lazylevxd

[lazylevxd]

Measured

Le Sserafim Kazuha x M Reader Fluff, Smut, Angst TW: Mentions of Death a/n: For @usedpidemo's prompt challenge last July! Thanks again for hosting Pi! A really fun theme to explore! a/n2: So I’m writing this note after finishing the initial story before I start editing and stuff, and I don’t know if I can say it came together or fell apart. I wanted to challenge myself by writing in first person but whew that’s a new monster that I still have to tame. Still I hope I did the theme justice. Also hoping to write a happier fic for Kazuha in the future. a/n3: I didn't mean to post angst heavy fics back to back. This should be the last one... for the week 😈

1 minute

If first impressions last, my first minute with Kazuha should’ve had her running by now. I had to physically stop my jaw from hitting the floor from the very first second I laid eyes on her entering the restaurant. Introductions were not good either. I mistakenly said her name when introducing myself, that is before I started stuttering like an idiot while trying to get my name right. By all accounts, that should’ve been the nail in the coffin. It seemed like fate was on my side this day though, because at the end of the first minute, I had her giggling instead of running.

1 hour

If the first minute was a Hail Mary on my end, then the next hour was me getting back on my stride. Honestly, I lost track of the time as I finally got to know more about my blind date (aside from her name of course, that’s already etched on my brain with a funny memory). Even with the missteps at the start, I started to find myself connecting with Kazuha on a multitude of levels. I found out about her love for ballet, and the heartbreaking decision she made to quit it in order to chase another dream. She pivoted to music apparently, still in the same alley but a little more (her word, not mine). Something about being in a group or a band. She went on about it. So passionate about her work and craft. Honestly, I couldn’t retain half of what she was saying. It was hard to focus on her words when her eyes kept luring me throughout the whole conversation. To be fair though, it wasn’t just her eyes that were distracting me. Her dark brown hair, her hazel-colored, almond-shaped eyes, her smooth skin, her cute smile. 

Fuck.

It’s been ages since I fell for someone like this. Hell, I probably never fell for someone this fast at all. This is going to be a problem. Well… a good problem.

“So… How about you?” The question from her shocked me back into reality. Once again, I was in panic mode. I started babbling about film editing. God my mouth got turned on like a fucking faucet. First was me going on about the programs, how they’re so annoying and unnecessarily complex, and expensive (can’t forget about that). Then somehow I started ranting about the side projects I had to take for the money, focusing on the most boring documentary you’ve spent the past month editing. Like how can there be 5 hours worth of film on coin collecting that I have to end up trimming down to 3? At this point, I thought that I probably bored her to death. To my surprise, she looked like she was listening to me intently. I was only proven right when she asked me more about the projects that I did like.

The question started the smoothest back and forth you’ve ever had with any other person. Something about Kazuha just made it so easy for you to be open– more vulnerable with her than to others. We found out so much about each other. Our favorite songs. Favorite colors. Favorite foods. She told me more about her ballet journey. How she started in Japan before studying in other countries, like Russia and the U.K., until she settled in a long term program in the Netherlands. Well, long term at the time before she decided to pursue music.

The conversation could have gone on for hours and neither of us would have noticed. We found some common ground on a peculiar topic. We both love dogs but are too afraid to own one as a pet. Surprisingly, we both think we’d be bad at taking care of them, yet we would still find them cute from afar. 

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. The waiter gave us a head’s up that they would be closing soon, so we ended up paying our bill and started heading out. While waiting for her taxi, we talked a bit more, exchanged numbers and set up the next date. I saw her off by helping her into the car and closing the door for her, thinking that’s how the night ends. Instead, the taxi stopped after half a meter. Kazuha jumped out, ran towards me, and then gave me a kiss. I stood there in shock as she pulled me into a hug. She whispered against my chest “See you next week.” before she ran back to the taxi and finally left. 

1 day

The date last night still felt like a dream. The only thing that made it real was the wall of texts that Kazuha sent while I was asleep. Funnily enough, it’s already been an hour since I woke up and first got my phone but I haven’t even bothered to stand up. I found myself giggling over the jokes she sent, along with going soft for the 50+ dog videos that she flooded our messages with. I really can't believe I’m falling for her this fast, and if I am, I’m not going to fight it. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

1 month

I was wrong. Life can get better. Way better. Partially due to sex.

…

Okay. Maybe mostly due to sex.

