon, a few more minute—”

“No. Look at how hard you still are.” To prove her point, Taeyeon grabs your erection, still not fully soft yet, and you groan. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

“I need a few more minutes, please…” Taeyeon doesn’t listen though, straddling you and guiding your cock to plunge right back into the sweltering inferno of her pussy. “God…”

“Come on baby, you know you want it.” While Taeyeon isn’t wrong, you still have no strength in your body to react to her lifting herself off your lap and slamming back down on you, re-sheathing your cock back into her pussy. “You love it when my pussy milks you, don’t you?”

“Taeyeon…”

“Don’t you love the feeling of my pussy walls massaging you, feeling it rubbing against you? Don’t you love feeling how hot and wet and tight I am for you?”

Slowly, but surely, you can feel the fatigue start to fade away. Still, it’s nowhere near enough for you to say anything more than, “I do, but…”

“Don’t be shy.” You really aren’t trying to be, but Taeyeon is insatiable. In normal day-to-day interactions, Taeyeon is accommodating and understanding: it’s only during sex that this confident, domineering side of her is unleashed. “Hmm, gosh, I love how your cock splits me so much…”

It takes a couple minutes of Taeyeon riding on you, slowly but steadily, before your refractory period is gone, and when she starts feeling you synchronizing your motions with hers, that’s when she starts going full force.

“Taeyeon, holy shit—”

Taeyeon, lost in her own world, can’t even respond. With every thrust, the tip of your dick crashes into her cervix, and you swear you can see her belly bulge a bit. Each time her ass slams down on your crotch, the crisp, wet slapping noise echoes briefly about the living room, and a few minutes later, those sounds join the chorus of ecstatic screams as the two of you achieve climax together, your second, albeit considerably thinner, load mixing in with Taeyeon’s thicker, fuller load gushing out of your hot connection and spilling onto your lap.

“Oh my gosh…”

Are the first words Taeyeon can get out after planting her head against your shoulder following her climax subsiding.

“So much for not getting the couch dirty, too.”

Taeyeon smiles and slaps your shoulder. “Your fault.”

“Mine?!”

“You made me cum so hard. The plug is still keeping your first load nice and warm inside my ass.”

“When my sexy girlfriend suggests we do anal but by lubricating my cock with her breast milk, how else am I supposed to react?”

“Hmm.” Taeyeon doesn’t respond for a little bit, instead just nuzzling her face into your nape. “Let’s stay like this for a little bit. So warm.”

It’s when your stomach rumbles that Taeyeon finally decides to get off, and while you start cleaning up the mess she made—the mess that you made her make—Taeyeon heats up dinner. During the meal, Taeyeon brings up something that makes you stop in your tracks.

“Do you want to have a baby with me?”

Another emergency Taeyeon fic had to be written after seeing those W Korea pics … although this time, written with much less haste

:’c

ANYWAY, HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! :D

[elvhensinner]

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...

[elvhensinner]

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!)

[elvhensinner]

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 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.

[elvhensinner]

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!”

"Oh, you deserved it. I hope you'll stop being nosy and setting up ambushes now. Consider this a lesson."

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.”

[elvhensinner]

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.

[elvhensinner]

(ch. 2) Eunha: Runaway Sister

ch. 1

"Morning. Your cock is always hard."

"Yeah," I mumbled.

"Want another hand job?" Last night. It all came back. My sister had lubed up my cock and jerked me off! I came all over her. I can't believe we did that. "I can't believe we did that," I said out loud.

"It was fun, huh?" She looked up at me, her chin on my chest. "At least I proved you don't have to change your life around if I move in."

"Is that why you did it?"

She didn't answer, just shrugged. "We really shouldn't have done that," I said. I wanted to pretend it had not happened. I sat up, pushing her aside. I climbed out of bed and stood firm right in front of her. I realized my cock was just pointing straight at her face. She looked at it and stared. I tried not to stare at her tits. "Okay, Eunha, here it is. I'm sorry I asked for a hand job. I was out of line. I didn't think you'd do it. I wanted to scare you off, but I didn't. I can't believe you did it."

"It's okay," she said. "It was fun. I didn't mind." She reached up, running her finger along the underside of my shaft. "And my offer stands. Hand jobs for roomies."

"Jesus," I said, backing away.

"Chris, what's wrong?" she asked, climbing out of bed, standing there naked. She came closer, my cock bending against her stomach. She stood on her tiptoes to bump her nose into mine, rubbing them together, giving me a soft peck on the lips. "Are you upset?"

"Just with myself," I said. She kept kissing my lips, but I didn't respond. I didn't know what to do. This was spiraling out of control. She wasn't even pretending like my sister anymore. I just turned away from her and moved into the bathroom. Under the shower, the door in my head was knocking again. This was my sister. Nudity was one was one thing, but now she was jerking me off? My whole nudist excuse was gone now. I had no explanation for her or for me. I could have stopped her. But she could have stopped too. Shit, what a cluster fuck. I had to get her out of my apartment before I fucked her.

"Hey in there," Eunha said. I turned to see her sitting and peeing. "Hey."

"I had to pee."

"Okay."

"Not jerking off in there?"

"I was just thinking."

"About what happened last night?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you don't regret it. It was just masturbation. Everyone does it."

"Everyone grabs their brother's cock and gives them hand jobs?"

"From time to time." She stood up and came over, sliding the door open. "Room for one more?" She stepped in without an answer.

"What are you dong?" I asked, my eyes going up and down over her naked body.

"Well, I figured if we'll be living together, we might fight over the bathroom sometimes. This is my way of showing you I'm okay with you jumping in the shower if you need to or coming in while I'm in here."

"Eunha…"

"Besides, I could use a shower too. I'm still cummy from last night."

She slid past me, my cock brushing against her butt and bending until it bounced free when she passed. God, I wanted to fuck her. I just wanted to bend her over right here and now and shove myself all the way into her pussy, make her the slut my mother said she was. She smirked back at me, as if she could read my mind. Then she picked up the shampoo and began rubbing it into her scalp. I was suddenly angry with her, angry for teasing me like this, like I was some high school boyfriend. I stepped forward, pushing her into the wall. She gasped as my cock stabbed between her ass cheeks, my hands on her hips, my chest right up against her back, her tits mashed up against the cold tile. "What the hell are you doing?" she cried.

"Me? What the hell are you doing, Eunha?"

"Fuck, I'm showering," she said, turning her head to look at me. "Let me go!"

"You're a cock tease, and it's my cock that's getting teased. I'm not your fucking high school boyfriend. I'm a grown man, and you don't come in here and start rubbing up against my cock like a slut."

"So what are you going to do?" she asked, keeping one eye on me. "Fuck me in the shower? Bend me over and just rape me with that big cock of yours?"

"You know, I don't think I could rape you if I wanted to."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means I think you want me to fuck you, and I don't get why. Is an apartment really worth getting fucked by your brother?"

She turned away, avoiding eye contact. "Fuck you." That wasn't the answer I wanted. I dug my knee between her legs. Her feet started to slip, her legs spreading open. I reached down and grabbed my cock, moving it in-between her legs. Then I slapped it upwards, hitting her pussy lips. It made her gasp.

"Chris!"

"Do you want it?" I said in her ear, the water crashing down over both of us. She was standing on her tiptoes, something I hadn't told her to do, and she then she spread her legs wider and arched her back all on her own, her face pressing into the tile, her hands up against it.

"Fuck you," she repeated.

"Answer me or I will fuck you."

I slapped her pussy with my cock again and she whimpered. I sawed back and forth, dragging my mushroom head across her clit. I could feel her labia running over my shaft. She was panting.

"I said do you want it?" I asked her. Still no answer. I hit her pussy with my cock again, as if I was going to beat the answer out of her. "Fucking answer me!"

"No!" she suddenly said. "No, not like this."

"Then what the fuck are you doing to me?"

"I don't know," she said, speaking quicker. "I don't know what I'm doing. It's not like I have a plan, okay? I just want to stay, and maybe I'm horny, but I don't want to get raped in the shower. Let me go, please." That wasn't good enough. I didn't want to let her go now. I wanted to fuck her. "Bend over."

"No, Chris, please, not like this." I grabbed her by the back of the neck and bent her forward. She grabbed the faucet handles for support. I held my cock firm as I lined up with her pussy. I moved forward and felt my head start to separate her lips. She lost her breath.

"Please, Chris, wait!" I wasn't going to stop. Fuck her, the slut. This was my apartment, damn it!

"Chris, stop!" she cried. "I'm a virgin!"

That stopped me. My cock pulled back so fast it was as if her pussy bit me. "What?" I took a step back. She turned around, one hand wrapping around her breasts, the other cupping her pussy to block it, or guard it. It was the first time she seemed modest.

"I'm a virgin, okay?"

"No, you're not. Mom said you're a slut."

"And I told you, I sleep at Sarah's. I'm saving my virginity for someone special."

"What the fuck."

"Look, I wouldn't have cared if you thought I was a slut, because I would have kept jerking you off, you know? I would have even sucked your cock, just to stay. But this isn't how I wanted to lose my virginity."

Guilt and regret filled me. Jesus, what had I almost done? I stepped out of the shower, toweling off as I left the bathroom. I was so disappointed in myself. I dressed so fast, I didn't even bother to tuck my shirt in or button it up. I fucked up, really fucked up. I almost raped her in the shower. What was going on with me? My boss harassed me all day. He could tell my head wasn't in the mail sorting game, but I was dreading going home. I was going to have to apologize. She'd probably ask to leave, which would be a good thing. I couldn't take this on a permanent basis, but at the same time, I really hoped I could fix our relationship before she left. I came into the apartment slowly. There was nothing on the stove tonight. She wasn't in the shower either. She was just sitting on the sofa, watching TV, wearing her pink t-shirt and white panties again. She didn't get up or look at me as I came in. Shit, she was furious.

"Hey, sis," I said.

She looked up. "Hey. Do you want me to make you some ramen noodles? You don't have anything else."

Or maybe she was okay after all. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't mind."

"I'm not that hungry."

"Fine." Her attention returned to the TV. I sat down on the sofa next to her.

"How was your day?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Almost got raped in the shower."

"Fuck. I was going to ease into that."

"Like you almost eased your cock into my pussy?"

"Okay, hold on." I held my breath. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I lost all control in there. It was just one too many games, and I've been horny, and I wanted sex. I guess it doesn't make it better that I thought you were a slut, but I wouldn't have done it if I had known you were still a virgin. So I'm sorry."

"So now you want to fuck me, is that it?" she asked.

"No, of course not."

"You just said you did."

"What I meant is you've been teasing me, and I can only take so much, you know? I wanted to teach you a lesson. But you're my sister. I don't know what I was thinking, really."

"So, does that mean I can move in?"

"Huh? I figured you didn't want to move in now."

"No, I still want to."

"Eunha, I think what happened proves we wouldn't be good roommates."

"No, it doesn't. It just proves you shouldn't try to rape your sister in the shower to teach her a lesson."

"And you shouldn't tease your brother until he wants to fuck you."

"So you do what to fuck me?" she said.

"Jesus, Eunha. Look, I'm very sorry. I was way out of line. I hope you forgive me, and I hope we can have a normal relationship, but living together isn't going to work."

She pouted. "I'm going to make the noodles."

"Fine." We ate in silence, and then we watched TV in silence, and then we pulled out the bed in silence. I was about to speak up and say we shouldn't sleep naked, but she was already undressing, and then she was under the covers. I took my things off and climbed in after her, turning out the light.

"Goodnight," I offered.

"Goodnight," she said, lying on her side, looking at me in the dark.

I took a glance at her bare breasts and then closed my eyes. It was quiet, but not for long.

"It felt good when you were slapping my pussy with your cock." I slapped my hands over my eyes. "Eunha, when you say things like that, that's teasing me. Is that what you're trying to do, make me think about having sex with you?"

"No, I was just saying it felt good. I didn't say it to tease you."

"You shouldn't tease men, Eunha. I'm your brother, but if you start teasing regular guys out in the real world like you do to me, they're not going to take no for an answer."

"Well, I didn't know that, did I? I'm not out in the real world. I thought my brother was better than that."

"I am, and I already said sorry."

"It's fine. It was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

"No, you were right. I've been teasing you. I just want you to want me to stay. But I'm pushing too hard."

"Forget it."

"Can we make up?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, turning and giving her a smile.

"With a kiss?" she said.

"Okay." Kisses were innocent, weren't they?

I felt her nose on my nose, rubbing like she had done before, and then she gave me a nice long kiss, slipping her tongue in my mouth.

"I really am sorry," she said.

"I'm the one who tried to rape you. You don't have to apologize."

"But what I said in the shower was true. I meant it. I would suck your cock if you let me stay. And I'll keep sucking it whenever you want me to."

"Shit."

"Chris, I'm serious. I'll prove it right now. I'll give you a blow job."

"Jesus, Eunha. Does it even matter to you that I'm your brother?"

"It's because you're my brother that I'm okay with it. I wouldn't suck your cock if you were a stranger."

"Have you even given a blow job before?"

"No, but I've sucked Sarah's dildo."

"Unfuckingbelievable."

"Come on, what do you say?" she asked. "Let me suck your cock one time, right now. If you like it, I get to stay. If you don't, you can send me home. Let me at least try, okay?"

"Eunha, it's wrong. I can't."

"Please," she begged. "Tomorrow's Friday. I'm running out of time. One blow job."

"Eunha…"

"I just want to make you happy."

"You only want to make me happy so I'll let you stay."

"Yeah."

She kissed me on the lips and then began kissing down my chest. Then she lowered the sheet. My cock was pointing straight up, hard and begging for attention. Her hand wrapped around it, rubbing and tugging. I really needed to cum.

"Can I suck it?" she asked. I didn't answer. She looked at me like she knew the answer though. My cock was so hard I just wanted the ache to go away. I put my hand on the back of her head and she went down, kissing my stomach. There was no way she was really going to suck my cock though, was there? Then she straddled my le, and I felt her wet pussy on my knee, grinding down. Her eyes lifted, her mouth hovering over my cock.

"If you don't want me to, you better say something." I didn't say anything. As long I didn't agree out loud, it wasn't my idea. And then her nose bumped into the head of my cock. She rubbed it from side to side, and then she gave it a soft kiss, her lips so pouty and so welcoming.

"You want this, don't you? Come on, tell me you want it."

Shit, she knew what she was doing. Fuck, I did want it though. I didn't care why anymore. "I want it."

"I know you do," she said. Her tongue came rolling out of her mouth. She held my cock steady in one hand as her tongue ran from the base of the shaft, all the way up, taking her time, the coarseness caressing my skin. When her tongue ran over the head of my cock, I groaned. Then she began planting soft kisses along the length. "More?"

I didn't answer.

"Say it. Let me hear you say you want more."

I reached down, my hand sliding into her hair. Yes, I wanted more. "More." She licked again, from the bottom all the way to the top, and then she opened her mouth and give my crown a big kiss. Half of my cockhead was between her lips. I felt her tongue flicking out against it. She looked up at me.

"Want me to suck it?" Damn it, I did. What was the point of fighting? "Yes."

She held my cock straight up in the air, the head wet and glossy from all the attention. Her mouth opened wide and descended, but before she could close her lips, the phone rang.

"Fuck!" I said, sitting up, pulling my cock away from her mouth and reaching for the phone. I picked it up. "What?"

"Christopher? It's your mother."

"Mom, shit, hey," I said. Eunha smirked at me, and then she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock without batting an eye. I leaned back, sighing. "Shit."

"Why are you always swearing?" my mother asked. "You have such a dirty mouth."

"Sorry, Mom. Oh, fuck."

Eunha was licking the underside of my cock while she held it in her mouth. Then she pushed her lips down my shaft.

"Is Eunha there?"

"Of course she's here," I said.

"Where is she? What's she doing?"

Eunha looked up, pulling her mouth off my cock. "Tell her I'm sucking your cock."

"She's watching TV."

"Will you put her on?"

"She wants to talk to you," I said, holding out the phone.

"Can't talk right now," Eunha said, wrapping her lips around my cock again.

I sighed. "Mom, she can't talk."

"Why?"

"Her mouth is full."

"What?"

"I mean, she's eating dinner."

"I thought you said she was watching TV."

"Yeah, whatever, both. Mom, what do you want? I'm busy."

"I want to talk to Eunha. Right now, Christopher."

I couldn't keep the conversation going anyway. I held out the phone. Eunha rolled her eyes with my cock in her mouth. She pulled her tongue away as she put the phone to her ear.

"Yes?"

"Eunha?"

Eunha began licking the length of my shaft as she talked, mumbling. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to check up on you, make sure you're doing all right."

"Mmmhmm," she said with my cockhead in her mouth. She pushed her throat down on it, making me groan.

"What's that noise?" my mother asked.

"The TV. We're watching Animal Planet. The lions are fucking."

"Oh, that's disgusting."

Eunha was bobbing her head up and down on my cock. I kept my mouth closed to stay quite.

"Eunha?"

"Huh?" Eunha said, taking a break to breathe, her hand massaging up and down my shaft.

"Eunha, have you and Christopher began getting along?"

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled, nodding her head, sliding her lips up and down.

"Fucking hell," I mumbled.

"That's good," my mother said. "He hasn't been mistreating you, has he?"

Eunha took her mouth away again. "Mistreating me how, like Dale did when he tried to rape me?"

"Eunha!" my mother said.

"Because Chris tried to rape me too," Eunha said, kissing my cockhead. "Yeah, he tried to fuck me while I was in the shower."

I looked down. "Jesus Christ!"

"Oh my god!" my mother cried. "Are you okay? How could Christopher do that?"

"Just kidding, Mom," Eunha said, smirking at me, stroking my shaft. She gave it a long lick, winking at me.

"That's not funny, Eunha!" Mom said.

Eunha mumbled because my cock was back in her mouth, pushing up against her throat.

"Eunha?"

She pulled her lips off nice and slow, making a popping sound. "Mom, I'm busy right now."

"Busy? Doing what?"

Eunha massaged my shaft. "I'm busy sucking Chris' cock."

"What?" my mother shrieked.

"What?" I yelled.

"I'm just fucking with you, Mom," Eunha said, grinning at me, stroking my cock up and down.

"That's disgusting and not at all funny, Eunha!" my mother yelled.

"Well, I'm such a slut, you never can tell. I might really be sucking your son's cock while I'm on the phone with you."

She started sucking it again, pushing her lips down my shaft, the slurping noises loud.

"You are a disgusting, filthy girl, Eunha!"

"Mmm, I am filthy, Mommy. Chris has a big cock too. It's hard to fit it in my mouth."

"She's fucking insane," I said to myself, but Eunha was sucking again.

"Eunha, I will see you Saturday! And you will be grounded for a whole month! Do you understand me?"

"Mmmhmm. Mommy, can't talk. I think Chris is about to cum. Bye."

She handed the phone back to me as she began deepthroating my cock as best she could.

"Mom, she's joking," I said, trying to focus on forming words as my little sister's teeth scraped along the length of my shaft.

"Of course she was!" my mother said. "She's a disgusting girl, and that sort of thing amuses her. You see why she has to be at home and looked after, Christopher?"

"Yes, for fuck's sake! Mom, I have to go! Holy fuck!"

"What?"

I slammed the phone down. "Fuck, I'm cumming!"

I erupted. She gagged and coughed as I sprayed inside her mouth. She pulled back to breathe and I came all over her face. She kept licking my cock though, swallowing what she could, and then she began sucking the head of my cock after I finished.

"Good?" she mumbled.

"Fuck," I said. "Ah, enough, it's sensitive."

She stopped sucking and gave my cock a kiss.

"Okay, you hold on, I'm going to clean up. Back in a minute." I was in a daze as she left to clean the cum off. I couldn't talk to her, not after that. I rolled over in bed and pretended to fall asleep. I was more ashamed than ever.

"I know you're not asleep," she said when she came back. I didn't answer. She crawled into bed, leaning over me, her tits brushing my shoulder. "Chris," she called in my ear. "Chris, come on, I'm horny too. I thought maybe you could play with me."

No way was I playing with her.

"Come on, my pussy is fucking dripping. Sarah would eat me out. Lick my pussy, please? Fair's fair."

I snored, loudly. She scoffed.

"Are you seriously going to ignore me? Chris, please, my pussy needs attention. I'll let you slap it with your cock again if you promise not to fuck me."

She was crazy. I was never doing that again. No way. She growled at me. "Are you serious right now? You're actually starting to piss me off. Fine, fuck you. Go to sleep. This is bullshit."

She turned around in bed, yanking the sheet away from me. I let her have it. I was back to feeling guilty. I had let my sister suck my cock, while she was on the phone with my mother, no less. This was beyond all control. Really, Eunha had had a better chance of living here before all the sex stuff. No way now. The alarm woke me up. Eunha was there, her body sweaty and sticking to mine, naked and bare. She climbed up, peeling us apart, crawling over me to reach the button, her naked tits in my face. She smiled at me, coming down and giving me a peck on the lips.

"Mmm, morning."

"Morning," I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Oh, wait, I'm mad at you," she said, yawning. "You totally left me high and dry."

"Uh, sorry," I said. Last day, I told myself.

"It's okay," she said groggily. "I guess while I live here, the oral sex only flows one way, huh?" She looked up at me. "I get to stay now, right? I sucked your cock, so I get to stay."

"Eunha, about that…"

"Yeah?"

"I just don't know."

"What?" she said, sitting up. "You're kidding. That was a fucking awesome blowjob. You drowned me in sperm. There's no way I didn't blow you away."

"What part of sister are you missing here?" I said. "This is the most fucked up week of my life. I can't stop thinking about fucking you. I'm not supposed to think like that!"

"That's sweet, I think. And if you feel the urge to fuck me, just let me know, and I'll be happy to suck your cock."

"I don't want my cock sucked. I want you to stop doing this."

I started to get out of bed, but she grabbed my hand. "Hey, hold on."

"What?"

"Call in sick."

"Huh?"

"Stay in bed with me."

"Why?"

She shrugged, her tits jiggling. "It's my last day here, last chance to convince you. If you need more than a blow job, we'll see what we can do."

I looked at her, thinking about what she was saying. Was she saying she'd suck my cock again if I stayed home? And then what, let me fuck her? Is that what she wanted me to do? What the hell was going on?

"I can't afford to miss work."

I climbed out of bed, my cock bouncing around as I walked, and got into the shower. I really shouldn't have let her suck my cock last night. There was no more room to rationalize anything. Sisters don't suck their brother's cocks. And I had encouraged her. She had asked me, and I had said yes. Damn my weakness!

"Hey," she said from outside the door.

"Huh? Yeah?" She was standing outside the glass door, not even peeing, just staring at me.

"We didn't finish talking," she said.

"I shouldn't have let you suck my cock like that."

"Why do you always have to regret it?"

She grabbed the shower door and slid it open, stepping it, closing it behind her. I backed up.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Whoa," she said. "Put on the rape brakes there, tiger. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. I'm just sort of in a daze."

"Have you even started washing yet?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"That blow job fried your brain, huh?"

"Sort of."

"Here, I'll help. Just don't rape me."

She took the bar of soap, lathering it between her hands, and then she began rubbing my neck and chest. She was standing close; my cock grew harder, touching her waist.

"He's saying hello," she said, rubbing my stomach with soap.

"He's getting used to you," I said.

"Good, because I intend to stay for a good long time."

"Eunha, you can't---"

"Come on, I still have the rest of the day to change your mind. Don't say I can't, not yet. Turn around."

I turned and she washed my back.

"Eunha, be honest with me. You don't feel weird after sucking my dick?"

"Do you?"

"Yes. Hell yes. I'm trying to figure out why you did it, whether it really was just to stay here, or if you wanted to do it."

"What's the difference?" she asked from behind me.

"The difference is if you did it just because you're desperate to stay, it makes me feel like shit, because I took advantage of you, but if you did because you wanted to, maybe it's not my fault, just wrong."

"Okay, well, if it makes you feel better, I really did want to suck your cock, and I figured if blowing you kept me here, that's two birds with one stone."

"Then why did you want to blow me to begin with?"

"I told you, you have a great cock. It makes me horny." She was still washing. "And I don't know, I just thought it'd be a nice thing to do, sort of to say I love you, you know?"

"That's how you say I love you?"

"To you it is." She climbed down to her knees, washing my butt and legs. "Turn around."

I turned. Her face was level with my cock. She soaped her way up my legs and thighs, her eyes on my cock.

"Want me to clean this too?" she asked.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"You shouldn't want to."

She grinned. "I know I shouldn't."

She lathered the soap in her hand, and then she took hold of my cock, holding it tight. I let out a groan. She began working the soap, running her hands up and down.

"Oh, your cock is really dirty. When's the last time this thing was cleaned properly? There I was sucking it while it was filthy too."

"Eunha, fuck…"

"What'd you say?" she said, looking up at me. "Did you just say you want to fuck me? Chris, I'm trying to clean your cock here. I don't want you getting any ideas and trying to rape me again."

She kept cleaning it, one hand rubbing the soap up and down the shaft while the other began massaging my balls.

"Damn it," I mumbled. "Eunha, I'm really scared we're going to end up fucking each other."

She looked up again. "Who ever said I'd let you fuck me?"

"You're saying it with how you act. You're seducing me."

Her thumb began massaging the head of my dick, running back and forth over the slit.

"I'm not seducing you," she said. "Maybe I do flirt, but it's because I love you and it's fun. It has gotten a little carried away. I admit that, but come on, when I'm horny, I can't think straight. You know how it is."

She squeezed my shaft, clenching it as tight as she could, and then pulled her hand forward. I groaned.

"Fuck, Eunha."

"You're soo hard," she said. "See, I'm getting horny again. I don't mean to, but you cock really turns me on. I have to remind myself this is my brother's cock. If you were my boyfriend, I don't think I'd be able to hold on to my virginity, but you're not."

I looked down at her. "Then we're not going to start fucking?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Unless you rape me. Why, do you want to start fucking?"

She was tugging on my cock again, rolling my balls in her hand.

"God, you're going to make me cum."

"You can cum," she said. "It's all clean now."

"You realize you're jerking off your brother right now?"

"Mmmhmm," she said, pulling on my cock back and forth, her fingers running along the shaft. "And my brother likes it. Tell you what. Hey, are you listening?"

"Huh?" I said, trying to focus on her eyes and not her hands rubbing up and down my shaft. "Yeah?"

"Just so we're clear," she said. "If we start living together, it's okay to flirt, get naked, touch, even lick each other, but no sex, okay?"

"No sex?" I said.

"Yes. Don't put your cock in my pussy. Don't take my virginity. Don't cum in me."

"Anything else is fine?" I said, still dazed. She was pumping my cock fast now.

"We'll figure out the rest later."

"Are you doing this just so I'll let you stay?" I asked.

She smirked, squeezing my cock harder as she yanked on it. "No," she said after a moment. "But you know how much I want to stay. If a little foreplay between family helps you make up your mind, than I don't mind."

I reached down, putting my hand on her cheek, stroking it as she stroked my cock. "I really liked it when you sucked my cock."

"Want me to suck it again?" she asked, licking her lips. She opened her mouth wide. "Park it right here, roomie."

I almost laughed. Park it? She really was my little sister, making stupid jokes and saying weird things. She was Eunha. I parked it, stepping forward and sliding my cock into her mouth. She closed her lips and my shaft was enveloped in heat. I put my head back and just groaned.

She mumbled she began licking and sucking, her head sliding up and down a few inches while her hand worked the rest. I put both my hands on her head, holding her in place as I started to pump my cock in and out. She coughed and gagging when I tried to push too deep.

I couldn't last much longer though. She had already been jerking me off long enough. Cum came pouring out of me. I grabbed her hair like a handle and thrust in deeper, feeling the bend of her throat as she gagged. Cum spilled out of her mouth. Both of her hands were strangling my cock, trying to pull it out of the depths of her throat. As I finished, I eased up on her hair and she took my cock out, coughing.

"Mmm, wow," she said, looking up. "You liked that, huh?"

"Fuck, yes."

"You know, that's only my second blow job," she said. "How am I doing?"

"Amazing," I said.

"Yay!" she said, climbing up. She hugged me, as if I had helped her finish her math homework. "Really, it was good? Even last night? You're not just saying that."

"It was good, really good."

"Good!" she said. "I swallowed a lot of cum too. I missed most of it though. You cum a lot."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. It was fun. But I'll get better at swallowing. Here, let me just clean your cock off again…" She grabbed the bar of soap and started tugging at my dick. I groaned. It was too sensitive for her to manhandle it.

"Okay, okay, it's clean," I said.

She chuckled. "I guess I'm tending to my own pussy again."

"Geez, don't tempt me."

"All right. You'd better get to work. You're paying the bills, roomie."

She gave me a quick kiss on the lips and then turned to the water, stepping under it. She immediately started playing with her pussy, her fingers running over her lips. I climbed out, my legs a little weak from the blowjob. I was dressed and out of the house before she finished in the shower. I could hear her moaning in there. I considered going back.

Work was dull now. I could not think about anything else but my sister. We had broken some serious boundaries, and even though she had given me her assurance that we wouldn't fuck, I didn't feel convinced. And moreover, I wanted to fuck her now. I really wanted her cherry. But I knew that was wrong.

I should have told her this whole plan of hers had backfired. She had to go. More than that, I wanted her to leave tomorrow, because if she stayed, I was going to fuck her brains out. And I was going to fuck her constantly, so much she'd want to go back home anyway. Yeah, if she wanted to stay, she could stay, but her pussy was mine. No way she'd agree to that.

And what was going to happen when I got home? Dinner again? A movie? Then a little oral sex and off to bed? I couldn't live like that. Well, I could, but not with my sister. And what was wrong with her that she had let it come to this? And what was wrong with me for liking it? I needed help, but who can you talk to about something like this?

I felt anxious on my drive home, my old car clinking and clanking and threatening to cost me a paycheck at the auto shop. When I reached the door, I stopped. I could hear moaning and grunting inside. Someone was in my apartment, fucking! Fucking my sister? What the hell?

I used my key and barged in, stumbling. My little sister was in bed, on all fours, bent over, ass high in the air, her head on the mattress, watching porn while she rubbed her pussy. Her middle finger was right in her asshole. She was whimpering and moaning.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I said.

"Huh?" she said, lifting her head. "Oh, Chris, you're home."

"Yes, I'm home!"

"Okay, I'll start dinner in a few minutes. Hold on."

I realized I'd left the door open and quickly closed it before I came back to her. She was already busy again, her middle finger sawing in and out of her ass while her other hand rubbed up and down along her slit, teasing her clit.

I knew I should stop watching. I had told myself I was going to come home, tell her we had to stop playing around, that it was going to get way too serious, that she had to leave tomorrow morning. I had my whole speech ready, but she had planned this so I would walk in on her, see her playing with herself, trying to tempt me!

She turned her head, looking at me as I stared. "Mmm, like the show? Do you want to come over here and help your little sister cum?"

"Eunha, you shouldn't be doing this."

"Why?" she asked, her finger still sliding in and out of her ass while the others assaulted her clit. "I jerked you off and sucked your cock. I have needs too, you know?"

"I know, but I've been thinking about it all day, and I regret it. It was wrong."

"Oh, that again," she said.

"Eunha, would you please stop? I'm trying to tell you something."

"Can it wait? I'm about to cum."

"No, it can't wait. I've reached a decision."

She paused her fingers. "And?"

"And you have to go home tomorrow."

She sighed and sat up, taking her fingers away from her pussy and ass. "So that's how it is?"

I picked up the remote and turned off the porn. "Yeah, that's how it is. Look, Eunha, we---"

"Come over here."

"What?"

"You regret what we did? Fine, I regret it to."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. I should never have sucked your cock if you weren't going to let me move in, but fairs fair."

"What do you mean?"

"Come eat my pussy."

"I'm not going to eat your pussy," I said, loud and indignant. "I wanted to tell you, this isn't going to work out. We can't do this stuff. We're related. You can't live here."

"Okay, fine, I heard you. Now get over here and eat my pussy. I need to cum."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I sucked your cock. Bring your tongue over here."

"I'm not doing that."

"The way I see it, the first blowjob was a freebie, but not the second one. I told you, if you let me stay, you get free blowjobs. Well, that blowjob was my rent, but if I can't stay, you have to pay me back. Eat me out or I'm moving in."

I couldn't believe it. And as I reflected, it actually seemed fair, like a business deal. I had to do this to make everything level.

"Fine."

"Good boy," she said. "Now come eat your sister's pussy. Ah-ah, wait, off with the clothes. I sucked your cock naked, and you're going to eat me out while that beautiful cock of yours is out in the open."

I licked my teeth. I was angry with her now. I yanked my tie off, pulling it over my head and throwing it aside. She was smirking. She settled back on the bed, sliding her legs open nice and wide. Her whole cunt was glistening with juice, red and inflamed from the abuse she had already given it. She began massaging her breasts, tugging on her dark nipples, licking her lips. I pulled my shirt apart, taking it off, unbuttoning my pants with as much spite as I could manage.

"I am going to make you fucking beg me to stop," I said.

"Ooh, big words from a little boy who can't even finish fucking a girl in the shower."

"You bitch, I will rape you right now if you keep running your mouth."

"You can rape my pussy with your tongue. Hurry the fuck up."

"I didn't know you had so much spine," I said, pushing my boxer shorts down.

"I had you thinking I was all sweet, huh?" she said, her eyes watching as I exposed my cock. "Now move it. You're making my pussy wait. Just more work for you. I was ready to cum."

I climbed on the bed, my cock bobbing in front of me. She was swaying her knees, opening and closing her legs.

"Wait," she said. "Suck my nipples first."

"Why?"

"Sarah always sucks my nipples first. You owe me an orgasm, so start up here."

I climbed up farther, right between her legs, my cock perched before her pussy as I titled my head. She reached her hand out, running her fingers through my hair and around to the back of my head.

"Come on, your sister is horny," she said.

She pulled my head into her breast. I did as she had done to me, nudging her nipple with my nose before I gave her a kiss.

"Aw," she cooed. "Such a nice brother."

A gave her nipple a few licks. My hands began to explore. She hadn't really told me to but I figured I'd go for broke. I started at her waist, sliding up her sides. I cupped her other breast in my hand as my fingers began caressing, just enough to excite her.

"Ohh," she mumbled.

My mouth closed around her nipple and I rolled my tongue over it, pinching with my teeth. Her head fell back and she let out another moan. I was still toying with her other nipple when she began lifting her crotch up, as if her pussy was a dog whining for attention. I fed it the palm of my hand. She immediately began grinding her pussy against my hand, all while she gripped my hair so tight it hurt, but I was tugging and licking her nipple and it had her moaning louder and louder. Then I slid my fingers across her pussy lips. Her breathing was heavy and fast.

"You're going to make me fucking cum before you even eat me," she said. "Doesn't mean it counts though."

She pulled my head off her nipple and brought my face up to hers, shoving her lips into mine. It wasn't right to kiss her like this, her tongue stabbing into my mouth, but I wanted it now too, and my self-control was gone. I sucked on her tongue, my fingers still rubbing across her pussy while she tried to hump my hand.

Then she reached down, shoving my hand away from her crotch. I was a little confused, until she grabbed my cock and yanked on it, pulling me forward.

"Eunha?"

"Just, just," she mumbled, kissing me again. She lifted herself straight up off the bed, bringing her pussy to my cock, and then she began slapping her clit with it. "Don't put it in, okay? Don't put it in. I fucking mean it."

I nodded. As she slapped her cunt around, I grinded forward, letting my shaft slip over her pussy lips. They parted slightly, hugging the underside of my cock as I passed back and forth. My crown crashed into her clit. She was moaning even louder.

"I really wanted to stay," she whispered into my ear. "If you had played your cards right, I would have done anything."

"I don't want your virginity," I mumbled, but I did. Even as my cock was gliding back and forth over her pussy lips, I wanted to shove it right into her. "We can't."

"I can't take much more," she said. "Eat me."

I pulled my cock away from her pussy. It throbbed in pain, but I had to keep this under control. I put my head down and went to work, giving her pussy a long lick.

"Ohh, fuck," she said, taking hold of my head.

I gave her another lick, this time up to her clit, where I flicked my tongue. I brought my hand to her pussy, rubbing her lips, slipping one inside. She really was a virgin, her hole so small I couldn't fit more than one inside her.

"God!" she cried.

I slid my tongue into her, right beside my finger, my nose enveloped by her pussy lips. She was tugging on my hair and screaming as I twisted my tongue, bucking her hips against my face, trying to shove my tongue deeper into her pussy. But then I took my tongue away, just long enough to close my mouth around her clit and suck.

That was all she could take. She screamed and fluid began squirting out of hole, running over my lips and chin. She fell back on the bed, her head turning, letting go of my hair and just panting.

I sat up, looking down at her, staring at her red, inflamed pussy, my rock hard cock poised right above it, asking me if it was our turn. I could just lean forward, shove myself right into her. She turned her head toward me, her eyes half closed, a silly smile on her face.

"You're awesome."

"Am I?"

"Almost as good as Sarah."

"Never send a man to do a lesbian's job."

She laughed. "You're funny."

"I'm hilarious."

"Mmm, that felt good, fucking awesome."

"Glad you liked it. We're even now."

"Mmmhmm." Then her eyes focused on my cock floating above her pussy. "Are you thinking about fucking me?"

"I'm thinking about it, yeah."

"Going to do it?" she asked.

"Going to stop me?"

She shook her head tiredly. "Why bother? You'll stop yourself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You're my big brother. You've always been the responsible one. You have to protect your little sister, teach her right from wrong, lead by example."

I stared down at her cunt. Then I took my cock, slapping her pussy a few times. "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?' she asked, lifting her knees and spreading them wide.

"Temptation."

"Temptation who?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

"Temptation who?" she repeated.

I pulled my cock away, lying down next to her. "Temptation knocked and ran away."

"Told you. Big cock, no balls."

"Damn it, don't make me prove you wrong."

She frowned at me. "You're sending me away tomorrow, huh?"

I nodded, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up over both of us. "I'm teaching you right from wrong, doing the brotherly thing."

She turned on her side and snuggled into me. "I had a lot of fun these last few days."

"I did too. It's going to make Thanksgiving awkward though."

"Who's coming to Thanksgiving?" she asked. "Not me. I'm moving out as soon as I can, and I'm never going back, not while Dale is around, so the only one I'm spending Thanksgiving with is you."

"That'll make it even more awkward, just the two of us and a turkey."

"Maybe you'll have the balls to fuck me by then."

"Something to look forward to," I said.

She chuckled. "A new Thanksgiving tradition."

It took half an hour for my cock to cool down, leaving that stinging sensation behind. My balls really ached. Eunha didn't talk much. We just stayed in bed, flipping through TV stations until it got late. She didn't want to go to sleep. Tomorrow, Mom and Dale would be here and she'd have to go home. I really was going to miss her, but I just didn't have enough willpower to let her stay.

I didn't wake up to the alarm. It was Saturday, after all. Instead I woke up to the curious sensation of my cock being sucked. I blinked a few times to make sure it wasn't a dream. The clock said 10:00 am. The sheet was over my waist, but someone's head was bobbing up and down.

"Fuck…Eunha?"

"It's not Eunha. It's Mrs. Webber. Pervert."

I exhaled. Damn, it felt good. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her tongue running up and down my shaft. She was squeezing my balls, tugging on them, then she engulfed the head of my cock and bobbed on it again. I felt the back of her throat.

"Eunha, you can't stay," I said, though I wasn't going to pull her off my cock.

"This is my last ditch effort. Morning blow jobs for life."

"Fuck…" I put my hand on the back of her head, encouraging her by pushing her down. "I'm not eating you out for this."

"Mmm," she mumbled, taking my cock out of her mouth to speak again. "You wouldn't have to if you'd just call Mom and Dale and tell them not to come get me."

And then her mouth was on my cock again. I pulled the sheet out of the way and saw her big, full lips sliding up and down my hard shaft.

"Eunha, you have to stop," I said, but I didn't want her to.

"Come on," she said with a pout, her hand stroking up and down as she talked, squeezing nice and tight. "All you have to do is say I can be your roommate and you get blow jobs for life. That's a fucking awesome deal. I could get an apartment three times this size with cable for that deal."

"Eunha, I swear to god, if you don't stop, I'm going to fuck you."

She frowned, giving a few pouty kisses against the head of my cock. "What if I…let you fuck me in the ass?"

"What? Are you crazy?" I asked.

She licked a few more times, strangling my cock with her hand, slapping it against her tongue. "I've heard it hurts a lot, but I like putting my finger up there. I could try to take your cock."

She went back to sucking, but I grabbed her hair and pulled her off.

"You'd really let me fuck you in the ass just to stay?"

She nodded. "I don't want to leave. I'll do it, just once. I'll let you fuck me in the ass, just not my pussy. If I do, can I stay?"

"I don't think you can handle it."

"I can."

"You know what, if this is the only way you'll learn, fine." I climbed up and moved around behind her. She turned her head, looking at me.

"You're going to do it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to fuck you in the ass."

"Really?" she said. "And I get to stay afterward?"

"I'm going to make you a deal," I said from behind her, looking down at her rosy ass. "If you can stay quiet while I fuck your ass, I'll let you stay. If you scream, if you even make a sound, you're gone as soon as Mom and Dale get here. What do you say? Deal?"

She looked nervous. "Hold on, I don't know how much it's going to hurt. I don't know if I can keep quiet."

"Then call it quits. But I'm not playing anymore sex games with you."

I grabbed the lube from the end table and put a glob in my palm, grabbing my shaft and massaging it in. I handed her the bottle.

"Lube up."

She frowned back at me. "Fine, fuck me in the ass, you jerk." She put some lube on her fingers and the reached back. With one hand, she spread her cheek, and with the other, she slid her fingers up and down her crack, poking inside, rubbing the lube around.

Honestly, I didn't expect her to agree. I was bluffing. I wasn't actually going to fuck her in the ass. I was using the lube and all the bravado to scare her, to make her give up, but once again, she had called my bluff. You would've thought I had learned by now.

"You don't have to do this," I said, trying again.

"No, I want to," she said. "And when you finish and I'm still quiet, I expect you to say I can stay. No more sex games."

"Fair enough. If you want me to pull out, say so, but you forfeit."

"I just have to last until you cum, right?"

"Yup."

"Then fuck my ass and cum quick, because I'm staying."

That's it. Fine, she was going to scream. I knew it. She had no idea what she was in for. She wouldn't last past the head of my cock.

"Ready?"

She nodded, turning around, putting her head down on the mattress.

"All right," I said.

I lined my cock up with her asshole. She was holding her cheeks wide open, her pink little sphincter clenched in fear, her whole body trembling. I let the head of my cock touch her ass. I rubbed my shaft a few times up and down the length of her ass crack, giving a few pokes at her hole.

"Come on," she said. "Just do it."

I gave my cock a squeeze and then pushed the head forward, nudging her hole. Then I shoved it in. She screamed and pulled away.

"Ow, fuck!" she shouted.

"Hah!" I said. "You lose."

"No! Hold on. I wasn't ready."

"You said you were ready."

"I know, but you took me by surprise. That didn't count. And I didn't really scream."

Suddenly, someone pounded on the front door. "Quiet down, pervert!"

"Hah, didn't scream?" I said. "Even Mrs. Webber heard you."

"Well, I wasn't ready. Do it again. I'm ready now."

"It's your ass."

She arched her back, turned around, put her head down, and held her cheeks apart. I slapped her ass with my cock.

"Stop fucking with me and fuck my ass already," she said angrily.

"Stop clenching your ass. I can't get in."

She seemed to relax, a little, and I nudged my cockhead against her hole, pressing in. She didn't make a sound, but she did flinch.

"Eunha."

"I didn't scream. Hold on. Give me a minute, okay? It's my first time."

She settled again, and I nudged her asshole with my dick. Then I pushed forward. The lube was very thick and her asshole began to open up to my invading cock like a flower. She wasn't screaming but she was panting. I looked up and saw her biting down on her lip, eyes pinched shut. Her fingers were gripping her ass cheeks so tight her skin was bright white.

"Fuck…" she whispered.

"Was that a scream?"

She shook her head. "Why the fuck are you so big?"

And then the head of my cock popped inside and she caught a yelp in her throat, which she turned into a cough. She let go of her ass cheeks, apparently too pained to hold them open. She gripped the mattress and her calves began kicking up and down in silent pain. I was staring down at the head of my cock lodged in her ass. It was strangling me, but I wanted to go deeper.

"Ready for the rest of it?"

"Hold on," she whimpered, wiping her eyes. "Not yet, please."

"Are you crying?"

"No. Just hold on."

I slid my hands over her butt cheeks, up her back, down her sides, grabbing her hips, holding on tight, ready to thrust. She glanced back at me, realizing what I was about to do.

"Don't hurt me, please?"

"Tell me to take it out and I won't."

"Just go slow. I won't scream if you go slow."

She turned her head and put it back down, holding on to the sheets as if she were dangling from a ledge. I looked down at my cock, and then I shoved forward and pulled her hips in. My cock ripped through her ass, grinding several inches of meat into her behind. She screeched, her arms turning around and trying to shove me away.

"Fuck, fuck! Take it out! Take it out!"

I pulled back, ripping it out of her ass. The neighbor was pounding on the door again as my sister fell over, rolling on her side, one hand coming around to hold her asshole. She curled up, whimpering, her eyes watery.

"Ow, shit."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"No, you asshole! You did that on purpose! You didn't even try to be gentle!"

"I did so. Look what I'm working with here."

"Ow, fuck, it stings so much. Ow, ow, ow."

"Sorry," I said, but I had to add, "you lost."

Her watery eyes turned angry. "Fuck you!" She climbed up on her knees. Then she shoved me and I toppled back.

"What the hell?"

"You're such an asshole!" she yelled at me. "This was never about paying you off with sex!"

"Uh, it wasn't?"

"No! Ever since you moved away, I've called you every week and left so many messages, but you never return my calls, and it really hurts my feelings."

"I'm busy with work and stuff. I didn't know you were so upset."

"Just listen, stupid! It hurts my feelings because after you left, I started to realize how much I wanted to be with you. It just hit me one day, I wanted to save myself for you."

"But I'm your brother."

"I know that, jerk! It's not like I haven't dated other guys, but I can't stop thinking about you. I wanted to live with you because I thought we could both figure out how we felt, but you don't even want me here."

"Okay, hold on," I said, climbing up on my knees. My cock was rapidly deflating, hanging its head in shame, despite Eunha naked in front of me. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way. Sometimes, I feel that way too, but that's why I've been saying you can't stay, because if you do, I'll end up right where you are, wanting to be with you, and it's not right. At least, it's not supposed to be right."

"I really don't care what's right, Chris. I just want to be with you."

"You're still my sister. What would our family think?"

"What family?" she asked. "Mom's an overbearing, controlling bitch. I don't care what she thinks. And Dale is not my family."

I stared at for a moment. I could almost see the future, her living with me, becoming my lover, my fuck buddy, my sexy sister.

"So," I said, "you've really been saving your cherry for me?"

She nodded with pouted lips. "Sort of. I've thought about it, but you haven't earned it."

I suddenly wanted her more than ever. "I can earn it. You still need a place to stay, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I have room for you if you want to pay me rent…with your pussy."

She took in a breath and her hand slipped down between her legs, her fingers holding her little slit. "My pussy? You mean you want to fuck me?"

"I mean your pussy is mine from now on, as much as I want, and I want a lot."

"Oh," she said. "But I'm not ready. I need more time to think about it."

"You're out of time. You have to pay rent before Mom and Dale get here."

"Hold on, I don't know. I thought it would be a little more romantic or something."

I shook my head. "It's now or never."

"But your cock is really big and scary. It's going to hurt."

"You'll get used to it,"

Eunha looked nervous. "You'll be gentle?"

"No."

"Oh."

"So, what's it going to be?"

Her fingers slowly stroked her little clit. My cock was growing harder right in front of her, standing up. She was watching it grow, running her middle finger into her pussy, as if working out how it would fit. "Can you eat me out a little first to get me ready?"

"Eunha, the rent is due now. What's it going to be?"

She looked down, just staring at my cock. It was rock hard, pointing up at her, twitching. "Okay," she said. "Fuck me."

"Good girl. You'll need the lube."

Eunha bent over the bed to find the lube, flashing me her cute little ass. I couldn't wait to get back into that, after I had her pussy. She was mine now, and truth be told, I never loved her more.

She came back with the lube, pouring it into her palm. She wrapped her hand around my shaft and slowly ran it from the base to the tip, coating it in the slick liquid. She was even more thorough this time, making sure every inch shined. Her other hand slipped down between her legs and she began massaging some lube into her pussy. She looked nervous.

"I really am a virgin, Chris. You can't just shove the whole thing in at once."

"Don't worry. I would never hurt my baby sister…much."

I gave her a kiss, nice and deep with lots of tongue. My hand slipped down to her pussy and I ran my fingers along her slit. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. I turned her around and bent her over, shoving her face down into the mattress.

"Spread your legs," I told her.

She widened her knees, turning her neck to look back at me. I moved closer, holding my cock by the base, aiming at her pretty little pussy. I slapped it a few times, how she liked. She let out a soft moan. Then I ran the head of my cock along her slit. She began grinding back against me. My hand ran over her butt, my thumb caressing her asshole. It was still slick with lube. I pushed my thumb in she squeaked in alarm.

"Ow! Chris!"

I held my thumb deep in her ass, grabbing her cheek for a handhold. I slapped her pussy with my cock a few more times.

"Ready?"

"I guess," she said. "You sure you wouldn't just like another blow job?"

I answered by pressing the head of my cock between her pussy lips and shoving it right into her. Eunha screamed.

"Ow! Fuck! Ow, ow! Shit, you could have warned me, you jerk! Ow, God, it's fucking huge!"

I looked down at my cock buried a few inches in my sister's pussy. She was trying to get away from it, squiring and shaking her ass, kicking her legs, but my thumb was still hooked in her asshole, holding her in place while she whimpered.

"Fuck, it hurts," she said. "Take it out for a minute. Fuck, fuck. It's so thick. God."

I didn't take it out. I pushed in farther and she groaned and whimpered. Then I stopped, but not because my cock wouldn't fit, because someone began banging on the door again. Eunha and I both looked up like we'd been caught.

"Fuck," Eunha whispered weakly.

"Oh, shit, is that Mom?" I whispered.

"Chris?" a voice came through. "It's the Landlord. Mrs. Webber heard screaming. You home? Did you leave your TV on again? Damn kid."

Eunha and I were quiet until the footsteps took him away. She turned her head around. "You have a giant fucking cock, in case you didn't know. You have to go slow or I'll keep screaming."

I smirked at her and pushed another inch into her pussy. She cried out nice and loud, grabbing a pillow and strangling it. Her other hand reached down between her legs and she began rubbing her clit.

"Ow, ow. Can't you go slower?"

"I am going slow," I told her.

But I was done going slow. I withdrew my cock and she whimpered in relief. Once I was all the way out of her, I looked down at my handiwork, my cock coated with a streak of her blood, and then I lined myself up and rammed right back into her pussy. Eunha screeched and nearly jumped, but my thumb kept her ass grounded. She squirmed and tried to pull away but I pushed all the way in until I reached bottom. She looked back at me with tears in her eyes.

"Fuck, stop! It's so big, it hurts. I need a break, Chris. Please, five minutes. I'll suck it. We can fuck more later."

I withdrew my cock halfway, giving her hope, but then shoved myself back into her pussy, throwing her whole body forward. She was holding onto the pillow for dear life.

"Ow, fuck! Not so hard, Chris! I'm not fucking used to your cock yet!"

I held her ass tight and then began pumping in and out of her tight little, red pussy. She groaned and began biting down on the pillow. I was in heaven. She was so tight and my cock had been through such a rough time these last few days.

"Fuck, sis, you feel incredible."

"You fucking hurt like hell!" she said.

"You'll get used to it."

"Fuck, this hurts," she whimpered. "Ow, God! Don't shove it in so hard! My pussy doesn't go that deep!"

I was shoving hard, ramming my cock deep into her with each thrust, bottoming out, her whole body rocking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she panted. "I'm so stretched out."

"I'll mold your fucking pussy to fit me," I told her, shoving in hard.

She let out a guttural groan, but her screaming was getting softer.

"You're starting to like it, aren't you?" I asked her.

"It's getting better," she said, keeping her eyes pinched shut. "Go a little slower, please."

"Still want to live here?" I asked her, pounding her pussy nice and deep.

She moaned louder and began pushing back against my cock. "Are you going to keep fucking me if I do?"

"Hell yes. This is my apartment, damn it, and I'm going to fuck you sore everyday."

"Okay," she grunted. "I guess I'll stay."

My pace was picking up, slamming in and out of her pussy, and she was shoving back to meet each of my thrusts. Her moans were getting louder and louder, thrashing as I fucked her.

"Fuck," she said, "I think you're going to make me cum! God, right there! Oh, God, your cock is fucking awesome!"

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," I said.

"Huh?" she said. "No, wait, you can't. You can't cum in me. You'll get me pregnant."

"I'm not fucking pulling out," I said, shoving my cock in deep.

"No, stop!"

Eunha began squirming, trying to get away from my throbbing cock and the cum that was about to explode out of it, but I clenched onto her ass cheek and shoved deeper into her.

"No, Chris, don't!"

I erupted, showering her pussy with sperm. She groaned but stopped fighting as I sprayed her insides. I stared down at my cock as it slid in and out of her, coated white and red with blood and cum. It ran out of her pussy and down her thighs but I kept thrusting.

"Fuck," I said.

"Oh, shit, we're seriously fucked," Eunha said as I kept pounding into her.

But then I stopped thrusting. It wasn't because I had cum; it was because the door opened. We both looked up. The landlord pulled his keys out of the door and froze. Mrs. Webber was with him. But they weren't alone. My mother and Dale were there too.

"Oh, fuck," I said.

My mother screamed. Dale's jaw fell open. The landlord gawked. Mrs. Webber fainted.

"What the fuck are you doing?" my mother shrieked.

"Uh," I said, my sensitive cock still throbbing inside my sister's pussy, "collecting rent from my new roomie?"

My sister smiled tiredly. "Yeah, Chris said I could move in, so I guess I won't need that ride home after all. Can you close the door?"

My mother began crying and ran out of the apartment. Dale just stared at my poor naked sister with my cock lodged in her pussy. "Damn," he said before he left.

The landlord folded his arms. "You got another tenant in here, kid?"

"Well, she's more like a houseguest."

"You fuck all your houseguests?"

"I don't know. She's the first one."

He smirked at me. "Just keep it down in here."

[elvhensinner]

Fun Times With Ms.Yeji

Yeji X Male Reader

Tags : Teacher Yeji, Dominant Yeji, Edging, Ruined Orgasm, Creampie, Kissing, Teasing, Older Female

Words : 2,424 Words

A Request For @Harrypotter2 Hope You Guys Liked It.

"Stay after class," Yeji murmurs, her voice dripping with sly confidence. Her lips curl into a knowing smile as she leans over your desk, the scent of her perfume—soft, floral, intoxicating—filling your senses. You swallow hard, your heart pounding as she lingers for just a moment longer than necessary before straightening up and sauntering back to the front of the room. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoes in the now-empty classroom, the door shutting with a soft click as she locks it behind the last student.

You’re trapped—or, rather, you’ve been waiting for this moment. All semester, she’s been teasing you, pushing boundaries in ways that left you breathless and aching. The way her gaze lingered on you during lectures, the way she’d brush against your shoulder as she passed your desk, the way she’d unbutton her blouse ever so slightly when she caught you staring. It was all leading to this.

Yeji turns to face you, her eyes dark with intent. She doesn’t say a word, but her hands move to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one with deliberate slowness. Your breath hitches as more and more of her skin is revealed—the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts barely concealed by a lacy black bra. She steps closer, her hips swaying with every step until she’s standing right in front of you.

"You’ve been such a good student," she purrs, her voice low and husky. Her fingers trail down your chest, sending shivers through your body. "I think you’ve earned a reward."

Your hands tremble as you reach for her, but she catches your wrist, shaking her head with a playful smirk. "No, no. Let me take care of you." She drops to her knees, her eyes never leaving yours as she unbuckles your belt with practiced ease. The sound of your zipper being pulled down feels deafening in the silence of the room.

Her hand slips inside your boxers, wrapping around your throbbing length and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. You groan, your head falling back as pleasure courses through you. Her touch is electric, her fingers firm yet gentle as she works you into a frenzy. And then her lips are on you, warm and wet, taking you deep into her mouth.

You gasp, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as she sucks and licks with expert precision. Her tongue swirls around the tip, her lips pressing tight against your shaft as she bobs her head up and down. Every movement is deliberate, every lick and suck designed to drive you wild. And it’s working.

"Yeji," you moan, your voice trembling. Her name escapes your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for more. She hums in response, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Her hand moves to cup your balls, massaging them gently as she takes you deeper, her throat opening to accommodate you.

You can feel yourself getting close, the pressure building inside you like a coiled spring ready to snap. But then she pulls away, leaving you aching and desperate. She stands up slowly, her blouse now completely open, revealing every inch of her flawless skin. Her bra follows, tossed carelessly to the side, and then her pencil skirt drops to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties.

"Are you ready?" she asks, her voice a sultry whisper as she steps out of her heels and climbs onto the desk, spreading her legs wide. You nod, too overwhelmed to speak. She reaches for you, pulling you closer until you’re standing between her thighs. Her hands move to your hips, guiding you forward until the tip of your cock brushes against her soaked core.

She gasps, her head falling back as you push into her, inch by agonizing inch. Her walls clench around you, tight and wet, pulling you deeper until you’re buried to the hilt. She moans, her nails digging into your shoulders as you begin to move, thrusting into her with slow, deliberate strokes.

Every movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, the heat of her body enveloping you completely. Her moans fill the room

Her hands press firmly against your chest, and before you can react, Yeji flips you onto your back with surprising strength. You’re sprawled on the desk now, the cool surface pressing into your skin as she straddles your hips, her thighs squeezing tightly around you. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around her face as she leans forward, her piercing eyes locking onto yours. “I want you to watch me take control,” she purrs, her voice dripping with dominance.

She grinds against you slowly, her wet heat teasing the length of your cock. The friction is maddening, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Your hands instinctively reach for her hips, but she slaps them away, a sly smile playing on her lips. “No. You don’t touch unless I say so.” Her tone is firm but playful, and it sends a shiver down your spine. She loves this—the power, the control, the way you’re completely at her mercy.

Yeji begins to move in earnest, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation is overwhelming, her tight walls gripping you with every motion. You can feel the pressure building, your body trembling as you edge closer to the brink. But just as you’re about to tip over, she stops, pulling herself off you completely. A frustrated groan escapes your lips, and she giggles, her laughter light and teasing. “Not yet,” she whispers, leaning down to brush her lips against your ear. “I want to make this last.”

She slides herself back onto you, her movements slow and deliberate, drawing out every second of pleasure. Her moans fill the room, soft at first but growing louder with every thrust. Her hips move with a rhythm that’s both maddening and exquisite, each stroke sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You try to hold on, to keep yourself from coming undone, but it’s impossible. You’re completely at her mercy, and she knows it.

“You’re doing so well,” she coos, her voice husky with desire. Her nails drag lightly down your chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. The pain is sharp but exhilarating, only adding to the intensity of the moment. She leans back slightly, her hands resting on your thighs for balance as she fucks you harder, faster. Her breasts bounce with every movement, the sight of them driving you wild.

Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate to touch her, to feel her skin against yours. But you know better than to disobey her. Instead, you focus on the sensations—the way her body feels around you, the way her moans echo in your ears, the way her eyes never leave yours. She’s in complete control, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, Yeji slows down again, her movements becoming almost agonizingly slow. She clenches around you, squeezing tightly as she grinds against you. “Do you like it when I tease you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. You nod, unable to form words. She smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

She lifts herself off you again, leaving you aching and desperate. But before you can protest, she climbs off the desk and turns around, bending over the edge. Her ass is right in front of you, perfectly round and inviting. She glances over her shoulder, a wicked smirk on her face. “Now, you can touch.”

Your hands move immediately, gripping her hips as you guide yourself back into her. She lets out a loud moan as you push into her, her walls tightening around you once again. This new angle is deeper, more intense, and it doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build again. You thrust into her with increasing urgency, each stroke harder and faster than the last.

Yeji’s moans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel her body trembling beneath your hands. “Don’t stop,” she gasps, her voice shaking with need. Her nails dig into the desk as she pushes back against you, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with her cries of pleasure.

You’re both close now, the tension building to an almost unbearable level. Yeji’s body tightens around you, her moans reaching a crescendo as she climaxes. Her walls clench around you, pulling you over the edge with her. The pleasure is overwhelming, every nerve in your body lighting up as you come harder than you ever have before.

When the waves of ecstasy finally subside, Yeji collapses onto the desk, breathing heavily. She turns her head to look at you, a satisfied smile on her face. “You did well,” she says, her voice soft but filled with affection. She reaches out to caress your cheek, her touch gentle compared to the intensity of what just happened.

But before you can fully catch your breath, she sits up and straddles you once more, this time facing you directly. Her lips graze yours in a soft kiss before she pulls back slightly. “Again,” she demands, her eyes burning with desire.

Yeji’s hands grip your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your skin as she begins to move on top of you. Her hips roll in slow, deliberate circles, her body warm and slick against yours. You can feel the tension building already, the way her thighs tighten around you, the way her breath hitches with every movement. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You’re mine now. Do you understand?”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you nod, unable to speak as she sits back up, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes lock onto yours, that confident, predatory gleam in them making your heart race. She starts to ride you harder, her pace quickening, her hips slamming down onto you with a force that leaves you gasping.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice low and throaty. “Just like that. Take it.”

You can feel the pressure building inside you, the heat of her body enveloping you completely. But just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Yeji slows down, her movements becoming almost teasingly slow. She grins down at you, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Not yet,” she purrs, shifting slightly so that she’s grinding against you rather than thrusting. The sensation is maddening, the friction just enough to keep you on the brink but not enough to push you over.

“Yeji—” you start to say, but she cuts you off with a sharp shake of her head.

“No,” she says firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to decide when. I do.”

Her hand moves to your throat, her fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. She squeezes lightly, her thumb pressing against your pulse point as she leans closer, her face inches from yours. “Do you feel that?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s me controlling you. Your pleasure is mine to give—or take away.”

Her words set a fire in your chest, and you let out a strangled moan as she starts to move again, her hips rocking against you in relentless waves. Her grip on your throat tightens slightly, restricting your air just enough to make everything feel more intense. The world narrows down to the feel of her body, the sound of her panting breaths, the way her walls clench around you with every thrust.

“Good,” Yeji murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re so good for me.”

She picks up the pace again, her movements becoming rougher, more demanding. Her free hand tangles in your hair, tugging sharply as she forces you to look up at her. Her eyes are dark with desire, her lips parted as she moans your name. “Don’t you dare come yet,” she warns, her voice breathless but firm. “Not until I say so.”

You want to obey her—you need to obey her—but it’s getting harder and harder to hold back. Every nerve in your body is alight, every inch of you screaming for release. Yeji’s thighs tighten around you, her movements becoming almost frantic as she rides you harder and faster. Her grip on your throat loosens slightly, giving you just enough air to gasp out her name.

“Yeji, I—” you manage to choke out, but she silences you with a kiss, her lips crushing against yours in a fierce, possessive claim. Her tongue slides into your mouth, exploring you with a hunger that matches the rhythm of her hips. The kiss is messy, desperate, and it only serves to heighten the pleasure coursing through your veins.

When she finally pulls away, her lips are swollen, her chest heaving as she looks down at you. “Now,” she commands, her voice trembling with need. “Come for me—now.”

It’s all the permission you need. With a strangled cry, you let go, the tension in your body snapping as you spill yourself inside her. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Yeji lets out a guttural moan as she feels you come undone beneath her, her body shuddering as she reaches her own climax. Her walls clench around you tightly, milking every last drop from you as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the only sound in the room the ragged sound of your breathing. Then Yeji collapses onto your chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She nuzzles against your neck, her lips brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “Mine.”

Her hand moves to your cheek, turning your face toward hers so she can look into your eyes. Her gaze is intense, filled with a mix of possessiveness and something softer, something almost tender. “You’re mine now,” she says again, her voice low but clear. “And I’m not letting go.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you again, this time slower, deeper, as if sealing her claim on you. When she pulls back, there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes, a hint of the teasing seductress who started all of this.

“Again,” she whispers

[elvhensinner]

Wonyoung x Reader: Dérive

Synopsis: Once a year, you sit in a booth, in Cafe Dérive . On the other side of the barrier, a voice—soft, trembling, sometimes furious, sometimes exhausted—belongs to a girl who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. You’re not supposed to know who she is. She’s not supposed to know you. But year after year, she comes back. And year after year, you realize that maybe anonymity, or at least, the pretense of it, is the only place where someone like her can finally breathe. It’s just one hour. One hour where she stops pretending. One hour where you become the only person who really sees her.

WC:11338

A/N: be kind

Chapter One — 2017 - The Trainee

Café Dérive, a café in the streets of Seoul. A hole in the wall, not known as much for it’s coffee or tea, but for it’s booths.

The sign behind your mother’s café counter has said it for as long as you can remember, etched into dark wood and softened by age.

“One session. One voice. Once a year.

No names. No faces. No promises.”

Most people take pictures of it, think it’s charming, a gimmick with soul. But you’ve lived under the rules for 2 years, and they’ve never once felt like a game.

You’ve seen people change in the booths. Not quickly. Not magically. But you’ve seen shoulders straighten, seen tears dry, seen strangers walk out like they’re carrying themselves a little more gently. You’ve seen people smile—not fake smiles, not the kind when someone asks you for a photo, or when you pretend like something isn’t bothering you, but the kind that seems to pull from somewhere buried and brave.

You were never supposed to be in the booths.

But then the wind is curling against the windows, and you’re wiping crumbs off the counter when the door swings open and everything in the café seems to hush.

She’s small. That’s the first thing you notice. Not short, exactly, just… slight. Like she’s been growing up too fast to notice the pieces of herself still catching up. Her clothes hang off her like she borrowed them from an older sibling—oversized hoodie, jeans cuffed messily above her sneakers. Her baseball cap is tugged low over her face, the bill nearly shadowing her entirely. But it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s her eyes.

Just before she heads toward the back booths, she glances around the café—and you catch them, just for a second. Wide, dark, rimmed in something that looks too painful. Exhaustion.

Not the sleepy kind. The soul kind.

You move before you think about it.

The booths are sacred. Your mom’s told you that more than once. People come here to pour their hearts into a stranger, to speak freely behind the safety of wood and curtain and rule. It’s not a place for eavesdropping. But the opposite booth is empty, and something inside you stirs—a quiet kind of ache—and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re slipping quietly into Booth A, opposite the one she just entered.

The red light turns on above the divider. The session begins.

Silence.

You sit with your hands folded in your lap, listening to the thump of your own pulse in your ears. The divider between you is smooth and solid, save for the frosted glass window that allows only the softest light through.

Then:

“Is someone there?”

Her voice is uncertain. Tired.

“Yes,” you say. Softly. Gently.

A pause.

“I wasn’t sure anyone would come.” Her voice is steadier now, but still low. “I almost hoped no one would.”

You wait.

Then, as if a dam quietly broke, she says, “I don’t think I know who I am anymore.”

It lands in the silence like a confession. You don’t answer—at least not with words. You simply… stay. That’s enough.

She exhales shakily. “I’m not supposed to say anything, I know. No names. No promises. But I need to say something, or I’ll lose my mind.”

You let her. You feel as if she’d crumble if you made her stop.

“I’ve been training to be someone—something—since I was ten. For a stage. For a dream that stopped feeling like mine a long time ago.”

You don’t speak. You let the space hold her.

“They say I’m lucky. That girls would kill for this. That I should be grateful. And maybe I was, at first. Maybe I still am, sometimes. But it feels like… like my skin is made of glass, and everyone’s watching, waiting for it to crack.”

You can almost hear the way her hands twist in her lap. The way she’s probably chewing her lip raw.

“They use me as the good example, that I’m the mature one. All they’re saying is I should wait till no one is around to cry. They time how long I sleep. How much I eat. How often I smile. They tell me to be effortless while watching everything I do.”

Still, you don’t interrupt.

“I miss forgetting what I look like. I miss waking up without dread. I miss—” her voice falters, “—feeling like a person.”

You lean forward slightly.

“It’s okay to miss yourself,” you say.

She pauses.

And then: “Why does that make me feel guilty?”

“Because they’ve made you think being human is a flaw.”

Silence, again. Not heavy. Just… full.

“I’m thirteen,” she says after a long moment. Her voice is quieter now. “I should be having fun with my friends after school. I shouldn’t be this tired. I shouldn’t be afraid to grow older.”

You feel your breath catch in your chest.

You know you’re not supposed to, but you couldn’t catch the words before it left your throat.

“I’m thirteen too.”

You don’t feel the same as her, not exactly. Your life is still books and awkward school projects and warm drinks handed to regulars who know your name. But something in the way she speaks—like she’s been hollowed out and painted over—makes you feel older just listening to her.

“I thought chasing a dream meant being happy,” she says. “But all I feel is pressure. I don’t get to fail. I don’t even get to cry.”

You say nothing for a beat. Then:

“Crying isn’t weakness. It’s remembering you’re alive.”

She laughs softly. And it’s not joyful—it’s cracked. “You sound older than you are.”

You shrug, even if she can’t see it. “My mom says I was born serious.”

“She might be right,” she says. You can hear her smile. It’s faint, but there.

You tilt your head. “Do you want to stop?”

“What?”

“Chasing the dream.”

She’s quiet.

“I don’t think I can,” she says eventually. “Not without disappointing everyone. Not without disappointing the version of me who believed in this.”

“You’re not disappointing her,” you say. “You’re just protecting the parts of her that still matter.”

Another pause. And then she breathes out, and it sounds like something has loosened in her chest.

“Why are you here?” she asks after a moment.

You think about it.

“I want to listen. Sometimes people just need to be heard, and I’ll help whoever I can.”

“I… needed this,” she says. “More than I realized.”

“I’ll be here next year,” you offer. Quiet, sure.

“…Yeah?” Her voice softens again.

You nod. “One voice. Once a year.”

There’s something unsaid between you. Something warm and aching and oddly certain.

Then you hear her shift. Her hand against the curtain. “I have to go.”

You don’t ask where.

But before she leaves, she says—hesitant, almost shy:

“Will you… will you remember me?”

You don’t need to think about it.

“Yes.”

And then she’s gone.

Chapter 2: 2018 – The Survival Show

The first snowfall of the year had come early, dusting the city in a soft hush. Inside your mother’s café, the warmth of brewing coffee and the gentle hum of conversation created a cocoon against the cold. The booths at the back, with their frosted glass dividers and worn cushions, stood as silent witnesses to countless confessions.

She slips into the booth across the wall from you like she’s done it a hundred times, even though this is only the second.

You don’t speak first. You don’t need to.

“Are you there?”

“I am.”

“…You’re here again.”

Her voice is quiet but certain. Like she wasn’t sure she could count on it until now.

“I told you I would be,” you say simply.

“I wasn’t sure if this was a one-time thing for you. You never told me much about yourself.”

You shift in your seat, feeling the corners of your hoodie sleeves under your palms. “Not much to tell.”

“Liar,” she says, but there’s no bite to it. Just a soft curiosity.

There’s a silence. Not an awkward one—just space. She doesn’t fill it right away. She’s learned that with you, there’s no pressure to rush. Maybe that’s part of why she came back.

“I’m on a show now,” she says after a beat. “A survival show. It’s called Produce 48. You’ve probably heard of it.”

You hum. You’ve seen posters. You don’t watch.

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard,” she continues. “Not the dancing. Not even the singing. It’s everything else. The… pretending. Or maybe not pretending—maybe it’s more like filtering. They tell us to stand out, but not too much. Be confident, but don’t be arrogant. Smile, but don’t fake it. Be graceful if you lose, humble if you win. And if you cry, cry prettily.”

She pauses. When she speaks again, it’s quieter. “I’m exhausted trying to be the right kind of girl.”

You sit with her words. Let them hang. Then, softly:

“What kind of girl do you want to be?”

That silence again. But this one feels different. Like it’s stunned.

“No one’s asked me that,” she says eventually, like the realization is sinking in even as she says it. “Not the producers. Not even my friends. Everyone’s just… so busy. We’re too busy chasing what they want.”

You wait. She gives you more.

“I want to be seen,” she says. “Really seen. Not for my face. Not for my ranking. Just… for who I am. When the cameras are off. When I’m not trying to be Won- Oh—”

She freezes. You feel it in the breath she draws in sharp. “Forget I said that. That’s not my real name. I mean, it is, but—”

“It’s okay,” you say, gently. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I think you’re already that girl,” you continue. “You just haven’t met enough people who know how to look.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Then: “You always say things like that. It’s weird.”

You shrug. “It’s just how I think.”

She hums. “Your voice always sounds calm. Like nothing surprises you. You’re probably one of those kids who reads a lot, right?”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah.”

“And you help out at the café?”

“Sometimes.”

“Figures,” she says. “You talk like someone who listens all the time. People who listen always end up sounding older than they are.”

You scratch your wrist. “My mom says I’m wise beyond my years.”

“She’s right.”

A beat.

“Do you like working here?” she asks.

You pause before answering. “I don’t know. I like being here, I think. I like how people leave a little lighter than when they came in. I like that it’s quiet. That you can just… listen.”

“And you only do one booth a year?”

“Yeah. It’s the rule. One session per person. Once a year. My mom says it keeps it sacred. Makes people say what they actually need to say, not just what they think they should.”

“That’s kind of beautiful,” she murmurs. “It makes sense. I didn’t think I’d say anything last year. But something about not knowing who you are… it made me say everything.”

You’re quiet, and then: “Is it scary? The show?”

“Not in the way people think,” she says. “It’s not the judges or the cameras or the schedule. It’s the other girls. The way everyone watches each other, measures themselves. Like we’re not allowed to just exist—we have to win at existing.”

You sit with that. Then, softly, “That sounds lonely.”

“It is,” she says. “Sometimes I wonder if it’ll be worth it. If people will like me. If I’ll debut. And sometimes I wonder if I’ll like myself at the end of it.”

You shift your weight. “I think the version of you who came back this year still knows who she is. That’s something.”

She exhales. “I didn’t even know how much I missed talking to you. I told myself it didn’t matter. That you were just a voice. But it’s not just that. You listen. You don’t judge. You make me feel like a person again.”

There’s a pause.

“Do you think I’ll make it?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll make it. But I hope the girl behind the barrier makes it too.”

You’re quiet again, until you feel her settle. Her breathing slows. Her next words are softer.

“You know what I miss?” she says. “As dumb as it sounds—I miss normal conversations. Just…talking about anything. Not being careful with my words. Not worrying how I’ll be edited.”

You smile to yourself. “Then let’s talk about anything. We have time.”

She laughs again. It’s warmer now. “Okay, mystery voice. What’s your favorite book or movie?”

You pause. “Probably something by Studio Ghibli. Or The Little Prince. My mom says I’m an old soul.”

“She’s right,” she says. “You talk like you’re fifty.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” she says softly. “It’s…comforting.”

She doesn’t ask you more. She doesn’t press for details. She just lets your voice fill the space like she’s collecting it, cataloging your calm like a museum piece she can revisit in memory. And then she sighs.

“There’s a girl in my dorm who says she cries herself to sleep every night. She’s eighteen. I pretend I’m asleep so she won’t think I’m weak too. But sometimes I think if I open my mouth, I won’t stop crying either.”

That stills you.

You think of the posters. The glitz. The way the public devours idols like sugar—until they don’t.

“I don’t think being honest about your sadness makes you weak,” you say quietly. “I think pretending everything’s fine all the time would break anyone.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Then—

“…Do you think I’m strong?”

You could lie. You could say yes without thinking. But you speak carefully. She deserves that.

“I think strength isn’t just doing the hard things. I think it’s coming back here. Talking to someone you don’t even know. Letting yourself be real, even just for a little while.”

You hear her swallow.

“I didn’t think I’d cry this year,” she says.

You let that sit. You don’t interrupt.

“I almost didn’t come. I almost told myself I didn’t need this anymore. That I could handle it all. But then I thought of your voice. And how it made me feel safe. And I realized… I still need this.”

She’s quiet a moment longer. Then she murmurs, “Do you ever feel like you’re not meant to be the person everyone thinks you are?”

You consider. “Yeah. Sometimes I think everyone wants a version of me I don’t know how to keep being.”

She sighs. “Exactly.”

The red light on the booth blinks once. A gentle reminder: time is running out.

But she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

“You’ll be here next year?” she asks.

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

There’s a pause. A fragile kind of silence, like the space between violin notes.

“Okay,” she says. “Then I’ll make it through. Just to come back here.”

And then she’s gone.

Chapter 3: 2019 – The Debut

She enters quietly. Always quietly. The bell above the door chimes, but her footsteps don’t make a sound. She slides into the other side of the booth.

A pause.

Then, “Hi.”

You smile without meaning to. “Hi.”

A deep breath escapes from her side of the wall. It sounds like she’s been holding it for months.

“Do you remember what I said last year?” she asks.

You lean slightly forward. “I remember a lot of things you said.”

“I told you I wanted to be seen.” Her voice dips lower. “Well… now I am. Everywhere. All the time. They watch everything. The way I walk. The way I smile. I blink wrong and suddenly I’m cold or stuck up. Or a robot.”

You tilt your head against the partition, waiting for her to go on.

“I debuted.” She laughs, but it’s hollow. “You probably knew that already.”

“I did,” you say quietly.

“I’m the center,” she continues. “That means I’m supposed to be the anchor. The face. The standard. But it feels like being picked to stand in the middle just means I’m the easiest target. We’re doing well, I think. People like us. We won a couple music shows already. My name trends on Twitter a lot. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s… not.”

You don’t answer. She’s not looking for reassurance. She’s looking for release.

“There’s this moment every night,” she says slowly, “just before I fall asleep, where I forget what I did that day. I don’t remember the stage or the interviews or the comments. For like ten seconds, I just exist. It’s the only time my brain feels quiet.”

You close your eyes, just listening.

“Everyone says I look like I was made for the Center. That I have the right kind of face, the right aura. But no one ever asks if I wanted to be the one in the middle.”

You speak softly. “Did you?”

She’s quiet. Then: “I don’t know anymore.”

You hear the way she shifts in her seat, like her body is too tired for her age.

“They train us to hold poses for hours,” she continues. “To smile no matter what. Our managers count how many seconds we make eye contact with fans. One of them told me to ‘blink more gently’ during the encore.”

You blink instinctively.

“I get these comments online,” she says, voice tightening. “Some say I’m arrogant. Others say I look empty. Cold. Plastic. One person said I look like I have no soul. I’m fifteen. I still like gummy candy. I cry at movies. I’m just—” she cuts herself off, breathing harder now. “But they don’t see that.”

“What do they see?” you ask.

“They see her. The center. The pretty one. The one they can mold and break and criticize and own.”

“I miss being fifteen,” she says, almost under her breath.

“You are fifteen.”

“Am I?” She scoffs, but there’s no bitterness in it. Just resignation. “Most days I feel like I’m thirty-five. I have to think about everything I say, every move I make. I watch what I eat. I train until I can’t feel my legs. I fake laugh at jokes from people twice my age. I get scolded for not being ‘engaging enough’ or not maintaining my image. What kind of fifteen-year-old has an image?”

You press your fingers to the wood between you. “The kind who still wishes someone would ask her how her day was.”

Silence.

Then a breath. “How was your day?”

You blink. It catches you off guard.

“Normal,” you say after a pause. “I helped my mom in the café. She keeps saying I’m growing into my ears, which feels like a weird compliment. Then I read a book. Took a walk down to the park. There’s this one tree with yellow leaves that looks like it’s glowing this time of year.”

She hums. “That sounds… peaceful.”

“It is.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then: “What book?”

You hesitate, a little surprised she asked.

“The Little Prince. I’ve read it a hundred times, but I keep coming back to it.”

“That’s the one with the fox, right?”

“And the rose,” you say. “And the boy who learns what matters most is invisible.”

She goes quiet again, thoughtful.

“I wish I was invisible sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say gently.

A pause.

“You’re right,” she murmurs. “I just want to be invisible to the wrong people. And seen by the right ones.”

“You’re being seen right now.”

There’s a small intake of breath.

“By who?” she asks, almost afraid.

You touch your fingertips to the wood again. “By someone who remembers what you said last year. And who’s listening now.”

The silence that follows is heavier, but softer somehow. Like a weighted blanket instead of a crushing stone.

 “My members are good to me though,” she adds, almost as if she’s reminding herself. “Yena unnie gives me snacks when I’m too nervous to eat. Eunbi unnie checks on me even when she’s exhausted. Hitomi lets me nap on her shoulder during van rides. They’re not just teammates. They’re… safety.”

You smile at the way she says it.

“But even with them,” she adds, “I still feel like I’m performing. Like I’m only real when I’m in this booth.”

You rest your palm flat on the partition.

“I think you’re real all the time,” you say. “But maybe here is the only place you’re allowed to be.”

Her breath catches again. She doesn’t speak for a long time.

When she does, her voice is fragile but grounded.

“I missed this. I didn’t realize how much until I was walking here.”

You nod. “I look forward to it all year.”

“So do I.”

Then, almost shyly: “Would it be weird to ask what your favorite thing is right now?”

“Like a song?”

“Anything.”

You think.

“Warm socks. And old bookstores. And the feeling when someone laughs at something you didn’t think was funny, but suddenly is.”

She laughs again, soft and genuine.

“And yours?” you ask.

She is quiet. Then:

“Rolling down the car window after a long schedule. Letting the wind mess up my hair. For a second it feels like I could just… fly away.”

Another pause.

“And this,” she adds, so softly you almost miss it. “This hour. You. Even if you’re just a voice in the wall.”

You take that in. Let it settle between you.

There’s a long pause, then she asks something she never has before:

“What do you want?”

You blink. “What?”

“You always ask me questions,” she says. “But I never ask you anything real. So… what do you want?”

You smile faintly. “For you to feel like yourself again.”

“That’s not fair.”

You laugh, quietly. “Okay. I want… a quiet life. Not small, just… intentional. A simple life, with people I love, doing what I love. A life where I can write. Or help people. Or maybe just be the kind of person people feel safe talking to.”

She breathes slowly. “You already are.”

Your throat tightens a little. You cover it with a joke. “Flattery gets you an extra minute in the booth.”

She chuckles. “Then I’ll keep talking.”

You fall into easier conversation after that. She asks about your school—what classes you hate, which teacher you think might secretly be a robot. You tell her about the stray cat that’s been living under the steps outside the café, how it only comes out when no one’s looking. She tells you that she’s starting to write poems. You tell her about how you’ve been drawing recently, but not the faces, but only their shadows. She tells you about the weird food combos the other members try—how one of them puts strawberry jam on instant noodles.

She sounds like a teenager, finally.

Until the timer on the booth clicks.

She exhales, long and slow. “It’s always too short.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I have to wait a whole year,” she says, and her voice sounds thinner now, like something stretched too far.

“But you’ll wait?” you ask.

“Yes.”

Then, quietly:

“Will you?”

You smile at the partition. “Of course.”

She stands. The booth creaks. The sound of fabric shifting.

“Same time next year?” she asks.

“Same booth,” you reply.

She hesitates, just like last year. Then, softer than you’ve ever heard her:

“Thank you.”

You don’t say “you’re welcome.” Not because you don’t mean it—but because the thank-you wasn’t for this hour.

It was for every hour she survives until the next one.

And then she’s gone

Chapter 4: 2020 – Isolation

There’s something different in the way the door opens this time.

The door creaks open and there’s a pause—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to come in.

You don’t say anything. You just wait.

Then you hear the curtain rustle and the faint sound of her sitting down across the wall.

“Is it you?”

You don’t answer right away. The question is too heavy for just a name.

So you say, softly, “Always.”

There’s a breath—quiet, shaky. Then:

“I wasn’t sure you’d come this year.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would either.” you say gently.

That earns the smallest huff of laughter from her. “Touché.”

There’s a silence that follows, but not an awkward one. It’s the kind of silence that happens when someone is searching for the right place to begin.

“It’s been… a year,” she says finally. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Try somewhere soft.”

She thinks about that.

Then: “I think I’m scared I’m becoming hollow.”

Your throat tightens at how quickly she drops into the truth this year.

She continues, “Everything I say is filtered now. Not just on camera—everywhere. Even in the dorm, even around the girls. It’s like I’ve rehearsed being myself so many times that I don’t know where the performance ends.”

You close your eyes. “That sounds lonely.”

“It is,” she whispers.

You wait, letting her set the rhythm.

She lets out a breath, soft and shaky. “I thought about this all year. Not even just today. Some nights I’d be lying in bed, scrolling through all the things people were saying about me, and I’d think, if I can just make it to the booth again… maybe I’ll be okay.”

You stay quiet, giving her space.

“My members say I’m too online,” she murmurs. “They’re probably right. But when you’re home all the time, when the world just stops moving, your phone becomes the loudest thing in the room.”

You can imagine it too easily—her in her room, lights off, screen glowing blue in the dark. Scrolling past the comments. The ones that dig into your skin, the ones that make you question the shape of your face or the sound of your laugh.

“They say I’m fake,” she whispers. “That I’m too perfect. That I don’t deserve the center. That I must have done something to get this far. And I know I shouldn’t care. I do all the right things—I rehearse until my body gives out, I keep my posture even when I want to collapse, I answer every question politely, I smile when I want to cry. But none of that matters when someone posts a screenshot of my face mid-blink and calls me a monster.”

You feel something coil in your chest.

She’s only sixteen.

But her voice is older than her age again, and not in a way that makes you admire her. In a way that makes you mourn what she’s already had to become.

“I try to stay close to the girls,” she continues. “They’re kind. We still talk a lot. Minju unnie makes me tea when I can’t sleep. Yujin does these bad impressions that make everyone groan. Sakura’s gentle in a way that doesn’t ask anything from you. They keep me afloat.”

You nod, then add softly, “But they can’t be everything.”

“No,” she agrees. “And I don’t want to burden them. They’re carrying enough.”

There’s a long pause. You wait.

“I started keeping a list,” she says, tone quieter than before. “Of all the things people criticize about me. Like maybe if I fix them one by one, they’ll stop.”

You speak before you think. “Burn the list.”

She laughs. It’s a short sound, but there’s something grateful in it. “You always say the most reckless things in the calmest way.”

“I mean it,” you say. “Burn it. Tear it up. You don’t need to shrink yourself into their idea of you.”

She stays silent, but you can imagine her, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose. “Minju unnie has been teaching me how to journal. She says it helps to write like no one’s watching.”

“Does it?”

“I tried. I wrote, ‘I’m scared I’ll disappear into her.’ And then I stared at the sentence for ten minutes and couldn’t keep going.”

You stay quiet.

“She’s not me,” She says. “The one on stage. The girl with perfect angles and fan cams and synchronized steps. She’s… manufactured. Beautiful, maybe. But not whole.”

“What’s the difference?”

“She’s adored,” she says flatly. “I’m not sure I am.”

You want to reach through the wall. You want to undo every bad headline, every cruel comment, every whisper that followed her home through the screen.

“You are,” you say. “You’re just not allowed to believe it.”

Another pause. She breathes in. “They love her. But they don’t know me.”

“They could,” you say.

“They don’t want to,” she replies. “People don’t want girls to be complicated. They want us to be palatable. Aspirational. Not messy. Not tired.”

You swallow. “But you are. You’re tired. And complicated. And human. And you still deserve to be loved.”

The silence that follows is louder than anything either of you has said.

Then, voice trembling, she says, “You always make it sound so simple.”

You smile faintly. “It isn’t. But I think sometimes we need to be reminded of the obvious things.”

There’s a shift in her voice—something softer. “You know… when I sit in this booth, I feel like I’m allowed to just exist.”

“I think that’s the point. For this talk to be special”

“It shouldn’t be this rare,” she murmurs. “Feeling like I can just… be.”

You nod even though she can’t see it. “Tell me something about you. Not the idol. Just… you.”

She’s quiet. Then:

“I like strawberry milk more than coffee. But I still order iced americanos because that’s what everyone else gets.”

A pause.

“I love painting my nails. But I’m not allowed to keep them long. Too impractical for choreography.”

Another pause.

“I hate high-waisted jeans. But stylists say they make my legs look longer.”

One more.

“And I used to love singing in the shower. But now I worry someone’s always listening, judging how I sound.”

You say softly, “Thank you. For sharing those.”

“I miss liking things for myself,” she says. “Not for how they look on fancams.”

Then, her tone lifts, ever so slightly: “Your turn.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah,” she says, a bit more teasing. “Tell me something not-perfect about you.”

You think for a moment. “I forget birthdays. Even the ones I try hard to remember.”

She laughs. “Relatable.”

You add, “I talk to my cat when I’m home alone. Like full conversations.”

“That’s cute.”

“And I still sleep with my old pillow from when I was six. The one with faded stars on it.”

“Now that’s sweet.”

There’s a longer silence this time, but it’s full of something warmer. Something settled.

Then: “I don’t know your name,” she says.

You smile faintly. “That’s part of the rule.”

“I know,” she says. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like… to look up and see you.”

You don’t say anything. Neither does she. But something shifts. Deepens.

“I was painting last week,” you offer, trying to shift the mood just slightly. “Just watercolor. The cheap kind.”

“Oh?” Her voice perks up, ever so slightly.

“There was this cherry tree outside. The blossoms were halfway gone. I painted it anyway.”

“Why?”

You think about it. “Because it was still beautiful.”

There’s a long pause. Then she says, so quiet you almost miss it: “Sometimes I think I’m the tree without the blossoms.”

You don’t hesitate. “You’re the sky behind it.”

Another long, full silence. It stretches between you, gentle and warm.

“You’re good at that,” she says eventually. “Saying things that make me stop hating myself, even for just a little while.”

“I don’t want you to hate yourself.”

“You barely know me.”

“Still.”

Then, even quieter: “You’re one of the only people I feel like I don’t have to earn.”

The weight of that sentence sinks into your ribs.

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t.

She fills the quiet instead. “Do you think I’ll ever be… just Wony—” She stops. “Just me again?”

“I think you never stopped being you,” you reply. “But I think the world’s made it harder to hear your own voice.”

She whispers, “It’s quiet in here.”

You nod. “That’s why I stay.”

“You’re the only person who talks to me like I’m not a symbol,” she whispers. “Like I’m not a brand.”

“You’re not.”

“To you.”

“To anyone willing to see.”

She sighs. “I wish I could believe that.”

“I’ll believe it for you until you can.”

You don’t know what she’s doing on her side of the wall, but you imagine her hugging her knees to her chest. You imagine the exhaustion behind her eyes.

Another silence. And then:

“Can I ask another weird question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you… think about me? Between these visits?”

The question lands with a weight you don’t expect. You don’t speak right away.

Then: “Yeah. More than I probably should.”

She laughs. “Me too.”

Something unspoken flickers between you. It doesn’t need a name. Not yet.

Then she says, “I drew your voice once.”

You blink. “What?”

She laughs softly. “I know that doesn’t make sense. But I sat down with my pencil and tried to sketch the way your voice feels. I ended up with something that looked like a candle in a snowstorm.”

You feel your breath catch.

“Can I keep that image?” you ask, smiling.

“It’s yours.”

You imagine what it would feel like to see her without the curtain—just for a second. Not as the idol. Not as the center. But as the girl with chipped nail polish and late-night fears and too many masks.

You don’t need to see her. Somehow, you already do.

Then she says, softly: “There’s a person in my dreams sometimes.”

You tense.

She continues, “I never see their face. But I hear their voice. It sounds like… here.”

You don’t say anything.

“They doesn’t ask for anything,” she says. “They just listen. And when I wake up, I feel like I can breathe.”

“You think it’s me?”

She pauses. “I hope it is.”

The timer buzzes—louder than it should be. You both flinch.

Neither of you moves.

Then she whispers, “I wish I could stay.”

“You’ll come back.”

“I always do.”

But she hesitates by the curtain.

Before she goes, she says, “You’re the only place that still feels like mine.”

Then she’s gone.

Chapter 5: 2021 – The Disbandment

You recognize her by the way she walks—cautiously, like the ground beneath her has been unsure for a while and she’s still waiting for it to give out completely. There’s no rush in her steps. Only the kind of quiet that settles over someone who’s had too much noise inside their head for too long.

She slips into the booth like someone returning to a familiar memory—worn, soft around the edges, but safe. The same rustle of fabric. The same exhale—low and fragile, like she’s finally letting herself breathe after a year of holding it in.

She doesn’t speak right away. You don’t either.

The silence between you hums differently this year. Not heavy like dread. Denser, maybe. Like grief that’s grown roots.

Then, after a long beat, she speaks. “It’s really over.”

You nod out of habit, then remember. She can’t see you. Still, she knows you heard her.

“IZ*ONE?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper.

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah. It feels like I died with it. Like that version of me—the one with twelve sisters and a purpose and a schedule to hide behind—she doesn’t exist anymore. And I don’t know if the new me is any better.”

You wait, letting the silence cushion her words. “You’re not supposed to have it all figured out. You’re seventeen.”

She laughs again, but this time it’s hollow. “Everyone keeps saying that. ‘You’re still so young.’ Like that’s supposed to make it feel easier. But I never got to be young. Not really. My life has been measured in rankings and rehearsal hours since I was twelve.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then your voice softens in a way it only does for her. “Then be young with me. At least for this hour.”

There’s a pause. Then a laugh—fragile, but real. “You always say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the world hasn’t crushed you yet.”

You smile, even though she can’t see it. “Maybe it has. Maybe that’s why I know how to spot it.”

She exhales through her nose. “I thought I’d feel free when it ended. That when the last performance was over, I’d sleep for a week and finally breathe. But now there’s this… stillness. And it’s not peace—it’s just empty. I miss the noise. The chaotic breakfasts, the staff yelling at us for sneaking snacks, the stupid pranks. I even miss our tiny bathroom with three people fighting for the mirror.”

You laugh softly. “So it really was that bad?”

“Worse,” she says, then quieter, “But it was ours.”

There’s a beat of quiet between you.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go now. The company wants me to start preparing again. Training. Probably for another debut. But for what? Another version of me, shinier, more polished, more… hollow?”

“You could just… prepare to exist. Rest. Let yourself breathe before building something new.”

“That’s not how it works for people like me,” she says, gently but firmly. “If I stop moving, I disappear.”

You nod slowly. You don’t push. You never do.

After a pause, her voice changes slightly. “How about you?” she asks. “How’s your year been?”

You blink, a little surprised. “There’s still time. I can listen to you.”

“I know,” she says. “But… I want to know. You feel like a constant in my life, and I realized I don’t really know anything about you.”

You hesitate, then let yourself lean into it. “I’ve been writing more. Mostly at night. Small things I never show anyone. Just… stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Stories about people who are lost. Or lonely. Or quietly breaking. And how they find each other in strange places. Or maybe just in moments no one else sees.”

She’s quiet, then murmurs, “That sounds familiar.”

There’s a small beat.

“Are any of them about me?” she asks, her voice soft, teasing around the edges—but not really joking.

You don’t lie. “Some of them.”

The silence after is long, but not uncomfortable. It hums with recognition. Like you’ve stepped into a truth you were both circling all along.

“I wish I could know what you look like,” she says suddenly.

You inhale, slow and steady. “Would it change anything?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “Maybe. Maybe it would ruin it. Or maybe it would make everything too real.”

“It already is real,” you say. “Isn’t it?”

Another pause. This one feels deeper.