Don’t get me wrong. Our first time a few weeks ago was a bit awkward. One too many drinks for the both of us, clumsily stumbling into my apartment, and comically falling on the couch. After a few moments of laughing over the funny scene, a silence grew in the apartment as our eyes met. Kazuha was still on top of me, her hands on my chest as she continued to stare into my eyes. My hands instinctively went to her waist, trying to make sure she was safe after stumbling. The tension was palpable, sharp enough to cut through the air. I thought we’d be locked into an eternal staring contest, fortunately she made the first move. She reached for my face and went in for a kiss. The moment our lips met was electric. Sparks went through the air. Compared to the quick peck she gave me during our first date, this one was a bit sloppier, deeper, more passionate, more natural. As our lips continue to clash, I try to up the ante by sneaking my tongue in, but she pulls back. I got worried that I took it too far, but what she said next put me at ease.

“Bed. Now.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. I held on to Kazuha tight as I stood up and carried her towards my bed. After laying her down gently, I made quick work of my clothes as she did with her’s. Soon enough, we were both fully exposed to each other. Our cheeks were crimson due to the slight embarrassment, but only for a second before we got back on course. When I joined her on the bed, there was still some awkwardness in the air. I stumbled my way in between her legs, some hesitation clouding my mind. Despite all that, when our eyes met again she gave me the slightest nod. It was enough of a permission, telling me that she’s scared too but trusts me enough to go through with it. With that trust, I won’t let her wait any longer. I position myself accordingly, my tip resting at her entrance. The slight contact earns shudders from the both of us. She reaches for my hand so I meet her grasp. As our eyes stayed glued to each other’s, I slowly eased myself into her. Her eyes snap shut as I continue to push forward, closing even tighter with every inch she takes. Her grip on my hand also got stronger, she felt like she was crushing me. Though, neither could compare to how tight she was. With every inch I pushed into her, I felt like life was being squeezed out of me. She was snug and warm, like a mold made to perfectly take me. When I hilt into her, she whimpers as we both pause. I give her a moment to get used to being before she takes my face into her hands. She kisses me again before pulling away and nodding. Easy enough to understand what she wanted, so I granted her wish.

We started off slow. I pulled my hips back, letting her feel every inch sliding out while I felt her walls try to stop me. Halfway out, I thrust back in, earning a shriek and a moan from Kazuha. We repeat the cycle. Thrusting into her, slowly picking up the pace. Honestly, it felt a bit clumsy. A bit sloppy. But that’s how I knew it was real. Neither of us were faking anything. It was all natural.

We took the time to explore each other’s bodies. Finding out what worked for us, what got each other hot and bothered. As the night went on, we finally found our footing and groove. Our pace quickened. My thrusts started getting faster, reaching depths that she didn’t know she had. Kazuha had put one of her legs on my shoulder while the other had wrapped around my waist. Was she showing off her flexibility from ballet? A hundred percent. But it was working for her though, and it was working for me too. As I continued thrusting into her relentlessly, Kazuha’s moans started to get louder and more frequent. She’s getting close, I am too. I latch on to her neck, creating whatever sensation I can to get her over the edge. Kissing her skin, sucking on her flesh, licking her sweat, even leaving marks for the world to see. I switch to her calf, the one resting on my shoulder, and start leaving kisses there too. 

By now, Kazuha was lost in the throes of her pleasure. Her head was basically hanging back, her mouth fully open to let the lewd sounds she was making to freely escape. If there were any words that were escaping too, they were too incoherent to be understood. Some did get through, and they were music to my ears. “So… close… harder…” she managed to get out in between moans. They do their job though, and encourage me to go even harder. My hips start rocking into her at a relentless pace. I go back to her neck while she bites my free shoulder. The pain from the bite was temporary, but the pleasure that the two of you were chasing was forever. I felt myself start teetering over the edge, but then her walls started spasming around my dick. She let go of my shoulder as a labored cry escaped her mouth. “Oh god oh god oh god! Fuck, I’m…” Her mouth is left open in a silent scream as she reaches her climax. Her hips start bucking as she rides out her peak. All the added sensations got me close to edge. I just had enough control left to delay it and warn her. “Zuha! I’m–” “INSIDE! FUCK! INSI–mmph” I didn’t need to hear the rest. Instead, I just needed the feeling of her lips on mine again as I brought us to the finish line. It didn’t take long though. 

As our lips were still locked, I rocked into Kazuha one last time. One final thrust as I lost all control. It felt like I almost blacked out, the only sensations that kept me conscious were her lips still connected to mine and her inner walls contracting around my pulsing dick. I felt every rope of cum shooting out into her waiting womb. Her velvet walls continued to spasm around me, milking me for every drop I had to flood her insides. After a few minutes of riding out our shared high and recovering from the intensity, I pull out and plop down beside her on the bed. We spend a few moments reeling, some giggles escaping before we turn and face each other. God, getting lost in her eyes was so easy. Even after experiencing the throes of her pleasure, she still looked perfect. Her lips curl into a soft smile. I can’t help but match it. We both just opened a new door to our relationship, one we won’t hesitate to explore.