“It is,” she says at last. “But it still feels like a dream I only get once a year. And when it’s over, I miss it for the next three hundred and sixty-four days.”

You feel something ache in you. Something that’s been growing steadily for years—soft and quiet, but stubborn. Like longing that doesn’t know what it wants yet.

“What would you do,” she asks suddenly, “if you saw me on the street?”

“I’d pretend I didn’t know you.”

“You’d really walk past me?”

“If that’s what you needed.”

She breathes out. “There you go again. Saying exactly what I need to hear.”

“That’s why you come back.”

There’s a long pause. Her voice is different when she speaks again. Gentler. Tethered.

“I come back because… this is the only place I feel like me.”

The quiet that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick with all the things neither of you dares to name yet.

“Do you remember what you said the first time we talked?” she asks.

You think for a moment. “That you sounded tired.”

“I was. I still am. But you never asked for anything. Not an autograph. Not a photo. Not even a piece of me I wasn’t ready to give.”

“You deserved a place where no one wanted to take.”

“I think I lov——I think I need this version of you,” she whispers.

Your breath catches. “This version?”

“The one who never asks me to be anything but myself.”

You almost say something reckless—almost ask her to stay, almost beg her not to disappear for another year. But instead you say, “Who you are has always been enough for me.”

She’s quiet, but you hear her breathe.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says finally. “I think I’d fall apart if you weren’t.”

“You don’t have to hold everything alone.”

“Then can I give you some of it?” she asks, half-laughing, but it’s not really a joke.

“All of it,” you say.

There’s a long pause before she whispers, “I’ll see you next year?”

“You always do.”

And even as the hour starts slipping through your fingers, like it always does, she lingers. Not because she doesn’t know the rules—but because this time, neither of you wants to let go just yet.

She doesn’t say goodbye. Just lingers, like she doesn’t want to leave.

Chapter 6: 2022 – The Re-debut

You recognize her before you hear her. There’s a rhythm to the way she moves—a quiet, practiced grace—but tonight, it’s slower. Heavier. As if the months have added weight to her steps, to her breathing. She slips into the booth with the soft sound of her coat brushing against the wooden seat, and for a moment, she doesn’t speak.

You don’t either. The silence between you has never felt awkward. It’s always been a kind of sacred prelude. A way of saying: We’re back.

When she does speak, her voice is rougher than last year’s. Not broken. But thinner. Pulled taut.

“They call me a doll now.”

There’s a pause, and you hear her exhale, like she’s been holding the words for too long.

“That’s the compliment, apparently. Not ‘smart’ or ‘talented’ or ‘kind.’ Just… ‘perfect.’ Like I’m this thing people put on a shelf. Look at, admire, criticize, reposition. Smile more. Blink less. Don’t gain weight. Don’t show too much thigh. Don’t look tired. God, I’m so tired.”

You hear the faintest hitch in her breath. “I feel like a mannequin most days. Hollow.”

You lean forward slightly, even though she can’t see you.

“But you’re not,” you say, gentle but certain. “You’re made of so much more than what they see.”

She lets out a bitter little laugh. “They don’t care what I’m made of. They want flawless skin, long legs, a good angle. They want this version of me that doesn’t cry, doesn’t eat carbs, doesn’t age.”

“And what do you want?”

She’s quiet.

“I want to be seen. Not watched. Not dissected. Seen.”

You nod. “I see you.”

You let the silence wash over the both of you.

“Do you feel like a person?” you ask softly.

She lets out a breath, more a laugh than a sigh. It sounds brittle.

“Sometimes I don’t. I feel hollow. Like I’m only real when the camera’s off… and even then, sometimes I’m not sure.”

The sadness in her voice has changed over the years. Less shock now, more weariness. She’s growing used to the ache. That scares you.

“People think I have everything,” she continues, quieter now. “But I don’t know who I am half the time. They gave me a spotlight and took everything else.”

“What would you keep, if it were up to you?” you ask.

She’s quiet for a while. Then—

“This. This booth. This hour. You.”

You close your eyes. Her voice has never felt closer.

“You know,” she says, and there’s a tremble now, “I had a fan call the other day. Just a regular fancall. Except it wasn’t. This girl—she looked like she’d been crying before we even started—and she just said… she said I saved her. That seeing me smile helped her through something. And I smiled for her, I really did. But then she thanked me, and I couldn’t stop crying.”

“I tried to turn away from the camera so she wouldn’t see, but it was too late. She told me she’d never seen someone be so human on screen. And I just—” Her voice cracks. “I’m supposed to be a doll, right?”

“No,” you say gently. “You’re just someone who gave another person hope. And that’s more than enough.”

“But I wonder if they’d still say those things if they saw me like this,” she whispers. “Sad. Lonely. Tired.”

“They don’t get this hour of you,” you say. “I do. And I love this hour.”

There’s a breath, caught between silence and something more. You hear her shift on the bench, like she’s curling inward, trying to disappear and hold on all at once.

“I think I do, too,” she says. “I think I need it.”

There’s something charged in the quiet that follows—not explosive, but intimate. Familiar. You’ve grown together across these years in a space untouched by lights or lenses. She doesn’t have to be herself here. And you… you’ve become the version of yourself who listens better than you speak, who offers comfort like it’s instinct.

“What about you?” she asks, softer now. “How’s your life?”

“Steady,” you say. “I read more. I write. I stay in my head too much.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Do you ever think about me?” she asks suddenly.

Your breath stills.

“More than I mean to,” you admit.

“Do you write about me?”

You pause. “Every year.”

There’s a pause that feels longer than it is.

“Would you ever show me?”

“Maybe someday. If I thought you’d still want to read it when you saw your name written like that.”

“I don’t think I’d hate it,” she says. “I think I might keep it under my pillow.”

You laugh—quiet, surprised.

“What?” she teases.

“You’re cute when you say things like that.”

“You’ve never even seen me when we talk.”

“You’ve never even seen me,” you shoot back.

“Maybe I don’t need to.”

She says it with a softness that makes your chest ache.

You breathe in. “If you saw what I looked like, and saw me on the street…”

“I’d walk past you,” she says. “But only because I’d want to turn around.”

You smile, quietly. “That sounds dangerously close to poetry.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

You can feel how close the hour is to ending. Her voice lowers a little more, settling into something that’s almost a whisper.

“You know,” she says, “this isn’t just some silly ritual for me. I think about this all year. I count the days.”

“So do I,” you say.

“I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t even know your name. But it feels like… home.”

“It is.”

She doesn’t speak for a while after that. You let her sit with it. Let it sink in like warm rain.

“Promise me something?” she asks finally.

“Anything.”

“No matter where I go, or who I become… keep being this person. Keep being the one place I don’t have to pretend.”

“I will. Always.”

There’s a pause, and then—

“See you next year?”

“You always do.”

She doesn’t say goodbye. Just lingers, like she doesn’t want to leave.

Chapter 7: 2023 – The Breaking Point

She doesn’t rush into the booth this time. There’s no rustle of hurried footsteps or quiet laugh behind the curtain. Just a slow drag of fabric, and the softest exhale—like even breathing has become something she has to remember how to do.

You don’t say anything. You’ve learned by now that silence is a kind of language with her.

When she speaks, her voice sounds smaller than usual. Like something’s collapsed inside it.

“I almost didn’t come.”

It’s only four words, but they land with a weight you can feel in your chest.

“I thought about turning around,” she continues. “Right outside the door. Just walking away. Pretending this place never existed.”

A beat.

“But then I realized… I didn’t know where else to go.”

You swallow hard, the ache creeping behind your ribs.

She sighs, the sound brittle. “I forgot what I used to like. What made me feel happy. Or safe. Or… me.”

Her fingers tap against the partition. Not idly. Desperately.

“I forgot what I used to like,” she murmurs. “Like, actually forgot. I was doing an interview the other day and someone asked me my favorite color, and I just… stared at them. I said pink. But I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

She pauses, then huffs a laugh that holds no humor. “I realized I don’t even know if I like pink. I don’t know what I like anymore. Not food. Not clothes. Not music. Everything I do is for someone else’s idea of who I should be.”

You listen, careful not to interrupt. She always builds her way into the truth slowly, piece by painful piece.

“I still move like I’m being watched. Even in my room, I catch myself posing without meaning to. My smiles don’t reach my eyes. I only breathe deeply when I’m here.”

There’s a pause. A different kind of silence. Then:

“Sometimes I catch myself wondering what I would be if I wasn’t an idol. But that thought scares me. Because…what would be left?”

You lean closer to the barrier, voice low and steady.

“The girl behind the barrier. And she’s more than enough.”

She exhales, and it catches like something inside her cracked a little too easily.

“You always say the right thing.”

You smile, even though she can’t see. “That’s only because you already know the truth. I just remind you.”

She laughs, barely. A small sound that sounds more like heartbreak than joy.

“I’ve been performing so long I don’t know how to exist outside of a spotlight. I don’t know how to sit still without wondering who’s watching me. If my smile looks okay. If my legs are too thin. Or too thick. If I blink too much.”

Her voice breaks on the next line.

“I read the comments. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. They talk about my body like it belongs to them. They say I look like a mannequin. That my eyes are too wide, or my face is too bland. That I’m overrated. That I’m faking every moment I try to be kind. That I’m not real.”

She inhales a sharp breath.

“And the worst part is… sometimes I believe them.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Then, softly:

“You’re amazing. I just think you don’t see it.”

She lets out a laugh—sharp, hollow, almost angry. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No. You’re not amazing because I said it. You’re amazing. I’m just reminding you.”

She doesn’t respond, but something shifts. Not relief—just exhaustion. The kind that doesn’t go away with sleep. The kind that feels like surrender.

“I come here and I try to remember the girl I used to be,” she whispers. “Before all the cameras. Before they decided I was only valuable if I was perfect.”

She leans closer to the barrier. You can hear it in the way her breath hits the surface between you.

“Sometimes I think this is the only hour I’m not pretending.”

Your voice cracks when you answer. “That’s why I’m here.”

Another silence. But this one doesn’t feel safe. It feels like she’s unraveling behind it.

“Do you ever wonder what would happen if this wall wasn’t here?” she asks suddenly. “If I could see you? If you were just… a person?”

You close your eyes. “I do.”

“I think I’m starting to hate this wall,” she says, so quietly it sounds like a secret. “But I’m terrified that if I know who you are. If you’re not just a voice in the wall, everything would change. And this…I need this”

You try to keep your voice steady. “I’ll still be here. No matter what side you’re on.”

She laughs again, but it’s wet this time. “You don’t understand. I need this. I need you. And I hate how much I do.”

“I know.”

“I tell everyone I’m fine. That I’m strong. That I love what I do. But when I come here, I don’t have to lie.”

You lean your forehead gently against the divider. “You never did.”

She exhales shakily.

“I think if this place disappeared, I would too.”

Your heart breaks a little, even though you’ve been bracing for it all year.

“Then I won’t let it disappear.”

“I know we pretend we don’t know each other,” she says after a while. “And maybe that makes it easier. But sometimes I wonder… if I met you on the street, would I recognize your voice? Would I stop and turn around?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

She laughs softly through what sounds like a tear sliding down her cheek. “I probably wouldn’t. And maybe that’s a good thing.”

You speak through the ache in your throat. “You deserve to be seen as more than what the world tries to take from you.”

“I think the only version of me that feels real anymore,” she says, “is the one who sits in this booth.”

“You don’t have to hold everything alone.”

“Can I give you some of it?” she asks, almost like a plea.

“All of it,” you say.

When the hour begins to close, neither of you moves. The silence stretches out, not comfortable, but necessary.

“I don’t want to leave,” she admits. “I don’t want to go back to pretending.”

“I’ll be here,” you promise, “when you’re ready to come back.”

She lingers for a long moment, fingertips brushing the wood between you like it’s the closest she can come to touching something real.

And then, in a whisper: “Thank you for remembering me. Even when I forget myself.”

She doesn’t say goodbye.

She never does.

But this time, you hear her crying as she leaves. And it sounds like the kind of pain only the quiet can hold.

Chapter 8: 2024 – The Confession

The booth door creaked shut, and for a moment, all you could hear was the soft hitch in her breathing. She always took a second before speaking, like she had to put down whatever mask she wore outside before she could even begin to be herself here. But tonight, she didn’t just seem tired—she seemed undone.

You could feel it in the air. The kind of stillness that only came after someone had spent too long holding it all in.

When she finally spoke, her voice was almost unrecognizable.

“I think I’m in love with a voice.”

You blinked. Not because you were surprised. But because somewhere inside you, you’d been waiting for that sentence—dreading it, hoping for it, needing it.

“It sounds ridiculous,” she added, trying to laugh, but it came out thin, frayed. “I mean, I don’t even know your name. I’ve never seen your face. And yet… this hour… every year, it’s the only time I feel like I can breathe. The only place I’m not performing.”

You leaned forward, the wooden partition between you and her more solid than ever.

“It’s not ridiculous,” you said softly.

She exhaled, like she’d been waiting for you to say that.

“I keep thinking,” she said, “if we ever saw each other outside this room—really saw each other—would it feel the same? Or would it break whatever this is? Because I don’t want to lose this. I really, really don’t.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you’d thought the same thing. In the quiet moments before sleep. In the middle of crowded places, wondering if she was nearby and you’d never know. The barrier protected you both, but it had started to feel like a cage.

“Maybe the wall’s the only thing keeping us safe,” you said. “But maybe it’s also the only thing keeping us apart.”

She was quiet for a long time.

“What would you do,” she whispered, “if I crossed it?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. You didn’t know the answer. Or maybe you did, and it scared you too much to say it out loud.

She shifted in her seat, her voice steadier now, but no less vulnerable.

“I’m doing okay,” she said, as if to change the subject. “At least, that’s what I tell everyone. The girls and I… we’ve grown a lot. IVE is bigger than we ever expected. We just finished a tour, and everyone’s saying we’re doing great. But…”

Her voice caught. You waited.

“The cameras are never off,” she murmured. “Even when they are. There’s this… constant pressure to be the ‘center’. To be perfect. People say it like a compliment—‘She’s like a doll.’ But dolls don’t get to have bad days. Dolls don’t cry. Dolls don’t grow tired.”

She laughed bitterly.

“Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I forget who I am. I don’t remember what food I liked before I debuted. I don’t know what music I’d listen to if no one else could hear. I forgot my favorite…everything.”

You swallowed. There was nothing easy to say to that.

“But here,” she said, her voice trembling, “with you, I feel like I’m still someone. Not an idol. Not a product. Just… a girl. A girl who still remembers how to feel.”

You drew in a breath, slow and deliberate.

“Just because you carry something well,” you said gently, “doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.”

She was silent again. You imagined her, curled against the wooden wall, staring at nothing. You could almost feel her heartbeat through the grain.

“There you go again.” she whispered.

“I think I’m scared to need you,” she said suddenly. “Because I do. I really do. I think about this booth when I’m thousands of miles away. I replay your words when I’m smiling for people who want something from me. And sometimes, I forget that you’re just a voice. That you might not even think about me when I’m gone.”

You couldn’t stop the ache in your chest.

“I do think about you,” you said. “More than I should.”

There was a long pause. You weren’t sure if you’d said too much, or not enough.

“Do you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Every day.”

She didn’t speak again for a while, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things neither of you were quite ready to say.

“I wish I could see your face,” she said eventually. “Not because I want to ruin this. But because I want to know what kind of eyes can see me so clearly when no one else can.”

You swallowed hard.

“Maybe someday.”

“Would it be wrong,” she asked, “if I said I wanted to cross the wall, but not yet?”

“Not wrong,” you said. “Just honest.”

“Then I’ll stay here. For now.”

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

But you stayed in that silence with her. You let it wrap around you both like a blanket neither of you wanted to lift.

Because even though you were still pretending not to know each other—still clinging to anonymity like a raft—you both knew the truth:

She wasn’t just a voice behind a wall anymore.

She was your voice.

And you were hers.

Chapter 9: 2025 – The Door Between Us

She enters the booth with a different kind of quiet.

You’ve memorized the sound of her arrival over the years—always soft, a hesitant shuffle, the sigh of someone who’s been holding in too much for too long. But this time, it’s lighter. Not weightless, not without pain, but less like she’s collapsing under something invisible.

You don’t speak right away. Neither does she.

For a while, it’s just breathing. Shared air. Familiar silence.

Then her voice, a little raspier than you remember. “You still remember.”

“I remember a lot of things,” you say gently.

You can hear the smile in her voice. “You always do.”

She pauses, as if waiting for the rest to settle. “I almost didn’t come this year.”

Your breath catches. “Why?”

“I was scared it wouldn’t be enough anymore,” she says, honest. “That just hearing your voice would make me want more. Or that I’d feel like I’d outgrown this.”

“And did you?”

“No,” she whispers. “If anything, it’s worse. You’re still the only place I can exhale.”

You don’t reply right away. There’s a heaviness in your chest that words don’t quite reach. So instead, you say softly, “I’m glad you came back.”

“I always do,” she says, a little too quickly. “Even if part of me hopes you’ll say something reckless one day. Something that makes this fall apart.”

There’s silence again. Not cold, but charged.

“How’s everything?” you ask finally. “I saw the comeback. It’s good. You seemed… good.”

She lets out a small laugh. “That’s what I’m supposed to look like. That’s the whole game, right? Appearances. But yeah… this year was different.”

“How so?”

“I stopped trying to be palatable,” she says. “For the first time, I said no to things that made me feel like glass. I started writing in a notebook again. Took dance classes for fun, not for stage. I even told a fan on a fancall last month that I was struggling—and she cried. And I cried. Because she said I helped her. And I didn’t know I was still helping anyone.”

You don’t realize you’ve clenched your fists until your nails dig into your palms. “You’re still helping me.”

You doesn’t answer at first. Then softly, “Even after all this time?”

“Especially after all this time.”

She exhales, shaky. “It’s weird, isn’t it? You know the version of me that no one else does. But I don’t even know what your face looks like.”

“Would it change things?”

“I don’t know anymore,” she admits. “Last year, I think it terrified me. Now I think… I think it’s the not knowing that’s killing me.”

You’re quiet for a long time. Then you say it—the thing you’ve held back for too many years.

“You say I always say the right thing. But that’s because I see you clearly. Not the version everyone edits and filters and picks apart. Just you. The one who laughs when she’s tired, who whispers when she’s scared, who shows up every year even when she doesn’t know why. You’re amazing. I just think you don’t see it.”

She goes quiet.

Then: “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

You don’t flinch. “You’re not amazing just because I said it. You’re amazing. I’m just reminding you.”

“Getting lazy, are we? Reusing words of wisdom now.” She jokes, but you feel something beneath the surface, trepidation, fear, even.

Silence again. But it isn’t empty. It’s trembling with something.

“You’ve been my secret,” she says suddenly. “Like a little piece of the world no one else knows about. But I don’t think I want you to be a secret anymore.”

You swallow. “What are you saying?”

She takes a breath. “I don’t want to wonder anymore. I want to know what your eyes look like when you say things that make me feel whole. I want to see if your hands shake when you speak. I want to step outside this booth and still feel brave.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your heart is beating too loud.

“I think I’m going to wait outside… for five minutes,” she says.

You sit still, listening like her words are something fragile and alive.

“If you want this to stay just what it is—an hour, a memory, something you tuck away again—I’ll understand. I will, and I’ll see you here again in a year” she says, almost like she’s trying to convince herself. “But if you’ve ever… if any part of you wants to know what this is outside these walls…”

She trails off. You hear her swallow.

“Then come out before those five minutes are over.”

She doesn’t say “please.” She doesn’t have to.

A breath. A silence.

Then the soft sound of the door creaking open and then gently closing.

And she’s gone.

The room feels hollow without her voice. It always does, but this time the silence has teeth. You sit, frozen, her words ringing in your head louder than anything she’s said before.

Five minutes.

You think of every version of her you’ve met through that barrier. The broken one. The exhausted one. The one who laughed in defiance. The one who whispered things no one else got to hear. You think of her voice—the way it always trembled when she was trying not to cry, and the way it steadied when she said something that mattered.

You stand.

Your hands are shaking.

The door groans open, and outside, there’s the hum of life again. But just a few feet away—near the alley wall, hugging her arms close—is her.

She turns slowly when she hears you.

Wonyoung.

No barrier. No booth. Just her.

She’s wearing a hoodie, hair pulled into a loose bun—eyes darker and softer than you remember, though you’ve never actually seen them since that fateful day. And yet, it feels familiar. Almost too familiar.

There’s a stunned kind of stillness between you. The world hushes.

Her lips part in disbelief, and she lets out a tiny laugh—part surprise, part relief, part wonder. “You.”

You smile, nerves and warmth tangled in your chest. “Me.”

 “I didn’t want this to stay just a dream.” You continue, looking at her with a small smile

She takes a few small steps forward, hesitant, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she moves too fast.

“I used to imagine this moment,” she says softly. “Your face. Your smile. I’d replay your voice in my head on the hard days. You were my anchor, even when I didn’t know your name, or how you looked.”

You meet her gaze and feel the weight of everything unspoken settle gently between you. “And you were always the only one I waited for. Every year.”

She blinks, and the tears are closer now, but she doesn’t look away. “I don’t want to pretend anymore,” she whispers. “But I’m still scared.”

You reach for her hand—slowly, carefully—and when your fingers brush, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

“I am too,” you say. “But maybe we can be scared… together.”

A pause. Her hand curls around yours.

Then, with a small, shy smile, she tilts her head and says, almost playfully, “So… what now?”

You smile back. “Now? We find out what happens when the hour doesn’t end.”

She squeezes your hand gently, grounding herself in the contact. Then she lifts her gaze, and her eyes soften, filled with something tender and bright and unmistakably hers.

“Can I still pretend,” she whispers, voice trembling just slightly, “that I don’t know you?”

You laugh, brushing your thumb along her knuckles. “Only if I get to pretend I’m not half way there already”

That’s when the tear finally slips down her cheek, but she’s smiling.

And then—like it’s the simplest thing in the world—she lifts her hand, just a little unsteady, and holds it out to you.

“Hi,” she says, voice barely above a breath, eyes never leaving yours. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Wonyoung.”

You smile, the kind that rises slowly, like something long-held and hard-won.

You take her hand a little tighter, just enough so she knows you’re not letting go anytime soon.

“Hi,” you say, voice soft and certain. “It’s really, really nice to meet you, Wonyoung. My name is Y/N”

You pause, heart stammering in your chest, then add—

“I’ve been waiting a long time to say that.”

She laughs, and this time there’s no hesitation. Just joy. Just relief. Just her. Jang Wonyoung. Not the idol. Not a doll. Just the girl behind the barrier.

[elvhensinner]

If you could sign an Red Velvet member for the Vixen Media Group porn sites, who would you sign? You could sign them for multiple ones as well

Irene

for Blacked

With Irene you're always sure to get a plot with some kind of cheating. She likes to cheat. And she likes it more if the person she's cheating on is watching. She loves to humiliate them while she's getting pounded like a whore. The only thing she loves more about cheating is black cock. The size. The taste. The contrast of her own skin against it. The way they stretch her out far beyond her limit. All of it.

And while some girls only pretend to be into this kind of kink, Irene fully embraces it. The small tattoo on her hip that spells "Blacked" isn't just a confirmation about the porn she does, but also a declaration of love to it.

Seulgi

for Deeper

Seulgi might look innocent, but she's a little freak. She does everything. From getting her guts rearranged while being tied up mid air to getting gangbanged for 24 hours straight. She isn't very dominant herself, but she basically lives for getting used and ruined.

Seulgi is the happiest when she has all her holes stuffed with cocks and still some waiting around her. She has dozens of glory hole scenes as well, but she prefers that the guys that use her see what a mess she becomes.

And that's exactly what she looks like after every scene. Her hair covered in sweat and cum, her face painted white, usually by multiple loads. Her jaw aching and her pussy and ass gaping.

Wendy

for Tushy

Wendy loves the feeling of her ass being filled. She always did, even before she got into porn. And now, most of her scenes include a pretty long build up with entire plots and everything. Only to reveal she was already wearing a plug the whole time. And once the scene progresses to the anal part, Wendy is ready and already gaping for any cock that is willing to stuff her tight hole to the brim.

Most of her scenes end with her ass being filled with cum. If she gets more than one load, even better. Sometimes she even stops it from coming out with her butt plug, even keeping it inside after the shoot.

Joy

for Wifey

Just like Irene, Joy enjoys the thrill of cheating. And since it's just for a scene without consequences and repercussions it's even better. But a big part of why Joy has signed with this branch in particular is her fantasy of being shared. Sometimes it's her husband and his best friend. Sometimes it's two of her son's teachers. Sometimes it's the entire football team with her husband watching.

Joy loved the attention and the spotlight. She feels alive when several men look at her, waiting for her to satisfy them. All the cameras pointing at her while Joy does what a good wife should never do.

Yeri

for Vixen

Yeri's needs are softer than the other girl's. Most of her scenes aren't very rough or controversial. She doesn't have her own brand like Joy being shared, Irene cheating constantly, Seulgi being used like a toy, or Wendy being gaped constantly.

She is fine with experimenting here and there. Maybe playing an older man's stepdaughter. Or someone's step sister or girlfriend. Maybe even just a stranger. Yeri enjoys acting as well. So a small plot to build up towards the actual highlight fits her perfectly. She can slip in all kinds of roles, but nothing extreme.

Only once did she shoot a scene with Joy. Both of them married. Both of them passed around by dozens of guys while their husbands were watching.

[elvhensinner]

Family Issue (Dahyun)

Nishinomiya City, Japan.

You hold your girlfriend Mina's hand and return to Nishinomiya's home with her and her teammate Dahyun.

As soon as she entered the door, Mina's mother greet her warmly: "Welcome back! Thank you for your hard work."

"Hello, aunt. we are back to visit you and uncle." You say politely.

Dahyun also greets him: "Hi auntie, hello uncle!"

"Come on, come on, come in and have a rest." Mina's mother enthusiastically led you into the living room and serves you tea.

Dahyun and you sat on the sofa while Mina goes to the kitchen to help prepare meals. After a while, Mina's father also comes back from outside.

"Oh, my good daughter is finally back! And this lovely guest, please sit down for a while while I wash my hands and we can start dinner."

"Stop working so hard. Let's sit down and have a rest together." Mina's mother advises.

As you chat, the topic change from work to their idol life, and the atmosphere was very harmonious.

After a while, Mina's parents bring all kinds of carefully prepared dishes to the table one by one. The aroma is overflowing, the color and fragrance are all perfect, and you are all salivating after seeing it.

"Okay, let's get started!" Mina's mother says happily.

you started eating delicious food, chatting, and joking while eating. Dahyun came alone, but she was very excited to reunite with Mina's family.

After lunch, you decided to go out for a walk in the park to rest.

After arriving at the park, you took a walk on the path under the shade of the trees. The breeze blows on your face, the birds sing, and the flowers smell, making you feel relaxed.

Mina, hold your hand and whispers: "It's great to be with you."

You look at her affectionately and hold her hand tightly: "I will always love you, Mina."

Dahyun smiles mischievously and joined our conversation from time to time. The three of you spent the afternoon happily talking to each other.

You tried to have sex with Mina, but she was still a little reserved at her parents' house.

'No, mommy is just next door. We will do it when we go back to Seoul, Ok?' Mina hugs you tightly, trying to comfort you.

You didn't force her, you just hug her gently and then fall asleep.

Later that night, you get up and  go to the bathroom. When passing by the guest room, you vaguely hear some strange noises inside. Out of curiosity, I quietly walk to the door. The door was not completely closed, leaving a small crack exposed. I took a closer look and was surprised to find——

In the guest room, Dahyun was naked and kneeling on the bed. Mina's father stood by the bed, inserting his thick penis into her little mouth; while Mina's brother stood at the end of the bed, inserting Dahyun's vagina from behind. Dahyun's body shook under the impact of the two men, and he let out intermittent moans.

"Little Dahyun, your little mouth is so great, it makes Daddy feel so comfortable." Mina's father gasped, holding down Dahyun's head and thrusting hard. "Baby, relax and let daddy's big cock enter your deepest part."

"Hmm...ah...slow down...it's too deep..." Dahyun tried to open his mouth wide, trying to accommodate the man's huge penis.

At the same time, Mina's brother was also working hard behind Dahyun, hitting Huaxin hard every time. "Dubu, you are so good at clamping here, you are going to clamp off your brother's cock!" He pumped hard while squeezing Dahyun's elastic buttocks.

"Ugh...I don't want it anymore...I really can't do it anymore..." Dahyun was forced to tears by the double stimulation before and after, but his body honestly secreted a large amount of love juice.

Seeing this scene, I also got hard and couldn't help but put my hand into my pants and started masturbating. The way the three of them interacted together was very exciting, and Dahyun's gasping voice also made me even more excited.

"Little Dahyun, call me daddy and I will reward you." Mina's father ordered. "Come on, how many times can you call me husband?"

"Husband... um... slow down, hubby..." Dahyun did as she was told. When I heard her calling her husband, I felt jealous.

"You're so naughty, little dubu. Then you have to serve your husband well." Mina's father grabbed Dahyun's hair and thrust into her mouth harder. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Hmm...ahem..." Dahyun choked on the sudden flow of semen, but still swallowed most of the liquid obediently.

"Awesome, little Dahyu. Take your husband's things." Mina's father patted Daxian's cheek with satisfaction, "Now it's my turn!"

"It's my turn to fuck you, little slut!" Mina's brother turned Dahyun over, who was still in the afterglow of orgasm, raised her legs on her shoulders, and once again penetrated her wet pussy. . "Uh...it feels so good...Dahyun, there's so much water inside you..."

"Ah...oppa...slow down..." Dahyun was unable to resist and could only endure another sprint.

I couldn't stand it any longer, so I opened the door and walked in: "Dahyun, what are you doing? How can you go behind your boyfriend's back and fuck with other men?"

The three of them were startled. Mina's father and brother quickly pulled up their pants, feeling embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I seduced them first." Daxian explained with a blushing face.

"Forget it, since you are also my girlfriend now, let's continue." I said pretending to be generous.

"Huh? But..."

"No buts, you are mine tonight." I couldn't help but take Dahyun's hand and put it on my crotch. "Touch and see, your boyfriend is already hard."

Dahyun shyly caressed my lower body and soon made me excited.

"In that case, then come and taste a real big cock." Mina's father puffed out his chest and walked towards Dahyun. "Lie down, I'm going to fuck you from behind."

"Yes, daddy." Dahyun lay obediently on the bed, with his round butt raised high.

Mina's father held the thick penis that was erect again and slowly inserted it into Dahyun's moist vagina. "Fuck, it's getting bigger again, little Dahyun. Your little mouth is so powerful."

"Hmm...it's so big...slow down..." Dahyun felt the feeling of being filled again behind him and couldn't help twisting his waist.

At this moment, Mina's brother suddenly climbed up on the bed and put the meat blade that was ready to go against Dahyun's mouth. "Dubu ah, the other side can't be left out in the cold, right?"

Dahyun opened her small mouth obediently and took Mina's brother's huge penis into her mouth. "Uh... um..." She struggled to swallow, her cheeks bulging and fluid flowing down the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah babe, use your little tongue to serve me well." Brother Mina held down Dahyun's head and began to thrust into her mouth. "Fuck fuck, I'm going to die in your mouth!"

"Uh...uh huh..." Dahyun's little mouth was filled to the brim and he could only whimper.

"Okay, okay, let's change positions." Mina's father pulled out his penis, turned Dahyun over, and let her lie on her back on the bed. "This is like a good girl."

Mina's father raised Dahyun's legs and inserted into her soft pussy again. "Wow, you're already wet down there, have you been waiting for us?"

"Um...ha...because you guys are so big...I can't stand it..." Dahyun admitted.

"I see, then we must satisfy you." Mina's brother lowered his body, pulled out his penis from Dahyun's mouth, quickly stroked a few times, and then cummed directly on her face.

Dahyun was surrounded by three of you and fell into a lewd situation.

Mina's father held the thick and long penis, slowly inserted it into Dahyun's pink pussy, and began to thrust vigorously. "Mmm... Daddy's big cock is coming in... It feels so good..." Dahyun moaned softly.

Mina's brother inserted his cock covered in precum into Dahyun's little mouth, held her head with one hand, and began to move in and out of her mouth. "Fuck, Dahyun's little mouth is good at sucking...a little harder..."

I crawled to the head of the bed, inserted my fingers into Dahyun's anus, and circled around the tight entrance. "Relax, I'm going in." Before Dahyun could react, I slowly inserted my hard penis into her. "Hmm...the ass...is so swollen..." Dahyun felt a little uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, you will get used to it soon." I said as I started to thrust slowly. With all three holes filled, Dahyun was quickly immersed in pleasure. "Hmm...ah...slow down a little...I can't bear it..."

"Don't worry, we have all night." Mina's father increased his speed, pushing to the deepest point with every thrust. "Dahyun, tell daddy, whose big cock do you like best?"

"Well...I like them all...but I like Y/N the most..." Dahyun replied with a blushing face.

At the same time, I also found the rhythm and rubbed Dahyun's sensitive points accurately every time. "Relax, we need to be comfortable together."

Mina's father put Dahyun's legs on his shoulders and continued to forcefully move his lower body in and out, brushing against the sensitive G-spot every time.

"Little Dahyun, tell daddy, do you want daddy's semen?" Mina's father gasped and asked.

"I want...I want daddy's semen..." Dahyun replied with blurred eyes, and streams of honey secreted from the depths of her heart.

"Good girl, then daddy will give it all to you." After saying that, Mina's father slammed into the deepest part of Dahyun, and all the hot essence spurted out, straight into the cervix.

"Ah... it's so hot... there's so much daddy's semen..." Dahyun felt the heat pouring into his body, and his whole body seemed to be floating in the clouds.

At the same time, Mina's brother also increased his speed, hitting Dahyun's throat harder and harder.

"Dahyun, tell Oppa, who do you belong to?"

"I...I belong to Oppa...please use me as much as you like..." Dahyun was completely addicted to lust.

"Very good, then I'll give it all to you!" Mina's brother growled and poured all the hot liquid into Dahyun's mouth.

I felt the contractions in Dahyun's vagina becoming more and more frequent, and I knew that she was almost reaching her limit. So I speeded up, hitting the sensitive points hard every time.

Under our attack, Dahyun quickly reached the peak, a large wave of nectar surged out from the depths of her heart, and her whole body couldn't help but tremble.

"No...no more...I can't bear it anymore..." Dahyun screamed and begged for mercy.

"Hold on a little longer, let's do it together!" I shouted, and after dozens of rapid thrusts, I finally released all the hot love juice into Dahyun's body.

The three men all fell beside Dahyun if they were exhausted, but Dahyun was too tired to move, and allowed the white turbidity to flow out of her three small holes.

[elvhensinner]

dat ooh

Warning… Very horny read at your own risk

I walk into Jihyo’s place unsure of what to expect. Mina and Dahyun had told me to come here after my falling out with Noel—who abused his girlfriend, Stella—and Declan, who encouraged it.

I stood by the door and knocked. Minutes passed before it opened, revealing Jihyo, smiling as she pulled me into a hug.

“Oh hey, Nadu. What’s up?” she asked.

I hesitated, then said, “Noel broke up with Stella. She’s taking it really hard.”

Jihyo nodded. “You didn’t sabotage it?”

I sighed. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to.”

She gave a solemn nod and stepped aside. “Well, come in. Let’s talk.”

Her place was just as I remembered—modern, sleek, and scented with lavender and coconut. She handed me a bottle of water and led me to the couch.

“So,” she said, settling in beside me, “what happened?”

“I tried to talk Noel through his issues—told him that changing external things wouldn’t matter if he didn’t do the internal work. But he took it as me calling him lazy. Like always, he didn’t actually hear me.”

Jihyo listened, then asked, “And Stella?”

“He tore into her. Said she was immature, that she was holding him back. It was cruel.”

She picked up her phone and made a quick call. I watched in silence until she hung up and shook her head. “He really hit all the abusive boyfriend clichés on the way out, huh?”

I gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. Hey, who were you calling?”

“Oh, just my friend who cosplays as Ace. Way hotter than Noel.”

I laughed again. “You’re evil.”

She grinned. “I learned from the best.”

Then, with a gentler smile: “So what now, noble knight? Gonna watch over Stella?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t… but I can’t just leave her like that.”

“That’s why I like you,” Jihyo said. “You take accountability even when it’s not your responsibility.” She paused, her tone softening. “Please tell me you’re done with Noel and Declan.”

I nodded.

She beamed, then launched from her side of the couch to mine, kissing me deeply. She straddled me, cupping my face.

“Good,” she murmured. “My Dragon has returned.”

“Well, someone’s excited,” I said between kisses. “You haven’t called me Dragon in a while.”

Jihyo scoffed playfully. “You were off playing good little knight. But you’re not just a knight. You’re my Dragon Lord—and I missed him.”

I smiled as Jihyo wrapped her arms tightly around me, her warmth grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. Then, with a playful tug, she stood and pulled me into her bedroom.

“Okay, someone is really excited,” I said, chuckling as I followed her in.

Jihyo nodded eagerly. “Hell yes. My boyfriend finally speaking up for himself and doing the right thing by cutting off manipulative, abusive assholes? That’s sexy as hell.”

I raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Oh, I’m your boyfriend again now?”

She grinned without hesitation. “Yeah. You never stopped being mine. But now that you’re not out here playing United Nations with trash men, I’m hyped. So let’s celebrate.”

Before I could respond, her lips crashed into mine with a violent but pleasant fervor. There was hunger in it—raw, relieved, possessive. She kissed me like she’d been holding this back for months, like she’d been waiting for me to finally let go of who I wasn’t.

I groaned into the kiss as her hands slid under my shirt, fingertips tracing familiar lines across my chest. She pushed me back until the backs of my knees hit the edge of her bed, and then she straddled me again, like she had on the couch, but now with a different kind of energy—one that was equal parts playful and primal.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” she whispered between kisses, her forehead pressed to mine. “For you to finally stop dimming your fire for people who never deserved your warmth.”

Her words hit something deep in my chest.

“I just… I didn’t want to abandon them,” I admitted. “Even if they didn’t deserve it. I thought I could help.”

“You can’t help people who refuse to help themselves,” Jihyo murmured. “And you damn sure don’t have to bleed for them.”

I looked at her then—really looked—and realized how fiercely she had believed in me even when I didn’t. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a steady, passionate love. A fire that matched mine.

“I’m done bleeding,” I said softly.

“Good,” she whispered, her hands curling in my shirt. “Now burn.”

She pulled me down into another kiss, this one slower, deeper. The kind of kiss that didn’t just mark affection—it marked possession, trust, return. Her hips rolled against mine as her breath quickened, and for the first time in a long time, I let go.

Jihyo’s kisses ran Aling my collar as they grew deeper. I could feel the heat burning between us and groaned as she took more of me.

“Im gonna break that hero part of you. I'm gonna ruin it. So that you become more pragmatic and less idealistic.”

Her mouth was fire and purpose, her body melting against mine as we sank into the bed. Our kisses turned messier, more urgent, her fingers clawing at my shirt until she tugged it over my head with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re mine,” she whispered against my skin as she kissed down my neck, biting gently at my collarbone. “Not theirs. Not anyone else’s. Mine.”

I let out a shaky breath, the sensation of her lips against my chest sparking something raw in me. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

“Well, get used to it,” she said, voice low and possessive. “Because I’m gonna remind you every damn day if I have to.”

She pushed me back down and climbed on top, her knees on either side of my waist. Her hair framed her face like a halo—if angels were sharp, cunning, and sexy as hell. She looked down at me with eyes burning like candles left out in a storm.

“You always come back to me,” she murmured, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. “Even when you’re out there trying to save the world. Even when you forget you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes.”

I sat up, bringing my hands to her waist. “Maybe I needed to fall apart a little… just to realize who was really still standing beside me.”

“Damn right,” she said, her tone laced with emotion beneath the lust. “I’m not here for the pretty version of you. I’m here for all of it. The rage. The softness. The parts you think you have to hide to be loved.”

Her words wrecked me more than her mouth did.

I buried my face in the crook of her neck and held her there, letting my hands roam her back, the curve of her hips, the way her skin trembled under my fingertips. She guided my hands lower, grounding me in sensation as much as in her presence.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

“I’m more than okay,” I whispered. “I’m… back.”

She smiled, kissed me again, slower this time. “Good. Because I want all of you. Not the knight. Not the martyr. Just the Dragon.”

And then we stopped talking.

Her body pressed flush against mine, her heat and rhythm guiding me, drawing me out of my own head and into the moment—into us. Clothes became obstacles quickly discarded, replaced by skin-on-skin, breath for breath, heat wrapped in tenderness.

We moved together like something sacred—urgent, messy, reverent. Not just passion but permission. Permission to be wild. To be wanted. To be enough.

She whispered my name like it was a spell, and I answered it like a prayer.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I wasn’t haunted by what I couldn’t fix.

I was here. With her. Burning.

Jihyo said before ripping my shirt open.

She stared at me with a possessive glint. She poked my stomach and said, “to think this is all mine,” her arduous focus was cut as she took off her top revealing her perfect breasts. She smiled then she leaned in smothering me with them.

I groaned in between breaths flabbergasted at how sweet she tastes. Her skin tastes like roasted vanilla and cinnamon giving something reminiscent of Horchata

I sucked on her right nipple for a bit before saying “you're not beating the latina allegations,”

Jihyo bursts into laughter as she presses my head onto her other nipple. Jihyo moans echoed through the room as she began grinding on my hard cock. When she had enough she cupped my face and said, “kiss me,” before brining me in for another kiss. As she kissed me she lined her entrance with the tip of my cock and slid down.

She clawed into me as she did. I groaned as she bottomed out.

“Just as I imagined you’re a perfect fit,” I groan as she shifts her weight around my cock looking for the right angle. Jihyo smiles and says.

“Im so glad you finally dropped Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” she moaned as she raised her perfect ass then slammed it down on my cock. I groaned and she digs her nails into my shoulder. “I have been waiting for you to stop holding back,” she growls as she slams down on me again.

“To finally have you let go of that knight hero compels,” she exclaims as her walls tighten around me.

“For you to stop being so polite. Uhh,” she says as her orgasm nears.

“Ah now fucking cum insidede me,” she growls ,”make this change permanent,”

Jihyo finishes as she collapses on top of me her grip tight and possessive as she still has me locked in her cunt.

Morning light spilled across the sheets, soft and golden, warming my skin even before I opened my eyes.

What woke me wasn’t the sun, though.

It was the sensation of lips pressing against my jaw… then my collarbone… then my chest.

“Mmhmm…” I groaned, eyes fluttering open.

Jihyo was draped across me, half-covered by the bedsheets, her dark hair falling like silk over my shoulder. She was practically glowing, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep, but her mouth was working overtime as she kissed a slow trail down my torso.

“You’re insatiable,” I said, though my hands were already sliding into her hair.

She looked up with a grin that was all trouble. “And you’re delicious. Don’t blame me.”

I laughed—but it turned into a gasp as she straddled me again, skin to skin, warm and confident. She leaned forward, letting her chest press firmly against mine, her mouth meeting mine in a kiss that was all hunger and morning breath and pure affection.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I groaned. “Ignore it.”

She didn’t.

Jihyo reached across me, picked it up, and looked at the screen. Her eyebrows rose.

“…Noel?” she said, clearly unimpressed.

My eyes widened. “Don’t—”

She swiped to answer, then immediately dropped her chest right onto my face, smothering me with a mischievous laugh as she spoke into the phone. The smell of roasted cinnamon and vanilla filled my nose again.

“Hi, Noel,” she purred. “This is Jihyo. Nadu can’t come to the phone right now—he’s a little busy having mind-blowing sex with someone who actually respects him.”

I flailed slightly beneath her, muffled. “Jihyo—!”

She pushed her chest firmer against my face and cooed, “Shhh, baby, Mommy’s handling it.” I could feel myself hardening again at her words

Turning back to the phone, she continued, voice suddenly cold as ice beneath the sugar: “Also? Stop calling him. He’s done playing therapist for you. You lost your last chance when you treated Stella like garbage and acted like the victim when Nadu tried to help.”

A beat of silence. I could just make out the faint, confused yelling from the other side.

She laughed.

“No, sweetie. You don’t get to guilt him anymore. He’s mine now. Fully, deliciously, and unapologetically mine. And you? You’re just another mistake he doesn’t need to repeat.”

She hung up.

I finally pulled back from her chest, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You didn’t have to body slam me with your tits to do that, you know.”

Jihyo smirked and tossed the phone aside. “It felt right in the moment. Besides,” she leaned down, her voice dropping low, “he needed to know what he lost.”

“Think you made your point.”

“I haven’t finished making my point,” she said, kissing me again, slower this time, her hands exploring with familiar curiosity.

I pulled her close, smiling despite myself. “You’re wicked.”

“And you love it.”

And maybe I did.

Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel pulled in a dozen directions, trying to fix things I didn’t break.

I felt wanted. Protected. Claimed.

And God help me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Jihyo smiled mischievously before getting up. I watched as she moved around the bedroom looking for something before she walked into her bathroom “ah here it is,” I heard her say, before she walked out of her bedroom with container of body oil. She smiled then said. I want to try something before opening the container and covering her breasts with the oil.

Her tanned skin glowed in the low morning light as she crawled back into bed with me. She smiled then wrapped her oil-covered tits around my dick. She smiled happily before saying “Oh you really like that,” her breasts feel amazing as she fucks you with them.

The smell of roasted cinnamon and vanilla fill the room as she continues. You moan enraptured by her body as it works you over. Jihyo’s eyes narrow into slits as she says, “you know I always wondered what you would feel like on my body and what you'd look like when you fall apart, and now that I got you I'm gonna explore every dark twisted fantasy I've ever had about you,”

Her body listens as she speeds up the pace. You groan feeling the weight in your balls demanding release, but as Jihyo feels you racing towards that edge she stops.

“Why the fuck did you stop?” You roar and she laughs saying

“I was only testing to see if you liked it and I think you did. Don't worry though I'll drain those balls later after I've really got you ready. Fully!” her tone was vicious but sexy leaving me even more desperate for release.

Later that afternoon, I stood outside Stella’s apartment, a small paper bag of pastries in one hand, my thumb nervously circling the edge of the lid on the shake I’d brought her.

I wasn’t sure what I was walking into—but I figured a blueberry scone was a better way to start than a string of apologies.

The door opened slowly.

Stella stood there in sweats and an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled back, eyes tired but—thankfully—clear. Less hollow than the last time I’d seen her. She looked like someone who’d cried out an ocean and was finally letting herself dry off on the shore.

“Hey,” I said gently.

She blinked in surprise, then gave me a small, grateful smile. “Nadu. Hey.”

I held up the bag. “I brought bribes.”

That got a soft laugh out of her. “If that’s from Moonlight Bakery, you’re forgiven for ghosting me.”

“It is,” I said, handing it over. “And I didn’t ghost you—I just needed to recharge a bit.”

“I know,” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “I heard things got… rough.”

The apartment was quiet. A few plants lined the window sill, and soft acoustic music played from her speaker. It smelled like incense and lavender detergent.

She curled up on the couch, and I joined her, leaving a respectful distance between us.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

She exhaled. “Better than I thought. I’ve been going to therapy again. Blocked him on everything. Mina’s been checking in. So has Dahyun. And now you.” Her voice wavered. “I’m lucky, really.”

I nodded slowly. “You didn’t deserve what he did. Any of it.”

She didn’t respond right away. Then: “I know that now.”

That sentence alone was enough to make my throat tighten. She was healing. Slowly, but still—healing.

Before I could say more, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Jojo.

I hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Stella said. “I’ll heat up some tea.”

I stepped into the hallway and answered.

“Hey man,” Jojo said, his voice already tight. “I just got a weird text from Noel. He said you’re shacked up with Jihyo and ‘betrayed him for clout and pussy.’ What the hell is going on?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“I told him to calm down and explain but he just kept ranting. Something about you turning everyone against him? Said you were whispering lies in Stella’s ear?”

I leaned against the wall. “He’s full of shit, Jojo.”

“Then tell me what happened. Please.”

I took a breath and said, calmly but clearly: “Noel didn’t just break up with Stella—he tore her down. Humiliated her. Said she was immature, weak, holding him back. He manipulated her for months. Gaslit her constantly. And when I confronted him—gently, even—he lost it. Said I was attacking him, called me disloyal.”

Dead silence on the line.

Jojo finally said, “…I didn’t know it was like that.”

“Yeah. Most of us didn’t. Stella kept trying to protect him. Hell, I tried to protect him. But I can’t anymore. Not at the cost of her. Or me.”

I heard Jojo’s breath hitch. “Shit.”

“Look,” I said, voice softening, “I’m not asking you to take sides. Just… don’t let him twist this. Not for his ego. He’s not the victim here.”

Jojo was quiet again. Then: “Is Stella okay?”

“She’s getting there,” I said, glancing toward the living room where I could see her sipping tea in the sunlight. “She’s trying. And she’s got people who care.”

Jojo exhaled. “Good. That’s good. Thanks for being real with me, man. I needed to hear it.”

“Anytime.”

We hung up, and I slid the phone into my pocket, walking back toward Stella.

She looked up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said with a faint smile, sinking into the couch beside her. “Just… catching someone else up.”

She nodded, then reached into the bag for another pastry and handed it to me. “Then let’s eat. And talk about literally anything else.”

I chuckled. “Deal.”

And just like that, for the first time in a long time, it felt like the worst was behind us.

Later that night, I returned to Jihyo’s apartment.

The moment I stepped in, she was already pulling me in by the collar, her lips crashing into mine before I could even say hello. The door slammed shut behind me as she backed me into the wall, her kiss all tongue and teeth and heat. As I looked down

“You smell like pastries,” she murmured against my mouth.

“And you smell like horchata,” I quipped back. Jihyo smiled and said,

“Where did my dragon go today”

“Visited Stella,” I said between kisses. “She’s doing better.”

Jihyo smiled, proud. “Good. You’re a good man, Dragon.”

Before I could reply, she grabbed my hand and led me toward the bedroom again with that same hungry look from the morning—only hotter. Hungrier.

We barely made it to the bed before she pushed me down onto the mattress, straddling my waist, grinding with slow, sinful purpose. Her fingers curled under my shirt and started peeling it off.

But then—my phone buzzed.

I let my head fall back with a groan. “Again?”

Jihyo snorted. “You’re so popular.”

I reached for the phone and froze.

Declan.

Of course.

I stared at it for a second, thumb hovering over Decline.

But before I could move, Jihyo leaned forward and slid the phone out of my hand. “Oh no,” she said sweetly. “I’ve been waiting for this one.”

Before I could object, she swung one leg over my shoulders and sat up on her knees—thighs clamping around my face as she straddled my upper chest.

“Seriously?!” I mumbled, voice muffled against her skin.

She looked down at me with a smug grin. “Shhh. Mommy’s got a new throne now.”

Then she answered the call.

“Hi, Declan,” she said, her voice soaked in sugar and venom. “You’re on speakerphone. And currently interrupting.”

Declan’s voice snapped through the phone, furious. “Is this a joke? You let him climb inside you just days after he nuked his friendships? You’re both pathetic. I knew Nadu was a selfish, fake-ass opportunist—he never cared about anyone but himself.”

I felt my chest tighten beneath her—but Jihyo didn’t flinch.

“Aww,” she cooed, stroking my hair like I was her pet dragon. “Sounds like someone’s feelings are hurt because their little puppet cut the strings.”

“Fuck you,” Declan spat. “You think this makes you look good? You’re just a—”

“No,” Jihyo cut him off, her voice dropping to a low, deadly whisper. “You don’t get to shame me because your boy finally chose someone who doesn’t treat him like a sidekick in his own life.”

She leaned forward, pressing her thighs even tighter around me. My muffled groan only made her grin.

“You know what you and Noel had in common, Declan?” she continued. “You both wanted Nadu quiet. Small. Useful. You only loved the version of him that took the hits and never swung back.”

“He was useful until you twisted his head—”

“Oh, no, baby,” Jihyo hissed. “He woke up. I just reminded him who he was.”

She hovered over the phone one last time and said, with calm finality, “You lost him. Forever. Now go scream into a group chat about it like a good little coward.”

Click. She ended the call.

I finally pulled back just enough to breathe, panting against her inner thigh. “You’re gonna kill me like this.”

“Better than them doing it slowly, right?” she purred, easing off me and leaning down for a kiss. “I don’t want their poison anywhere near you. Not in your head. Not in your heart. Not ever again.”

I kissed her like a thank you. Like a surrender. Like she was salvation in the form of warpaint and thighs.

And in that moment, tangled in her limbs and drowning in her fire, I realized I didn’t miss Declan or Noel at all.

Because I had finally chosen myself—and she had chosen me right back.

Jihyo smiled then said, “Since your face is so close could you do a favor for mommy?”

I raised an eyebrow Jihyo smiled and said, “what? you love it,”

I smirked then Jihyo rolled her eyes. She lowered her bare pussy into my face and said, “please do mommy a favor,”

I groaned as her scent engulfed me. I gave a tentative first lick where I got a sense of her taste. She was sweet with a hint of spice. I was hooked. I dove in at first licking all around her pussy like ice cream devouring her snatch with fervent devotion then moving onto her clit.

Jihyo tremored and spasms as my tongue dove around her core leaving her breathless and panting.

“Fuck Nadu! Deeper!” she moaned as I dived in further and further. Eventually I used my tongue to penetrate her pussy then she really lost it.

“Fuck keep going!!” she yelled before squirting all over my face. After which she jumped up from me tore “her” shirt off then growled.

“Mommy is gonna fuck you empty now!”

She undoes my pants before freeing my hard cock. She gives it a few gentle strokes before guiding me inside of her. Jihyo moans as I fills her.

She claws into my back as I thrust inside her.

“Oh fuck yes!” She moans as I impales her. Jihyo moans even higher as i lean over and gently bite her unbearably sensitive and soft nipple. She sees the wild look in my eyes and flips me over before bouncing on my cock. She moans happy and delirious as she rides me while her tits bounce wildly.

I smiles as I palms one of Jihyo’s breasts. It sends Jihyo over the edge as she climaxes all over my cock. She moans deliriously as I fondles her chest. Going through multiple orgasms. I keep ramming her though chasing my high. I want her all of her. I watch for that exact moment her mind breaks and watch as she falls apart. Her walls devour me as I spew seed into her pussy. Jihyo moans animalistically as her orgasm ravages her body.

I gently nip another nipple and she smacks me off. “I know you like mommy’s tits but if you don't stop well be at this all night.”

I turn to her and say, “and? Its the weekend I can fuck you as much as I want,”

Jihyo shivers and then says, “you wouldn't…would you,” I dive into her chest to prove my seriousness but as I do my phone rings again.

I ignore it devouring Jihyo’s breasts. She moans and whines before grabbing it.

“Dont answer it,” I say.

“I am not stopping!” I growl as she looks at it.

She leaned down and kissed me, her hands running over my chest, hips rolling ever so slightly against me. I groaned into her mouth, pulling her close as the kiss deepened, our bodies syncing again with slow, delicious rhythm.

Jihyo’s lips trailed to my jaw, my neck, her voice a whisper against my skin. “You know what I’ve wanted since last night?” she murmured. “To make you forget they ever existed. To fuck you so good they’re nothing but background static.”

She reached down between us, grinding harder now, breath hot in my ear.

I was already losing myself in her again when— Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz.

Another call.

I didn’t even look. “No. No, I’m not—”

Jihyo glanced at the screen and cackled. “Oh this one’s from Aj.”

I groaned. “Of course it is.”

“Answer it,” she said, mischief dancing in her eyes as she slid down my body. “Let’s see how good your composure really is.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She was already kissing my stomach.

Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the phone and answered. “Aj?”

“Nadu—what the hell’s going on?” Aj’s voice was half-confused, half-panicked. “I just got off a call with Declan who said you’ve gone nuclear, torched all your friendships, and you’re ‘getting brainwashed by that witch Jihyo’—his words, not mine.”

I tried to sit up, but Jihyo gently pushed me back down with both hands on my thighs. Her mouth hovered just above my waistband now. Her eyes dared me to focus.

I sucked in a breath. “Okay, first of all—”

“Wait, are you out of breath? You sound—winded.”

I closed my eyes. “Not important right now. Listen, Aj. Declan and Noel crossed a line. They’ve been manipulative, abusive even. Noel wrecked Stella emotionally, and Declan backed him up. I tried to help them. They turned it on me.”

Jihyo tugged at my waistband with her teeth.

Aj was still talking. “Wait, wait, wait. Noel abused Stella?”

“Yes,” I hissed, half to him, half to the feeling of Jihyo’s fingers sliding under the fabric. “And when I called him out, he made me the villain. They both did. I cut them off.”

There was stunned silence on the other end.

And Jihyo’s tongue was not helping.

Aj finally said, “Nadu, man… I had no idea it was that deep.”

“I know. They hid it well. I only saw it because I was close.” My breath caught as Jihyo pressed a kiss just below my navel. “And I’m done losing sleep over people who treat love like a power game.”

Aj exhaled. “Damn. I wish you’d said something sooner. I thought y’all just had some stupid drama.”

“Didn’t want to drag everyone into it,” I said, my voice strained. “But I’m done keeping quiet.”

“…And Jihyo?”

I met her gaze as she looked up at me with those wild, wicked eyes.

“She’s the one helping me remember who I really am,” I said honestly. “She’s the one who stayed.”

Aj was quiet again, then finally let out a tired chuckle. “Well. Shit. Alright. If that’s the case… then I’m with you.”

I smiled. “Thanks, man.”

“You sound like you’re in the middle of something though so I’m gonna go.”

“Appreciated.”

We hung up.

The second the phone hit the bed, Jihyo slid back up, straddling my hips again, smug and triumphant.

“I kept it PG this time,” she whispered. “Barely.”

“You are relentless,” I groaned, gripping her hips.

She smiled against my mouth. “No. I’m committed. Now shut up and let me finish what they keep interrupting.”

I smirk before lifting her off of the bed. Jihyo coos.

“I forget you were a wrestler and that you could just lift me up,” she coos as she leans in. I slip inside her and begin thrusting. I watch as her soft body undulates and ripples with each passionate move. Our foreheads connect as we both cum together again. Jihyo and I both collapse on her bed before taking a nap.

The room was quiet now, save for the low hum of the fan and the soft rustle of sheets as Jihyo shifted beside me.

Her head was resting on my chest, a thigh draped lazily over mine, our bare skin still warm with afterglow. My arm was around her waist, fingers gently tracing the curve of her spine in idle, affectionate circles.

I could feel her breathing slow and steady… and yet… she wasn’t asleep.

“Mm,” she hummed against my chest. “You’re getting hard again.”

I blinked. “I—what?”

She lifted her head just enough to meet my eyes with a lazy, knowing smile. “You think I can’t feel it?”

I laughed under my breath. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You’re lying on me.”

She propped herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping slightly from her shoulder. “Well, I’m flattered. But before you try to flip me over and take Round Four,” she said with a teasing smirk, “we should probably talk about… us.”

That sobered me a little.

I nodded, adjusting so we were facing each other under the covers, her leg still draped possessively across mine.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “We jumped in so fast. Like—don’t get me wrong—it’s been amazing, but… this is new, and real, and a little terrifying.”

She reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “Not terrifying for me,” she said. “But it is serious. And we should treat it like it is.”

I studied her face, how her eyes stayed locked on mine even as her thumb brushed over my knuckles. “So what does this mean for us?”

She took a slow breath. “It means no more playing support characters in other people’s stories. No more shrinking to fit in toxic friend groups. You and me—we’re partners. Fully. Emotionally. Sexually. Domestically. All of it.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“That sounds… really damn good,” I said, voice low and genuine. “But what happens when I backslide? When I start over-explaining myself or trying to play peacekeeper again?”

“You don’t,” Jihyo said firmly. “Because I’ll remind you who you are.”

I smiled. “Your Dragon, right?”

She grinned back. “Damn right.”

I kissed her knuckles. “And what about you? What do you need from me?”

Jihyo hesitated, just for a second. “I need to know you won’t run when I get intense. When I push. When I fight too hard for you.”

“I like that about you,” I said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t leave me room to doubt myself.”

She leaned forward and kissed my shoulder, soft and slow. “Then we’re already off to a better start than before.”

We lay there for a moment, the weight of everything finally sinking in—but not in a heavy way. More like an anchor. Something real.

She pressed a slow kiss to my chest, then trailed her lips up my neck, her breath hot again. “Still hard.”

“You’re not helping,” I groaned, biting back a smile.

“I’m not trying to help,” she whispered, teeth grazing my jaw. “I’m trying to test our self-control.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m honest.”

We both laughed softly, tangled together, the heat between us rising again—but held in check by something deeper. Something more important.

“I want this to work,” I said seriously, voice barely above a whisper.

“It will,” she promised. “Because this time, we’re not negotiating our worth for anyone.”

I nodded, wrapping my arms around her. “Then we’ve got something real.”

“And maybe,” she added with a wicked glint in her eyes, “after this talk, I’ll let you fail that self-control test.”

I groaned into her neck. “You’re going to kill me.”

Jihyo kissed me, slow and sure. “Only in the best ways.”

We stared at each other in that kind of silence that crackled with heat and tension. Her legs were still draped over mine, her hoodie hanging loosely off one shoulder, eyes locked onto me with that same fierce intensity I’d seen on stages and in bedrooms. Then she spoke, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re moving in with me.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Jihyo cocked her head, a slow smile crawling across her lips like a cat that just cornered her favorite toy.

“Stupid and handsome nerd boy says ‘huh?’ You heard me.” She leaned in, cupping my jaw with a softness that melted my brain. “You. Are. Moving. In. With. Me.”

I opened my mouth but she cut me off with a pout and a sigh, overly dramatic. “I need my Dragon close. Now that you’re free, there’s no reason not to. Plus… what if I need emergency sex and you’re not here? You really expect me to just wait?”

The way she said “emergency sex” with a faux-serious tone and a tug at my hoodie collar nearly made me combust on the spot.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I mean… fair. But we just got back together, Ji. Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” she said, rolling her eyes with a sultry chuckle. She climbed into my lap again and pushed her chest against me, lips barely an inch from mine. “I’ve seen you in a luchador mask screaming about justice while suplexing a 300-pound man through a table. You think that woman hesitated about wanting you in her bed every night?”

I coughed a laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and turned on. “Touché.”

She tilted her head again, her voice lowering into that teasing, husky register that always drove me insane. “Look at you… all flushed. You’re cute when you’re overwhelmed, you know that?”

I tried to form a response, but she didn’t let me.

“Here’s how we navigate it,” she said, now wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Simple. I add you to Mommy’s lease. You start bringing your cute nerd books and your stupid expensive coffee machine here. We split the rent, the responsibilities…” She dragged a hand slowly down my chest. “And we share everything else too.”

“That… sounds intense.”

“It’s meant to be,” she whispered. “You and I? We burn hot, Nadu. The whole ‘normal’ relationship checklist doesn’t work for us. We’re too weird. Too passionate. Too… us.” She looked down at me, her lips grazing mine without quite kissing me. “So I’m proposing something better.”

“Oh?”

“One year,” she said, her voice low and firm now. “We live together, fully. Try this, no walls, no exits. If it works—and I know it will—we get married.”

That hit harder than I expected.

I stared at her, into those eyes that saw every part of me—good, bad, broken, beautiful—and somehow never looked away.

I nodded slowly. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

She grinned, triumphant and glowing. “Nope. You can’t.”

She kissed me then—sweet and deep and full of intent. A seal on a promise.

And for the first time in a while, my future didn’t feel uncertain.

[elvhensinner]

Hot girl Solar

[elvhensinner]

The Young Wife Wants A Baby At Any Cost

Here we go, this one took a bit more just because it's nearly all smut. The idea for this was based on a jav I saw. I hope y'all enjoy

Length 4.3K

Tzuyu X Mreader

Tzuyu knew what she was doing was wrong. Wrong on many levels, but she couldn’t help herself. Her husband refused to take any action to get their family started. Sex would be the only way that he wanted it to be done, but with him being sterile, that was never going to work. Listening to her woes, Momo recommended you to Tzuyu. Given that when Tzuyu had visited her friend, she had a bulging belly, the younger woman knew Momo was right. 

Tzuyu looked at the handwritten card Momo had given her and thought back to the conversation she had with her. “It’s pure bliss,” that’s what Momo kept telling her. Tzuyu felt nervous, though. A whole month away from her husband in the arms of another man? Tzuyu would never have imagined such a thing, but the desire for a child was strong, and with her husband refusing any alternative, Tzuyu felt that she had to take matters into her own hands. She gulped as she dialed the number into her phone. 

The call went by in a flash, with a start date set. Tzuyu could hardly recall the details, but she knew what she had set up. A whole month of having sex with another man for the sake of having a baby. All she had to do was have sex with her husband, the day before her trip, then things would begin for her. This deal with the devil she had made was already eating away at her. She tried to reason with herself, settling on the decision to show her husband a great time before she left. She’d tell him about a month-long work trip and love bomb him the entire time they had together. For the days they spent together before she left, Tzuyu made sure to give him everything she could. They had sex every day, with Tzuyu making him believe she had come around to his way of thinking. Tzuyu made him meals and took him out on dates before eventually leaving.

Now here she was, Tzuyu was walking toward the house she’d be living in for the next month. Her body felt hot. Tzuyu knew it was the drink she had taken. You had sent it to her with a note to drink when she left her home. She took deep breaths as she looked for your home, remembering another conversation she had with Momo. “It’s non-stop, day in and day out. You would think you would want to stop, but you can’t. It feels too good.” Tzuyu remembered the lust in Momo’s voice as she said that. She figured it was the aphrodisiac that made her feel that way. Sex, while it was active, was sure to feel better. After all, Tzuyu felt the need to touch herself, and her body felt sensitive. Every step she took, she felt her nipple rub against her shirt. It felt good. It sent shivers down her spine.  

Tzuyu reached the door soon enough. She asked for you by name, and when you confirm, she takes steps inside your humble abode. You come up behind Tzuyu, your hands cupping and squeezing her modest breasts. The sudden pleasure makes Tzuyu moan. She turns her head to look at you, unable to get a word out as you flick her nipples through her clothing. “Don’t worry, Tzuyu, you’ll get what you want by the end of the month. Momo was very happy with my services. I’ll make sure you feel the same way.” You tell the young woman before slipping one hand down her front and under her skirt. 

“Ah, w-wait,” Tzuyu moaned, her body quickly giving into the pleasure she felt.

As your fingers slipped under her panties and made contact with her wet slit, Tzuyu leaned against you. She squeezed her thighs together, trapping your hand in place as you teased her lips. The young woman moaned softly, her body relaxing as you pushed your fingers inside her, poking and prodding at her walls. Tzuyu continued to moan, the pleasure getting to her. “We’re going to be here a long time; you might want to strip down before your clothes get dirty.” Tzuyu nodded and pushed down her skirt, getting it off with your help.  You pause for a moment, getting your pants off while you continue to grab at her breasts, massaging the soft mounds as you bring Tzuyu into the living room and sit down with her on your lap. Tzuyu’s eyes popped open as she felt your hard cock poke against her. You adjust yourself, getting your cock between her soft legs. 

Tzuyu could see the tip poking through from between her legs. The heat from it radiated, calling for her, as it rubbed against her covered slit.  “I want you to move a little, use these nice legs to get me going.” You tell the young woman, squeezing her thigh. Tzuyu gulps and slowly moves. “Spit on it a little, get it nice and wet.” Tzuyu follows along, gathering her saliva before letting it spill onto your cock and her legs. You grabbed Tzuyu’s legs, pressing them together further as you used your strength to lift her, moving her along your cock. Tzuyu holds onto your arms, shocked at your strength at first. The longer you continue, the better Tzuyu feels; her desires become stronger as your cock rubs against her slit. She moves one hand down, rubbing herself while the other hand grabs at her breast. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Why don’t you give it a quick kiss before you ride it? Oh, and you might as well get rid of the rest of your clothes.” Tzuyu nods along, mesmerized. Once you let her go, she moves off of you and kneels between your legs.

Tzuyu lifts her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side and leaving her in her panties. She looks at you hesitantly before inching closer to your cock. Your musk fills her nose, making her dizzy as she stares at the long shaft. Tzuyu gulps, quietly licking her lips before pressing her lips against your cock. It was almost like she was under hypnosis. Her body was moving of its own accord. Tzuyu wrapped her lips around the head, sucking on it before she realized what she was doing. She pulls back quickly, glancing at you nervously. “Don’t be shy, we’ll be getting to know each other quickly.” You tell her before pulling her up, making her lie down on the couch. You reach for Tzuyu’s panties, staring at her as you pull them away from her body. The young woman was naked before you know, her bare slit there for the taking. 

You spread Tzuyu’s legs and rub your cock against her wet slit. Tzuyu moaned instinctively, the aphrodisiac she had taken making the experience more pleasurable. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want.” You tell her, as you bring your hand over her clit, rubbing it gently. Your domination over her was like nothing she had experienced with her husband. It made Tzuyu feel small, but desired. She began wanting you to take her. She stayed silent for a moment, softly moaning as you continued to tease her slit. You repeat yourself to her. 

The young woman had her eyes half-lidded as you rubbed your cock against her wet slit. Tzuyu’s head was hazy, and she craved more. She raised her hips, offering herself to you. Through breathless moans, Tzuyu whispered, “I want it inside, please.” You grabbed Tzuyu’s waist and pushed into her warm core, her walls wrapping around you tightly. The young woman threw her head back, letting her low moans flow freely as you pushed deeper into her. Tzuyu placed her hands on your hands, gripping them tightly as your cock filled her. Her legs tensed. You were bigger than her husband, and with the aphrodisiacs at work, it felt magical. “Ahh, deeper, please, deeper.” She moaned, locking her legs around your waist. You pull her tight body closer to yours, driving your cock deeper, burying every inch into Tzuyu. You lean over the young woman, nipping at her neck while she adjusts. 

It doesn’t last very long; soon enough, you’re pulling out of her. You leave the head inside of her cunt, waiting until she starts to squirm to thrust back in. Tzuyu cries out, her arms wrapping around you, pulling you in close as you thrust into her quickly, getting into a rhythm. You press your lips against hers, and while she resists for a moment when you snake your tongue into her mouth, she gives in. Tzuyu grips you tightly, her legs pushing you in. “M-more, I want more.” Somewhere within her, Tzuyu was surprised by what she was doing, what she was saying, but she could hardly think straight as you continued to pound away at her body. Pleasure was coursing through her sensitive body. The way you were stretching her tiny cunt and filling her was pushing her close to an orgasm already. 

You pushed her closer to cumming when you attacked her nipples, swirling your warm tongue around the hard nubs, gently biting them and pulling them taut. Tzuyu let out low groans, groans that were becoming whimpers as she felt her core tightening. Her whole body felt like it was about to burst as you kept prodding at her womb. She gripped you tightly, biting her lips as she cried out. Tzuyu’s entire body stiffened as she came. Her nails dug into your back, marking you as you continued thrusting. 

The pleasure kept coming, waves of it crashing over Tzuyu during her climax. Tzuyu’s mind was spinning as the pleasure continued; her body was becoming overstimulated. She was about to cum again, her body twitching as the tightness in her core returned quickly. “Ah! I-I’m cumming!” She screamed, her body tensing again as you rammed your length back inside her. Despite her back-to-back climaxes, you continued to fuck the young woman, your cock finally beginning to throb as you got close to your climax. Tzuyu felt it too, her mind too far gone to form a sentence. She mumbled as you got closer to cumming. Her body acted on its own, her legs locking tightly around you as you buried yourself inside. Tzuyu’s tongue hung out of her mouth as you came; not a single sound came from her as she felt your hot cum pour into her fertile womb. “S-so much cum,” she mumbled softly as her walls clamped down on your cock, milking what seemed like an endless supply of semen from you. She groaned, craning her neck and shutting her eyes as she reveled in the feeling of your cum pouring into her.

Tzuyu’s legs slowly loosen as her body relaxes. You pull out slowly, planting your softening cock on her messy cunt. “We’ll continue in an hour or so,” you tell her before leaving for the bathroom.

Tzuyu struggles to open her eyes, “huh?” she mumbles, her mind still hazy from the three orgasms she had. Tzuyu lays her head down when you disappear around the corner. Tzuyu slowly catches her breath, her mind barely returning when it comes time to continue. 

Through the next two weeks, Tzuyu’s days were filled with constant sex, each session ending in creampies that filled her cunt. After that first day, aphrodisiacs weren’t even necessary; the young woman craved more. She understood what Momo meant now. By the fourth day, Tzuyu initiated sex, clinging to your body, begging for more. The young woman was insatiable; she wouldn’t even wear clothes inside anymore. At most, she would put on a pair of panties when she went into the back garden to tend to drying clothing. 

        Even as she hung the wet clothing out to dry, Tzuyu’s mind was filled with images of your cock. She licked her lips as she placed the clothing on the line, the wind slipping between her legs, making her shiver. The wet spot over the center was more apparent than ever. Once Tzuyu placed the last piece of clothing on the line, she turned around, heading straight to the door. She hurriedly stripped off her panties, tossing them to the side. The young woman’s fingers found their place at her slit, rubbing the plump folds as she searched for you. “I need more, sir,” Tzuyu moaned as she went room by room, finding you in the living room. Tzuyu wet her lips before getting on all fours, crawling over to you on the couch. 

The young woman’s big eyes stared at you pleadingly, her hand reached for your cock, wrapping around the limp shaft. Tzuyu’s soft hand moved along your length, coaxing it to harden. She planted her soft lips on the head, taking a deep breath in before moving her lips around your hardening cock. “I’m ready to be bred again,” Tzuyu said, planting a kiss on your shaft between every word. She wrapped both hands around your shaft once you were hard, moving them slowly along your cock. There wasn’t a doubt in Tzuyu's head that she was pregnant with your child at this point, but she signed up for a whole month, and she was getting a whole month. 

The young woman used her small tongue to lap at the tip of your cock, moaning slightly as she tasted your precum. Tzuyu pressed her lips against the head, taking it in slowly while her hands moved up and down your hard shaft. Her tongue swirled around the tip slowly before settling along the underside as she began to take in more of your cock. Tzuyu shifted her hands down, moving one to cup your balls, giving them gentle squeezes when she lowered her head.

The young woman would glance your way, hoping for praise. Your hand patting her head was enough for her; it made Tzuyu happy. She pushed your cock into the back of her throat, trying to take in as much as she could. Saliva filled Tzuyu’s mouth, spilling from the corners of her mouth and tainting her pretty face, dropping onto her bare chest. “That’s enough, Tzuyu,” you told her, patting your lap as a signal to the young woman. Tzuyu pulled back quickly, rushing to straddle you. She used her slit to rub your cock, the wet mound ready for another round. You grab one of Tzuyu’s cheeks, raising her body a few inches so you can align yourself with the young woman’s entrance. “Tell me what you want, Tzuyu,” you order. 

“I want to be a mommy.”

“Are you sure you’re not already one?” You ask.

The question shakes Tzuyu; with all the creampies she had taken, there was little doubt she wasn’t pregnant, even if she wasn’t entirely sure. “I-I’m sure,” Tzuyu stuttered, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anything. She remembered for a moment that she was here to get pregnant and that was all, but here she was throwing herself at you because it felt good. You could already tell she wasn’t being honest with herself, but what did you care? It just meant more sex for you from the beautiful woman. Tzuyu was about to speak again when you grabbed her hips and pulled her down, impaling her on your cock. The sudden waves of pleasure crashing over Tzuyu made her throw her head back. You bring your hand back, sending it right into Tzuyu's plush rear. The hard smack served as a sign to Tzuyu. She began to move, bouncing herself on you, her tight walls gripping you well as if they had been molded to the shape of your cock. The young woman held onto your shoulders as she moved. You hold onto Tzuyu’s ass, gripping the firm piece of flesh, helping her move along your shaft while you enjoy the sight of her modest chest bouncing right in front of you. 

“Tell me what you want, Tzuyu.” 

Tzuyu grimaced; she didn’t like talking dirty, but it turned her on nonetheless. Her body loved it, enjoying talking about what she desired. Another smack on her ass makes the cheating wife speak, “I want you to cum inside me,” she moaned. Tzuyu was trying to keep it clean, but when you begin thrusting into her as she brings herself down, it becomes more difficult. You ask her again. “I want you to breed me,” she moans loudly, barely holding herself together. Tzuyu submits quickly as the pleasure overwhelms her. “I want your big fat cock to cum inside my tight little pussy. Make me yours, put your baby in me.” She cries out, the vulgar words spilling out of her continuously as you continue thrusting into her. 

  Tzuyu leaned against you, her body losing strength as an orgasm rocked her. You could feel her walls clamping down around your cock, begging for another load of your baby batter. “Give it to me. Make me a mommy. Fill my cunt,” Tzuyu whispered into your ear as you continued thrusting, your cock beginning to throb inside her warm core.  You bury yourself inside Tzuyu, unleashing another torrent of your baby batter. A tired smile crosses Tzuyu’s face as her desire is granted. You hold onto Tzuyu’s ass and stand up. You pin Tzuyu against the wall and snake your hands under her legs, propping them up onto your shoulders. Tzuyu gives you a confused look as you change positions, but she gladly welcomes the change as she feels you dig deeper in her core when you thrust into her again. She wraps her hands around your neck as you plow into her again and again, your cum spilling from her abused cunt. “Fuck–yes—give me more. Fuck a baby into me.” Tzuyu’s body might as well have been a Fleshlight at the moment. 

“Be honest, Tzuyu. You’re just a little slut aren’t you?” You grunt into her ear. 

Tzuyu purses her lips, holding back her moan. “I’m-I’m.” Tzuyu wants to refuse, but she’s been broken down over the past two weeks. She knows she’s not the same woman who just came in looking to get pregnant. She wanted sex; it felt like pure bliss being able to go at it like rabbits and be filled up with loads of spunk. Tzuyu couldn’t refuse any longer, “I’m a slut,” she moans. “I’m just a little slut that loves being filled with cum,” she cries out, her walls clamping down around you tighter than before.

You continue to press Tzuyu’s buttons, hitting her G-spot in this new position.  The young woman shuts her eyes tightly as she cums again, a rush of liquid spilling out in tandem with your last load as she squirts around your cock. Tzuyu hangs her head, utterly exhausted from her orgasms. You move her away from the wall, laying her back on the couch before leaving to go about your day.

With Tzuyu’s admittance to her newfound sluttiness, you decide to take things up a notch for the remaining time you have with her. You show her a new world, introducing toys to your play. When Tzuyu goes out to tend to anything in the back garden, she has bullet vibrators attached to her clit and nipples. You tease her, turning them from the lowest setting to the highest and vice versa. That wasn’t all, though. When it was time for another round of breeding, you would place clamps on her nipples and become rougher with her. For her part, Tzuyu fell in love with it all. Pleasure was Tzuyu’s weakness; when it all felt so good, she begged for more. Days passed by in a blur for her; she didn’t even realize that the last day was upon her.

The morning went by like any other; you would wake up and fuck Tzuyu, dumping your first load of the day inside her. Considering it was the last day, you dragged Tzuyu along wherever you went in the home, fucking her in every room. 

For the final session, you went to the bedroom. You taped the vibrators to her nipples as you readied the young woman. Tzuyu was already shaking her body, overloaded with pleasure and overly sensitive from the series of orgasms she had. Her pussy was already filled and spilling your cum, her lips glistening from the baby batter, but still she begged for more. Tzuyu laid her head against the mattress and spread her lips for you, raising her ass high in the air. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she repeatedly whined. You took your sweet time, massaging the woman’s ass before finally inching closer to her messy slit. You rubbed your cock between her lips, aligning yourself slowly with the gaping hole. You pushed the head against her entrance before reaching for her arms. You pulled them back and rammed into her womb. The heavy pleasure made Tzuyu cum instantly. You drove the young woman crazy, beginning rough thrusts into her as she came. Her moans filled the room because of you. You pulled tightly on her arms, raising her upper body. Tzuyu curled her toes; every muscle in her body was flexing as pleasure swept over her. Tzuyu’s moans turned to whines as she was made to cum over and over again. The young woman felt happy to be used in such a way. She held a tired smile as his tongue wagged in the air. Tzuyu thought she had experienced pure bliss before, but now she was thinking that this was it. 

“Give me more, give your little fleshlight more,” Tzuyu cried out, the once proper woman reduced to a lustful toy. You dropped Tzuyu’s arms, letting her fall face-first onto the bed for a moment. You placed one hand on her ass, giving the firm piece of flesh a rough slap before holding onto her waist. Your other hand reached for her hair, wrapping it around your fist before pulling it back. The pain only added to the pleasure Tzuyu felt her walls tighten around your cock as she came again. 

You felt your climax approaching and continued at your wild pace, driving your cock into Tzuyu’s slick cunt until you came again. “It's coming!” Tzuyu cried out as she felt more of your baby batter pouring into her. She might’ve well been in love with it the way her walls clamped down around you, attempting to milk you for every drop as you continued to move. Tzuyu’s entire body became slick as time went on, covered in a thick layer of sweat; her body glistened. Looking to her side, Tzuyu could see herself. She watched as your body collided with hers, her ass jiggling from the rough impacts.  She smiled, loving the sight of her slick body bouncing against yours. Tzuyu reached down, rubbing her clit as you pounded away at her body, her fingers becoming drenched in a creamy combination of your semen and her cum. Tzuyu's head was spinning as she reached another climax. She continued to watch herself be fucked, it drove her crazy. Her orgasms came quicker, her walls consistently tight around your cock. As you delivered more slaps to her rear, Tzuyu begged for more, her ass turning a bright red with handprints easily visible. 

“Last one,” you grunt before impaling Tzuyu on your cock, the head rubbing against her womb as you spill more of your seed into her white cunt. Tzuyu completely collapses, and you lie on top of her as you finish cumming inside her.

You pull out slowly, dragging your softening cock out of her. The moment you’re gone, your semen rushes out of her, pooling underneath her. You crawl over to Tzuyu’s mouth, slapping her lips with your dirtied cock. The young woman opens her mouth wide for you, sucking on your cock gently, bobbing her head to the best of her ability as she cleans you up. Her soft tongue moves side to side along your cock as she takes you in deeper, getting to the base before finally pulling back. You pull your cock out of her mouth, leaving with a small pop.    

You leave the room for a moment, gathering Tzuyu’s clothes while she recovers. Slowly, Tzuyu’s mind returns to her as the orgasmic bliss fades. Her sweaty body begins to cool as you come back. “Let’s keep going,” Tzuyu moans, her fingers deep in her messy cunt. The young woman brought her dirty fingers to her lips, sucking them clean before turning her gaze back to you. You toss her clothes to her. The act confuses her, and she looks at you.

“It’s time you went. Get dressed and get out.” You tell her, pointing to the door.

“What? B-but,”

“Out, now.” You tell her sternly. Tzuyu sees your serious expression and gives a slight nod, looking ashamed as she dresses herself. You lead her to the door once she’s done, and before she goes out, you give her a quick kiss. “If you ever need my services again, make sure to call.”

Tzuyu couldn’t help but smile at those words. She gives you a slight nod, “I’ll be in your hands when I need you again.” She says that before stepping out the door, wobbling on her unsteady legs. Tzuyu could feel the cum inside her sloshing around with every step. She arrived at an empty home, her husband still out working. It was just as well; Tzuyu needed to shower and take the test to confirm she was pregnant. The young woman cleaned herself off, getting rid of the stench of sex that lingered on her body. Over an hour later, she had confirmation of being pregnant. The first thing she felt wasn’t joy; however, it was disappointment. Being pregnant meant she couldn’t just immediately go back to you. When her husband returned, she shared the good news with him. She played it off well enough, making sure he didn’t suspect a thing. She couldn’t let her little secret be spilled. 

[elvhensinner]

First time reading fisting. Im glad its with an author like this one 😌

TPT 02 | Quality Check

Twice's Park Jihyo / OC

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (in the oven) →

Word count: 10.7K | Tags: Smut, Lactation, Deepthroat, Titjob, Size Queen, Fisting, Breeding Kink, Creampie

Seungdae is given a once in a lifetime opportunity. However, first he needs to prove himself worthy and skillful enough to satisfy Twice's leader.

Upon arriving at the JYP building, Seungdae asked for directions to the office Momo had indicated, stating he was there ‘as a freelance developer to meet the hiring manager’, also, as instructed by the Japanese girl. 

A staff member guided him to the office, where he saw a suited man already sitting there with Jihyo. He had gotten there a few minutes before twelve, so he decided to wait for Momo to show up. Unfortunately for him, before he could get comfortable in the hallway, Jihyo leaned out of the room. “Hey, ‘big boy’, come on in.”

He entered the office, which only had a small table with six chairs and a black glass that seemed to be used as a blackboard. Inside the room, there was another door, although there was no way to see what was behind it. 

“It's a bit early, but we are complete now, we can start when you wish, Miss Park,” said the man. Jihyo simply nodded, making him stand up to close the door, locking it. “Please, Mr. Hwang, make yourself comfortable, take a seat.” Seungdae followed along and the man proceeded. 

“I’m Mr. Kim, one of the company's lawyers. I think you met my partner last week, Mr. Choi,” he said in a very friendly manner. “I imagine Miss Park here needs no introduction.” 

Seungdae finally dared to see Jihyo. Her hair was up, letting her white tank top show her slim shoulders as it hugged her breasts. “Yeah, no need,” he nodded at the lawyer and nodded at Jihyo, thinking if her tits were bigger than Momo’s or if it was just the color accentuating her features. “Did I miss something? Wasn’t Momo supposed to be here?” 

“You will see her later,” Jihyo clarified in a serious tone, “I just thought it was the best way to get you here and shut her up.”

Seungdae’s face was clear, he was confused. The woman looked at the lawyer, he nodded confidently. “You’re not in trouble of any kind,” the woman clarified. “Momo has not shut up about you and how well you made her feel,” silence took over the room for two seconds, “both physically and emotionally.” 

“I-I’m glad she felt that way. I was a bit worried about her. She seemed alright when she left, but…” 

“She told me,” Jihyo raised her hand, shutting him up. “I hope you understand that’s a sensitive topic that even herself does not bring up to light very often.”

He nodded, but just before he could reply, the lawyer intervened. “Since we’re already talking about this, I think it is better you sign this up first, Mr. Hwang,” Mr. Kim handed him a folder and a pen. “This NDA includes the subjects we’ll be discussing today and the offer in this folder.” The younger man scanned it and signed it, handing it back to the lawyer. 

“I’ll be direct,” Jihyo placed her hand on the table, “Momo has been begging me to include you to our table of Companions.” Seungdae raised an eyebrow, pretending to be confused. 

“Mr. Hwang,” the lawyer intervened, hands flowing in front of him as he explained, “people in this industry require trustworthy and efficient people helping them to release any kind of tension in order to excel at their job. We call them ‘Companions’. Men and women, who perform sexual acts for and with our artists as a living.” 

“Momo was serious about it,” Seungdae murmured to himself, barely opening his mouth. 

“Companions have a ranking system that depends on the reviews of our artists. However, this is built through years of labour. In your case, considering you are a foreigner to this and your experience with Miss Hirai, you will not be in the catalogue available for everyone. You will be assigned as a Companion of the Twice members until someone else requests your services through their leader or manager. Call it, Chief approval, if you like.” 

“Okay, that’s clear enough, but even if Momo was pushing you to include me in… This,” he looked at Jihyo, still confused, “why are you actually going through with it? And if I sign, what responsibilities would I have?”

“We've been struggling…” Jihyo exhaled, trying to get the right words. “Most of the girls in the company have taken some men from the catalog, but they were left unsatisfied. Some of them have scared them,” she ended with a regretful tone as her mind clearly remembered more than one instance. 

“The way you treated Momo, spoke to her and reacted to every bit of her… We need someone like that,” her tone warmed up. “Someone who actually treats us as humans. I want that for all my members and my hoobaes.”

“As for your duties,” the lawyer opened the second folder, “consent is key here. You will answer their calls, and meet them where they tell you to satisfy their needs. Any romantic feelings must be avoided to preserve professionalism. Safe words are needed as some girls are into rough play,” he pointed to the clauses of the contract on the table. 

“Since you would be an anomaly in our system,” he continued, “we thought it would be fair to let you add your own clauses. You don't have to do this today, but we're aiming to have the final signatures next Friday,” he explained. “Please, read it. Page seven includes your monetary compensation,” he handed the folder to Seungdae. 

“Where can I make a call?” He asked the lawyer after reading through the contract, who guided him to a different office. After ensuring the door was locked, Seungdae called Jin to explain the situation. 

“Woah, they're serious business, huh?”

“What do you think? I need to know how you feel about all this and I want your opinion.”

“Asking you to say no to this would be hypocritical of me. If you can add your clauses, aim for your own wellbeing.”

“I know, I would not like any permanent scars,” he said, passing his hand through his back. 

“I would love it if this doesn't mess with our timing. It's hard enough for us to meet already, even harder when it's the three of us.”

“My point exactly. The last thing I want is to ruin what we've built.”

“You won't, oh, great one. I'll talk with ‘the prince’ after he's done filming today.”

“Thank you, Jin…”

“Thank you for thinking of us before signing. And… Good luck. I have to get back, the sun won’t wait for us and the staff is calling me. We'll talk later tonight.”

“Duty calls, princess, I get it. Take care.”

Seungdae went back to the office to find Mr. Kim talking closely to Jihyo. They turned to him as soon as he entered the room. “I have requests for the clauses.”

Jihyo smiled, looked at the lawyer and then back at Seungdae. “Let’s hear them.” 

“You mentioned consent is key. I need to be able to negotiate when I will meet you and, we'll, anyone else,” he began. 

“Woah! Twice is asking you to fuck them and you get picky about it?” Jihyo was truly surprised, thinking anyone would just sign without thinking twice about it. 

“I have my priorities clear, but I’m not stupid to let this opportunity go,” he raised his eyebrows, looking at her eyes. “There will be times when I won’t be available. The problem is, I don’t control when this will be.” 

“The friend that got you the ticket and works in the industry, but no one knows,” Jihyo said with a smirl, “I get it, it’s fine. Note it down,” she requested the lawyer, “if I want you to respect us, we also need to respect you.” 

“Thank you,” he said, a bit surprised at how easy that was. “Also, my house is off limits, I appreciate my privacy as much as the next person. I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“That will be beneficial for both parties,” said Mr. Kim with a smile as he wrote. “Anything else?”

“I am not restricted from having sex with other people, am I?” Seungdae’s face turned serious. 

“Of course not. But we’ll need your medical records and you’ll be tested periodically for everyone’s safety from now on. It’s written on page five, paragraph seven,” the lawyer replied. Seungdae nodded, satisfied. 

“One more step before you sign, handsome,” Jihyo leaned to the table, tits resting on it. “While Mr. Kim writes down your clauses, I’ll need to test you myself,” she smirked, locking her big eyes on him, noticing how he could not avoid looking up and down between her boobs, lips and eyes. 

“S-sure thing,” he replied, confused by her sudden change. 

“Now,” she stood up while Mr. Kim picked up his papers. She took Seungdae’s hand, making him follow her. She opened the other door within the office and walked him through a small dark hallway. 

He was confused, barely able to see anything in the hallway. His eyes had always taken a bit too long to adapt to the dark. He followed her steps and heard her open another door. He tried not to hit the frame as they walked past it. 

When she turned on the light he saw a large bed, a couch and a mirror on the wall with a clock above it. ‘Must be a double sided mirror,’ he thought, as its position was opposite to the glass blackboard from earlier. 

Jihyo took off her shoes and left them at the entrance before throwing her phone near the pillows on the bed. She sat on its edge and tapped the space on her left, signaling him to sit with her. “Look, Momo spoke really highly of you, but you have to understand she’s… Pretty much a cock addict, in abstinence of a few things.” 

She turned to look at him better and let her leg rest on the bed as he sat next to her after leaving his shoes near the entrance. “I trust that woman with my soul, but she hasn’t had much kindness when it comes to sexual partners; so I wanted to be sure you’re good for all nine of us before I open the doors for you.”

“I completely get it,” he nodded lightly, “so, what now?”

“You’re at my service,” Jihyo began, leaning towards him and grabbing the neck of his shirt. “You will follow my instructions to the letter,” she got closer to his lips. “I want you naked, now,” she commanded, letting him feel her breath before she let go of him. 

“As you please,” he stood up as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Now that I am, in a way, working for you, should I use any honorifics with you or…?” He asked, removing his shirt, now with a naked torso. 

“If everything goes as expected, you will be fucking all nine of us, so, feel free to talk casually with us. Plus, you’re older than us,” she replied, admiring his shape as he removed his socks, followed a single movement to take off his pants and trunks at the same time, letting his cock hang between his legs. 

“That thing is already larger than most of our catalogue and he’s not even hard yet,” she murmured to herself. She stood up, walked towards him, standing a foot away from him. She let her finger run through his chest and abs. “You’ve got volume, not crazily defined. You’ll fit right in,” she said in a low voice as her hand went down to his trimmed bush and caressed his shaft, tapping the tip of his now semi hard cock. 

Jihyo walked around him slowly, never lifting her fingers off of him. As she got to his back, her hand traced the remnants of Momo’s scratches. “Momo really did a number on your back, but it seems someone else took care of you after her,” she remarked as her hand traced the scratches on her lower back and part of his legs. “Was it your friend?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, a bit wary. 

“Isn’t she mad that you’ll be fucking other girls?” She asked, walking again in front of him.

“No,” he replied quickly, although clearly not so confident. 

“How brave of her. But if she works in this world, she must be used to how things go around here,” she mentioned, scanning his body, now in front of him. She looked up at his face and tilted her head. “Undress me.” 

Seungdae smiled in compliance, holding both her wrists and raising them above her head, before he took both wrists with his left hand. Jihyo bit her lip as he took the lower part of her tank top and slid it up swiftly, passing it off her head and arms as he let go of them, leaving her in her black bra. 

He leaned to her, placing his left hand on her waist. Her skin was soft, her muscles felt firm, but softer than Momo’s. His right hand went for the hook of her bra. “If you allow me,” he whispered, she nodded. Her bra opened in the back, making her breath out in satisfaction. 

He used both hands to gently remove the straps off her shoulders and let her tits hang free. Her light brown nipples hung lower than Momo’s, but Jihyo’s boobs looked engorged, definitely a little bigger than her Japanese friend. He took a second to admire one of her veins that went from her upper chest all the way to her nipple. 

Seungdae was getting thirsty and Jihyo took notice of it. She held him by his now semihard dick. “You’re not done yet,” she told him, pulling him down. He happily knelt on one knee to carefully unbutton her pants. As he slid them down her legs, he admired her tanned skin. 

He got closer to her belly, breathing heavily on purpose so she felt his warmth before he held the hem of her panties. He looked up at her, surprised by the size of her udders, but finding her eyes. He removed her underwear looking straight into her eyes. She smiled softly. 

He stood up and held her hand so she could walk out of the clothing on the floor. “Undressed,” he said. 

Jihyo walked back to the bed and sat on the same spot as before. “My tits feel heavy. Help me with a massage,” she requested, lying down on the bed and letting her tits swing with her every movement. 

Seungdae went up to the bed and sat at her left. He began at her ribcage, massaging the area below her tits and went up slowly in circular motions. Up close, her tits were definitely softer than Momo’s, but considering the swelling of her udders could be painful, he was kind with his movements. 

As his hands started massaging her breasts, he saw a light white liquid slowly coming out of Jihyo’s nipples. Before long, the drops became too heavy and ran down her tit, making her smile. “Keep going, don’t be afraid to squeeze them,” she instructed with a soft voice.

He did that happily. His hands pressed more firmly on her boobs, which made her nipples shoot jets of milk out of them, sprinkling over both of them. “It’s fine, keep going,” she assured him with her eyes still closed. 

Seungdae focused on her tits and the way her nipples sprayed milk all over her body and his arms. The harder he squeezed, the farther her milk reached, getting some droplets in his face. He was too concentrated on her knockers to notice she had opened her eyes for a bit and saw him savoring the milk that had landed in his lips.

Jihyo let him keep massaging her a little longer. She understood why Momo kept emphasizing how ‘skillful’ he was as her tension went slowly down. “Seungdae,” she called. He hummed, acknowledging her. “Drink from my tits, it would help me a lot.” she requested, keeping her eyes closed and hiding her smile. 

His mouth went straight to her right nipple and started sucking on it, making her whimper as soon as he went back to squeezing and massaging her boobs. He wasn’t expecting the taste to be so sweet; her quiet moans along with her milk flowing straight into his mouth were an extra treat that kept his arousal high.

The woman held his hair after a bit and removed him from her breast. Seungdae made sure to look at her eyes before swallowing the last bit of milk he had so eagerly extracted from her. “I like my tits to be even,” Jihyo said, trying to control her heavy breathing. He simply smirked and held her left tit firmly, catching the jet of milk with his mouth before sucking on her nipple. 

She was impressed. Most men who had drunk her milk straight from her udders dedicated their mouths to suck, but he was also using his tongue to play with her nipple, stimulating her at the same time; a technique only her group members had performed with her. 

Seungdae was too focused to notice Jihyo’s right hand moving until she held his left hand. His eyes opened to see her face, mouth slightly open as she guided his hand to her abs and down to her trimmed, soft bush. 

He did the rest, reaching for her already slippery folds. “You’re unbelievably wet. How long have you been waiting for something like this?” He said jokingly.  

“Shut up,” Jihyo replied, holding his hair as he willingly went back to her nipple with the same level of focus as his fingers explored the shape of her pussy. The man stopped sucking her milk for a moment to explore her opening. She whined a bit as he inserted two fingers into her.

His fingers curled inside her, soon reaching a hard object inside her, making him stop right away. They saw each other's faces. Seungdae was confused, Jihyo seemed to have blushed a bit. 

“I forgot about it,” she said shyly, raising up a bit, keeping her weight on her elbows. “Keep your fingers straight and don’t let it fall,” she instructed him. 

He changed his position to get a clear view of her cunt, glistening in her own juices. Once he got ready, he did as he was told, getting a better feel at the round object inside her. 

Jihyo exhaled, letting her head fall back, more in shame than because of the effort. 

Seungdae felt her walls move, guiding the object to his fingers and pushing it out slowly. The man saw a metal sphere getting out of her core, stretching her walls widely. Her last push made the landing in his palm feel heavy. 

She extended her right hand. “Give it to me,” she said, raising her head to look at him. He obeyed. Jihyo took the ball and licked it clean, savoring her own juices as she looked at his eyes. 

“I gotta say, I’ve never seen kegel exercises with this diameter and weight,” Seungdae admitted. 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You know why I had this inside?” 

“I wasn’t expecting it to be there,” he said, “but my friend has some more… Standard sizes than that,” he added pointing to the metal ball in her hand. “How much does it weigh?” 

“Around 250 grams,” she replied, a little perplexed, leaving the steel sphere in the middle of the bed. “I wanted it to be smaller, but I also wanted it to be this heavy,” she added, looking at his calm face. 

“Does Momo have one like it?” He asked, as he got off of the bed and knelt down between her legs. 

“Y-yes,” she replied, as he pulled her legs towards his face, letting her ass in the air. He had his hands on the edge of the bed, allowing her to rest her legs on him. 

“Makes sense,” he tilted his head, before burying his tongue in her asshole, collecting the nectar leaking from her cunt. 

Jihyo moaned at the unexpected sensation. “H-how so?” she asked, grabbing his hair as he began exploring her folds with his tongue. 

“The way you controlled your walls,” he said, purposefully letting out more air than needed to keep her going, “she did something similar with my cock.” 

“G-good… She better… Use what she’s learned…” She whimpered, getting lost on the way his tongue was getting inside her cunt. She felt there was no need to force his head to stay between her legs, he was having a feast with her already, teasing every bit of her core, but never touching her clit. She he let go of his hair and used her fingers to stimulate her breasts.

Seungdae took notice of it, watching and analyzing the way she played with her nipples. Rubbing their tips, pinching them and pulling them, depending on what he did with his tongue. The milk that spilled from her sometimes made it harder for her to grab her own tit, making her pinch herself harder, resulting in a muted moan. 

After a little while, he had Jihyo moaning softly. “Suck your tits,” he groaned into her cunt. The woman was stunned by his request, but when his tongue finally touched her clit, she submitted and did as requested.

The size of her breast made it easy for her to grab it and put her nipple in her mouth. The direct stimulation of her own tongue in her tit and his tongue in her clit was the push she needed to feel her climax was getting close. 

Her breathing became heavier. Seungdae had to grab her legs when her hips began moving on her own. Soon, it was clear Jihyo was trying not to cum so quickly. ‘If you’re already close, why keep yourself waiting?’ Seungdae thought, locking her clit between his lips to start sucking, adding a little extra with the very tip of his tongue, similar to how he played with her nipples before. 

Jihyo’s moans sounded more like cries when he did this. She had to free her tit from her mouth just to let her whimpers flow while her hips rocked in his mouth. 

Despite her best attempt to control herself, the man’s lips and tongue were too much for Jihyo. Her climax arrived strongly. Her hands instinctively tried to grab anything. She used the little self control she had left to send her hands to the sheets beneath her. 

Seungdae kept going for a little longer as her legs wrapped around his head, covering his ears. It wasn’t until Jihyo managed to put her hand on his forehead that he released her most sensitive spot. 

“You’re good, I’ll give you that,” she panted on the bed. 

“You’re not used to letting yourself go, right?” He carried her weight, pushing her further on the bed so her ass was no longer at the edge. 

“I didn’t get here by letting myself go, boy,” she replied, challenging him with her big eyes. 

“But you crave it, don’t you?” He got on the bed, fingers tracing her entrance as his face got closer to hers. “You just need to ask and I’ll handle the rest,” he smirked gently. 

Jihyo’s sight went from his eyes, to his lips, and then to his right arm as she felt his index finger circling her core. “Use your hand… you can be rough…” she smirked naughtily and held his hand, guiding three fingers inside her cunt.

Seungdae grinned at her request, happy to feel her cunt welcoming his fingers with such ease. “As you wish,” he took a more comfortable position, opening her legs widely and making sure he could have a good grasp at her boobs if the situation called for it. 

He began fingering her cunt, slowly checking how her walls molded to his fingers. It may have been for her recent orgasm, but it didn’t take long for Jihyo to relax. As she did this, Seungdae felt a little more room around his fingers, so he quickly used her own juices to lubricate his pinky and insert it into her cunt. “Yes!” She exclaimed now he was using four fingers to fuck her pussy. 

The man got surprised at how easily his fingers expanded her walls, even when he inserted his fingers almost to his knuckles without any cry or whimper from her. 

She was calmly and quietly moaning with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face. 

His curiosity and the way she said ‘be rough’ were soon giving him ideas. He took his fingers out of her cunt for a moment to cover his thumb and the back of his hand in her folds, making sure his hand was fully drenched in her nectar. Jihyo smiled, biting her lips in anticipation, giving him the little push he needed. 

His hand took the form of a cone, keeping his thumb inside the other fingers. He inserted them all the way to his knuckles one more time, and  went inside her with ease, taking just a hungry moan from her. With just a little extra force, he pushed his hand inside her cunt past his knuckles. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, amazed at how easily his whole hand was engolfed by Jihyo’s pussy. Her walls created a vacuum inside her, forcing his fingers to curl inside her, making a fist. 

She laughed a bit. “First time?” She asked, satisfied with the shock in his face. 

“Y-yeah,” he replied, admiring her walls enveloping his wrist. “I dare say you’ve done this before… Do you feel fine?” 

“Yes, and yes. I’ll let myself go, boy, I'll be in your hands” she said, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her accidental wordplay. “I told you, you can be rough. Don’t be afraid,” she added, letting her head fall back on the bed. 

Seungdae could feel her whole body relaxing. He took a second, feeling the way her cunt hugged every bit of his fist in a soft, viscous vacuum. He moved his hand a bit, feeling her cervix in his knuckles. 

The man was amazed with the sensation, unable to imagine how it must feel for her. The soft smile on her face reassured him she was enjoying this. 

Slowly, he pulled his fist out of her pussy. His fingers naturally unrolled inside her as he withdrew his hand, stretching her walls, making her moan. Before taking his fingers out, he pushed in again, generating another moan as she smiled brightly. 

He scoffed to himself, ‘she wants to be fist fucked,’ he thought as his fingers curled inside her as he inserted his hand inside her up to his wrist. ‘So be it,’ he mouthed. 

His hand began going in and out of her, making her juices leak like crazy. The quicker he went, the louder and quicker she moaned. 

It got to a point where his fingers simply could not unroll as fast as his arm pushed it out of Jihyo’s cunt. Without losing a bit, he decided to use his fist to quite literally hit her g-spot. 

“Yes!” The woman let in a loud moan as her body contracted. Seungdae kept doing this movement, pushing his hand in, a few centimeters past his wrist, only to pull out, curling his wrist inside her to hit her precious g-spot. 

“More! Yes, yes yes, please, harder!” She begged as his fist was making her lower belly move violently every time he punched her spot. Her right hand went aggressively for her clit, practically slapping it, but immediately rubbing it in circles. 

As impressed as Seungdae was, he added another layer of pleasure. His left hand squeezed below her right hand. He firmly pressed on her bladder, adding more pressure to her insides and intensifying every hit on her g-spot. 

Jihyo’s moans went up another level when his fist moved inside her as fast as any other person would aggressively finger her. Before she could process anything else, her whole body started twitching and contracting erratically.

Seungdae had to jump on the bed just so she would not hit her head with the steel ball, moving his left hand beneath her head, all while keeping his right hand inside her clenching pussy. 

Jihyo looked at him, smiling in bliss as her whole body spasmed and her cunt kept his hand locked inside her. “D-don’t stop,” she requested. 

The man understood and gave her another quick wave of fist fucking, bringing another violent orgasm for her. She convulsed strongly against the bed as she squirted, spraying his arm and the floor. In between the waves of her climax, she tried to grab his arm, but with all her trembling she could not do much. 

He kept his hand still inside her, caressing her hair with his left hand as her climax went down slowly. It took some time for her to be able to talk. 

“S-Seungdae…” she said weakly. The man’s face got close to hers. “You did good… You did good,” she panted, not bothering to hide her heavy breathing. Her right hand went for his cheek, giving him soft and weak slaps, leaving traces of her nectar. 

The man simply smiled, once again surprised by her ‘I’m in control’ vibes. 

“You can take your hand out of my cunt,” she said, letting all her weight fall to the bed once more. “Just, keep it in a fist as you take it out. Slowly” 

Again, he did as he was told, doubting if she could stretch that much. To his surprise, Jihyo’s cunt managed it without problem, enlarging its walls to allow his fist to get out of her, always keeping that vacuum around his hand. Seungdae could not avoid stopping a couple of seconds, keeping his hand right where it stretched her the most, around his thumb. 

He turned to see the woman’s face. She kept her eyes closed, biting her lips in pleasure. When he finally removed his fist from her pussy, she let out a sigh and her whole body relaxed. 

She looked down at the man. He was perplexed, admiring her loose gaping cunt. “Do you want to see something?” She asked him with a proud smile on her face. He nodded, unable to say any words; if he could, he would have stuttered. “Put your pinky inside,” she told him, nodding in encouragement. 

Seungdae’s finger went back inside her. He circled her gape, at least two fingers wide. Without warning, Jihyo clenched her pussy. His finger felt as tight as if it was inside an unused asshole. His eyebrows raised in surprise, and in response, she began squeezing his finger, making a clear wave that hugged his finger from the base to its tip in a constant rhythm. 

“How long can you keep doing that?” He asked, caressing her pubis with his left hand. 

“Quite some time,” she smirked kindly, still proud. “I’ve never really tested that, but my ex boyfriend loved it. We used to spoon, keeping his dick inside me until I made him cum just by doing that.” 

“Lucky bastard,” he mouthed. 

“I know,” she laughed, getting off the bed, “but you’ll get a taste of what he had,” she knelt on the floor and opened his legs, hands going directly to his dick. “I’ll need a few minutes to recover from what you did to me, but I have to thank you for it,” she kissed the tip of his cock, giving it a few licks before she started sucking on it. 

“Wasn’t I supposed to be the one pleasing you?” He said, moaning a bit thanks to her tongue. 

Jihyo let the saliva she was producing fall on his shaft, spreading it through his length with her hands. “Few people have made me feel safe enough to let myself go and cum like that,” she replied, letting his tip rest on her lower lip, “I’m a firm believer in positive reinforcement.”

She went back to sucking his cock, focusing on his frenulum, using both hands to grab his cock. Once he was fully covered in spit, she tried to swallow more of him. She started retching right away. With effort, she was able to get him into her throat for a bit, getting her eyes watery before releasing him. She let all the saliva fall down her tits as she breathed heavily. 

“I appreciate the effort, but we don’t want to hurt that beautiful throat,” he said jokingly. 

Jihyo’s eyes saw a challenge in that. “If Momo could take you, so can I,” she said confidently. She stroked his cock with one hand. She realized he may be a bit too much for her oral skills after her hand went from his base, all the way to his tip. “How long is it?”

“Eight and a half, nine inches depending on how close I am,” he replied, making her frown. 

“I can do it,” she said to herself, holding his hands and guiding them to her head. “I’ll do it. When I take you down my throat you’re going to push my head down until my nose touches your pubes,” she instructed him. 

“Jihyo, you don’t have to…” 

“I want to, and you’ll help me, okay? That’s why you’re here,” she interrupted him, bringing her leader facet. 

“Fine, fine. It will be quite literally my pleasure,” he said, getting in a better position. 

“Once I get all of you down my throat, keep me there until I tap your back three times, understood?” 

“Three taps on the back to let you breathe, got it.” 

Jihyo inhaled and looked at his face. He was clearly happy to be a challenge for her. “Enjoy it, boy,” she said before taking a deep breath and opening her mouth as wide as she could to swallow his cock, immediately hitting the back of her throat. She fixed her posture a bit, sucking his dick to have an easier time and relax her muscles, slowly allowing him to pass down her throat as she gagged loudly.

The woman fought with her reflexes and forced his shaft inside her throat a little more, bobbing her head in a constant rhythm that made him feel every bit of her pipe. She retrieved for no more than two seconds to get more air, letting her tears run down her cheeks. 

It seemed that’s what she needed. She inserted his cock in her throat with a loud gag, as far in as she had reached moments before. Jihyo looked at his eyes and nodded lightly, putting her hands on his lower back. 

He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her towards his crotch while Jihyo pushed herself. 

Her throat made a hard gurgling sound that flooded the room right when he felt his cock slide down her throat, making him groan in pleasure. Another little bob of her head, another gag, and her nose was finally resting at the base of his dick.

Seungdae looked down at Jihyo, her eyes crying in victory while he ran his fingers through her bulged neck. The tightness of her throat drove him crazy, making him move his hips as he kept her head down. The loud and constant gurgling of her throat was the cherry on top. One tap on his back. 

Jihyo tried to keep up, unable to breath in between constant gagging, putting all of her effort in not giving up as he took longer thrusts. Two taps on his back. 

He knew she was at her limit, and he could feel his climax building, so he took advantage of his situation. He held her head firmly as he fucked her throat at full force. Jihyo was taken aback, retching more violently than before, trying her best to continue, but it was too much for her. Three taps. 

With the same force he was burying her face in his crotch, he pushed her head away from his dick, letting a thick thread of drool hang from her mouth and his shaft as she gasped deeply. Her red eyes look at him with anger. 

“Sorry…” he exhaled, only to be cut by her catching the spit connecting her mouth to her shaft and spreading her between her boobs. 

“I’m not done with you,” she panted, getting closer again to envelop his cock with her boobs, using all the saliva as lube. “When was the last time you fucked someone’s tits?”

“This would be the first,” he replied, captivated by the softness of her breasts around him. 

“I’ll make sure you remember this one for life,” she warned confidently, moving her torso up and down, making small cups with her hands as she pinched her nipples. She captured her milk and guided it to fall between her tits.

Seungdae let himself enjoy this treatment. He still wasn’t sure if he would get to experience her body, so he let her create a little pond of warm milk between her tits, making it ripple as his shaft disappeared between them, creating a sweet mix of her own fluids. 

Once Jihyo was satisfied with the amount of pearl white milk covering her, she squeezed her breast together, squeezing his dick and rubbing it up and down. Every time his dick popped between her tits she tried to give it a good lick, nailing a couple before she felt him twitch. 

She maintained the same rhythm, smiling wide when she saw the thick spurts of semen that ended up covering her tits and face. Jihyo was determined to take every drop out of him, stroking him with her tits throughout his orgasm until the last shot of cum came out of his dick. 

Before he could relax, she let go of his dick and began sucking him and licking him clean. Her tongue was the best torture he could think for his sensitive shaft, but it was too much. He tried to get a hold of her head to stop her, but she held his hands until his cock was clean. 

Finally breathing, Jihyo sat on her legs, passing her hands through her tits, collecting their juices in her hands, licking her fingers and everything she needed until she was ‘clean’. Seungdae, speechless, admired the scene, gawking at her eyes as she collected the cum from her chest and face before putting it in her mouth and swallowing it all. 

“Is it safe to assume you liked it?” she asked, standing up and touching his chin to close his mouth. He simply nodded, making her laugh a bit on her way to the bed. 

“There’s still another thing I want to do with you before we’re done, but I’ll let you rest for a bit. I want you at full strength,” she declared, laying down on the bed, taking full advantage of the pillows.

“Thank you, I suppose,” he said, hiding a jiggle and admiring her figure as her tits rested on her chest. “Is it okay if I ask something?” 

“You just did, but go ahead,” she replied. 

“What’s up with you and Momo?”

“Healthy competition,” she stated, "whether it’s dancing or fucking, we like to compete with each other to make ourselves better.” 

“Who’s winning at fucking now?”

“Bodycount?” She raised her eyebrow, smirking. “We’ve lost track. Skillwise, she clearly beats me deepthroating,” she admitted, laughing a bit. “We stopped keeping records after we were done tributting.”

“Tributting?”

Jihyo opened her big eyes, looking at his face. “With your friend I thought you would know about it,” she said somewhat confused. “You’re already in, so you might as well know,” she added, shrugging.

“I’m in, then?” He grinned, teasing her. 

“Don’t blow it, boy,” she huffed. Her tone was halfway joking, halfway serious. 

“Okay, but, what should I know? What’s that ‘tributting’ thing you mentioned?”

Jihyo exhaled, giving herself time to find the right words. “You know companies invest a lot in us, from training until we debut, right?” He nodded. “We get in debt with the company to return that investment” she continued. “Debuting is just as expensive as being a trainee, but they give us options…” 

Seungdae simply nodded, waiting for more explanation. She understood and continued. “Every debut is an open door for investors to help us pay our debt in exchange for services. You can see where I’m going, right?” 

“So, every idol out there has to go through this?”

“Not necessarily. Depending on the company, maybe just one member would sacrifice themselves for the group. They could select a tribute to perform those services,” she explained, her expression turning darker for a bit. 

“You and Momo were selected?”

“Kind of. As the leader, I offered myself as the one tribute for the group. I had already decided that before they chose me. But some investors had already put their money on Momo even before we debuted, so she became the second tribute of the group not long after,” she told him with a tone of defeat at the end. 

“She didn’t want to?” 

“Oh, she had no problem with it, but I wanted to save her and Tzuyu the trouble. I had better luck keeping her away from all that.”

“I can imagine why you’d do that,” he empathized, letting himself lay down at her right, resting his weight on his side.

“Some investors are rougher than others, and crazier. It’s a matter of luck, and a good manager, really” she replied, “although even the best managers can’t do miracles.” 

“Is that why you and Momo are so… skillful?” Seungdae wondered, making her laugh a bit. 

“I guess so,” she admitted, “but that’s also why I can do this,” she smirked, squeezing her right tit to spray milk at his face. Seungdae remained still for a second, processing her display of playfulness before cleaning his face with his fingers, licking them clean to savour her sweet milk. 

“All of this was induced by their request,” she shared, weighing her breasts and pinching her nipples, letting a small drops of milk run from each tit. “All things considered, we got lucky. No one got into something crazier because of them.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Some investors are sick, and while we can refuse to do what they want, if the offer is too good, you agree, sign and end up with new accidental kinks.”

“You know someone who’s gone through that?”

“Of course, there’s plenty,” she affirmed, maybe too fast. “Red Velvet may be the best example. Itzy also got a couple crazy investors at the beginning…” She saw Seungdae’s face, probably too concerned for something she thought had no point after so many years. 

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows and giving him a soft punch in his chest. “Some people are already maniacs and simply get to experience what they want to a whole new level. Take Momo, for example. She’s always been a nympho." 

“I guess there are advantages for some of you,” he sighed, “So, none of the other members have lent their services since you cleared that debt?” 

Jihyo’s face turned. “Most of us have by now. Every debut is a new debt. You know, it’s part of the deal if you go solo, or into a subunit. Most people want to give it a try at some point.” 

“You went through that again when you debuted as a soloist?” 

“Yeah, it gave me a chance to get my cunt filled with as much cum as I wanted,” she smirked proudly. “And speaking of that…” she rolled to her side, facing him for a second before she went on top of him, placing her legs on his sides. “I won’t let you go until you plant your seed deep inside my womb,” she whispered to his ear, as her hands ran through his chest. 

“You want those udders swelling with baby milk?,” he growled, trying to sit on the bed, grabbing her waist and pulling her by her left nipple for a kiss, only to be stopped by Jihyo. 

“So that’s what gets you crazy, huh?” She bit her lips, guiding his head to her neck and grabbing his shaft. “We’ll get along, boy.” 

“Thought we already did,” he grabbed her ass, lifting her just a bit. Jihyo did the rest, aligning his cock with her entrance and impaling herself, letting her weight fall on him, making both moan loudly after her pussy swallowed all of his shaft. 

Jihyo wasted no time and began moving her hips in circles as her cunt contracted to feel every inch of his length. It only took her a couple sways to get comfortable before she pushed him on the bed to ride him properly. 

Laying down with one of her hands on his chest, Seungdae took a second to admire her tanned abs as she stretched her midriff, finding her own pleasure. Before long she placed both hands on his legs and started bouncing in his cock, closing her eyes and moaning as her tits went up and down. 

The man got hypnotized by the recoil of her boobs. His hips began thrusting, making her udders bounce even harder. Both let themselves go, her whines made it clear she was enjoying it. 

The longer she rode him, the harder she bounced on him, until she suddenly stopped, sinking on his crotch, leaning forward and holding her tits. “I’m sorry, they started hurting” she complained, massaging her boobs. 

“Oh, no worries,” he sat, holding her back and her head to roll on the bed with his dick still buried in her cunt. Jihyo was a bit startled by the sudden change of position, but she smiled at him. “Better?”

“Way better,” her legs hugged him, pushing him fully back inside her, “now fill my womb.” 

Her words triggered him, making him pound her cunt with intent, looking for his own climax. If he was to creampie her, he was going to do so as deep inside her as he could. He grabbed her legs to raise her hips, making him reach further than he had until then. 

Jihyo’s arms went up, hands grabbing onto the sheets. Their hips began clapping, making her udders ripple at every slap. Seungdae leaned into her as he picked up more speed until their faces were two inches apart.

She opened her legs and pulled him for a kiss as soon as their eyes locked. Even though the rest of their bodies were fucking like animals in heat, the kiss was tender. She bit his lips every so often as a reflex from him hitting her cervix, increasing the arousal for both. 

His left arm went down her back, holding her by the shoulder as his right hand grabbed her left tit. Her body cooperated, letting his dick penetrate her pussy with enough force to break any other girl’s cunt. 

Soon, her mind began to cloud as his shaft hit her insides, sending jolts of pleasure every time his dick drilled into her. The cherry on top was his hand pinching her nipple, causing her to bite his lips harder. He replied in the same way as her cunt clenched onto his cock. 

Both felt their climax getting closer, rocking their hips in sync in a continuous crescendo until Seungdae’s orgasm hit him, holding her closer to him as his dick spurred wave after wave of cum into her hungry cunt. 

The feeling of his cunt getting filled by his warm seed pushed her to the edge of her own climax. “Don’t stop,” Jihyo begged, hips moving up and down faster than before. “Keep going, keep going!” she screamed as her legs pushed his dick back inside her. 

Seungdae’s arousal was enough to keep him going, even after his orgasm had left every nerve in his cock too sensitive. 

Jihyo’s cunt kept squeezing every drop of cum out of him, harder and harder until her climax arrived. Her pussy clenched onto his dick harder than he expected while her arms pulled him again for a deep, passionate kiss where she devoured him. 

The erratic and strong convulsions of her cunt triggered yet another orgasm for Seungdae, who had to hold her as strongly as he could just to keep his dick inside her. 

“Yes… fucking knock me up!” She exclaimed. His tight embrace made her feel safe to let loose and freeing her body to shudder as much as her orgasm asked for while their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. 

Seungdae’s hips kept fucking her, slowly decreasing his speed as both their climaxes died down. The only noise in the room was their heavy breathings in almost perfect synchrony. At the end, it was only them, kissing in the little gaps their panting allowed. 

“Did you just cum twice inside me?” She asked, as her chest raised up and down. 

“You have your tricks. I have mine… Was it okay?” 

“Okay? Boy, you’re really something different,” she replied amused, signaling him to relax and lay on top of her. 

“Glad you liked it,” he buried his face on her neck. “If you wouldn’t mind, please consider leaving a five-star review later.” 

“You earned it,” she patted her back and slapped his buttocks a few times before she began caressing it.

“Thank you. And also thank you for not shredding my back,” he scoffed. 

“You don’t have to worry about that with me, but be careful with Sana and Chaeyoung. They’ll tear you to pieces if you give them a chance.”

“Duly noted!” 

Jihyo looked at the clock on the wall. Almost three o’clock. “I’d love to stay like this for a while, but I have practice in a few minutes.” 

Seungdae placed his weight on his arms, groaning after turning to see the hour, careful not to take his dick out of her cunt. 

“Do me a favor,” she told him while she reached for her phone, which ended up buried below the pillows. “Turn on the flash and press the record button before you take your dick out of my pussy,” she instructed him. 

He received the phone and followed her instructions. The camera captured part of her mouth and her huge tits hanging to her sides before it panned down to focus on her trimmed bush, meeting his pelvis. He felt her clench her cunt and raise her hips, making him look at her. 

She nodded, and he pulled out of her. Her walls had shut as soon as his cock left them, stopping any possible leak. 

He got a bit more comfortable, standing on his knees, recording her as she used her core to raise her ass in the air, letting her weight fall on her upper upper back and her elbows. He saw her struggle a bit, so he used his abs to help her stay in position. 

“How considerate of you.” Now she had better support, she looked for the metal ball and handed it to him. She raised her hips a bit more, letting her legs fall freely so her hands could reach her cunt. 

The camera focused on her fingers reaching her entrance in her shiny folds, easily inserting three fingers from each hand. Her face was barely on frame, almost covered by her tits, but her smile was still captured. Her walls relaxed, opening her cunt so he could record her insides as her fingers stretched her open. 

“How does it look?” She queried, showing the control she had on her muscles, creating more space inside her. The flash now made sense. 

Seungdae was amazed. “Everything is covered in white. I don’t think I can see your cervix,” he peeked with the phone, adding his index and middle fingers to stretch her a little bit more, holding the ball with his other three fingers. 

“Nice,” she bit her lips, “now, carefully drop the ball inside me.” 

He looked at her, questioning her words. She nodded enthusiastically. He placed it in the entrance of her canal, fingers stopping it from going in. “Push it in, don’t be afraid,” she told him, tightening the end of her pussy, making his semen raise up. 

The ball was held by the back of her fingers, so he used his free hand to gently push it in, stretching her walls a bit more, just for the ball to drop inside her. The sudden drop of its weight made her groan as her fingers let her cunt close naturally for a moment, keeping a small gape of no more than two fingers. 

“Tell me when you see your cum about to leak, alright?” She requested as her hands went back to her spine for support. 

He nodded, amazed by how her cunt could be incredibly loose a moment and go back to her normal state so quickly. He stared at her cunt as it slowly squeezed her muscles, queefering a bit, until he saw his seed slowly reaching up. “There!” 

“Thank you,” her walls relaxed a bit, swallowing his cum again before shutting close tightly. She patted his leg so she could rest on the bed again. He helped her get down, just for her to immediately get off the bed, bouncing on it to get to the floor. “You can stop recording,” she got her panties and began putting them on.

“S-sure,” he handed her the phone. “Are you going to practice with that inside you?” 

“Yes,” she started getting her pants on. 

“Like, dance, jump and all that stuff?” 

“Yes, it will be a nice challenge to keep the ball and your precious seed inside me without leaking.”

“Sure it will… What happens if you let the ball drop?” He asked, getting his trunks and pants on at the same time.

“I’m not sure,” Jihyo stopped him before his clothes covered his dick, holding it. “I’m sure they’ll think of something, so I better keep everything in,” she knelt down to clean his cock with her tongue. 

Seungdae’s hand caressed her head going down to her cheek, letting her do her thing. “Is this something you do every time?” 

“Only to the ones I like,” she replied in between licks before sucking his sack. She gave the underside of his length another good lick before kissing his head and covering it with his trunks. “Now be good and help me hook my bra,” she requested, standing up.

Both got fully dressed. The only evidence of their actions now were on the sheets, on her phone, and hidden inside Jihyo’s cunt. They got out of the room, back into the hallway and opened the door to the office they were in earlier. 

“Yah!” Jihyo yelled at the sight of Nayeon, Momo, Sana, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. They were all trying to leave, Tzuyu was the calmest of them all, exchanging a look of complicity with the lawyer, who was sitting on the same spot as before, nodding his head side to side, holding his laughter. 

“It’s getting late for practice,” Jihyo told them loudly with a hand on her waist.

“I was expecting you to be happier after you had your fun with him,” Chaeyoung pouted.

“I told you she would be mad if she saw you all in there!” Jeongyeon yelled from outside the office. She was there with Mina and Dahyun, they laughed, although Dahyun blushed after making eye contact with Seungdae. 

“Get to the practice room, now! I’ll catch you there,” the leader commanded with a stern look. 

“She’ll be late for the warm up,” Chae murmured, her voice as quiet as a mouse. 

“She’s all warmed up already, don’t worry about her,” replied Nayeon as they got out of the office, followed by Tzuyu, who simply waved goodbye to Seungdae. He waved back shyly, not knowing if that was alright. 

“Told you there was nothing to worry about, Mr. Hwang”, Momo told him as she got closer to him to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

Sana followed closely, “Mr. Hwang…” she stood close to him, checking their height difference, looking up. “Finally something good,” she whispered just before Momo took her hand to go with the others. 

After everyone got out, Mina was the one to close the door, smiling kindly at Seungdae before leaving as Chaeyoung waited for her. 

Jihyo exhaled, trying to calm down. She looked at Mr. Kim, waiting for an explanation. He snorted, “I told Miss Chou not to overestimate the hallway. It’s shorter than it looks,” the lawyer raised his hands as if that was out of his control. “But tell me, Miss Park, are we moving forward with Mr. Hwang?”

“Yes, he did good.” 

“So it seems,” he joked, making the woman smile, blushing just a bit. “Is there anything else you want to add to the papers?” 

“No, I’m fine. Just make sure he’s paid fairly, both monthly and per session.” 

“Will do, for sure. Mr. Hwang, anything from your end?”

“Nothing else, I think I’m good.”

“Fine, Miss Park, you can sign the papers after practice.” 

“Thank you. Seungdae, are you sure you want to sign this? You already saw how they looked at you,” she elbowed him, giving him a smirk and a wink. 

“I think I can handle them,” he said nervously. 

“Then welcome to your new life,” she got closer and patted his back. “I have to go, we’ll meet again,” she smiled at him, stepping to the door.

“Jihyo! Would it be possible to have the video from earlier?”

“I’ll think about it,” she chuckled before opening the door and leaving. 

The lawyer made him read the additions he had made to be sure everything was in order for both parties. His privacy was ensured there, as long as he kept any information of their encounters safe, including any media they may create during their sessions. 

Seungdae signed the papers. He was given a copy and was free to go home if he wanted. After exiting the building he tried to contact Jin with no luck. 

He sat in his car, trying to process what had happened and what could be in his future. He stayed there for half an hour until she got a message

Jin: Great one! Sorry, I was filming. I want to hear everything, but I won’t be home until dinner. It would be nice to see you there when I get back? 🥺

SD: So, dinner together?

Jin: Yes, please!!!!

SD: Fine, I’ll prepare something with whatever you have in your fridge.

Jin: Thank you, thank you, thank you!! 😚

He drove to Jin’s apartment and used his own key to get in. More often than not, when she had to go out for work, she would prepare something that didn’t require much action for when she came back home. He thought of adding a few more stuff to make it tastier and voilà! 

He left everything on the stove, ready to be heated again when she got home. He sat on the couch, scrolled through his phone and fell asleep for a couple hours. 

The vibrations of his phone woke him up, A series of messages. 

Jihyo: Seungdae~ the ball almost fell twice out of my cunt, but I saved it!

JH: But… By the time I noticed, your cum had already stained my pants halfway through our practice.

JH: They made me finish it without any pants or panties ㅠ_ㅠ

JH: When your cum started running down my leg Momo insisted I sent you the video you recorded and everyone agreed, so… Here you have it!

JH: Also, I thought it would be fair to show you the mess you made in my pants. 

‘Waking up to this wasn’t so bad,’ he thought, admiring the huge stain on her clothes. 

SG: Hey, you were the one who wanted to challenge herself like that.

SG: If anything it was your mess, I just followed your every request 🤷

SG: You may need to try it again until you don’t fail.

JH: Yeah, you were a good boy. And you may be right 😉

JH: You’ll have to help me with another session. I won’t accept less than what you gave me today.

SG: That’s literally my job now, isn’t it?

JH: Well said! 

He spent some time checking the details on the video until the door opened. He quickly got to the door to receive her. 

“I was worried you would be gone already!” She left her bag and shoes in the entrance and ran to hug him.

“Are you kidding? We had plans for dinner,” he pointed with his head so she could see the stove. “Want to have dinner first, or do you want to get a shower?”

“Dinner, I’m starving!” 

They sat, talking about her day as they finished their plates. As soon as they were done, she walked to the bathroom, stripping naked, leaving a path of clothes in her way.

“Are you waiting for an invitation or what?” She yelled as she turned on the shower. He followed along, leaving his clothes in the way. 

They took their time. Seungdae helped her remove her extensions before they got into the water. They massaged each other's bodies as they helped each other get clean. 

After they were done, they didn’t bother to get a towel and went to her room. They cuddled for some time before their bodies asked for more and made love for a good hour. Her short hair helped to keep most of the pillows dry. 

They ended up spooning, his dick still inside her freshly creampied pussy. That’s when she asked him about his day and how everything went with Jihyo and the contract. 

He explained everything legal. “I thought that would be okay. I know JYPE has gained a lot of experience with that,” she affirmed before inquiring more about his time with Jihyo. 

“Why are you insisting so much?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she clenched her pussy to keep his cum inside her as she changed positions, trying to sit on the bed. “You’ve never kept a secret from me,” she pouted. 

“I signed an NDA, remember?” He raised his eyebrows, knowing she would reply right away.

“That didn’t stop you from telling me every detail about Momo! Are you trying to get me jealous?” 

“Is it working?” He smirked. 

“Aish!” She punched him in the shoulder, “Maybe… but I also want to know how you’re fucking them so you can do the same to me…” She admitted shyly. 

“Fine, fine. You know, I’d love to do that. But I’m not sure if you’re up to this task,” he challenged her, standing up to get his phone in the living room. 

“I’ve taken everything you’ve given me half our lives!” 

“This you haven’t,” he grinned confidently, handing her his phone with Jihyo’s video on it. Jin was astonished, watching eight fingers stretching Jihyo’s cum-filled cunt before he inserted the 4 centimeters wide ball inside her. 

“How much does it weigh?” She wondered, astonished by the scene. 

“About 250 grams, stainless steel,” he sat on the bed next to Jin, holding her tiny frame by the waist on to his lap.

“I can take that!” She glared at him. “But I’m not sure how long I could keep it in.” 

“I’m not sure how long she kept it in, but she did all her practice with that inside. Also, you can’t take my fist inside you,” he placed his closed hand and placed it above her lower belly. 

“I may be able to do that next time you and ‘the prince’ fuck me at the same time…” she stated without thinking. Then she saw the size of his fist against her frame. “At least my own hand.” 

“We can try it if you want. If both of us fill your cute little cunt with our cum,” he ran his fingers through her folds, ”you could use it as lube for your tiny hand.” 

“It's not that small!” She protested, slapping the hand he had in her pussy, holding it right away so he kept it there.  

“You are joking, right? You could easily fit both your hands inside her,” Seungdae whispered the last couple of words, inserting two fingers inside Jin.

“That would be interesting,” she moaned, “maybe I could arrange it.”

“Maybe, when they found out who ‘my dear friend’ is.”

“Let’s see…” she pulled him in for a kiss, moaning in his mouth. “Now fill my pussy as you filled hers.”  

“As you wish, princess.” 

[elvhensinner]

TPT 02 | Quality Check

Twice's Park Jihyo / OC

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (in the oven) →

Word count: 10.7K | Tags: Smut, Lactation, Deepthroat, Titjob, Size Queen, Fisting, Breeding Kink, Creampie

Seungdae is given a once in a lifetime opportunity. However, first he needs to prove himself worthy and skillful enough to satisfy Twice's leader.

Upon arriving at the JYP building, Seungdae asked for directions to the office Momo had indicated, stating he was there ‘as a freelance developer to meet the hiring manager’, also, as instructed by the Japanese girl. 

A staff member guided him to the office, where he saw a suited man already sitting there with Jihyo. He had gotten there a few minutes before twelve, so he decided to wait for Momo to show up. Unfortunately for him, before he could get comfortable in the hallway, Jihyo leaned out of the room. “Hey, ‘big boy’, come on in.”

He entered the office, which only had a small table with six chairs and a black glass that seemed to be used as a blackboard. Inside the room, there was another door, although there was no way to see what was behind it. 

“It's a bit early, but we are complete now, we can start when you wish, Miss Park,” said the man. Jihyo simply nodded, making him stand up to close the door, locking it. “Please, Mr. Hwang, make yourself comfortable, take a seat.” Seungdae followed along and the man proceeded. 

“I’m Mr. Kim, one of the company's lawyers. I think you met my partner last week, Mr. Choi,” he said in a very friendly manner. “I imagine Miss Park here needs no introduction.” 

Seungdae finally dared to see Jihyo. Her hair was up, letting her white tank top show her slim shoulders as it hugged her breasts. “Yeah, no need,” he nodded at the lawyer and nodded at Jihyo, thinking if her tits were bigger than Momo’s or if it was just the color accentuating her features. “Did I miss something? Wasn’t Momo supposed to be here?” 

“You will see her later,” Jihyo clarified in a serious tone, “I just thought it was the best way to get you here and shut her up.”

Seungdae’s face was clear, he was confused. The woman looked at the lawyer, he nodded confidently. “You’re not in trouble of any kind,” the woman clarified. “Momo has not shut up about you and how well you made her feel,” silence took over the room for two seconds, “both physically and emotionally.” 

“I-I’m glad she felt that way. I was a bit worried about her. She seemed alright when she left, but…” 

“She told me,” Jihyo raised her hand, shutting him up. “I hope you understand that’s a sensitive topic that even herself does not bring up to light very often.”

He nodded, but just before he could reply, the lawyer intervened. “Since we’re already talking about this, I think it is better you sign this up first, Mr. Hwang,” Mr. Kim handed him a folder and a pen. “This NDA includes the subjects we’ll be discussing today and the offer in this folder.” The younger man scanned it and signed it, handing it back to the lawyer. 

“I’ll be direct,” Jihyo placed her hand on the table, “Momo has been begging me to include you to our table of Companions.” Seungdae raised an eyebrow, pretending to be confused. 

“Mr. Hwang,” the lawyer intervened, hands flowing in front of him as he explained, “people in this industry require trustworthy and efficient people helping them to release any kind of tension in order to excel at their job. We call them ‘Companions’. Men and women, who perform sexual acts for and with our artists as a living.” 

“Momo was serious about it,” Seungdae murmured to himself, barely opening his mouth. 

“Companions have a ranking system that depends on the reviews of our artists. However, this is built through years of labour. In your case, considering you are a foreigner to this and your experience with Miss Hirai, you will not be in the catalogue available for everyone. You will be assigned as a Companion of the Twice members until someone else requests your services through their leader or manager. Call it, Chief approval, if you like.” 

“Okay, that’s clear enough, but even if Momo was pushing you to include me in… This,” he looked at Jihyo, still confused, “why are you actually going through with it? And if I sign, what responsibilities would I have?”

“We've been struggling…” Jihyo exhaled, trying to get the right words. “Most of the girls in the company have taken some men from the catalog, but they were left unsatisfied. Some of them have scared them,” she ended with a regretful tone as her mind clearly remembered more than one instance. 

“The way you treated Momo, spoke to her and reacted to every bit of her… We need someone like that,” her tone warmed up. “Someone who actually treats us as humans. I want that for all my members and my hoobaes.”

“As for your duties,” the lawyer opened the second folder, “consent is key here. You will answer their calls, and meet them where they tell you to satisfy their needs. Any romantic feelings must be avoided to preserve professionalism. Safe words are needed as some girls are into rough play,” he pointed to the clauses of the contract on the table. 

“Since you would be an anomaly in our system,” he continued, “we thought it would be fair to let you add your own clauses. You don't have to do this today, but we're aiming to have the final signatures next Friday,” he explained. “Please, read it. Page seven includes your monetary compensation,” he handed the folder to Seungdae. 

“Where can I make a call?” He asked the lawyer after reading through the contract, who guided him to a different office. After ensuring the door was locked, Seungdae called Jin to explain the situation. 

“Woah, they're serious business, huh?”

“What do you think? I need to know how you feel about all this and I want your opinion.”

“Asking you to say no to this would be hypocritical of me. If you can add your clauses, aim for your own wellbeing.”

“I know, I would not like any permanent scars,” he said, passing his hand through his back. 

“I would love it if this doesn't mess with our timing. It's hard enough for us to meet already, even harder when it's the three of us.”

“My point exactly. The last thing I want is to ruin what we've built.”

“You won't, oh, great one. I'll talk with ‘the prince’ after he's done filming today.”

“Thank you, Jin…”

“Thank you for thinking of us before signing. And… Good luck. I have to get back, the sun won’t wait for us and the staff is calling me. We'll talk later tonight.”

“Duty calls, princess, I get it. Take care.”

Seungdae went back to the office to find Mr. Kim talking closely to Jihyo. They turned to him as soon as he entered the room. “I have requests for the clauses.”

Jihyo smiled, looked at the lawyer and then back at Seungdae. “Let’s hear them.” 

“You mentioned consent is key. I need to be able to negotiate when I will meet you and, we'll, anyone else,” he began. 

“Woah! Twice is asking you to fuck them and you get picky about it?” Jihyo was truly surprised, thinking anyone would just sign without thinking twice about it. 

“I have my priorities clear, but I’m not stupid to let this opportunity go,” he raised his eyebrows, looking at her eyes. “There will be times when I won’t be available. The problem is, I don’t control when this will be.” 

“The friend that got you the ticket and works in the industry, but no one knows,” Jihyo said with a smirl, “I get it, it’s fine. Note it down,” she requested the lawyer, “if I want you to respect us, we also need to respect you.” 

“Thank you,” he said, a bit surprised at how easy that was. “Also, my house is off limits, I appreciate my privacy as much as the next person. I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“That will be beneficial for both parties,” said Mr. Kim with a smile as he wrote. “Anything else?”

“I am not restricted from having sex with other people, am I?” Seungdae’s face turned serious. 

“Of course not. But we’ll need your medical records and you’ll be tested periodically for everyone’s safety from now on. It’s written on page five, paragraph seven,” the lawyer replied. Seungdae nodded, satisfied. 

“One more step before you sign, handsome,” Jihyo leaned to the table, tits resting on it. “While Mr. Kim writes down your clauses, I’ll need to test you myself,” she smirked, locking her big eyes on him, noticing how he could not avoid looking up and down between her boobs, lips and eyes. 

“S-sure thing,” he replied, confused by her sudden change. 

“Now,” she stood up while Mr. Kim picked up his papers. She took Seungdae’s hand, making him follow her. She opened the other door within the office and walked him through a small dark hallway. 

He was confused, barely able to see anything in the hallway. His eyes had always taken a bit too long to adapt to the dark. He followed her steps and heard her open another door. He tried not to hit the frame as they walked past it. 

When she turned on the light he saw a large bed, a couch and a mirror on the wall with a clock above it. ‘Must be a double sided mirror,’ he thought, as its position was opposite to the glass blackboard from earlier. 

Jihyo took off her shoes and left them at the entrance before throwing her phone near the pillows on the bed. She sat on its edge and tapped the space on her left, signaling him to sit with her. “Look, Momo spoke really highly of you, but you have to understand she’s… Pretty much a cock addict, in abstinence of a few things.” 

She turned to look at him better and let her leg rest on the bed as he sat next to her after leaving his shoes near the entrance. “I trust that woman with my soul, but she hasn’t had much kindness when it comes to sexual partners; so I wanted to be sure you’re good for all nine of us before I open the doors for you.”

“I completely get it,” he nodded lightly, “so, what now?”

“You’re at my service,” Jihyo began, leaning towards him and grabbing the neck of his shirt. “You will follow my instructions to the letter,” she got closer to his lips. “I want you naked, now,” she commanded, letting him feel her breath before she let go of him. 

“As you please,” he stood up as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Now that I am, in a way, working for you, should I use any honorifics with you or…?” He asked, removing his shirt, now with a naked torso. 

“If everything goes as expected, you will be fucking all nine of us, so, feel free to talk casually with us. Plus, you’re older than us,” she replied, admiring his shape as he removed his socks, followed a single movement to take off his pants and trunks at the same time, letting his cock hang between his legs. 

“That thing is already larger than most of our catalogue and he’s not even hard yet,” she murmured to herself. She stood up, walked towards him, standing a foot away from him. She let her finger run through his chest and abs. “You’ve got volume, not crazily defined. You’ll fit right in,” she said in a low voice as her hand went down to his trimmed bush and caressed his shaft, tapping the tip of his now semi hard cock. 

Jihyo walked around him slowly, never lifting her fingers off of him. As she got to his back, her hand traced the remnants of Momo’s scratches. “Momo really did a number on your back, but it seems someone else took care of you after her,” she remarked as her hand traced the scratches on her lower back and part of his legs. “Was it your friend?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, a bit wary. 

“Isn’t she mad that you’ll be fucking other girls?” She asked, walking again in front of him.

“No,” he replied quickly, although clearly not so confident. 

“How brave of her. But if she works in this world, she must be used to how things go around here,” she mentioned, scanning his body, now in front of him. She looked up at his face and tilted her head. “Undress me.” 

Seungdae smiled in compliance, holding both her wrists and raising them above her head, before he took both wrists with his left hand. Jihyo bit her lip as he took the lower part of her tank top and slid it up swiftly, passing it off her head and arms as he let go of them, leaving her in her black bra. 

He leaned to her, placing his left hand on her waist. Her skin was soft, her muscles felt firm, but softer than Momo’s. His right hand went for the hook of her bra. “If you allow me,” he whispered, she nodded. Her bra opened in the back, making her breath out in satisfaction. 

He used both hands to gently remove the straps off her shoulders and let her tits hang free. Her light brown nipples hung lower than Momo’s, but Jihyo’s boobs looked engorged, definitely a little bigger than her Japanese friend. He took a second to admire one of her veins that went from her upper chest all the way to her nipple. 

Seungdae was getting thirsty and Jihyo took notice of it. She held him by his now semihard dick. “You’re not done yet,” she told him, pulling him down. He happily knelt on one knee to carefully unbutton her pants. As he slid them down her legs, he admired her tanned skin. 

He got closer to her belly, breathing heavily on purpose so she felt his warmth before he held the hem of her panties. He looked up at her, surprised by the size of her udders, but finding her eyes. He removed her underwear looking straight into her eyes. She smiled softly. 

He stood up and held her hand so she could walk out of the clothing on the floor. “Undressed,” he said. 

Jihyo walked back to the bed and sat on the same spot as before. “My tits feel heavy. Help me with a massage,” she requested, lying down on the bed and letting her tits swing with her every movement. 

Seungdae went up to the bed and sat at her left. He began at her ribcage, massaging the area below her tits and went up slowly in circular motions. Up close, her tits were definitely softer than Momo’s, but considering the swelling of her udders could be painful, he was kind with his movements. 

As his hands started massaging her breasts, he saw a light white liquid slowly coming out of Jihyo’s nipples. Before long, the drops became too heavy and ran down her tit, making her smile. “Keep going, don’t be afraid to squeeze them,” she instructed with a soft voice.

He did that happily. His hands pressed more firmly on her boobs, which made her nipples shoot jets of milk out of them, sprinkling over both of them. “It’s fine, keep going,” she assured him with her eyes still closed. 

Seungdae focused on her tits and the way her nipples sprayed milk all over her body and his arms. The harder he squeezed, the farther her milk reached, getting some droplets in his face. He was too concentrated on her knockers to notice she had opened her eyes for a bit and saw him savoring the milk that had landed in his lips.

Jihyo let him keep massaging her a little longer. She understood why Momo kept emphasizing how ‘skillful’ he was as her tension went slowly down. “Seungdae,” she called. He hummed, acknowledging her. “Drink from my tits, it would help me a lot.” she requested, keeping her eyes closed and hiding her smile. 

His mouth went straight to her right nipple and started sucking on it, making her whimper as soon as he went back to squeezing and massaging her boobs. He wasn’t expecting the taste to be so sweet; her quiet moans along with her milk flowing straight into his mouth were an extra treat that kept his arousal high.

The woman held his hair after a bit and removed him from her breast. Seungdae made sure to look at her eyes before swallowing the last bit of milk he had so eagerly extracted from her. “I like my tits to be even,” Jihyo said, trying to control her heavy breathing. He simply smirked and held her left tit firmly, catching the jet of milk with his mouth before sucking on her nipple. 

She was impressed. Most men who had drunk her milk straight from her udders dedicated their mouths to suck, but he was also using his tongue to play with her nipple, stimulating her at the same time; a technique only her group members had performed with her. 

Seungdae was too focused to notice Jihyo’s right hand moving until she held his left hand. His eyes opened to see her face, mouth slightly open as she guided his hand to her abs and down to her trimmed, soft bush. 

He did the rest, reaching for her already slippery folds. “You’re unbelievably wet. How long have you been waiting for something like this?” He said jokingly.  

“Shut up,” Jihyo replied, holding his hair as he willingly went back to her nipple with the same level of focus as his fingers explored the shape of her pussy. The man stopped sucking her milk for a moment to explore her opening. She whined a bit as he inserted two fingers into her.

His fingers curled inside her, soon reaching a hard object inside her, making him stop right away. They saw each other's faces. Seungdae was confused, Jihyo seemed to have blushed a bit. 

“I forgot about it,” she said shyly, raising up a bit, keeping her weight on her elbows. “Keep your fingers straight and don’t let it fall,” she instructed him. 

He changed his position to get a clear view of her cunt, glistening in her own juices. Once he got ready, he did as he was told, getting a better feel at the round object inside her. 

Jihyo exhaled, letting her head fall back, more in shame than because of the effort. 

Seungdae felt her walls move, guiding the object to his fingers and pushing it out slowly. The man saw a metal sphere getting out of her core, stretching her walls widely. Her last push made the landing in his palm feel heavy. 

She extended her right hand. “Give it to me,” she said, raising her head to look at him. He obeyed. Jihyo took the ball and licked it clean, savoring her own juices as she looked at his eyes. 

“I gotta say, I’ve never seen kegel exercises with this diameter and weight,” Seungdae admitted. 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You know why I had this inside?” 

“I wasn’t expecting it to be there,” he said, “but my friend has some more… Standard sizes than that,” he added pointing to the metal ball in her hand. “How much does it weigh?” 

“Around 250 grams,” she replied, a little perplexed, leaving the steel sphere in the middle of the bed. “I wanted it to be smaller, but I also wanted it to be this heavy,” she added, looking at his calm face. 

“Does Momo have one like it?” He asked, as he got off of the bed and knelt down between her legs. 

“Y-yes,” she replied, as he pulled her legs towards his face, letting her ass in the air. He had his hands on the edge of the bed, allowing her to rest her legs on him. 

“Makes sense,��� he tilted his head, before burying his tongue in her asshole, collecting the nectar leaking from her cunt. 

Jihyo moaned at the unexpected sensation. “H-how so?” she asked, grabbing his hair as he began exploring her folds with his tongue. 

“The way you controlled your walls,” he said, purposefully letting out more air than needed to keep her going, “she did something similar with my cock.” 

“G-good… She better… Use what she’s learned…” She whimpered, getting lost on the way his tongue was getting inside her cunt. She felt there was no need to force his head to stay between her legs, he was having a feast with her already, teasing every bit of her core, but never touching her clit. She he let go of his hair and used her fingers to stimulate her breasts.

Seungdae took notice of it, watching and analyzing the way she played with her nipples. Rubbing their tips, pinching them and pulling them, depending on what he did with his tongue. The milk that spilled from her sometimes made it harder for her to grab her own tit, making her pinch herself harder, resulting in a muted moan. 

After a little while, he had Jihyo moaning softly. “Suck your tits,” he groaned into her cunt. The woman was stunned by his request, but when his tongue finally touched her clit, she submitted and did as requested.

The size of her breast made it easy for her to grab it and put her nipple in her mouth. The direct stimulation of her own tongue in her tit and his tongue in her clit was the push she needed to feel her climax was getting close. 

Her breathing became heavier. Seungdae had to grab her legs when her hips began moving on her own. Soon, it was clear Jihyo was trying not to cum so quickly. ‘If you’re already close, why keep yourself waiting?’ Seungdae thought, locking her clit between his lips to start sucking, adding a little extra with the very tip of his tongue, similar to how he played with her nipples before. 

Jihyo’s moans sounded more like cries when he did this. She had to free her tit from her mouth just to let her whimpers flow while her hips rocked in his mouth. 

Despite her best attempt to control herself, the man’s lips and tongue were too much for Jihyo. Her climax arrived strongly. Her hands instinctively tried to grab anything. She used the little self control she had left to send her hands to the sheets beneath her. 

Seungdae kept going for a little longer as her legs wrapped around his head, covering his ears. It wasn’t until Jihyo managed to put her hand on his forehead that he released her most sensitive spot. 

“You’re good, I’ll give you that,” she panted on the bed. 

“You’re not used to letting yourself go, right?” He carried her weight, pushing her further on the bed so her ass was no longer at the edge. 

“I didn’t get here by letting myself go, boy,” she replied, challenging him with her big eyes. 

“But you crave it, don’t you?” He got on the bed, fingers tracing her entrance as his face got closer to hers. “You just need to ask and I’ll handle the rest,” he smirked gently. 

Jihyo’s sight went from his eyes, to his lips, and then to his right arm as she felt his index finger circling her core. “Use your hand… you can be rough…” she smirked naughtily and held his hand, guiding three fingers inside her cunt.

Seungdae grinned at her request, happy to feel her cunt welcoming his fingers with such ease. “As you wish,” he took a more comfortable position, opening her legs widely and making sure he could have a good grasp at her boobs if the situation called for it. 

He began fingering her cunt, slowly checking how her walls molded to his fingers. It may have been for her recent orgasm, but it didn’t take long for Jihyo to relax. As she did this, Seungdae felt a little more room around his fingers, so he quickly used her own juices to lubricate his pinky and insert it into her cunt. “Yes!” She exclaimed now he was using four fingers to fuck her pussy. 

The man got surprised at how easily his fingers expanded her walls, even when he inserted his fingers almost to his knuckles without any cry or whimper from her. 

She was calmly and quietly moaning with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face. 

His curiosity and the way she said ‘be rough’ were soon giving him ideas. He took his fingers out of her cunt for a moment to cover his thumb and the back of his hand in her folds, making sure his hand was fully drenched in her nectar. Jihyo smiled, biting her lips in anticipation, giving him the little push he needed. 

His hand took the form of a cone, keeping his thumb inside the other fingers. He inserted them all the way to his knuckles one more time, and  went inside her with ease, taking just a hungry moan from her. With just a little extra force, he pushed his hand inside her cunt past his knuckles. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, amazed at how easily his whole hand was engolfed by Jihyo’s pussy. Her walls created a vacuum inside her, forcing his fingers to curl inside her, making a fist. 

She laughed a bit. “First time?” She asked, satisfied with the shock in his face. 

“Y-yeah,” he replied, admiring her walls enveloping his wrist. “I dare say you’ve done this before… Do you feel fine?” 

“Yes, and yes. I’ll let myself go, boy, I'll be in your hands” she said, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her accidental wordplay. “I told you, you can be rough. Don’t be afraid,” she added, letting her head fall back on the bed. 

Seungdae could feel her whole body relaxing. He took a second, feeling the way her cunt hugged every bit of his fist in a soft, viscous vacuum. He moved his hand a bit, feeling her cervix in his knuckles. 

The man was amazed with the sensation, unable to imagine how it must feel for her. The soft smile on her face reassured him she was enjoying this. 

Slowly, he pulled his fist out of her pussy. His fingers naturally unrolled inside her as he withdrew his hand, stretching her walls, making her moan. Before taking his fingers out, he pushed in again, generating another moan as she smiled brightly. 

He scoffed to himself, ‘she wants to be fist fucked,’ he thought as his fingers curled inside her as he inserted his hand inside her up to his wrist. ‘So be it,’ he mouthed. 

His hand began going in and out of her, making her juices leak like crazy. The quicker he went, the louder and quicker she moaned. 

It got to a point where his fingers simply could not unroll as fast as his arm pushed it out of Jihyo’s cunt. Without losing a bit, he decided to use his fist to quite literally hit her g-spot. 

“Yes!” The woman let in a loud moan as her body contracted. Seungdae kept doing this movement, pushing his hand in, a few centimeters past his wrist, only to pull out, curling his wrist inside her to hit her precious g-spot. 

“More! Yes, yes yes, please, harder!” She begged as his fist was making her lower belly move violently every time he punched her spot. Her right hand went aggressively for her clit, practically slapping it, but immediately rubbing it in circles. 

As impressed as Seungdae was, he added another layer of pleasure. His left hand squeezed below her right hand. He firmly pressed on her bladder, adding more pressure to her insides and intensifying every hit on her g-spot. 

Jihyo’s moans went up another level when his fist moved inside her as fast as any other person would aggressively finger her. Before she could process anything else, her whole body started twitching and contracting erratically.

Seungdae had to jump on the bed just so she would not hit her head with the steel ball, moving his left hand beneath her head, all while keeping his right hand inside her clenching pussy. 

Jihyo looked at him, smiling in bliss as her whole body spasmed and her cunt kept his hand locked inside her. “D-don’t stop,” she requested. 

The man understood and gave her another quick wave of fist fucking, bringing another violent orgasm for her. She convulsed strongly against the bed as she squirted, spraying his arm and the floor. In between the waves of her climax, she tried to grab his arm, but with all her trembling she could not do much. 

He kept his hand still inside her, caressing her hair with his left hand as her climax went down slowly. It took some time for her to be able to talk. 

“S-Seungdae…” she said weakly. The man’s face got close to hers. “You did good… You did good,” she panted, not bothering to hide her heavy breathing. Her right hand went for his cheek, giving him soft and weak slaps, leaving traces of her nectar. 

The man simply smiled, once again surprised by her ‘I’m in control’ vibes. 

“You can take your hand out of my cunt,” she said, letting all her weight fall to the bed once more. “Just, keep it in a fist as you take it out. Slowly” 

Again, he did as he was told, doubting if she could stretch that much. To his surprise, Jihyo’s cunt managed it without problem, enlarging its walls to allow his fist to get out of her, always keeping that vacuum around his hand. Seungdae could not avoid stopping a couple of seconds, keeping his hand right where it stretched her the most, around his thumb. 

He turned to see the woman’s face. She kept her eyes closed, biting her lips in pleasure. When he finally removed his fist from her pussy, she let out a sigh and her whole body relaxed. 

She looked down at the man. He was perplexed, admiring her loose gaping cunt. “Do you want to see something?” She asked him with a proud smile on her face. He nodded, unable to say any words; if he could, he would have stuttered. “Put your pinky inside,” she told him, nodding in encouragement. 

Seungdae’s finger went back inside her. He circled her gape, at least two fingers wide. Without warning, Jihyo clenched her pussy. His finger felt as tight as if it was inside an unused asshole. His eyebrows raised in surprise, and in response, she began squeezing his finger, making a clear wave that hugged his finger from the base to its tip in a constant rhythm. 

“How long can you keep doing that?” He asked, caressing her pubis with his left hand. 

“Quite some time,” she smirked kindly, still proud. “I’ve never really tested that, but my ex boyfriend loved it. We used to spoon, keeping his dick inside me until I made him cum just by doing that.” 

“Lucky bastard,” he mouthed. 

“I know,” she laughed, getting off the bed, “but you’ll get a taste of what he had,” she knelt on the floor and opened his legs, hands going directly to his dick. “I’ll need a few minutes to recover from what you did to me, but I have to thank you for it,” she kissed the tip of his cock, giving it a few licks before she started sucking on it. 

“Wasn’t I supposed to be the one pleasing you?” He said, moaning a bit thanks to her tongue. 

Jihyo let the saliva she was producing fall on his shaft, spreading it through his length with her hands. “Few people have made me feel safe enough to let myself go and cum like that,” she replied, letting his tip rest on her lower lip, “I’m a firm believer in positive reinforcement.”

She went back to sucking his cock, focusing on his frenulum, using both hands to grab his cock. Once he was fully covered in spit, she tried to swallow more of him. She started retching right away. With effort, she was able to get him into her throat for a bit, getting her eyes watery before releasing him. She let all the saliva fall down her tits as she breathed heavily. 

“I appreciate the effort, but we don’t want to hurt that beautiful throat,” he said jokingly. 

Jihyo’s eyes saw a challenge in that. “If Momo could take you, so can I,” she said confidently. She stroked his cock with one hand. She realized he may be a bit too much for her oral skills after her hand went from his base, all the way to his tip. “How long is it?”

“Eight and a half, nine inches depending on how close I am,” he replied, making her frown. 

“I can do it,” she said to herself, holding his hands and guiding them to her head. “I’ll do it. When I take you down my throat you’re going to push my head down until my nose touches your pubes,” she instructed him. 

“Jihyo, you don’t have to…” 

“I want to, and you’ll help me, okay? That’s why you’re here,” she interrupted him, bringing her leader facet. 

“Fine, fine. It will be quite literally my pleasure,” he said, getting in a better position. 

“Once I get all of you down my throat, keep me there until I tap your back three times, understood?” 

“Three taps on the back to let you breathe, got it.” 

Jihyo inhaled and looked at his face. He was clearly happy to be a challenge for her. “Enjoy it, boy,” she said before taking a deep breath and opening her mouth as wide as she could to swallow his cock, immediately hitting the back of her throat. She fixed her posture a bit, sucking his dick to have an easier time and relax her muscles, slowly allowing him to pass down her throat as she gagged loudly.

The woman fought with her reflexes and forced his shaft inside her throat a little more, bobbing her head in a constant rhythm that made him feel every bit of her pipe. She retrieved for no more than two seconds to get more air, letting her tears run down her cheeks. 

It seemed that’s what she needed. She inserted his cock in her throat with a loud gag, as far in as she had reached moments before. Jihyo looked at his eyes and nodded lightly, putting her hands on his lower back. 

He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her towards his crotch while Jihyo pushed herself. 

Her throat made a hard gurgling sound that flooded the room right when he felt his cock slide down her throat, making him groan in pleasure. Another little bob of her head, another gag, and her nose was finally resting at the base of his dick.

Seungdae looked down at Jihyo, her eyes crying in victory while he ran his fingers through her bulged neck. The tightness of her throat drove him crazy, making him move his hips as he kept her head down. The loud and constant gurgling of her throat was the cherry on top. One tap on his back. 

Jihyo tried to keep up, unable to breath in between constant gagging, putting all of her effort in not giving up as he took longer thrusts. Two taps on his back. 

He knew she was at her limit, and he could feel his climax building, so he took advantage of his situation. He held her head firmly as he fucked her throat at full force. Jihyo was taken aback, retching more violently than before, trying her best to continue, but it was too much for her. Three taps. 

With the same force he was burying her face in his crotch, he pushed her head away from his dick, letting a thick thread of drool hang from her mouth and his shaft as she gasped deeply. Her red eyes look at him with anger. 

“Sorry…” he exhaled, only to be cut by her catching the spit connecting her mouth to her shaft and spreading her between her boobs. 

“I’m not done with you,” she panted, getting closer again to envelop his cock with her boobs, using all the saliva as lube. “When was the last time you fucked someone’s tits?”

“This would be the first,” he replied, captivated by the softness of her breasts around him. 

“I’ll make sure you remember this one for life,” she warned confidently, moving her torso up and down, making small cups with her hands as she pinched her nipples. She captured her milk and guided it to fall between her tits.

Seungdae let himself enjoy this treatment. He still wasn’t sure if he would get to experience her body, so he let her create a little pond of warm milk between her tits, making it ripple as his shaft disappeared between them, creating a sweet mix of her own fluids. 

Once Jihyo was satisfied with the amount of pearl white milk covering her, she squeezed her breast together, squeezing his dick and rubbing it up and down. Every time his dick popped between her tits she tried to give it a good lick, nailing a couple before she felt him twitch. 

She maintained the same rhythm, smiling wide when she saw the thick spurts of semen that ended up covering her tits and face. Jihyo was determined to take every drop out of him, stroking him with her tits throughout his orgasm until the last shot of cum came out of his dick. 

Before he could relax, she let go of his dick and began sucking him and licking him clean. Her tongue was the best torture he could think for his sensitive shaft, but it was too much. He tried to get a hold of her head to stop her, but she held his hands until his cock was clean. 

Finally breathing, Jihyo sat on her legs, passing her hands through her tits, collecting their juices in her hands, licking her fingers and everything she needed until she was ‘clean’. Seungdae, speechless, admired the scene, gawking at her eyes as she collected the cum from her chest and face before putting it in her mouth and swallowing it all. 

“Is it safe to assume you liked it?” she asked, standing up and touching his chin to close his mouth. He simply nodded, making her laugh a bit on her way to the bed. 

“There’s still another thing I want to do with you before we’re done, but I’ll let you rest for a bit. I want you at full strength,” she declared, laying down on the bed, taking full advantage of the pillows.

“Thank you, I suppose,” he said, hiding a jiggle and admiring her figure as her tits rested on her chest. “Is it okay if I ask something?” 

“You just did, but go ahead,” she replied. 

“What’s up with you and Momo?”

“Healthy competition,” she stated, "whether it’s dancing or fucking, we like to compete with each other to make ourselves better.” 

“Who’s winning at fucking now?”

“Bodycount?” She raised her eyebrow, smirking. “We’ve lost track. Skillwise, she clearly beats me deepthroating,” she admitted, laughing a bit. “We stopped keeping records after we were done tributting.”

“Tributting?”

Jihyo opened her big eyes, looking at his face. “With your friend I thought you would know about it,” she said somewhat confused. “You’re already in, so you might as well know,” she added, shrugging.

“I’m in, then?” He grinned, teasing her. 

“Don’t blow it, boy,” she huffed. Her tone was halfway joking, halfway serious. 

“Okay, but, what should I know? What’s that ‘tributting’ thing you mentioned?”

Jihyo exhaled, giving herself time to find the right words. “You know companies invest a lot in us, from training until we debut, right?” He nodded. “We get in debt with the company to return that investment” she continued. “Debuting is just as expensive as being a trainee, but they give us options…” 

Seungdae simply nodded, waiting for more explanation. She understood and continued. “Every debut is an open door for investors to help us pay our debt in exchange for services. You can see where I’m going, right?” 

“So, every idol out there has to go through this?”

“Not necessarily. Depending on the company, maybe just one member would sacrifice themselves for the group. They could select a tribute to perform those services,” she explained, her expression turning darker for a bit. 

“You and Momo were selected?”

“Kind of. As the leader, I offered myself as the one tribute for the group. I had already decided that before they chose me. But some investors had already put their money on Momo even before we debuted, so she became the second tribute of the group not long after,” she told him with a tone of defeat at the end. 

“She didn’t want to?” 

“Oh, she had no problem with it, but I wanted to save her and Tzuyu the trouble. I had better luck keeping her away from all that.”

“I can imagine why you’d do that,” he empathized, letting himself lay down at her right, resting his weight on his side.

“Some investors are rougher than others, and crazier. It’s a matter of luck, and a good manager, really” she replied, “although even the best managers can’t do miracles.” 

“Is that why you and Momo are so… skillful?” Seungdae wondered, making her laugh a bit. 

“I guess so,” she admitted, “but that’s also why I can do this,” she smirked, squeezing her right tit to spray milk at his face. Seungdae remained still for a second, processing her display of playfulness before cleaning his face with his fingers, licking them clean to savour her sweet milk. 

“All of this was induced by their request,” she shared, weighing her breasts and pinching her nipples, letting a small drops of milk run from each tit. “All things considered, we got lucky. No one got into something crazier because of them.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Some investors are sick, and while we can refuse to do what they want, if the offer is too good, you agree, sign and end up with new accidental kinks.”

“You know someone who’s gone through that?”

“Of course, there’s plenty,” she affirmed, maybe too fast. “Red Velvet may be the best example. Itzy also got a couple crazy investors at the beginning…” She saw Seungdae’s face, probably too concerned for something she thought had no point after so many years. 

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows and giving him a soft punch in his chest. “Some people are already maniacs and simply get to experience what they want to a whole new level. Take Momo, for example. She’s always been a nympho." 

“I guess there are advantages for some of you,” he sighed, “So, none of the other members have lent their services since you cleared that debt?” 

Jihyo’s face turned. “Most of us have by now. Every debut is a new debt. You know, it’s part of the deal if you go solo, or into a subunit. Most people want to give it a try at some point.” 

“You went through that again when you debuted as a soloist?” 

“Yeah, it gave me a chance to get my cunt filled with as much cum as I wanted,” she smirked proudly. “And speaking of that…” she rolled to her side, facing him for a second before she went on top of him, placing her legs on his sides. “I won’t let you go until you plant your seed deep inside my womb,” she whispered to his ear, as her hands ran through his chest. 

“You want those udders swelling with baby milk?,” he growled, trying to sit on the bed, grabbing her waist and pulling her by her left nipple for a kiss, only to be stopped by Jihyo. 

“So that’s what gets you crazy, huh?” She bit her lips, guiding his head to her neck and grabbing his shaft. “We’ll get along, boy.” 

“Thought we already did,” he grabbed her ass, lifting her just a bit. Jihyo did the rest, aligning his cock with her entrance and impaling herself, letting her weight fall on him, making both moan loudly after her pussy swallowed all of his shaft. 

Jihyo wasted no time and began moving her hips in circles as her cunt contracted to feel every inch of his length. It only took her a couple sways to get comfortable before she pushed him on the bed to ride him properly. 

Laying down with one of her hands on his chest, Seungdae took a second to admire her tanned abs as she stretched her midriff, finding her own pleasure. Before long she placed both hands on his legs and started bouncing in his cock, closing her eyes and moaning as her tits went up and down. 

The man got hypnotized by the recoil of her boobs. His hips began thrusting, making her udders bounce even harder. Both let themselves go, her whines made it clear she was enjoying it. 

The longer she rode him, the harder she bounced on him, until she suddenly stopped, sinking on his crotch, leaning forward and holding her tits. “I’m sorry, they started hurting” she complained, massaging her boobs. 

“Oh, no worries,” he sat, holding her back and her head to roll on the bed with his dick still buried in her cunt. Jihyo was a bit startled by the sudden change of position, but she smiled at him. “Better?”

“Way better,” her legs hugged him, pushing him fully back inside her, “now fill my womb.” 

Her words triggered him, making him pound her cunt with intent, looking for his own climax. If he was to creampie her, he was going to do so as deep inside her as he could. He grabbed her legs to raise her hips, making him reach further than he had until then. 

Jihyo’s arms went up, hands grabbing onto the sheets. Their hips began clapping, making her udders ripple at every slap. Seungdae leaned into her as he picked up more speed until their faces were two inches apart.

She opened her legs and pulled him for a kiss as soon as their eyes locked. Even though the rest of their bodies were fucking like animals in heat, the kiss was tender. She bit his lips every so often as a reflex from him hitting her cervix, increasing the arousal for both. 

His left arm went down her back, holding her by the shoulder as his right hand grabbed her left tit. Her body cooperated, letting his dick penetrate her pussy with enough force to break any other girl’s cunt. 

Soon, her mind began to cloud as his shaft hit her insides, sending jolts of pleasure every time his dick drilled into her. The cherry on top was his hand pinching her nipple, causing her to bite his lips harder. He replied in the same way as her cunt clenched onto his cock. 

Both felt their climax getting closer, rocking their hips in sync in a continuous crescendo until Seungdae’s orgasm hit him, holding her closer to him as his dick spurred wave after wave of cum into her hungry cunt. 

The feeling of his cunt getting filled by his warm seed pushed her to the edge of her own climax. “Don’t stop,” Jihyo begged, hips moving up and down faster than before. “Keep going, keep going!” she screamed as her legs pushed his dick back inside her. 

Seungdae’s arousal was enough to keep him going, even after his orgasm had left every nerve in his cock too sensitive. 

Jihyo’s cunt kept squeezing every drop of cum out of him, harder and harder until her climax arrived. Her pussy clenched onto his dick harder than he expected while her arms pulled him again for a deep, passionate kiss where she devoured him. 

The erratic and strong convulsions of her cunt triggered yet another orgasm for Seungdae, who had to hold her as strongly as he could just to keep his dick inside her. 

“Yes… fucking knock me up!” She exclaimed. His tight embrace made her feel safe to let loose and freeing her body to shudder as much as her orgasm asked for while their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. 

Seungdae’s hips kept fucking her, slowly decreasing his speed as both their climaxes died down. The only noise in the room was their heavy breathings in almost perfect synchrony. At the end, it was only them, kissing in the little gaps their panting allowed. 

“Did you just cum twice inside me?” She asked, as her chest raised up and down. 

“You have your tricks. I have mine… Was it okay?” 

“Okay? Boy, you’re really something different,” she replied amused, signaling him to relax and lay on top of her. 

“Glad you liked it,” he buried his face on her neck. “If you wouldn’t mind, please consider leaving a five-star review later.” 

“You earned it,” she patted her back and slapped his buttocks a few times before she began caressing it.

“Thank you. And also thank you for not shredding my back,” he scoffed. 

“You don’t have to worry about that with me, but be careful with Sana and Chaeyoung. They’ll tear you to pieces if you give them a chance.”

“Duly noted!” 

Jihyo looked at the clock on the wall. Almost three o’clock. “I’d love to stay like this for a while, but I have practice in a few minutes.” 

Seungdae placed his weight on his arms, groaning after turning to see the hour, careful not to take his dick out of her cunt. 

“Do me a favor,” she told him while she reached for her phone, which ended up buried below the pillows. “Turn on the flash and press the record button before you take your dick out of my pussy,” she instructed him. 

He received the phone and followed her instructions. The camera captured part of her mouth and her huge tits hanging to her sides before it panned down to focus on her trimmed bush, meeting his pelvis. He felt her clench her cunt and raise her hips, making him look at her. 

She nodded, and he pulled out of her. Her walls had shut as soon as his cock left them, stopping any possible leak. 

He got a bit more comfortable, standing on his knees, recording her as she used her core to raise her ass in the air, letting her weight fall on her upper upper back and her elbows. He saw her struggle a bit, so he used his abs to help her stay in position. 

“How considerate of you.” Now she had better support, she looked for the metal ball and handed it to him. She raised her hips a bit more, letting her legs fall freely so her hands could reach her cunt. 

The camera focused on her fingers reaching her entrance in her shiny folds, easily inserting three fingers from each hand. Her face was barely on frame, almost covered by her tits, but her smile was still captured. Her walls relaxed, opening her cunt so he could record her insides as her fingers stretched her open. 

“How does it look?” She queried, showing the control she had on her muscles, creating more space inside her. The flash now made sense. 

Seungdae was amazed. “Everything is covered in white. I don’t think I can see your cervix,” he peeked with the phone, adding his index and middle fingers to stretch her a little bit more, holding the ball with his other three fingers. 

“Nice,” she bit her lips, “now, carefully drop the ball inside me.” 

He looked at her, questioning her words. She nodded enthusiastically. He placed it in the entrance of her canal, fingers stopping it from going in. “Push it in, don’t be afraid,” she told him, tightening the end of her pussy, making his semen raise up. 

The ball was held by the back of her fingers, so he used his free hand to gently push it in, stretching her walls a bit more, just for the ball to drop inside her. The sudden drop of its weight made her groan as her fingers let her cunt close naturally for a moment, keeping a small gape of no more than two fingers. 

“Tell me when you see your cum about to leak, alright?” She requested as her hands went back to her spine for support. 

He nodded, amazed by how her cunt could be incredibly loose a moment and go back to her normal state so quickly. He stared at her cunt as it slowly squeezed her muscles, queefering a bit, until he saw his seed slowly reaching up. “There!” 

“Thank you,” her walls relaxed a bit, swallowing his cum again before shutting close tightly. She patted his leg so she could rest on the bed again. He helped her get down, just for her to immediately get off the bed, bouncing on it to get to the floor. “You can stop recording,” she got her panties and began putting them on.

“S-sure,” he handed her the phone. “Are you going to practice with that inside you?” 

“Yes,” she started getting her pants on. 

“Like, dance, jump and all that stuff?” 

“Yes, it will be a nice challenge to keep the ball and your precious seed inside me without leaking.”

“Sure it will… What happens if you let the ball drop?” He asked, getting his trunks and pants on at the same time.

“I’m not sure,” Jihyo stopped him before his clothes covered his dick, holding it. “I’m sure they’ll think of something, so I better keep everything in,” she knelt down to clean his cock with her tongue. 

Seungdae’s hand caressed her head going down to her cheek, letting her do her thing. “Is this something you do every time?” 

“Only to the ones I like,” she replied in between licks before sucking his sack. She gave the underside of his length another good lick before kissing his head and covering it with his trunks. “Now be good and help me hook my bra,” she requested, standing up.

Both got fully dressed. The only evidence of their actions now were on the sheets, on her phone, and hidden inside Jihyo’s cunt. They got out of the room, back into the hallway and opened the door to the office they were in earlier. 

“Yah!” Jihyo yelled at the sight of Nayeon, Momo, Sana, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. They were all trying to leave, Tzuyu was the calmest of them all, exchanging a look of complicity with the lawyer, who was sitting on the same spot as before, nodding his head side to side, holding his laughter. 

“It’s getting late for practice,” Jihyo told them loudly with a hand on her waist.

“I was expecting you to be happier after you had your fun with him,” Chaeyoung pouted.

“I told you she would be mad if she saw you all in there!” Jeongyeon yelled from outside the office. She was there with Mina and Dahyun, they laughed, although Dahyun blushed after making eye contact with Seungdae. 

“Get to the practice room, now! I’ll catch you there,” the leader commanded with a stern look. 

“She’ll be late for the warm up,” Chae murmured, her voice as quiet as a mouse. 

“She’s all warmed up already, don’t worry about her,” replied Nayeon as they got out of the office, followed by Tzuyu, who simply waved goodbye to Seungdae. He waved back shyly, not knowing if that was alright. 

“Told you there was nothing to worry about, Mr. Hwang”, Momo told him as she got closer to him to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

Sana followed closely, “Mr. Hwang…” she stood close to him, checking their height difference, looking up. “Finally something good,” she whispered just before Momo took her hand to go with the others. 

After everyone got out, Mina was the one to close the door, smiling kindly at Seungdae before leaving as Chaeyoung waited for her. 

Jihyo exhaled, trying to calm down. She looked at Mr. Kim, waiting for an explanation. He snorted, “I told Miss Chou not to overestimate the hallway. It’s shorter than it looks,” the lawyer raised his hands as if that was out of his control. “But tell me, Miss Park, are we moving forward with Mr. Hwang?”

“Yes, he did good.” 

“So it seems,” he joked, making the woman smile, blushing just a bit. “Is there anything else you want to add to the papers?” 

“No, I’m fine. Just make sure he’s paid fairly, both monthly and per session.” 

“Will do, for sure. Mr. Hwang, anything from your end?”

“Nothing else, I think I’m good.”

“Fine, Miss Park, you can sign the papers after practice.” 

“Thank you. Seungdae, are you sure you want to sign this? You already saw how they looked at you,” she elbowed him, giving him a smirk and a wink. 

“I think I can handle them,” he said nervously. 

“Then welcome to your new life,” she got closer and patted his back. “I have to go, we’ll meet again,” she smiled at him, stepping to the door.

“Jihyo! Would it be possible to have the video from earlier?”

“I’ll think about it,” she chuckled before opening the door and leaving. 

The lawyer made him read the additions he had made to be sure everything was in order for both parties. His privacy was ensured there, as long as he kept any information of their encounters safe, including any media they may create during their sessions. 

Seungdae signed the papers. He was given a copy and was free to go home if he wanted. After exiting the building he tried to contact Jin with no luck. 

He sat in his car, trying to process what had happened and what could be in his future. He stayed there for half an hour until she got a message

Jin: Great one! Sorry, I was filming. I want to hear everything, but I won’t be home until dinner. It would be nice to see you there when I get back? 🥺

SD: So, dinner together?

Jin: Yes, please!!!!

SD: Fine, I’ll prepare something with whatever you have in your fridge.

Jin: Thank you, thank you, thank you!! 😚

He drove to Jin’s apartment and used his own key to get in. More often than not, when she had to go out for work, she would prepare something that didn’t require much action for when she came back home. He thought of adding a few more stuff to make it tastier and voilà! 

He left everything on the stove, ready to be heated again when she got home. He sat on the couch, scrolled through his phone and fell asleep for a couple hours. 

The vibrations of his phone woke him up, A series of messages. 

Jihyo: Seungdae~ the ball almost fell twice out of my cunt, but I saved it!

JH: But… By the time I noticed, your cum had already stained my pants halfway through our practice.

JH: They made me finish it without any pants or panties ㅠ_ㅠ

JH: When your cum started running down my leg Momo insisted I sent you the video you recorded and everyone agreed, so… Here you have it!

JH: Also, I thought it would be fair to show you the mess you made in my pants. 

‘Waking up to this wasn’t so bad,’ he thought, admiring the huge stain on her clothes. 

SG: Hey, you were the one who wanted to challenge herself like that.

SG: If anything it was your mess, I just followed your every request 🤷

SG: You may need to try it again until you don’t fail.

JH: Yeah, you were a good boy. And you may be right 😉

JH: You’ll have to help me with another session. I won’t accept less than what you gave me today.

SG: That’s literally my job now, isn’t it?

JH: Well said! 

He spent some time checking the details on the video until the door opened. He quickly got to the door to receive her. 

“I was worried you would be gone already!” She left her bag and shoes in the entrance and ran to hug him.

“Are you kidding? We had plans for dinner,” he pointed with his head so she could see the stove. “Want to have dinner first, or do you want to get a shower?”

“Dinner, I’m starving!” 

They sat, talking about her day as they finished their plates. As soon as they were done, she walked to the bathroom, stripping naked, leaving a path of clothes in her way.

“Are you waiting for an invitation or what?” She yelled as she turned on the shower. He followed along, leaving his clothes in the way. 

They took their time. Seungdae helped her remove her extensions before they got into the water. They massaged each other's bodies as they helped each other get clean. 

After they were done, they didn’t bother to get a towel and went to her room. They cuddled for some time before their bodies asked for more and made love for a good hour. Her short hair helped to keep most of the pillows dry. 

They ended up spooning, his dick still inside her freshly creampied pussy. That’s when she asked him about his day and how everything went with Jihyo and the contract. 

He explained everything legal. “I thought that would be okay. I know JYPE has gained a lot of experience with that,” she affirmed before inquiring more about his time with Jihyo. 

“Why are you insisting so much?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she clenched her pussy to keep his cum inside her as she changed positions, trying to sit on the bed. “You’ve never kept a secret from me,” she pouted. 

“I signed an NDA, remember?” He raised his eyebrows, knowing she would reply right away.

“That didn’t stop you from telling me every detail about Momo! Are you trying to get me jealous?” 

“Is it working?” He smirked. 

“Aish!” She punched him in the shoulder, “Maybe… but I also want to know how you’re fucking them so you can do the same to me…” She admitted shyly. 

“Fine, fine. You know, I’d love to do that. But I’m not sure if you’re up to this task,” he challenged her, standing up to get his phone in the living room. 

“I’ve taken everything you’ve given me half our lives!” 

“This you haven’t,” he grinned confidently, handing her his phone with Jihyo’s video on it. Jin was astonished, watching eight fingers stretching Jihyo’s cum-filled cunt before he inserted the 4 centimeters wide ball inside her. 

“How much does it weigh?” She wondered, astonished by the scene. 

“About 250 grams, stainless steel,” he sat on the bed next to Jin, holding her tiny frame by the waist on to his lap.

“I can take that!” She glared at him. “But I’m not sure how long I could keep it in.” 

“I’m not sure how long she kept it in, but she did all her practice with that inside. Also, you can’t take my fist inside you,” he placed his closed hand and placed it above her lower belly. 

“I may be able to do that next time you and ‘the prince’ fuck me at the same time…” she stated without thinking. Then she saw the size of his fist against her frame. “At least my own hand.” 

“We can try it if you want. If both of us fill your cute little cunt with our cum,” he ran his fingers through her folds, ”you could use it as lube for your tiny hand.” 

“It's not that small!” She protested, slapping the hand he had in her pussy, holding it right away so he kept it there.  

“You are joking, right? You could easily fit both your hands inside her,” Seungdae whispered the last couple of words, inserting two fingers inside Jin.

“That would be interesting,” she moaned, “maybe I could arrange it.”

“Maybe, when they found out who ‘my dear friend’ is.”

“Let’s see…” she pulled him in for a kiss, moaning in his mouth. “Now fill my pussy as you filled hers.”  

“As you wish, princess.” 

[elvhensinner]

Kill My Time

Taeyeon x male reader

word count: 15K

commissioned fic

Despite the fatigue, you're heading back to your apartment with relief, knowing it's finally Friday. And of course, you already have exciting plans for the weekend.

After the short drive back home, the heavy glass door of the lobby glides shut behind you, the conditioned air a welcome shock after the humid city heat of a Friday afternoon. Your tie is already loosened, the top button of your shirt undone, the first small act of rebellion against the corporate uniform you wear five days a week. The elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor is silent, a brief, sterile pause between the structured chaos of your work life and the structured calm of your home life.

You live by routine, thrive on it. It’s the framework that allows you to excel, to push eighty-hour weeks analyzing market trends and drafting acquisition proposals without burning out. Your apartment, when you finally push the key into the lock and swing the door open, reflects that same meticulous order. Cool greys, clean lines, nothing out of place. It’s a space designed for efficiency, not comfort, a place to recharge the batteries before the next assault on your career.

You drop your keys and wallet into the ceramic bowl on the console table. Your briefcase finds its designated spot by the desk in the corner of the open-plan living area. First, a drink. You bypass the wine and liquor, pulling a bottle of chilled water from the stainless steel fridge and downing half of it in long, satisfying gulps. The weekend. Two days of blissful, scheduled freedom. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means the 8 AM tennis match with your friend Phillip at the club, followed by a late brunch and a lazy afternoon watching sports. It’s the same thing you do almost every weekend, and the predictability of it is a balm to your over-stimulated brain. As you lean against the kitchen island, scrolling idly through your phone, it buzzes with an incoming call. Phillip’s face flashes on the screen.

“Hey. You all set for tomorrow? I was thinking of trying that new brunch spot downtown after we play.”

A beat of silence on the other end, just long enough for you to sense the impending bullshit. Phillip’s sigh crackles through the speaker.

“Ah, man. About that. I am so, so sorry, but I have to cancel.”

You don’t say anything, just wait for the excuse.

“Don’t be pissed. It’s my parents. They decided, at six p.m. on a Friday, that they’re driving down tomorrow morning for a ‘surprise visit’. Which means my entire Saturday is now dedicated to entertaining them and listening to my dad complain about the property taxes.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was. He’s already sent me a list of things he wants to ‘check out’ around my apartment. I’m completely fucked. We can play Sunday, maybe? Late afternoon?”

“I have that quarterly review deck to finish on Sunday.” You run a hand over your face, the day’s stubble scratching against your palm. It was all planned. The physical exertion, the mental release, the comfortable rhythm of it all. Now, a blank slate. An unstructured, empty Saturday stretching out before you. Shit.

“Fuck, dude, I’m sorry. I owe you one. Seriously. Let me know if anything changes.”

You end the call without another word and toss your phone onto the granite countertop. The silence of the apartment suddenly feels different. It’s not peaceful anymore; it’s vacant. You stare out the floor-to-ceiling window at the sprawling cityscape, the lights just beginning to twinkle to life as dusk settles in. You could go to the gym, but you already did that this morning. You could try to call someone else, but the thought of navigating another person’s schedule feels exhausting.

All your discipline, your high-earning salary, your perfectly ordered life, and you’re left with a gaping hole in your weekend because your friend’s parents are boomers who don’t know how to use a calendar. It’s pathetic. And that’s when the other thought, the one you keep bookmarked in a private browser tab for moments just like this, slides into the forefront of your mind.

Elysian Companions. A premium service. Not some shady backpage ad, but a slick, professional website with a portfolio of women who cost more for a single night than your monthly payment on your car. You’ve hovered over the ‘Book Now’ button a dozen times, always chickening out, telling yourself you don’t have the time, that it’s a waste of money. But now… now you have the time. And the money isn’t an issue.

It’s an impulsive, reckless departure from your carefully curated life, and that’s precisely what makes it so appealing. You grab your laptop from your briefcase, sink into the low-slung leather sofa, and type in the URL. The site loads instantly, all minimalist black and gold, exuding an aura of expensive discretion. The ‘Companions’ page is a gallery of beautiful women. There’s a blonde who looks like a fitness influencer, a redhead with a girl-next-door smile, a lithe brunette who probably does runway modeling. They’re all stunning, all in their early twenties, and all completely uninteresting to you. You’re not looking for a status symbol or a vapid conversation.

You’re looking for someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who can handle themselves, someone who feels… real. You apply the age filter, dragging the slider up past 25, past 30. The options thin out considerably. And then you see her. Taeyeon. The photo is different from the others. She’s not posed seductively on a bed or laughing over a glass of champagne. She’s sitting in a simple chair, looking directly at the camera.

She’s older, 36 the profile says, with sharp eyes that hold a hint of amusement. She has long, dark hair and a confident set to her jaw. She’s beautiful, but it’s a mature, self-possessed beauty that draws you in. Her bio is short, mentioning a love for jazz clubs, contemporary art, and ‘intelligent, engaging conversation’. The price for her overnight package is astronomical, enough to make you physically flinch. It’s a dare. A statement of quality. You’re not just paying for sex; you’re paying for an experience.

You’re paying for her.

Fuck it.

You click through the booking form, selecting the 24-hour option from Saturday evening to Sunday afternoon. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, filling in your details, your thumb hovering over the final confirmation on the payment screen for a split second before you press down hard. A green checkmark appears. It’s done. A wave of adrenaline, potent and dizzying, washes over you… What have you just done? For a few hours, nothing happens. You shower, order some ridiculously expensive sushi, and try to watch a movie, but your attention is shot. You’re jittery, a combination of nervous energy and anticipation churning in your gut. Then, your phone pings with a notification from a secure messaging app you were prompted to download.

A new contact.

Taeyeon.

Hello. I received confirmation of our arrangement for tomorrow evening. It’s a pleasure to connect with you.

Her message is professional, almost corporate, but it still makes your heart kick against your ribs. You stare at the blinking cursor, suddenly unsure of what the protocol is here.

Hi Taeyeon. Looking forward to it. I was thinking we could get dinner first, if you’re open to that? There’s a great Italian place near me. Or I can have something sent up to my apartment, whatever you’re more comfortable with.

You hit send, feeling like a teenager asking someone out for the first time. The three little dots appear almost immediately.

Dinner sounds lovely. I enjoy a good Chianti. Just send me the reservation details and time. And please, don't worry about being formal. The goal for tomorrow is for both of us to have a wonderful, relaxing time.

Another message follows a second later.

Just so you know, I like to be surprised. Order for me. :)

That last part, the simple text smiley, changes everything. It cuts through the transactional nature of the booking. It’s a sign that this won’t be some stiff, awkward encounter. This is going to be fun. You book a table for two at 8 PM and forward her the confirmation. You lean back against the sofa, the laptop now closed on the cushion beside you. Your weekend is no longer an empty void. The routine is shattered, and in its place is a thrilling, terrifying, and intensely exciting uncertainty. You have a date. And you have no idea what you’re in for.

—

Saturday is a weird kind of limbo. You wake up without an alarm, a rare luxury, but the absence of your usual tennis match leaves a strange void in the morning. You go to the gym anyway, pushing yourself harder than usual on the treadmill, trying to sweat out the nervous energy that’s been simmering under your skin since you made the booking. You spend the afternoon in a state of controlled anxiety, tidying an apartment that is already immaculate, adjusting books on the shelf that are perfectly aligned, and changing your outfit three times. A suit is too much, too corporate. Jeans and a t-shirt feel too casual, disrespectful even. You finally settle on dark chinos and a crisp, dark blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to your forearms. It feels like a decent compromise.

The central question rattling around your skull is one of etiquette. How are you supposed to act? You’re paying for her time, a fact that sits awkwardly in the back of your mind. Do you treat it like a business transaction? A first date? Do you pretend the money doesn't exist? You decide to just play it by ear, to take your cues from her. She’s the professional, after all.

You get to the restaurant twenty minutes early, a habit born from years of client meetings. It’s a nice place, one you’ve been to before, with low, warm lighting, dark wood, and the quiet, contented murmur of other diners. You secure your corner table with its plush banquette seating and order a bottle of the Chianti, asking the waiter to have it breathing by the time she arrives. You sip on a glass of water, checking your phone out of habit, feeling oddly exposed. At five minutes past eight, you see her. The host is leading her toward your table, and the first thought that forms in your brain is a simple, monosyllabic, wow. Her profile pictures didn't do her justice. She’s petite, smaller than you imagined, but she moves with a fluid confidence that makes her seem taller. Her hair is a cascade of soft dark waves, framing a face with impossibly fair skin and a delicate, heart-shaped jawline.

She's wearing a simple, elegant black dress that hugs her figure in all the right places, ending just above the knee. It’s the kind of dress that’s both incredibly classy and deeply suggestive. As she gets closer, you stand up, and her eyes, sharp and pretty, land on you. A brief, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crosses her features.

She offers a small, perfectly polite smile as she slides into the banquette opposite you. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral with a hint of musk, drifts across the table.

“Hello. You must be my client.” Her greeting is smooth, practiced, yet warm.

“Hi. And you must be Taeyeon.” You gesture to the wine. “I took your suggestion. I hope it’s a good one.”

“I’ve yet to be steered wrong by a good Classico.” She settles in, placing a small clutch on the seat beside her. She studies your face for a moment. “You know, you’re not what I was expecting.”

Here it is. The first test. You can’t help the slightly defensive edge that creeps into your reply. “Yeah? Sorry to disappoint.”

The reaction is immediate. She throws her head back slightly and lets out a genuine, unforced laugh, a bright, sparkling sound that makes the couple at the next table glance over.

“Oh, honey. Who said anything about disappointment? My usual clients are… let’s just say they’re more likely to be complaining about their 401k and have much less hair than you. It’s refreshing.” She leans forward, her chin resting on her hand. “I’m just surprised. A guy your age, booking me? Most men in their twenties on the site go for the girls who look like they just graduated high school. It’s a very specific choice.”

The waiter arrives to pour her a glass of wine, a welcome interruption that gives you a moment to process. You feel a strange sensation of being analyzed and complimented. “I guess I’m not most guys.”

“I’m starting to get that impression.” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the glass. “So, you took my other little piece of advice too? Or am I going to have to suffer through the ordeal of reading a menu?”

You feel a confident smirk pull at your own lips, the nervousness finally beginning to dissolve, replaced by the thrill of the game. “Already handled. I hope you like truffle pasta and burrata.”

Her eyes light up. “A man who isn't afraid of carbs. Now I know I’m not disappointed.” As the food arrives, the conversation flows. She asks about your job, but not in the boring, obligatory way most people do. She asks what drives you, what the most satisfying part of it is. You find yourself explaining the complex thrill of closing a difficult deal, the intellectual puzzle of it all, and she listens, nodding in the right places and asking insightful questions.

“You’re very disciplined,” she observes, gracefully twirling pasta onto her fork. “I can tell. You have a routine for everything, don’t you? I bet your sock drawer is organized by color and fabric.”

You laugh because she’s not wrong. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s in the way you hold yourself. Structured. Methodical.” She pops the pasta into her mouth, a little speck of cream clinging to her full bottom lip. She doesn’t wipe it away immediately. “It’s a good thing. But it must be exhausting to be so ‘on’ all the time.”

“The weekend is for being ‘off’,” you admit. “My friend canceled on me for tennis today. That’s… that’s why I called you. It was an impulse.”

“The best decisions usually are.” Her gaze is direct, unflinching. “It’s good to break the routine sometimes. It reminds you that you’re in control of it, and not the other way around.”

She leans back as the waiter clears the plates. You realize with a jolt that you’re having a genuinely good time. You’re not thinking about the money, or the context, or what comes next. You’re just enjoying the company of a smart, funny, and impossibly beautiful woman. She picks up her wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid. Her expression shifts.

You watch that slow, mischievous smile spread across her lips.

"So… your place?"

Instead of answering her directly, you lean back against the plush banquette, mirroring her relaxed posture. You’re not ready for the dinner portion of the evening to be over just yet. You’re enjoying this too much.

“In a minute.” The response is quiet, but it makes her raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in surprise. “I’m still trying to figure you out.”

She shifts in her seat, the movement causing her black dress to ride up a fraction of an inch higher on her thigh, exposing another sliver of smooth skin. You force your eyes back to her face, but the image is burned into your brain. “What else do you want to talk about? You seem to be as interested in my brain as you are in my body.”

“I’m serious.” You lean forward slightly, lowering your own register to match hers. “This can’t be what it’s always like. Dinners and conversations about sock drawers. What’s the weirdest part of the job? The part that isn’t in the glossy bio on the website.”

She considers your question for a long moment, swirling the last of the Chianti in her glass. You can see her deciding how much to give you, how much of the professional veneer to peel back. “The weirdest part isn’t the kinks or the strange requests, not really. You get used to that. The weirdest part is the loneliness.” She says it so matter-of-factly that it takes you a second to register. “The men who book me�� ninety percent of them aren’t looking for a porn star. They’re looking for someone to listen to them complain about their ex-wife, or to celebrate a promotion their actual friends are tired of hearing about, or just to sit in silence and watch a movie with. They’re paying for the illusion of a connection, and my job is to make that illusion feel as real as possible for as long as they’ve paid for it.”

"So what am I paying for?"

Her eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze. “You haven’t decided yet.” It’s not a question. “You’re different. You’re not lonely. You’re… curious. And you’re wound up so tight I’m surprised you’re not vibrating.” She reaches across the table and, for the first time, touches you, her long, cool fingers brushing against the back of your hand where it rests near your water glass. “My job, tonight, is to help you unwind.”

Her thumb traces a slow, deliberate circle on your skin. You can’t help it, your gaze drops again, tracing the elegant curve of her collarbone revealed by the dress’s neckline, the faint shadow between her breasts. You know she sees you looking. You don’t even try to hide it. When you meet her eyes again, her smile has widened. It’s predatory now, knowing.

“See something you like?” The challenge is whispered.

Your mouth is dry. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do.” She slowly retracts her hand, the loss of contact feeling strangely profound. “You’re a terrible patient, you know. Most guys would have had me out of here and halfway to their apartment thirty minutes ago.”

“I told you,” you manage, finding your footing in the flirtatious current, “I’m not most guys. Besides, I feel like I should get my money’s worth out of the dinner portion of the evening.”

She laughs, that bright, sparkling sound again. “Honey, at my rates, you just paid five hundred dollars for that burrata. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.”

“It was the best damn burrata I’ve ever had.”

“Good.” She pushes her wine glass away, a clear signal that she’s finished.

You signal for the waiter. You handle the bill quickly, discreetly, sliding your card into the leather folder without even looking at the final, staggering number. She watches you, a look of quiet approval in her eyes. You helped her with her coat, your fingers brushing the warm skin of her back as you settle the fabric over her shoulders. She turns, standing close.

“Ready to go now?” she murmurs, her breath warm against your cheek.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

—

The ride back to your place is cocooned in a strange and comfortable intimacy. You don’t speak, but the silence isn’t awkward. Every so often, you catch her looking at you from the corner of your eye, her expression unreadable in the flickering gloom. You meet her gaze once, and she holds it, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips before she turns to look out the window again. When you finally arrives at your building and pull smoothly into the underground garage, she unclips her seatbelt with a soft click, eyes wandering over the sleek rows of cars before following you toward the elevator.

The doors slide open with a muted chime, and you both step inside, the mirrored walls reflecting her curious glance. Each floor number lighting up in slow succession.

“It’s a beautiful building,” she says suddenly, probably to break the silence.

A small, self-deprecating scoff escapes you. “I bet you’ve been to better places.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.”

“So, what are some of the better places? Give me your top three.”

She thinks for a moment. “There was a penthouse in Tokyo, overlooking Shibuya Crossing. The entire bathroom was made of black marble. A private villa on Lake Como, with a boat dock and a personal chef who made the best risotto I’ve ever tasted. And… a restored castle in the Scottish Highlands. That one had a four-poster bed and an actual fireplace in the bedroom.”

The doors slide open to your floor before you can even process the casual luxury of her answer. It’s a glimpse into a world so far removed from your own structured reality of spreadsheets and market analyses. You lead her down the hallway to your apartment, the click of her heels echoing softly on the polished concrete floor. Inside, you flick on the lights, illuminating the clean, minimalist space.

She slips out of her coat and lets it fall from her shoulders, her eyes scanning the room. She takes a slow walk around the living area, her fingers ghosting over the back of the leather sofa, her gaze lingering on the floor-to-ceiling window and the glittering panorama of the city it reveals.

“So,” you venture, feeling the need to say something, anything. “Is it what you expected?”

“Yes.” She turns to face you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Clean. Controlled. Minimalist. A little cold. It’s very you.” She takes a few steps toward you. “It’s a nice fortress.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Water? Wine?”

Her coat is already a puddle of dark fabric on your light grey floor. She closes the remaining distance between you in a fluid, silent motion, stepping behind you so her front is pressed against your back. Her arms snake around your torso, her hands lacing together over your stomach. The warmth of her body seeps through the fabric of your shirt, and you freeze. She rests her cheek against your shoulder blade.

“I have other plans.” Her murmur has a low vibration that you feel through your entire ribcage. Before you can respond, she unwraps her arms and moves around to face you.

She rises on her tiptoes, puts one hand on your neck, and pulls your mouth down to hers. The kiss is a shock to the system. Her lips are soft and demanding, and she tastes of red wine. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth with a confidence that leaves you breathless. You groan, your hands finding her waist automatically, pulling her impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you. She grinds her hips against yours subtly.

When she finally breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing heavily. Her eyes are shining, her lips slick and slightly swollen.

“Got anything in mind for tonight?” you ask.

“I have a few things.” A wicked little smile plays on her lips. “The question is, do you want me to guide you? Or do you want to pretend you’re in charge?”

The choice is obvious. The entire reason you did this was to let go, to cede the control you cling to so tightly in every other aspect of your life. “You’re the professional,” you breathe. “It’s your turn to surprise me.”

Her smile widens, full of genuine delight. “I like that.” She steps back, breaking the contact, and the loss of her warmth is immediate. With a graceful, deliberate movement, she kicks off one heel, then the other, the shoes landing silently on the rug. She pads toward you on bare feet, her presence seeming to fill the entire room. “I have some very interesting ideas.” And then, with a sudden burst of energy, she leaps, and you catch her instinctively.

Her legs wrap around your waist, her arms lock around your neck, and you’re holding her full weight, her body flush against yours. Your face is buried in the crook of her neck, and you inhale deeply. The scent of her perfume is intoxicating, a combination of florals and dark, musky notes that smells like sex and secrets. Her skin is impossibly soft. She shifts in your arms, pressing herself more firmly against your groin, and you let out an involuntary sound, half-groan, half-gasp.

She kisses the pulse point just below your ear, her lips warm and wet. “Take me to the bedroom,” she whispers.

You don’t hesitate. You turn, carrying her as if she weighs nothing, your steps sure and steady as you leave the living room behind and head down the hallway, toward the door to your room, toward the complete and utter surrender you’ve been craving.

Every step down the hall is punctuated by a kiss. Her mouth is hungry against yours, her hands roaming from your shoulders to your chest as you carry her. You navigate the doorway to your bedroom without breaking contact, the space familiar even in the dim light spilling in from the hallway. You gently lower her onto the cool, crisp sheets of your bed, her legs unhooking from around your waist as her back meets the mattress. The sight of her splayed out on your bed, her black dress stark against the white duvet, is a work of art.

Wasting no time, you kick off your loafers, then pull your button-down off over your head, tossing it onto a chair. As you unbuckle your belt, she sits up, reaching behind her back. The zipper on her dress descends with a soft buzz, and she shrugs the fabric off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. Then she stands on the bed, stepping out of the dress and letting it fall away. She’s left in nothing but a tiny, black lace thong, and your breath catches in your throat. Her body is incredible. She’s petite, but perfectly proportioned, with slender, toned limbs and the pale, flawless skin you admired at dinner. Her waist is impossibly narrow, flaring out to soft, subtle hips. Her breasts are small but perfectly shaped, tipped with pale pink nipples that are already hardening in the cool air of the room.

A raw, unfiltered thought escapes your lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She laughs, a light, airy sound that fills the room. She kneels on the mattress, the posture both innocent and deeply provocative. “Are you trying to win me over? Trying to rescue the poor girl and get me out of this life?”

You’re unbuttoning your chinos, a smirk playing on your lips as you play along with her game. “Maybe.” You slide the pants down your legs and kick them away, leaving you in just your boxer briefs. You move onto the bed, crawling on your knees toward her. “I was just thinking that your hand would look really beautiful with a ring on it.” You take her left hand, your thumb stroking her delicate knuckles before you lift it to your lips and press a soft kiss to the back of it.

Her laughter is louder this time, full of genuine mirth. “What a gentleman.” She shuffles closer, her bare knees brushing against yours on the mattress. She leans in and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, her body pressing against yours. Her hands aren't idle; they roam over your chest, her fingertips tracing your abs, dipping down to the waistband of your underwear. “You’re pretty hot yourself, you know.” Her affirmation is a husky whisper against your lips.

You pull back slightly. “So it won’t be too hard to pretend that you’re sexually attracted to me, then?”

She pulls a face, a comical, exaggerated pout that is ridiculously cute. “Please. I’ve had more difficult clients.” She sobers slightly, her expression softening as she brings a hand up to cup your jaw, her thumb stroking your cheek. “Clients who couldn’t hold a conversation. Clients who smelled like stale cigars. Clients who were twice my age and half as charming.” Her eyes are serious for a moment. “You are not a difficult client.” Her hand slides from your face down your neck, and her gaze turns intense again. “Now. Do you really, truly want me to surprise you tonight?”

“Yes.” The word is immediate, absolute.

“Okay.” She smiles. The shift is palpable. “Let’s start with a good warm-up. But first, a rule. For the rest of the night, you’re going to do everything I say. You’re going to obey me. Understand?”

You just nod, your throat suddenly dry.

“Good boy.” The praise is intoxicating. “Now, sit on the edge of the bed. Face me.”

You do as you’re told, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress until your feet are flat on the floor. The vulnerability of the position is not lost on you. Taeyeon slides off the bed with a dancer’s grace and kneels on the floor between your spread-out legs. She looks up at you, her expression a perfect combination of command and allure. Her hands go to the waistband of your boxer briefs, her fingers hooking into the elastic. She pulls them down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, her gaze locked with yours until she’s revealed you completely. Your cock is already rock-hard, straining upward in the cold night air. A delighted, happy little gasp escapes her lips. She looks genuinely pleased.

“Well, hello there,” she hums, her eyes roaming the length of you. “He’s beautiful.”

The compliment, so simple and direct, makes you swell even further. A surge of pride and cockiness makes you ask, “Score from zero to ten.”

She giggles, a low, throaty sound. Her delicate hand wraps around your shaft, her grip surprisingly firm. The touch is electric. She leans in, her black hair tickling your inner thighs, and presses a soft, wet kiss right on the big, weeping head of your dick. You hiss through your teeth. She pulls back, licking her lips as she looks up at you.

“Nine.”

“Why not a ten?”

She squeezes the base of your cock, sending a jolt straight to your balls. Her eyes are sparkling with mischief. “Just so you don’t get too cocky.”

That teasing smile never leaves her face. She looks from your eyes down to her hand wrapped around your dick, then back up again. “Don’t worry,” she purrs, “we’ll work on getting you up to a ten later.” She leans in closer, her hair brushing against your leg. Without breaking eye contact, she gathers a generous amount of saliva in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing slightly. Then, she leans forward and spits, a thick, warm stream of it landing directly on the head of your cock. The sight is so unexpectedly filthy that a shocked grunt escapes you. The spit is slick and hot as she uses her free hand to slowly, deliberately smooth it all over your shaft, coating you in her. The friction of her palm against your wet skin is electrifying.

“There,” she says softly. “Perfectly wet for me.” Before she begins, she looks up at you, her expression turning serious, though her eyes still dance with playful fire. “Now, for our first exercise. I’m going to make you feel really, really good. But there are rules.” She pauses, letting the command hang in the air. “You can’t touch me. Not my hair, not my face, not my tits. Nothing. Your hands can go anywhere else; on the bed, in your hair, on your own chest… but they do not touch me. Your only job is to sit here and feel what I’m doing to you. Can you handle that?”

You can only manage a tight, strangled nod. The thought of not being able to touch her while she does this to you is both agonizing and intensely arousing.

“Good.” Her smile returns, triumphant and wicked. “Then let’s begin.”

And then she starts. Her hand, slick with her spit, closes around you, and she begins to stroke. It’s not a frantic, clumsy motion. It’s methodical, skillful, and utterly maddening. She starts slow, a long, firm pull from the base all the way to the tip, her thumb pressing into the sensitive ridge of your head with each upward stroke. Her other hand comes to rest on your thigh, her fingers gently squeezing, grounding you. With every pass of her hand, a deep, guttural groan rumbles in your chest. It feels fucking incredible, better than any handjob you’ve ever had. You instinctively move to put a hand on her shoulder, to pull her closer, but her sharp intake of breath stops you.

“Ah-ah,” she chides without looking up, her focus entirely on your cock. “What did I say? No touching. Be a good boy for me and just take it.”

You snatch your hand back as if burned, your fingers digging into the soft duvet of the bed instead. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to obey. She makes a pleased little sound in her throat, a reward for your compliance.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her pace quickening slightly. “Just relax and let me take care of you. Mmm, look at that. You’re so fucking hard. I love it.” She uses her thumb to smear the slick bead of pre-cum that has pearled at your tip, re-wetting her hand. “Leaking for me already. You must really like this.” She giggles, a light, filthy sound. “I knew you had a good cock the moment I saw your profile. You just have that look. All serious and controlled on the outside, but you just want someone to make you lose your mind, don’t you?”

Her words are as intoxicating as her touch. She changes her grip, her fingers tightening at your base while her thumb and forefinger circle the head, teasing the slit mercilessly.

“Oh, yeah,” she hums, feeling you twitch in her hand. “You like that, don’t you? That little swirl I do. That’s a trade secret. Costs extra.” She laughs again, a throaty chuckle. “God, you feel so good. So thick. I bet you feel amazing inside someone.” Her hand works faster now, a steady, driving rhythm that has your hips starting to buck unconsciously. “That’s it, fuck into my hand. Show me how much you like it.”

Your control is slipping. The urge to grab her head, to bury your hands in her soft, black hair is becoming an overwhelming, primal need. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, your knuckles white. You’re panting now, your breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She glances up, seeing the strain on your face, the desperation in your eyes. And it only seems to spur her on.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Her voice drops to a whisper, her dirty talk becoming more intense, more focused. “I can feel you trembling. You want to come for me? You want to shoot your hot cum all over for me?” Her fingers work their magic, twisting and pulling, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come on. Give it to me. I want to see it.”

You’re right there, on the absolute precipice, your balls tight and aching, the pleasure coiling into an unbearable knot at the base of your spine. You’re about to lose it, to spill all over her hand, the bed, everywhere. And then, just as you’re about to fall over the edge, her hand stops. Completely. The sudden absence of friction is a physical shock. You let out a choked, frustrated groan, your eyes snapping open to look down at her. She’s looking up at you, her expression one of pure, triumphant power. A slow, deeply satisfied smirk spreads across her face. She gives your still-throbbing cock one last, gentle squeeze.

“Not yet,” she purrs. “I told you. We’re just getting started.”

You let out a frustrated, strangled sound. Your entire body is thrumming with unspent energy, your dick aching with a need that is so intense it’s almost painful. You glare down at her, at that infuriating, all-knowing smirk on her face.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you rasp, the words strained. “That’s just cruel.”

She giggles. She lets go of your cock for a moment, letting it stand on its own, still dripping with her spit. She brings her wet fingers to her mouth and slowly licks them clean, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. “I decide when you come. Not you. Remember the rules?” Her tone is light, but the command underneath is steel. “Patience is a virtue, honey.”

“Fuck patience.” The retort is automatic, raw. “And fuck the rules. That felt too good for you to just stop.” You take a ragged breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. “You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now. To pull you up here onto my lap and…”

“And what?” she prompts with challenge as she kneels forward again, her hands resting on your inner thighs. “Tell me. I want to hear all about what you’d do to me if you were allowed to break the rules.”

You look at her, really look at her; the way her dark hair frames her face, the sly curve of her lips, the focused intensity in her eyes as she looks at your dick. “I’d start with your mouth,” you say. “Then I’d work my way down. I wouldn’t stop until you were screaming.”

“Mmm, promises, promises.” Her smile widens. “Maybe if you’re a very good boy, I’ll let you do that later.” Her hand comes back to your cock, her touch sending a fresh jolt through your body. She doesn’t immediately start stroking, instead just holding you, her palm warm against your sensitive skin. “But for now,” she whispers, “you’re all mine.” She begins again, her pace even slower than before, her touch exploratory. She uses the pads of her fingers to trace the thick veins, her nail lightly scraping against your shaft, making your whole body shiver with pure horniness.

“Is that better?” she asks softly. “You like it when I use my nails just a little bit at the base?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, just like that. You’re so good at this.”

“I know.” The confidence in her affirmation is a turn-on in itself. “Tell me what else you like. Don’t just lie there and take it. I want to hear it. Guide me.”

You open your eyes, focusing on her hand, on the way she’s holding you. “Your grip,” you manage to say. “I love how tight your hand feels. When you squeeze at the bottom… fuck. It feels like I’m buried deep inside you.”

A pleased hum vibrates in her throat. “You want to be inside me, don’t you? You want to stretch me out with this big, pretty cock?” She squeezes you at the base, just as you described, and your hips jerk forward involuntarily. Her grip tightens, her pace begins to increase, no longer teasing but building with purpose. The strokes are shorter, faster, focused on the sensitive head and the upper part of your shaft. “That’s it,” she encourages, her voice becoming more breathless. “Give me that. I love how responsive you are.”

You can’t stay still anymore. The pleasure is too insistent, too overwhelming. Your hips start to move, a slow, rocking rhythm at first, pushing into her hand with each downward stroke. You’re fucking her hand, the motion primal and undeniable. Her other hand slides from your thigh to grip your hip, holding you steady, encouraging the movement.

“Yes! Just like that! Fuck my hand, baby.” Her tone is no longer just playful; it’s demanding, hungry. “Show me how desperate you are for it. God, look at you go. You’re a fucking animal, aren’t you? All that discipline, all that control, and all it takes is my hand on your cock to make you lose it.”

The wet, slapping sound of your cock plunging into her slick fist fills the quiet room. You’re panting openly, sweat beading on your forehead. “Taeyeon, fuck… I’m…”

“Not yet,” she cuts in, but her hand doesn’t slow down. If anything, it gets faster, her wrist a blur of motion. “You’re so close. I can feel you about to erupt, your cock is practically vibrating. I want you to beg for it.”

“Please,” you gasp, the word torn from you. “Please let me come. I’m so close, please.”

She brings you right there, to the very razor’s edge of orgasm, your entire body clenched and ready to explode. You can feel the cum building, a searing pressure in your balls. And then, at the absolute peak of the frenzy, she switches tactics. Her hand stops its frantic pace, slowing to a gentle, loving squeeze. She leans forward, her hot breath ghosting over the ultra-sensitive tip of your dick. You groan in frustrated agony, thinking she’s going to stop again. But then her mouth opens.

She looks up at you through her dark lashes, her lips hovering just an inch from you. A wicked, promising glint appears in her eyes. “Begging is a good start,” she whispers, her warm breath caressing you. “But I think… I can make it even better.”

Her lips brush against the head of your cock, a feather-light touch that is somehow more intense than any grip. You suck in a sharp breath, your entire body going rigid with anticipation. Then, she opens her mouth, and the world narrows to that single point of contact. The wet, warm, shocking softness of her mouth envelops you. It’s a slow, deliberate envelopment, her lips peeling back as she takes you in inch by inch. A deep, animalistic groan tears from your throat, a sound you don’t even recognize as your own. Her mouth is fucking incredible. It’s tight, wet, and the gentle suction she creates from the very start sends waves of unbelievable pleasure radiating from your groin through your entire body. Her hand never leaves you, her fingers wrapped firmly around your shaft, guiding you deeper into her throat as her other hand comes to cup your balls, her thumb gently massaging the taut skin.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…” The name is a prayer, a curse, a plea. “Your mouth… holy shit.”

She makes a deep, guttural sound, a hum of pleasure that vibrates from her throat, down her hand, and straight into your dick. She pulls back slowly, agonizingly, until just the very tip is inside her lips, and then she licks a slow, wet circle around the sensitive crown before taking you all the way back down in one smooth, practiced motion. You gasp, your hips bucking off the bed. You fight every instinct screaming at you to tangle your hands in her hair and slam yourself deeper into her throat. Your fists are clenched so tight at your sides the knuckles are white, the sheets twisted into knots.

She seems to sense your struggle. She pulls off you again, a thick, clear string of saliva connecting your cock-head to her glistening lips. She looks up at you, her eyes hooded with lust, a triumphant smirk on her face. “You like watching me suck your dick, don’t you?” she murmurs. “Look at the mess you’re making me. You taste so good. Salty and clean.” She licks her lips, breaking the strand. “But you’re getting way too excited.” Her gaze turns sharp, her tone shifting from playful to commanding. “Listen to me. Don’t you dare cum yet. I want to feel you get close, but you are not allowed to come until I say so. I’ll know if you’re about to. Don’t disobey me.”

“I don’t know if I can…” you pant, your head swimming in pure sensation. “I’m so close already.”

“You will.” The command is absolute. “You’ll hold it back for me, won’t you, honey? You want to be a good boy for me.” Before you can answer, her mouth is back on you, and this time she’s merciless. She bobs her head in a steady, relentless rhythm, taking you as deep as she can with every thrust. You can feel the muscles in her throat working, the incredible pressure and heat. Her hand is still at your base, squeezing in time with her mouth, creating a push-pull sensation that’s driving you out of your mind. She’s having fun, you can tell. Little pleased moans escape her, and you can feel her smiling around you, the corners of her lips twitching against your skin.

“God, you’re so thick,” she says, her words muffled around you. “You fill my mouth completely. I love it.” She picks up the pace, her head a blur of motion. The wet sounds of her mouth on your cock are obscene, a soundtrack to your unraveling. You’re right there again, that familiar, intense pressure building in your balls, the point of no return just a single thrust away. You try to pull back, to slow her down, but her hand on your hip holds you firmly in place.

“Don’t pull away,” she orders, her mouth leaving you for a split second. “Take it. Take all of it.”

“Taeyeon, please,” you beg, the word weak. “I’m gonna… I can’t hold it.”

As if sensing you’ve reached your absolute limit, she proves her mastery once more. She doesn’t stop. Instead, she slows everything down instantly, her frantic bobbing replaced by a slow, deep, torturous suction. She pulls on you gently, milking the last vestiges of control from you, keeping you right on that knife’s edge without letting you fall. She uses just her tongue, swirling and flicking, tormenting you with a level of skill that is nothing short of breathtaking. The immediate threat of orgasm recedes, replaced by a constant, high-pitched thrum of pleasure that has your toes curling. After a minute of this expert torture, she finally pulls away, leaving you panting, trembling, and impossibly, painfully hard.

She sits back on her heels, breathing a little heavily herself, a sheen of sweat on her brow. Her lips are red and swollen, and a smear of your pre-cum glistens on her chin. She looks from your throbbing cock up to your face, a look of deep, primal satisfaction in her eyes. “Good boy,” she whispers. “You listen so well, babe.” She crawls up onto the bed, straddling your legs, her heat finally pressing down on you. You watch as she slowly unclasps her bra, letting the straps fall off her shoulders, deliberately maintaining eye contact with you, not looking away even as she tosses the bra aside.

“That was a very nice warm-up,” she says, leaning down until her lips are next to your ear. “Now for the real fun.”

She’s breathing heavily, a faint, clean scent of her sweat mixing with her perfume. Her nose brushes against yours, a surprisingly tender, almost affectionate gesture.

“Can I touch you now?”

Instead of answering with words, a sly, wicked grin spreads across her lips. She leans in, and her tongue, warm and wet, darts out and swipes a broad, deliberate path from your chin all the way up your cheek to your temple. The gesture is so unexpected, so raw and so fucking hot, it shocks a laugh out of you. She pulls back, leaving a trail of her saliva cooling on your skin. Her dark eyes are glittering with a wild, unrestrained energy.

“Yes,” she breathes.

You surge up, your hands finally, finally free to do what you’ve been aching to do all night. They cup her face, your thumbs stroking her cheekbones as you crash your mouth against hers. This kiss is different. It’s not her leading or you surrendering; it’s a collision of two equal forces, a frantic, desperate claiming. Your tongues battle, and your hands leave her face to roam, to explore, to finally touch. One hand tangles in her soft, black hair, holding her head steady as you deepen the kiss, while the other slides down her back, feeling the elegant curve of her spine, pressing her impossibly closer. You break the kiss only to pepper her jaw, her neck, her throat with more, your lips tracing the path down her body. She tilts her head back, granting you full access, a soft, encouraging moan rumbling in her chest.

Your hands find what they’re seeking. Her breasts are already bare, and you cup them reverently, your thumbs immediately finding her hardened nipples. They are perfect, fitting the palms of your hands as if they were made for them. You squeeze gently, feeling their soft weight, and she gasps against your neck. You don’t waste another second. You lower your head, pulling her down with you as you fall back against the pillows, and take one of her nipples into your mouth. The taste of her skin is clean and salty, and the texture of her nipple as it instantly hardens further against your tongue is divine.

“Oh, fuck… yes!” The moan is ripped from her throat. Her back arches, instinctively pushing her breast deeper into your mouth. Her hands find your hair, her fingers twisting into the strands, not pulling, but holding you there, anchoring you to her. “Just like that,” she pants. “Don’t you stop.”

You obey her breathless command, sucking harder, your hunger for her finally unleashed. For what feels like an eternity, you’ve been a passive observer, forced to take without giving. Now, you can finally worship her, and you do so with a desperate intensity. You lave her nipple with your tongue, then draw it between your lips, suckling strongly, mimicking the pull of a baby but with a much more sinful intent. Her hips begin to move against you, a slow, unconscious grind. You can feel the heat of her core through the thin fabric of her thong, and the knowledge that you’re doing this to her, that your mouth on her breast is making her this wet, is an incredible turn-on.

“Your tits are perfect,” you groan against her skin, moving your mouth to her other breast, giving it the same hungry attention. You suck and bite gently, flicking your tongue over the peak until she’s writhing beneath you.

“They’re all yours tonight,” she gasps. “Suck them harder. Please. I need you to be rough with them.”

You accommodate her immediately, your suckling becoming more aggressive, more demanding. You take as much of her breast as you can into your mouth, your hand cupping and squeezing the other one, rolling the nipple between your thumb and forefinger. She’s moaning constantly now, her fingers tighten in your hair, and she starts to guide you, pulling your head from one breast to the other, silently demanding they get equal, punishing attention.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” you confess against her chest. “Ever since I saw you in that dress, all I could think about was what your tits would taste like.”

“And?” she pants, her nails scraping lightly against your scalp. “Am I as good as you imagined?”

You pull away for a second to look at her. Her face is flushed, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are glazed over with pure lust. Her breasts are pink and wet from your mouth, the nipples standing at sharp, dark attention. She is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. “Better,” you say, before diving back in, claiming her once more. You can feel the vibrations of her moans against your lips as you continue your assault, losing yourself completely in the taste and feel of her, in the raw, unbridled sound of her pleasure.

As you continue your worship, you feel her hand slide from your hair, down your chest, past your stomach. Her fingers, warm and delicate, find you. They wrap around your throbbing cock, not with the focused intent of before, but with a light, possessive caress. She strokes you slowly, her touch slick with her own wetness that she’s gathered from where her thighs are pressed against you. The combination of her hand on your dick and your mouth on her breast is almost too much to bear.

“God, look what you’re doing to me,” she whispers. “I’m so fucking wet for you right now. I can feel myself dripping all over you.”

Her words snap you out of your haze. You pull away from her breast, your lips slick with her taste. You look down at her, at the flushed skin of her chest, her nipples still hard and glistening, then meet her hazy, lust-filled eyes. “I need to fuck you,” you say. “Right now.”

A deeply satisfied smile spreads across her face. She doesn’t miss a beat. “What are you waiting for?”

You surge up, capturing her mouth in one last, bruising kiss. It’s a kiss that says finally. You break away and lean over her, reaching for the nightstand where you’d left the box of condoms. Your fingers fumble with the small cardboard box, the reality of the situation making you momentarily clumsy. You tear one of the foil packets free, but before you can even begin to open it, her hand covers yours, stopping you.

“Here,” she says. “Let me.” She takes the small packet from your hand, her confidence a stark contrast to your fumbling. She pushes you gently back against the pillows. “Just lie down and enjoy the show.”

You obey, sinking back into the bed, watching her. She tears the wrapper open with her teeth, a small, feral gesture that you find incredibly hot. She takes the condom out, and with a practiced ease that is both intimidating and unbelievably arousing, she leans over you. She holds your cock with one hand, and with the other, she places the ring at the tip and smoothly, skillfully rolls it all the way down to your base. Her knuckles brush against your balls, and her focused, serious expression as she performs the simple task is somehow one of the sexiest things you have ever witnessed.

Once you’re sheathed and ready, she doesn’t hesitate. She swings one perfect leg over you, then the other, settling herself onto your hips. You’re looking up at her now, at the incredible sight of her poised above you, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her perfect breasts still flushed from your attention. She has a look of intense concentration on her face, a woman on a mission. She reaches down, her fingers wrapping around your condom-covered shaft.

“I’ll guide you,” she whispers.

She uses her hand to position the head of your cock right at her entrance. You can feel the incredible, slick heat of her through the thin latex, and you push your hips up instinctively, desperate to be inside her.

“Easy,” she murmurs, placing a hand on your chest to still you. “Slowly. Let’s make it good.”

And then, she begins to lower herself. It’s an agonizingly slow descent. You watch her face as she takes you inside her, inch by torturous inch. Her eyes flutter shut, her head tilts back, and her lips part as a long, low moan escapes her. You feel her incredible tightness, a snug, wet heat that promises heaven. She’s so wet that you slide into her easily, but the friction is still immense.

You can feel every ridge and fold of her inner walls gripping you, squeezing you. Your own hands come up to grip her hips, your thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, holding on as if your life depends on it. She continues to sink down, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, until finally, with one last, soft sigh, she takes you all the way in. She’s completely seated on you, your entire length buried deep inside her.

You both freeze for a moment, two bodies locked together, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of being joined. Her eyes open and find yours.

“Fuck,” she breathes out, the single word encompassing everything. “You feel… perfect.”

For a long moment, you both stay perfectly still, locked together, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being one. You look up at her, and she looks down at you, her dark eyes wide, a silent, complicit understanding passing between you. This is what the entire night has been leading to. She breaks the stillness first. It’s not a thrust, but a slow, deliberate tilt of her hips. A small, exploratory movement that makes you groan deep in your chest as you feel the head of your cock press against a spot deep inside her.

“Oh, fuck…” The moan is hers, a breathy, drawn-out sound of pure bliss. “You feel so good inside me.”

Then she begins to move for real. It’s a slow, sensual grind, a delicious torture designed to maximize every possible sensation. She rolls her hips, her inner muscles clenching and squeezing you with every circle she makes. Your hands are gripping her hips, your knuckles white, but you’re not pushing or pulling, just holding on, letting her set the pace. Damn, she is beautiful. The sight of her above you, her face a mask of concentration and pleasure, her perfect breasts swaying gently with the hypnotic rhythm she’s creating, is something you know you’ll never forget.

“You’re… incredible,” you manage to gasp out.

She opens her eyes and gives you a slow, wicked smile. “I know.” She leans down, bracing her hands on your chest, bringing her face close to yours as she picks up the pace just a little. Her movements are still controlled, but there’s more purpose to them now. A steady, deliberate rise and fall that has the bed beginning to creak softly in time with her thrusts. “Is this what you wanted?” she whispers, her breath hot against your cheek. “To feel me ride you?”

“Yes,” you groan, arching your back to meet her, trying to bury yourself even deeper inside her. “Fuck, you ride so well. You’re so fucking tight.”

“I’m tight because you’re so thick.” Her response is a breathless pant, interspersed with moans as she continues her deliberate, maddeningly slow fucking. “I can feel every inch of you. God, you’re so hard… I think… oh fuck, yes… I can feel the head of your cock hitting my cervix.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of her wet heat milking you with every downward slide. Her pace is still measured, but the force behind her movements is growing. The gentle creak of the bed becomes a steady, rhythmic thump, a soundtrack to the slick, wet sounds of your bodies slapping together.

“I could do this all night,” she moans, throwing her head back, her hair cascading down her back. “Just ride your dick until we both pass out.”

A raw, humorless laugh escapes you. “I don’t think I’d last all night if you keep moving like that.” You open your eyes again, needing to watch her. Your hands slide from her hips up to her breasts, squeezing them, rolling her hard nipples between your fingers. “Look at you. You’re perfect.”

Her moans get louder as you play with her breasts, her hips beginning to move faster, the slow torture giving way to a more frantic need. “Faster, baby,” you grunt, your control starting to fray. “Ride me harder.”

“You want it harder?” she pants, her whole body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. “You think you can take it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she gives you what you asked for. She starts to ride you in earnest, her hips slamming down onto yours with a powerful, driving rhythm. The slow, sensual dance has become a raw, desperate fuck. Her moans are no longer soft whispers but sharp, high-pitched cries of pleasure.

“Fuck, yes!” you shout. “Just like that! Ride my cock!”

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think straight!” she cries out.

She’s not just moving, she’s driving herself onto you, her palms flat on your chest as if she’s pinning you there, keeping you exactly where she wants you while her hips work in a relentless, almost punishing rhythm. Each drop forces a sharp grunt from your lungs, the slick, wet heat of her swallowing you so deep you swear you can feel her heartbeat pulsing around your cock.

Her hair is everywhere; messy strands sticking to her damp cheeks, others swinging wildly with the force of her movements. You catch flashes of her face between the whip of her hair, and it’s a wrecked masterpiece: eyes half-lidded, lips parted, sweat beading at her temple before sliding down her jaw. Every time her ass smacks against your thighs there’s a wet clap and a deep, filthy squelch that makes your toes curl.

“F-fuck! You feel insane,” she pants, leaning forward just enough that her nipples drag across your chest, slick from your own sweat. Her voice is breaking with each bounce, sharp little cries cutting through her breathless laughter. “God, you’re so thick… I can feel you hitting—ah! Every tim—fuck! Right there, yes!”

Your hands hover at her hips, desperate to grip her and set your own pace, but you hold back, watching her take everything she wants from you. She’s in that intoxicating sweet spot: half in control, half drunk on the feeling of you splitting her open. She throws her head back, her throat exposed, the tendons in her neck standing out as a long, guttural moan pours from her.

“I’m not stopping until you beg me to,” she warns.

Every time she lifts herself, the withdrawal is torture, your cock slick and glistening in the low light for a half-second before she drops again, burying you to the base with a force that knocks the wind out of you. Her pace gets sloppy but faster; grinding hard at the bottom before bouncing back up in sharp, short thrusts, her nails digging into your pecs for leverage. You can feel how wet she is, her arousal coating you so thick it’s running down onto your balls, smearing across your thighs.

She leans down, catching your mouth in a hot, messy kiss, her teeth grazing your lip between breaths. “God, you’re perfect like this,” she murmurs against you, her words broken up by the rhythm of her hips. “Flat on your back… letting me—fuck… use you…” Another sharp drop and she lets out a strangled moan, hips rolling in a tight circle that makes your vision spark.

Your abs tighten, your legs twitch with the urge to thrust up into her, to flip her, you can’t just lie here and take it anymore. You need to be in control. In one fluid, explosive movement, you grip her waist, using your core strength to roll you both over, reversing your positions without ever breaking contact. She lets out a surprised shriek that turns into a delighted laugh as she finds herself on her back, looking up at you.

You’re poised above her now, your hands braced on either side of her head, your dick still buried to the hilt inside her. You give her a predatory grin, feeling the power shift.

“My turn,” you growl, and then you begin to move.

There’s no slow, sensual build-up this time. Your first thrust is deep and powerful, a forceful claiming of her body that drives the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp. You pull out almost all the way, just to feel the exquisite torture of it, before ramming back into her with bruising force. You set a relentless, punishing rhythm, fucking into her with a single-minded focus that’s all consuming. This isn’t about finesse; it’s about overwhelming her, about pushing her past every limit she thought she had.

“Oh, fuck, yes, babe!” she cries out, her hips lifting off the bed to meet your every thrust. “Harder, just like that!”

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a messy, frantic kiss, your tongue plunging into her mouth in sync with your hips plunging into her core. You can taste her moans, feel the vibrations of her pleasure against your lips. You break the kiss to gasp for air, your forehead pressed against hers.

“You like this, don’t you?” you pant. “Me being in control. Fucking you like I own you.”

“Yes! Oh, god, yes, honey!” Her nails, which had been resting on your shoulders, are now digging into the muscles of your back, leaving faint crescent marks on your skin. “It’s so good, honey, so fucking good! Don’t you stop, please don’t stop!”

Her legs, which were spread for you, now wrap around your waist, locking you to her, pulling you deeper. Her head thrashes from side to side on the pillows, her eyes squeezed shut, her face a perfect, gorgeous mask of pure ecstasy. This is what you wanted. To be the one to make her lose her cool, to give her so much pleasure she forgets who she is. To make her cum. That’s the only goal now.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name,” you whisper harshly in her ear, and then you speed up.

The powerful, steady rhythm dissolves into a frantic, piston-like pace. You’re hammering into her, your balls slapping against her wet skin with every thrust. It’s a desperate, frenzied race to the finish line, and you can feel her right there with you, her inner muscles clenching and fluttering around you in a sure sign that she’s close, so incredibly close. The sight of this beautiful, confident woman completely lost in the pleasure you’re giving her is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s it, honey! Right there! I’m… oh god, I’m so close!” she screams, her voice cracking. Her entire body is tense, vibrating like a live wire.

You can feel your own climax building, a roaring fire in your veins, but you ignore it. Her pleasure is all that matters. You push harder, faster, determined to send her over the edge. She’s right on the precipice, whimpering your name, her body convulsing. You know one more hard thrust will do it. But you want to make it even better, to push her even further. In one swift motion, you pull back from her frantic rhythm, grabbing her ankles. You lift her legs up, hooking them over your shoulders, changing the angle completely. The move forces you even deeper inside her, hitting a spot that makes her let out a piercing shriek of surprised pleasure.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m going to make you cum,” you state against her ear. It’s not a question or a suggestion; it’s a declaration of intent.

You start to move again, and with her legs in this position, the angle is impossibly deep. Every thrust feels like it’s touching her soul. The friction is immense, her wet heat enveloping you completely. You feel the head of your cock sliding against her cervix with every powerful plunge, a sensation so intense it makes your own breath hitch. You establish a hard, driving rhythm, determined to follow through on your promise. Instead of crying out in pure, unadulterated pleasure, a sound bubbles up from her chest that surprises you; a laugh. It’s a breathless, ecstatic laugh, tangled up in a long, shuddering moan.

“I knew it,” she pants. “I knew you had this in you. All that control… all that discipline… I knew you were a fucking animal underneath it all.”

You lean down to kiss her, a hard, punishing kiss that she meets with equal fervor, her tongue tangling with yours even as her body is being taken by yours.

“Please don’t stop,” she begs when you pull away for air. “Darling, whatever you do, please, please don’t stop now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure her. You can feel her getting closer. The tiny, involuntary flutters of her inner muscles are becoming more pronounced, her whole body starting to tremble. You want to see it. You need to see it. You slow your pace just enough to get her attention, to make her focus. “Hey. Look at me.”

Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut, flutter open. They’re hazy, unfocused at first, but she forces them to lock with yours. Her expression is one of complete surrender.

“That’s it,” you command softly, resuming your hard, steady rhythm. “Don’t look away. I want you to look right into my eyes when you come for me. I want to watch it happen.”

She nods, a single, jerky motion. Her gaze is locked with yours, a silent contract passing between you. She’s so close now, so close you can practically taste it. Her breath is coming in short, frantic pants, her moans becoming a continuous, high-pitched keen. Then, as if she knows exactly what she needs to push herself over that final cliff, her hand slips down between your thrusting bodies. You feel her find her own clit, her fingers beginning to rub in frantic, desperate circles in time with your rhythm.

“Oh, god, yes!” she cries out. “Right there… you gonna make me… fuck, I’m… I’m…”

“Come for me, Taeyeon,” you roar. The sight of her touching herself while you’re buried deep inside her, her eyes locked on yours, is pushing you toward your own edge. But you hold back, gritting your teeth, focusing all your energy, all your will, on her. “Let go. Come on my dick right now.”

That’s all it takes. Her eyes go wide, the dark irises seeming to swallow the pupils whole. A violent shiver wracks her entire body, starting from her toes and traveling all the way up to the crown of her head. Her back arches so high off the bed it’s a perfect, taut bow. A long, shuddering scream is torn from her throat, a sound of pure, untamed ecstasy that’s so loud you’re sure the entire building can hear it. Her inner walls clench around you in a series of powerful, violent contractions, milking you, pulling at you, begging you to join her. It’s a battle of wills to hold back, to keep thrusting through her orgasm, to ride the waves of her climax and prolong it for her.

You watch as her eyes roll back into her head, the sheer force of the pleasure too much for her to bear. Her hand on her clit stills, her fingers splayed out, her whole body vibrating like a plucked string.

She stays like that for what feels like an eternity, lost in the throes of a world-shattering orgasm. You gradually slow your pace, your movements becoming gentler as her shudders begin to subside. Her legs unhook from your shoulders, sliding down to rest on the mattress, trembling and weak. Her moans soften into whimpers, her breathing still ragged and uneven. You finally stop moving, but you stay deep inside her, your bodies still connected.

Gently, you lower yourself down beside her, pulling her into your arms. She feels pliant, almost boneless. You brush the sweat-drenched strands of hair from her face. She looks completely wrecked, blissfully undone. You lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

She feels boneless in your arms, completely wrecked in the best possible way. After a long minute, her breathing starts to even out, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes still hazy and unfocused.

A lazy smile spreads across her face. “Holy shit,” she breathes. “You’re fucking amazing.”

You can’t help the proud, shit-eating grin that takes over your face. You lean in and give her another quick, hard kiss. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. “Pretty good for a girl who only deserved a nine out of ten.”

She lets out a sharp laugh, swatting your chest playfully. “Okay, okay, you asshole. You definitely earned the ten. A fucking eleven.” She shifts. “But that was just for me. Now I have to repay the favor. You made me cum my brains out, so now it’s my turn to make you explode. Fair is fair, right?”

“Fair is fair,” you agree. You have no idea what she has planned, but you’re more than willing to find out.

“Good. Okay, new plan,” she announces, taking your hand and pulling you. “Up. Sit on the edge of the bed.” You do as you’re told, moving until you’re sitting upright, your feet flat on the floor, just like you were when she gave you that mind-blowing handjob. She stands in front of you for a moment, giving you a full view of her incredible petite body: her breasts still flushed, her stomach flat, and a clear, slick trail of her wetness running down her inner thigh. She turns around, presenting you with her back and her perfectly shaped ass.

She looks over her shoulder, a wicked glint in her eye. “You ready for round two?” Without waiting for an answer, she backs up slowly, using her hands to spread her cheeks. She reaches between her legs, grabs your hard-on, and guides the slick head of your dick right to her entrance. “Here we go,” she murmurs, and then she starts to sit.

The feeling of re-entry is just as mind-blowing as the first time, but this position is completely different. You’re forced to be more passive, a living throne for her to use for her pleasure, and yours. She sinks down onto your cock with a slow, deliberate control that showcases her incredible skill. You watch, mesmerized, as your entire length disappears inside her, her ass swallowing you whole. Once she’s fully seated, her back presses against your chest. She leans her head back against your shoulder, giving you a perfect view of her profile.

“Fuck,” you groan out, your hands coming up to grip her hips. “This position is insane.”

She starts to move, not up and down at first, but a slow, circular grind that sends waves of fire through you. She knows exactly what she’s doing, using her powerful internal muscles to squeeze and milk you with every rotation. “You like the view?” she asks right next to your ear. “Or is it better if you can’t see my face?”

“It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced,” you tell her honestly. Your hands slide from her hips around to her stomach, your fingers splaying across the soft skin. “The way you’re squeezing me… holy shit, Taeyeon. It feels like you’re trying to pull the cum right out of me.”

“That’s the plan, honey,” she says with a low chuckle. She starts to ride you for real now, a steady up-and-down motion. Her ass cheeks clench with every downward thrust, and you can feel her pussy gripping you impossibly tighter. Your head falls back, your eyes squeezed shut as you give yourself over to the pure sensation of it. You can feel her reaching between her legs again, her fingers finding her clit, and she starts rubbing herself as she rides you.

“Oh yeah,” she moans, her rhythm getting faster. “Fucking you while I touch myself… god, it makes me so wet.”

You’re getting closer, you can feel it. The pleasure is building from a low burn to a raging inferno. Your grip on her hips tightens, your fingers digging into her flesh. “Fuck, I’m getting close,” you pant.

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes wild and focused. “So I better speed up here,” she says. Her hips move even faster, slamming down onto your lap with a frantic, desperate energy. “I'm gonna make you cum so good, baby. But not now. Hold on a little longer for me, okay?”

The head of your dick is being ground against her g-spot with every rotation, a sensation so fucking intense it’s borderline painful. The view is insane. From your seated position, you can see everything: the way her ass cheeks clench and flex as she moves, the sight of her own fingers disappearing between her wet folds, the way your cock is buried so deep inside her it looks like it’s a part of her.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans, a low, guttural purr that vibrates through her back and into your chest. “It feels so good when you’re this deep inside me. I can feel you stretching my pussy from the inside out.”

“Keep doing that,” you manage to grunt out. Your hands are gripping her hips, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her ass, trying to anchor yourself. “Watching you touch yourself while you ride me is going to make me lose my mind.”

“And that's exactly what I want, honey,” she says with a breathless laugh. She leans forward, pressing her back flush against your chest, her skin slick and hot with a layer of sweat that instantly mingles with your own. The feeling of her full weight against you is grounding, her movements now directly translating into your body. You wrap your arms around her, hugging her tight, one hand splaying across her flat stomach while the other comes up to cup her breast, squeezing and kneading it. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, kissing the salty skin, inhaling her scent. She smells like sex, pure and simple.

She responds to your touch by picking up the pace. The slow, sensual grinding transitions into a faster, more deliberate fucking. She’s bouncing on you now, lifting herself up high until just the head of your cock is inside her, then slamming herself back down with a wet, slapping sound that echoes in the room.

“Look at my ass bounce on your dick,” she pants. “I bet you love this view.”

“I’m about to cum just from looking at it,” you admit. Your hips start to thrust upwards involuntarily, meeting her halfway, desperate for more friction, more depth.

“Not yet,” she commands, though her voice lacks the sharp edge of before. “I want you to hold on for me. I want to feel you fighting it.”

She rides you harder, faster, her body a machine built for pleasure. You’re both slick with sweat, your bodies sliding against each other. Your arm wrapped around her is slippery, your grip on her breast is tenuous. You can feel your orgasm building, a freight train of sensation thundering down the tracks, and you know the station is coming up fast. The pleasure is so intense, it’s almost unbearable. You’re seconds away from losing it, from spilling your load deep inside her.

“Taeyeon, fuck,” you gasp. “I can’t… I can’t hold it anymore. I’m gonna cum.”

Your words seem to be the trigger she was waiting for. Just as you feel the final, irreversible wave of your climax about to crest, she does the last thing you expect. She stops. Completely. She pulls herself up, your cock sliding out of her with an agonizingly wet schlorping sound, and in one fluid motion, she turns and gets off your lap. She leaves you sitting there on the edge of the bed, dick throbbing painfully, balls aching, your body screaming for a release that was stolen at the last possible second.

She’s on her knees on the floor in front of you, breathing just as heavily, her body still trembling. She looks up at you, her dark hair stuck to her sweaty face, her lips red and swollen.

“I told you,” she says again. “I’m the one who decides when you come.” She places her hands on your thighs, her grip firm. “And I want to see your face when you finally let go.”

She leans in, and her mouth finds you again. There’s no gentle teasing this time, no slow, exploratory licking. She takes you in with a hungry, desperate greed, her mouth hot and wet as she swallows you down, her lips sealing tight at your base. Her throat opens, and she takes you deeper than she has all night, the sensation so intense it makes you cry out, your fingers digging into the flesh of your own thighs. At the same time, her hands cup your balls, lifting and weighing them, her thumbs pressing into your perineum, stoking the fire that’s already raging out of control. And she never breaks eye contact. Her dark, lust-filled eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion, every twitch of pleasure that crosses your face.

“Mmm, that’s it,” she says against your dick. She pulls back just enough to speak clearly, her mouth still slick with your pre-cum. “Just look at me. Don’t look away. I want to watch you lose it.” She dives back down, her tongue working magic, swirling around the head of your cock before sucking you deep into her throat again. “God, I love the taste of you,” she murmurs. “I love how hard you are for my mouth.”

Her head starts to bob, a steady, hypnotic rhythm that’s both agonizing and heavenly. She’s a machine, her technique flawless. One hand is now wrapped around your shaft, stroking in perfect time with her mouth, creating a double-friction that’s sending you into sensory overload. “Feel that?” she pants, pulling back for a fraction of a second. “Feel my throat tightening around you? I’m taking you so deep, babe. I want all of it.”

“Fuck, Taeyeon,” you gasp, your body trembling. “I can’t… it’s too much…”

“Yes, you can,” she insists. She picks up the pace, her mouth becoming a relentless vacuum of pleasure. “You’re so close. I can feel you twitching against my tongue. Your balls are so tight, they’re about to burst.” She’s not wrong. Every muscle in your body is coiled, your jaw is clenched so tight it aches, and the pressure in your groin is building to a critical, unbearable level. You know you’re about to lose the battle you’ve been fighting all night.

She must feel it too, because she slows down, looking up at you with that same triumphant, dominant smirk. “Okay,” she says. “It’s time. But we’re going to do this my way.” She leans in, her lips brushing against the tip of your dick. “I’m going to make you come all over my face. I want you to paint me. I want you to cover me in your hot cum. Do you understand?”

You can only nod, a single, jerky motion, unable to form words.

“Good.” Her eyes glitter with excitement. “Now, here’s the final rule. I’m going to count to five. You are not allowed to cum before I get to five. If you do, I’ll stop, and I promise you, you don’t want that. It’s hard, I know, but you have to hold on for me. Fight for it. Then, when I say five, you let go completely. You give me everything you have. Got it?”

You nod again, your entire being focused on her words, on her command.

She gives you a wicked smile. “Let’s see how disciplined you really are.” Her mouth closes over you again, and the intensity is dialed up to a level you didn’t even know was possible. She’s sucking you with a frantic, desperate energy, her hand pumping you furiously. “Get ready,” she commands around you.

“One…”

Her tongue is a whirlwind, her suction is a vortex. You feel the orgasm beginning its final, unstoppable ascent. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight it.

“Two…” she continues. “Look at you leaking for me… you’re so ready to burst. Don’t you dare hold back from me.”

You force your eyes open, locking your gaze with hers as commanded. You can see the pure, unadulterated joy on her face. This is what she loves. This control, this power.

“Three…” Her other hand comes up, her fingers spreading her own wet lips as she watches you, showing you how turned on she is by your impending release. “God, I can’t wait to taste you all over my face.”

You’re shaking uncontrollably now, a guttural groan building in your chest. The pleasure is so intense it’s white-hot, blinding.

“Four…” she gasps, her pace becoming impossibly fast. “Get ready to cover my face, honey. Give it all to me now… Get ready…”

You’re there. It’s here. You can’t hold on for another microsecond.

“FIVE!”

The word is the key that unlocks the floodgates. The orgasm is cataclysmic, a explosion of pure sensation that obliterates every rational thought. You watch through hazy, unfocused eyes as the first thick, heavy rope of your cum shoots from your cock, splattering right between her wide, unblinking eyes while she milks your cock furiously. But it doesn’t stop there. Wave after wave erupts from you, an seemingly endless torrent of hot, thick seed. You dirty her face completely. It covers her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. It drips from her eyelashes and gets caught in her dark hair. A thick glob lands on her lips, and another streams down her neck and onto her chest. You keep erupting, emptying yourself completely until you are drained, spent, and trembling with the aftershocks.

When the last spasm has wracked your body, you’re left panting, your head hanging, trying to catch your breath. You slowly look up at her. She’s still kneeling there, a beautiful, glorious mess, completely covered in you. Slowly she releases your cock from the firm grip of her hand, and then she does something that solidifies the night as perfect. She starts to laugh. It’s not a small chuckle; it’s a deep, delighted, joyous laugh. She tilts her head back, reveling in the mess. She brings a hand up, scoops a glob of your cum from her cheek, and puts it in her mouth, swallowing it down with a satisfied hum.

“See?” she says. “Told you I’d make you explode.” She licks a drop from her upper lip. “What an amazing night.”

—

Your bathroom is a minimalist luxury: large grey slate tiles, a floating vanity with two sinks, and a massive walk-in shower enclosure with a rainfall showerhead. She doesn't hesitate, stepping right into the glass enclosure and turning the chrome handle. Water begins to pour from the ceiling, instantly creating a cloud of steam. You step in behind her, the hot water a welcome shock against your skin, sluicing away the sweat and grime of your marathon session. For a moment, you both just stand there, letting the water run over you.

Then, she turns to you, a bottle of expensive body wash in her hand. “My turn to take care of you,” she says under the sound of the cascading water. She squirts a generous amount of the clear, fragrant gel into her palm and lathers it into a rich foam. Her hands, soft and slick with soap, land on your chest. She starts to wash you with a slow, deliberate touch that is far more sensual than practical. Her fingers trace your pecs, swirl around your nipples, and glide down over your abs. You stand perfectly still, hands braced against the cool tile wall, letting her do whatever she wants.

“You’re in good shape,” she comments, her soapy hands sliding around your sides to your back. “All those hours at the gym pay off. It’s nice to have something solid to hold onto.”

“Glad you approve,” you manage to say. Her hands are dangerously close to your ass, and the memory of her nails digging into your back is still fresh.

“Oh, I more than approve.” She moves back around to your front, her eyes dropping to your cock, which is already beginning to stir again despite how completely you just emptied yourself. A slow smile spreads across her face. “And look at this. He’s waking up already. You just don’t quit, do you?” Her soapy hand wraps around your semi-hard dick, and she begins to stroke you gently, the soap creating a slick, frictionless glide. It feels incredible, and you can’t stop the groan that rumbles in your chest.

“That’s my job,” she whispers, leaning in close, her wet hair brushing against your shoulder. “To make sure you never want to quit.” She washes you thoroughly, her touch both meticulous and maddeningly erotic. When she’s done, she hands you the bottle. “Your turn.”

You take the body wash, pouring a large amount into your hands and working it into a lather. Now you get to touch her, to explore every inch of her with no rules, no restrictions. You start with her shoulders, your thumbs kneading the tense muscles there. You work your way down her arms, over her elegant collarbones, and then you get to her breasts. They’re still pink and sensitive-looking from your earlier attention.

You wash them gently, reverently, your thumbs circling her nipples until they’re hard, pebbled peaks. She leans her head back against the tile, her eyes closed, a soft moan escaping her lips. You move lower, your hands gliding over her flat, toned stomach. You can feel the muscles clench under your touch. Your hands trace the elegant curve of her hips, then slide around to her back, dipping into the small of her back before moving to her ass. You cup her cheeks, squeezing them, lifting her slightly.

“You have a perfect ass,” you say.

“It’s for you to play with,” she murmurs. She presses back against you, and you can feel your cock, now fully hard again, pressing into the small of her back. She grinds against you, the soapy water making your skin slick. The friction is incredible. For a moment, you’re tempted to just bend her over the built-in shower bench and take her right there, but you hold back.

You finish washing her, your hands moving down her long, slender legs, all the way to her ankles. When you’re done, you both rinse off under the hot spray, the soap and the last traces of your earlier encounter circling the drain. The steam is so thick now it’s like being in your own private world, the glass walls fogged over completely. You turn off the water, and the sudden silence is almost deafening. You grab two thick, fluffy towels from the heated rack, handing one to her.

You dry off in silence, the easy quiet of two people who have just shared something intensely physical. You watch her as she pats her skin dry, her movements efficient and graceful. You find yourself wondering about her life, about the woman behind the professional facade, but you know better than to ask. That’s not part of the deal.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence as you wrap a towel around your waist. “I, uh, got something for you. In case… well, in case you ended up staying over.”

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You were that confident?”

“Let’s just say I’m a planner,” you reply with a shrug. You walk back into the bedroom and open one of your dresser drawers. You pull out a small, neatly folded set of pink silk pajamas: a simple camisole and matching shorts. You’d bought them online a few weeks ago, after a particularly brutal week at work, the purchase a tangible manifestation of this fantasy. You hold them out to her. “I didn’t know your size, so I just guessed.”

She takes them from you, a genuinely surprised and pleased look on her face. She unfolds the silk, holding the camisole up against her chest. “You bought me pajamas? No client has ever done that before.”

“Well, I told you I wasn’t most clients,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“No,” she says softly, looking at you. “You’re not.” She drops her towel without any self-consciousness, her naked body gleaming in the soft lamplight of the bedroom. You watch, transfixed, as she pulls the silk camisole over her head, the dark fabric contrasting to her pale skin. It settles over her breasts perfectly. Then she steps into the shorts, pulling them up over her incredible hips. She looks… comfortable. Domestic, almost. The image is so jarringly different from the kneeling woman covered in your cum that your brain has trouble reconciling the two. She turns in a slow circle. “How do they look?”

“They look…” you start, “...perfect.”

“Good.” She yawns, a wide, cat-like stretch that makes the silk pull taut across her chest. “Well, I’m exhausted. You completely wore me out.” She looks at you, then at your large, king-sized bed, then back at you. “So, what’s the sleeping situation?”

This is the moment. The polite, gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer her space. “There’s a guest room,” you say, gesturing down the hall. “It’s got its own bathroom. The bed is comfortable. You can sleep there, if you’d feel… you know, more comfortable.”

She looks at you like you’ve just suggested something completely insane. “A guest room? Honey, what’s the point?” She walks over to the bed and pulls back the duvet. “I’m your companion for the night. The whole night. I’m not going to sleep in a separate room. Besides,” she says, sliding under the covers and patting the empty space beside her, “I’d rather sleep right here. Next to you.” She gives you a sly look from under her lashes. “Maybe we could even cuddle a little. A few kisses before we fall asleep. It’s all part of the five-star service.”

You couldn't agree more. You drop your towel, put on new underwear and slide into bed beside her. The sheets are cool against your skin. She immediately rolls onto her side to face you, snuggling closer. The feeling of her warm, silk-clad body against your bare one is a new kind of intimacy, one that’s less about raw fucking and more about simple, shared warmth. She leans in and gives you a soft, lingering kiss. It’s chaste compared to what came before, a simple press of lips, but it’s no less intoxicating.

“Goodnight,” she whispers against your mouth.

“Goodnight, Taeyeon,” you whisper back. You wrap an arm around her, pulling her close, her head finding a comfortable spot on your chest. Within minutes, you can feel her breathing deepen, her body going limp as she falls asleep. You lie there awake for a while longer, listening to the sound of her breathing, the feeling of her warmth against you, replaying the entire, insane night in your head.

What a fucking amazing night.

—

You wake slowly, pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by a warmth that isn't your own. It takes your brain a few seconds to process the sensation: the soft weight of a leg draped over yours, the gentle puff of breath against your back, the scent of her hair, a combination of her floral perfume and the clean smell of your own shampoo. Then, the memories of the night hit you: the dinner, her laugh, the handjob, the blowjob, her riding you, you fucking her until she screamed, the messy, glorious finish. You lie perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her, savoring the rare feeling of waking up next to someone.

Carefully, you roll onto your back, and then your other side, so you can look at her. In sleep, Taeyeon looks younger. Her face is relaxed, her lips slightly parted. Her dark hair is a chaotic halo around her head on your pillow. The pink silk camisole she’s wearing has ridden up, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her stomach and the gentle curve of her ribs with each breath she takes. She’s unbelievably beautiful, a different kind of beautiful from the confident, untouchable woman at the restaurant. You feel the tell-tale stirring in your groin, the inevitable morning wood pressing insistently against your boxer briefs. It seems your body is already eager for a repeat performance.

You resist the urge to wake her immediately. Instead, you just watch her, letting the quiet moments stretch out. The morning sun is just beginning to filter through the slats of your blinds, casting long, dusty stripes of light across the room, across the bed, across her sleeping form. You reach out, your touch feather-light, and trace the strap of her camisole on her shoulder. Her skin is warm and soft. Your hand drifts lower, ghosting over the curve of her hip, the silk of her shorts a whisper-thin barrier. You let your fingers trail down her thigh. She stirs in her sleep, a soft, contented murmur, and snuggles closer to the warmth of your hand.

You lean in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her bare shoulder. Then another on her neck, just below her ear. You inhale her scent. She moans softly, her body arching into your touch even before she’s fully awake.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, a sleepy, husky rasp. “What time is it?” Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused. She blinks a few times, trying to place where she is. Then her eyes land on you, and a slow, lazy smile of recognition spreads across her lips. “Oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you confirm. You lean in and kiss her properly, a slow, deep morning kiss. Her mouth is warm and soft, and she kisses you back with a sleepy, languid passion, her hands coming up to rest on your chest. You pull away, and her eyes, now clear and focused, drop from your face, down your body, to the unmissable tent in your underwear. Her smile turns from lazy and sensual to sharp and wicked. “Well, good morning to you, too. Someone’s certainly happy to see me.”

“He’s an early riser,” you say. The time for games and slow seduction is over. You both know the score. “He missed you.”

“Did he now?” She pushes herself up on her elbows, the movement making the silk camisole fall away from one of her breasts, exposing the perfect, pale globe and its rosy nipple to the morning air. “And what does he want for breakfast?” she asks.

You don’t answer with words. You move over her, your body blanketing hers, and she wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The friction of your erection pressing against her stomach through your clothes is maddening. You kiss her again, harder this time, more demanding. This is what you want. This raw, uncomplicated heat. This is what you paid for, and it’s worth every single penny.

You pull away, a new, filthy idea blooming in your mind, inspired by the incredible view from your bedroom. You look past her, toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window that dominates the far wall. The sun is higher now, a brilliant orange orb beginning its ascent over the sprawling city.

“I have an idea,” you say.

“I’m sure you do,” she purrs, her fingers tracing the outline of your erection through your boxers. “And I’m sure it’s filthy.”

“I want to fuck you against that window,” you state. “Right there. I want you pressed up against the glass while I’m buried deep inside you. I want the whole fucking city to be our audience.”

You can feel her nipple, pressed against your chest, harden into a tight little pebble. She doesn’t look scared or hesitant. She looks thrilled. “You have a very dirty mind,” she says, full of admiration. “I like it. I like it a lot.” She unwraps her legs from around you. “Well? What are you waiting for? Take me.”

You pull back, get out of bed, and stand there, naked except for your boxer briefs, your hard-on straining against the fabric. You hold out a hand to her. “Come on.”

She rises from the bed with the grace of a cat, the silk pajamas doing nothing to hide the perfection of her body as she walks toward you. The morning light hits her, making her skin seem to glow. She takes your hand, her fingers lacing with yours. You lead her across the cool wooden floor, the few steps to the window feeling like a sacred procession. When you reach it, you turn her around so she’s facing the glass, facing the incredible panoramic view of the city.

“Put your hands on the glass,” you command softly. She obeys without question, pressing her palms against the cool, solid surface. You stand behind her, your body flush against hers, pressing her forward until her chest and stomach are flattened against the window. The contrast of her warm skin against the cold glass must be a shock, because she lets out a sharp, involuntary gasp.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her breath fogging a small patch in front of her face. “You can see everything from up here.”

“I know,” you say. “And everyone can see you.” It’s a lie, you’re too high up, but the thought is what matters. The exhibitionist thrill. Your hands roam over her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing them, your thumbs flicking her nipples through the thin silk. She moans, her head falling back against your shoulder. Your other hand slides down her flat stomach and slips into her shorts, your fingers finding her clit through the silk. She’s already dripping wet. You rub her, and she grinds her hips back against you, a silent plea for more.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” you whisper, pulling your hand out and then reaching around to pull down her silk shorts, letting them fall to her ankles. You kick them away. Now she’s naked from the waist down. You quickly go to the nightstand, grab a condom, and return to her. You rip the packet open with your teeth. She holds perfectly still, her hands still pressed against the glass, her ass raised slightly in invitation as you roll the condom down your throbbing shaft.

“Ready to be fucked for the whole city to see?” you ask.

“Yes,” she pants. “Please. Fuck me against the glass.”

You position yourself behind her, grabbing her hips with both hands. You pull her away from the window just enough to give you access, the view of her wet, waiting entrance making your mouth go dry. You guide the head of your cock to her opening, the slick tip sliding against her wet folds. She whimpers in anticipation. And then, with one long, slow, powerful thrust, you push into her.

The sensation is unreal. She’s impossibly tight, her muscles clenching around you as you slide deep inside her. She cries out as you fill her completely, her ass cheeks pressing against the cold glass. You’re buried to the hilt, her body pinned between your raw power and the unyielding window. You stay still for a moment, letting you both get used to the feeling, to the intensity of the position. Her breath is fogging up the glass in front of her in ragged, shallow puffs.

Then you start to move. You pull out slowly, almost all the way, the feeling of your cock-head dragging along her inner walls a sweet, agonizing torture. Then you slam back into her, hard. A loud, wet slap echoes in the room as her body makes contact with the glass again. She screams your name, the sound muffled by the window. You establish a relentless rhythm, a hard, punishing pace that’s all about power and dominance. You are fucking her. There is no other word for it.

Your hands are everywhere. You grip her hips, controlling her movements, pulling her back onto your cock with every thrust. You reach around her, your hands cupping her breasts, squeezing them hard. She moans, pushing her chest harder against the cool glass. You slide one hand down between her legs, your fingers easily finding her clit in the mess of her slick wetness. You begin to rub her in time with your thrusts, a dual assault that has her completely unraveling.

“Oh god, yes!” she cries out. “Your fingers on my clit while your cock is in my pussy… fuck, it’s too much!”

“You can take it,” you grunt. “You’re my good little slut, and you can take whatever I give you.”

She turns her head she presses her lips to the glass, kissing her own fogged-up reflection. It’s the most depraved, narcissistic, and incredibly hot thing you have ever seen. She starts talking to her reflection, her voice a breathless, desperate pant.

“Look at you,” she says to the glass. “You filthy slut. Look at how he’s fucking you. Pounding his big cock right into your pussy. He owns you right now.” She licks a long, wet stripe on the window, her tongue leaving a clear trail in the condensation. “Everyone can see you. Everyone knows you’re his whore.”

Her words, the sight of her, the feeling of her tight, wet body clenching around you… it’s pushing you into overdrive. You fuck her harder, faster, your bodies slick with sweat. The window is completely fogged over now. You can feel her orgasm building, her inner muscles starting to flutter and clench around your dick.

“I’m so close, darling,” she screams, her head thrashing from side to side. “Please, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, babe. Cum on my fucking cock,” you growl. The feeling of her body preparing to climax around your cock is sending you over the edge too. You pull your hand away from her clit and use both hands to grip her hips, lifting her slightly, changing the angle for one final, frantic assault. You’re hammering into her, your balls slapping against her ass.

There is only this: the slick, tight heat of her pussy gripping your cock, the solid weight of her body pressed between you and the window, and the obscene, rhythmic slap of your bodies colliding. Her hands are splayed on the glass, her fingers leaving desperate prints as she tries to steady herself against your relentless assault. Your own hands are latched onto her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh, steering her, controlling her, fucking her with a raw, single-minded purpose.

You can feel it now, the undeniable build-up. Her pussy clenches around you in a series of tight, involuntary spasms. You shift your angle slightly, pushing your hips down, driving the head of your cock directly against her g-spot with every punishing thrust. At the same time, you increase the pressure of your fingers on her clit.

“That’s it,” you pant, your body slick with sweat, your muscles straining. “Let go for me, Taeyeon. I want to feel you come all over my dick. I want to feel you convulse around me. Scream for me. Let the whole city hear how good my cock feels buried deep inside you.”

“I’m… I’m…” she stammers, unable to form a complete sentence. Her legs, which had been steady, begin to shake uncontrollably. Her back arches, her ass pushing back against you, trying to take you even deeper as if she can somehow fuck the orgasm out of herself. You look at her reflection in the window. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her face a perfect, beautiful expression of pure agony and ecstasy.

“Look at me,” you command.

Her eyes snap open. Through the fogged glass, you can see her reflection’s eyes lock with yours. Her gaze is wide, wild, and completely undone. There is no artifice left, no game, just raw, unadulterated need. And in that moment, as she stares into your eyes, her body finally gives up the fight.

It starts with a violent, full-body shudder, a tremor that wracks her from head to toe. Her back arches impossibly high, and a long, piercing scream is torn from her throat. And then her orgasm hits, a cataclysmic, world-ending event. You feel her inner walls clench around your cock in a series of powerful, violent contractions, squeezing you, milking you with a force that’s almost painful. A hot, slick flood of her juices gushes from her, coating you, making your thrusts even smoother, even deeper.

You don’t stop. You don’t slow down. You continue to hammer into her, fucking her through her climax, your fingers still working her clit, pushing her higher, further, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from her body. Her scream dissolves into a series of long, shuddering moans, her head banging softly against the glass. Her legs give out completely, and if you weren’t holding her up, she would have collapsed to the floor. You watch in the reflection as her eyes roll back into her head, the pleasure so intense it’s completely short-circuited her brain.

The convulsions continue for what feels like an eternity, her pussy pulsing around your dick like a desperate heartbeat. Finally, after one last, violent shudder, her body goes limp in your arms, the tension releasing in a long, whooshing sigh. She hangs there, boneless and pliant, her weight supported entirely by you and the window. Her breathing is ragged, her body still trembling with the aftershocks.

You slow your thrusts, your movements becoming gentler, more soothing as you feel her coming down from the peak. You stay buried deep inside her, letting her recover. The control you’ve managed to maintain over your own climax begins to fray, the dam of your self-restraint cracking under the pressure. The feeling of her hot, slick, post-orgasm pussy tightening around you with every soft pulse is the final straw.

“Fuck,” you grunt. You pull away from her ear and look at your intertwined reflections one last time. “My turn.”

You pull out of her in one long, wet motion, the sound loud and obscene in the relative quiet of the room. You’re throbbing, aching, and on the absolute brink of release. She’s still leaning against the window, too weak to even turn around, but she manages to look over her shoulder at you, a dazed, blissed-out smile on her face. You meet her eyes as you grip the base of your condom-sheathed cock.

Your orgasm is a violent, guttural affair. You watch as your release, a thick, copious torrent of white, shoots into the condom, filling it almost to the brim. Wave after powerful wave shudders through you, each one more intense than the last, until you are left completely and utterly empty, your body trembling.

You stand there for a long moment, gasping for air, your forehead resting against the cool glass next to her head. The room is silent except for the sound of your two ragged breaths mingling together. Finally, you find the strength to move. You peel the full, heavy condom from your now-softening cock.

Taeyeon pushes herself off the window, her legs still shaky. She turns to face you. She’s slick with sweat, her breasts are flushed, and her eyes are still hazy. She looks down at the condom in your hand, then back up at you, a mischievous, filthy glint returning to her eyes.

“Don’t throw that away,” she says. She plucks the condom from your fingers with surprising delicacy. “I believe this belongs to me.”

She holds it up like a trophy, admiring your handiwork. Then, with the same deliberate, theatrical grace she displayed last night, she tips the condom over and begins to pour your entire load onto her own chest. The thick, pearly liquid cascades over her breasts, a warm, sticky waterfall that coats her skin in the bright morning light. It pools in the valley between her breasts, overflows, and drips in slow, lazy streams down her flat stomach. She doesn’t just let it sit there. She uses both hands to scoop up the cum, smearing it all over her tits, her stomach, her neck, turning her own body into a canvas for your seed.

She looks up at you, smiling. “Look at the mess you made, honey” she says. She dips a finger into the largest puddle on her chest and brings it to her lips, sucking it clean with a loud, appreciative slurp. Her eyes never leave yours. “All of your hot cum, just for me.” She licks her lips. “Delicious.” She looks down at her messy, glistening body, then back at you, her smile turning into a wicked grin. “Now… I think we’re definitely going to need another shower.”

—

Post-lunch laziness it’s that perfect, sleepy part of a Sunday afternoon where the only sensible thing to do is absolutely nothing. You’re both sprawled on the huge, comfortable leather sofa, a safe distance apart, a half-watched, low-budget action movie playing quietly on the massive screen in front of you. The meal was good: you ordered delivery from a luxury burger joint downtown that Taeyeon loves.

The conversation had been easy, full of the same witty, flirtatious banter from the night before, but now layered with the comfortable intimacy of two people who had woken up in the same bed. It felt less like a client and an escort and more like a date with a friend you also happened to be fucking.

You’re wearing a pair of comfortable grey sweatpants and a t-shirt; she's still in her pajamas. You can smell the faint, clean scent of her hair from where you’re sitting. You glance over at her. She’s not watching the movie; she’s looking at you, a contemplative, mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

“What?” you ask, a slow smile spreading across your face. You have a feeling you know what that look means.

“I’m just thinking,” she says. She shifts on the sofa, turning her body to face you more directly. “I’m thinking about how you woke up this morning. All hard and ready to go before you’d even had a cup of coffee.”

“You have that effect on me,” you reply honestly. “It’s a problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” she corrects, her smile widening. “It’s a gift.” Her gaze drops deliberately to your lap, where, betraying your calm demeanor, a noticeable bulge is beginning to form under the soft grey fabric of your sweatpants. “And look at that. It’s happening again. You’re absolutely insatiable.”

“Again, your fault,” you say, not even trying to hide it. “You just sitting there is enough to get me going.”

“Is that so?” She bites her bottom lip, a playful, theatrical gesture. “Well, in that case… I have an idea.” She pauses for dramatic effect, letting the anticipation build. “I was thinking that maybe this time, we could have a little… guest. A friend to join the party.”

Your eyebrows raise in intrigue. “A friend?”

“Mmmhmm.” She gets up from the sofa with a fluid grace. “I came prepared. A good girl scout always does.” She walks over to where her expensive-looking leather handbag rests on the kitchen island. You watch her, your eyes tracing the perfect curve of her ass in her shorts. She rummages around in the bag for a moment before pulling something out. She holds it up for you to see. It’s a dildo. But it’s not just any dildo. It’s made of smooth, black glass, about eight inches long, perfectly phallic but with an elegant, almost sculptural quality to it. It looks heavy, solid, and incredibly intimidating.

She walks back over to you, holding the glass toy in her hand. “I call him Mr. Black,” she says with a completely straight face, which only makes the situation funnier and hotter. “He helps me out when I’m feeling a little extra needy.” She runs a finger along the smooth, cool shaft of the dildo. “I was thinking… what if I played with Mr. Black while I played with you? I could put on a little show. Just for you.”

The image she paints is so incredibly filthy that you’re already rock-hard. The thought of watching her fuck herself with that big, black toy while her mouth is on you… it’s a fantasy you didn’t even know you had.

“Fuck yes,” you manage to say. “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her smile is triumphant. “I thought you’d like that.” She winks. “Okay, showtime. Get comfortable on the sofa. Sit down and spread your legs wide. I want you to have the best seat in the house.”

You do as you’re told, shifting on the sofa until your back is completely sunk into the sofa cushions. She goes back to where her handbag is to get the lube. and then she takes off her shorts and throws them on a nearby chair. She’s left in just her camisole.

She approaches you and drops down onto the carpet between your feet. You watch her reach behind, adjusting the base of the thick dildo she’s already positioned on the floor, sliding it into place so it’s angled perfectly beneath her. She shuffles her hips back over it until the toy is right under her ass, the tip nudging between her cheeks, teasing her entrance.

Then she leans back slightly on one hand, her other hand gripping the toy’s base to steady it as she grinds down slowly, testing the angle. Her eyes flick up to yours, a sly smile curving her lips.

“Better view for you,” she murmurs,

She unscrews the cap of the lube bottle and pours a generous, clear puddle onto the head of the glass dildo. She then pours another stream directly onto her own pussy, rubbing it until it is soaked.

“Always have to be properly lubricated,” she says, more to herself than to you. She sets the lube bottle aside. Her pussy looks pristine now, perfectly groomed, her pink, swollen lips glistening with lube. “Ready for the opening act?”

You just nod.

She hisses softly as the cool glass makes contact with her hot, wet skin. And then, slowly, deliberately, she begins to sit on the dildo. You watch, transfixed, as the thick, black shaft disappears into her body. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, her head tilting back, a soft, breathy moan escaping her lips as she takes the first few inches. She has to adjust her position, leaning back on her hands, to accommodate the sheer size of the toy. She pushes down, her stomach muscles clenching, until the entire eight-inch length of the dildo is buried inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, her eyes snapping open to find yours. “He’s so big. He feels so good.” She stays still for a moment, letting her body adjust to the feeling of being so completely full. “But something’s missing.”

She leans forward, reaches out and grabs your sweatpants, pulling them down, freeing your painfully hard cock. She looks from your dick to her dildo-stuffed pussy, then back to you, her eyes sparkling with filthy intent.

“Now,” she says. “The real show begins.”

She lowers her head and takes you into her mouth. The feeling is electric, her mouth just as hot and wet as you remember. But this time, it’s different. As she starts to suck you, she begins to move on the dildo. It’s a slow, rolling motion of her hips at first, her ass cheeks flexing as she rides the glass shaft. You can hear her moans, muffled around your cock, every time she pushes down, every time the toy hits her cervix. You’re watching the most insane, personal porn show of your life. Her, fucking herself on a massive dildo, while simultaneously giving you a mind-blowing blowjob. It’s sensory overload in the best possible way.

“Look at me,” she manages to say, pulling off you for a second, her lips glistening. A string of saliva connects her mouth to the head of your dick. “Fucking myself on this toy while I suck your perfect cock. God, it feels so good.” She dives back down, her mouth more aggressive this time, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm. At the same time, her hips start to move faster, her slow grind turning into a steady, rhythmic bounce on the dildo.

“Fuck, Taeyeon,” you groan, your hands coming up to grip the sofa cushions. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Ride that dildo for me, baby. Show me how you fuck yourself.”

Your words seem to spur her on. She pulls her mouth off you again, panting, her face flushed with a deep, rosy blush. “You like this?” Taeyeon asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. She continues to fuck herself with the dildo, her pace getting more frantic. “You like watching me take this big, black cock in my pussy? Does it make you hard, knowing I’m getting my pussy fucked while I’m sucking you off?” She starts to touch herself, her free hand diving between her legs to rub her clit, her fingers slick with lube. “Can you feel how wet I am?” she cries out, her hips slamming down onto the dildo.

You’re losing your mind. The combination of her filthy words and the incredible sight in front of you is pushing you dangerously close to the edge. “Get back on it,” you command. “Suck my dick while you ride that toy.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and her mouth is on you again, hot and hungry and desperate. She’s fucking herself with a desperate, frantic energy now, her head thrashing from side to side, her moans getting louder, less controlled. Her blowjob is sloppier, more primal, her teeth scraping against you occasionally, but you don’t even care. It’s perfect.

She’s getting close. You can see it. Her body is tense, her movements are jerky, her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration. She’s riding the dildo like her life depends on it, her hand on her clit a frantic blur. At the same time, she’s trying to suck you deeper, trying to swallow you whole, as if she can somehow absorb your own impending climax.

“I’m gonna cum,” she screams, the words muffled around your dick. “And you’re gonna cum with me. I want to feel your hot load shoot down my throat at the exact same time I come on this dildo. Come with me, baby! Cum with me now!”

Your whole body tightens like a bowstring pulled to breaking, the pressure that’s been coiling in your gut exploding in one violent rush as your hips jerk up hard, burying yourself as far down her throat as you can get. Her lips are stretched obscenely around you, her cheeks hollowing from the force of her suction, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull back.

The first thick spurt hits the back of her throat and she swallows on instinct, the motion milking you in a way that makes your vision flash white. Another gush follows, hot and heavy, and she takes it all, her throat working in deep, controlled pulses. You can feel each swallow, the snug ripple of her muscles dragging every drop from you like she’s draining you on purpose. Her tongue flicks greedily against the underside of your shaft, coaxing the next load as if she’s determined not to let a single bead escape.

She makes a muffled, hungry sound around you, her eyes locked on yours, wild and glassy with heat. Cum pools briefly in her mouth between swallows, and you watch her deliberately gulp it down, her Adam’s apple bobbing, her lips sealed tight at your base to keep you caged inside until she’s had every last drop. A thin, pearly trail leaks from the corner of her mouth, and she chases it with her tongue, pulling it back inside before swallowing again, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste.

And then, at the exact same moment, her body stiffens, the tremor of her own climax snapping through her. A piercing cry rips from her as she drives her hips down onto the thick, unyielding dildo one final time, her thighs quivering and locking in place. You can see the toy vanish into her, her pelvis grinding down hard as if she’s trying to fuse herself to it. Her abs seize, her back arches, and she shudders violently, every muscle clamping in a full-body spasm. The sound of her orgasm is raw and unrestrained, her free hand clutching at her own breast, fingers pinching her nipple while her inner walls clench and release in rolling, devastating waves.

Your cock is still pulsing in her mouth as she rides out both of your highs, her throat rhythmically swallowing you even while her body is wracked with pleasure. She doesn’t let you go, not until your last twitch fades, not until she’s milked the final, weak dribble from you and swallowed it down like a reward. When she finally pulls off, it’s slow, her lips sealing around you until the head slips free with a wet sound, a thin string of saliva and cum stretching from her mouth to your shaft before breaking. She licks her lips, breathless, eyes dark and hooded, her chest heaving as the aftershocks ripple through her trembling frame.

Taeyeon collapses forward, her head landing in your lap. The dildo, slick with her juices, slides out of her and clatters onto the floor. She’s panting, trembling, completely spent. You’re in the same state.

After a long, breathless minute, she slowly lifts her head. Her face is a mess. Her makeup is smudged, her hair is wild, and there’s a trail of your cum mixed with her saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

She gives you a weak, exhausted, but utterly triumphant smile. “Wow,” She leans forward and gives you a soft, sticky kiss. “Told you it was a good idea, honey.”

—

The rest of the afternoon melts away in a lazy, hedonistic haze. After the intensity of the day, a comfortable, languid peace settles over the apartment. You take a third shower together, and It’s a slow, gentle affair. You stand under the hot spray, your arms wrapped around each other, and you just kiss. Long, deep, lazy kisses that taste of cum and satisfaction. You wash her hair for her, your fingers massaging her scalp, and she washes your back, her soapy hands gliding over your skin with a familiar, comforting touch.

You order food again, not wanting to deal with the outside world. This time it’s expensive, gourmet pizza and a bottle of ridiculously overpriced red wine, eaten while sprawled on the sofa in your bathrobes. The action movie is long forgotten, replaced by a documentary about deep-sea life that neither of you is actually watching. You’re talking, laughing, your conversation flowing with the effortless ease of old friends. You talk about movies, about music, about the ridiculousness of corporate life.

The making out, as the afternoon sun streams through the massive living room window, is constant and unhurried. It’s the kind of kissing you do when there’s nowhere to be and nothing to prove. Sometimes it’s a soft, gentle press of lips while she’s telling a story. Other times, it’s a sudden, hungry kiss in the middle of a laugh, your hands roaming under her robe, her hands tangling in your hair.

You explore each other’s mouths with a lazy curiosity, your tongues dancing a slow, sensual tango. It’s hot, it’s nice, it’s deeply physical, but it doesn’t lead to more. It’s not about building to a climax; it’s about savoring the plateau, lingering in the warm, comfortable space you’ve created together. It’s the perfect embodiment of your arrangement: all the fun and physical intimacy of a relationship with none of the weight, none of the expectations.

But all good things must come to an end. As the afternoon light begins to fade, replaced by the soft, golden hues of late evening, a subtle shift occurs in the atmosphere. The easy laughter becomes a little more subdued, the comfortable silences a little more weighted. The awareness that your time together is ticking down settles between you. It’s not a romantic sadness, not the heartbreak of parting lovers. It’s the quiet, melancholy feeling you get on the last day of a perfect vacation, the knowledge that you have to return to the real world soon.

“I should probably get going,” she says softly. She untangles herself from you on the sofa and stands up.

“Yeah,” you say. “I guess so.”

You watch as she walks into the bedroom. You hear the sounds of her gathering her few things; the faint click of her purse clasp, the rustle of fabric. When she emerges, she’s no longer the relaxed, robe-clad woman you’ve spent the afternoon with. She’s transformed back into the stunning, professional escort you met last night. She’s wearing the same elegant, form-fitting black dress, her hair is brushed, and her makeup has been subtly reapplied. She looks incredible, untouchable, a goddess about to depart her mortal plaything’s domain. She picks up her handbag from the kitchen island, her movements all business.

You stand up and walk with her to the door. There’re many feelings involved in silence; gratitude, satisfaction, a hint of regret that it’s over. You stand in front of the door of your apartment, the portal back to your separate lives. This is it. The end of the transaction.

“Well,” you start, not quite sure what the protocol is for this situation. “Thank you. For… everything. It was…”

“I know,” she says, cutting you off with a small, soft smile. “It was for me, too.” She reaches out and places a hand on your chest, stopping you. “But wait. Our time isn’t quite over. We still have about ten minutes left on the clock.” A familiar, wicked glint returns to her eyes. “And I have one last present for you. Something to remember me by.”

Before you can ask what she means, she steps behind you. You feel her body press against your back, her arms snaking around your waist in a warm, encompassing hug. Her cheek rests against your shoulder blade.

“Check your phone,” she whispers against your ear. “I sent you a little souvenir from our time together. On the secure app.”

Your heart starts to beat a little faster. You pull your phone from your pocket, your thumb swiping to unlock it. You open the encrypted messaging app they use and see a new message from her. It’s an image file. You tap on it, and the picture loads. Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s her. No doubt about it. But it’s not a selfie or a candid shot. It’s a nude. And not just any nude. This is deliberate, thought-out, dangerously hot. The shot’s taken in your own bathroom (recognizable by the sleek black tile walls, the glass shower door catching the warm glow of the overhead light, a faint curl of steam in the corner like she just stepped out from under the water).

She’s facing the camera, her body angled just enough to show off every perfect line. Her face is cropped at the chin, keeping her identity hidden, but you’d know that body anywhere. Her small, perky breasts are on full display, nipples hard and flushed a soft pink. Her stomach is taut, her waist so narrow it makes your hands itch to wrap around it, flaring into hips that look made to grab. And lower: smooth, bare skin between her thighs, shaved completely clean so there’s nothing to hide, nothing to distract from the perfect slick, inviting folds on display.

One hand tangled in her dark waves, pulling her hair off her neck to bare the elegant slope of her collarbone. She looks powerful, confident, and unbelievably, mouth-wateringly sexy.

“Like my little gift?” she murmurs in your ear. You can only nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. You’re still staring at the screen, at the image of her body, when you feel her hands begin to move. While your attention is completely captivated by the phone, her fingers find the top button of your shirt. Slowly, deliberately, she begins to unbutton it. One by one, she undoes the buttons, her knuckles brushing against your chest with each movement. The sensation is maddening, a slow, torturous unveiling. When the shirt is completely open, she doesn’t take it off. She just pushes the fabric aside.

Then, her hands come around your chest, her palms flat against your pecs. Her fingers are cool and delicate against your hot skin. They explore, tracing the muscles, re-learning the landscape of your body. Then, they find your nipples. She starts to play with them, her thumbs circling the sensitive nubs, her fingernails lightly scraping against them. A sharp, involuntary gasp escapes you. You’ve always been sensitive there, but her touch is something else entirely. It’s expert, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply, how to tease and torment.

“You like that, don’t you?” she whispers, feeling you tremble under her touch. “You’re so responsive. So easy to play with.”

As she continues to torture your nipples with one hand, her other hand slides lower. It moves over your stomach, down to the waistband of your sweatpants. Her hand slips inside, pushing past the elastic of your boxer briefs. And then she has you. Her cool, soft fingers wrap around your already-hardening cock. You groan, your head falling back against her shoulder. The combination of sensations is overwhelming. Her body pressed against your back, her fingers twisting your nipples, her hand wrapped around your dick, and your eyes locked on the image of her naked body on your phone.

“That’s it,” she purrs, beginning to stroke you. Her hand moves with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Look at my picture,” she commands softly. “Look at my tits. See how pretty they are? Now feel my fingers on your own nipple. Imagine it’s my mouth.” She squeezes your nipple, hard, and you cry out, your hips thrusting forward into her hand. “Now look at my pussy in the picture,” she continues. “See how nice and neat it is? Waiting for you. Now feel my hand on your cock. Feel how hard you are for me.”

You’re completely under her spell, your body a puppet to her words and her touch. You stare at the phone, at the image of her, while the real her is pressed against you, working you with an expert hand.

“Fuck, Taeyeon,” you manage to gasp out. “This is… insane. Looking at you… while you do this… it’s too much.”

“It’s never too much,” she whispers back, her pace quickening slightly. “This is my last gift to you. A final memory. So you don’t forget me. So whenever you’re feeling lonely, you can pull out this picture, and you can remember the sound of my voice in your ear, the feeling of my hand on your cock.” Her other hand leaves your nipple and comes down to cup your balls, weighing them, massaging them gently. “I want you to cum for me one last time,” she says, and it’s a low, serious command. “But you’re going to do it on my picture. I want you to cover my body on the screen with your hot cum. I want you to make a mess for me. Can you do that?”

You can only nod. You’re so close, the pleasure building to an unbearable, fever pitch. You grip the phone tighter, your knuckles white, trying to hold it steady.

“Good boy,” she praises. Her hand on your cock becomes a blur of motion, her strokes fast and firm, pushing you relentlessly toward the edge. “Look at me,” she commands. “Look at my body and get ready to give me your cum.”

You stare at the screen, at the image of her perfect breasts, her flat stomach, her waiting thighs. You can feel your orgasm building, a massive, unstoppable wave of pure sensation. Your body starts to tremble, your breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.

“That’s it, darling,” she whispers, but it's urgent now. “Come for me. Cover my picture. Let go. Give it to me NOW!”

Her final word is the command that shatters your control. A guttural roar is torn from the very depths of your soul as your orgasm finally erupts. Your body convulses violently, your hips slamming forward into her hand. You watch, through hazy, unfocused eyes, as the first thick, white rope of your cum shoots out, splattering across the glass screen of your phone, directly onto the image of her stomach. Another wave follows, and another, covering her breasts, her thighs, obscuring the beautiful, explicit image with the raw, messy reality of your release. You keep coming, emptying yourself completely, every last drop of your load coating the image of your perfect escort.

When the last shudder has wracked your body, you sag against her, completely spent. You’re panting, your body slick with a thin layer of sweat, your mind a complete blank. She holds you for a moment longer, her hand still loosely wrapped around your now-softening cock, her body a warm, solid presence behind you. The only sound in the room is the sound of your two ragged breaths.

Slowly, she releases you and steps back. You turn around, still dazed, and look at her. She’s smiling, a soft, satisfied smile. Then you both look down at the phone still clutched in your hand. The screen is a mess. The sight is both ridiculous and incredibly, profoundly hot.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I think I ruined my phone.”

She laughs with you. “It was worth it.” She steps forward and plucks a tissue from a box on the console table by the door. She hands it to you. “Here. For the clean-up.”

You take the tissue and methodically wipe your cum off the screen. When the screen is clean, you look up at her. The escort is back, her professional demeanor fully in place, but her eyes still hold the memory of everything you just shared.

“My time is up,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” you reply.

There are no more kisses, no more lingering touches. She simply gives you one last, small, knowing smile. “Goodbye, honey,” she says looking straight into your eyes before turning away. And then she opens the door, steps out into the hallway, and closes it gently behind her.

You’re left standing alone in your apartment, in the doorway, your clothes in disarray, the silence suddenly deafening. You look down at your phone, at the now-clean picture of her perfect, anonymous body. You know you’re never going to delete it. And you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are never, ever going to forget Taeyeon.