So we did.

Over the next month we continued stoking the roaring flames of our pleasure (just a fancy way of saying we were horny). As memorable and exciting as they all were, I can list some standout moments:

The first time I ate her out on the kitchen counter. That surely unlocked something in her. No more being shy, just straight up almost destroying her vocal chords from the constant shouts and moans. I realized this was her favorite (therefore mine too) especially when her toned and strong legs snap around my head just before she hits her peak. Fuck she tastes so good.

Bending her over her make-up table and fucking her from behind in front of the mirror. Apparently her favorite kink. She liked seeing her facial expressions in her reflection, and I did too. I already had an amazing view of her sculpted back, but seeing her beautiful and perfect face react with every thrust gets me off faster than it should.

Shower sex. Need I say more? I do? Fine. We got a chair specifically for that. Only gets used for half the time though. She loves riding me on the chair while the water falls all over our tangled bodies. Don’t get me wrong, I love that too. But there’s just something about pressing her against the tiled wall and railing her against the cold that does something for me. Not to mention that smirk she does when she sees me give my all in thrusts. Fucking drives me crazy.

All that in just a month together, and even more we have yet to explore. I don’t know how long this relationship with Kazuha will last, but I do hope it’s for a long time. 

1 year

The thud of Kazuha slamming the door nearly had me spill my coffee. Yeah, she’s angry. Like, really angry. She never slams the door unless it's bad.

It is my fault though. She already reminded me fifteen times about the dinner with her parents, yet somehow I found myself getting lost in work, going into overtime. Again.

Honestly, it’s a miracle that she’s still with me. Sure, I’ve made progress in becoming a better person. She’s solely responsible for making me want to change. Making me want to be better. Still a long way to go, sure, but I can’t help accidentally reverting to some old, bad practices. Any other woman might have called it quits by now. Left me all alone. Not Zuha though. Sure, she gets mad. Probably needs a few days to cool off. 

But she never gives up on me. 

She never loses faith or trust. We mend what’s broken and stand back up. She is way too good to me, and it only makes me want to earn her faith. It makes me want to work hard and show her I value her love. And I promise her, I will do whatever it takes to earn it everyday we’re together. Which I hope is for the rest of our lives.

So now I’m on my way to get some chocolates and flowers, hopefully to soften her up before the really wild make-up sex that she likes. 

3 years

She said yes. SHE FUCKING SAID YES. Even after three years of enduring all of my stupidity, she didn’t even hesitate. Crashed down on me on the floor while I was kneeling down and asking her to spend the rest of our lives together.

My mind’s cluttered right now. Venue, guests, finances, all these ideas, the impending stress racing through my head, yet somehow I can remain calm. Finding solace in the idea that it’s all going to be worth it, knowing that I’ll be spending the rest of my life with her. Kazuha can get whatever she wants for the wedding, I’m already more than happy knowing that I get to grow old with her. 

6 years

It’s been… two years since we tied the knot. The only way I can describe living with you is a dream come true, Kazuha. I fucking love it. Waking up next to you every morning. Tiring each other out every night before falling asleep in each other’s embrace. This is heaven.

It’s also been a year since we adopted a dog. I love the name you gave him. Akira. I know our irrational fear of being bad owners was still nagging me a bit, but somehow you convinced me it’s a challenge we’ll face together. And I guess you were right, because I feel like I can take on the world as long as I’m with you. Plus, learning to be actual good dog owners has been fun. Especially seeing how you and Aki brighten up each other. Seeing him jump around and you laughing at the energetic ball. The way he waits up for you until you’re back home from practice. Even in our most quiet moments when he squeezes in between us while we’re sleeping. 

Speaking of fear, you floating the idea of starting a family did scare me a bit. Then thinking about how happy you’d be got me excited. Yeah, bringing a child into the world is a huge responsibility, but I know that we can both handle it, together. 

I guess we’re going through with it. We’re doing fertility checks in a few days to see what we’re working with, but I know everything’s going to be alright. 

7 years

It’s been a year since the doctors first caught it. Also a year since they officially diagnosed it. Give or take five… maybe six months since your surgery and the start of your treatment. Right now, I’m sitting beside you as you lay on the hospital bed. Despite the strength of the meds causing your weight to drop, the grip your hand had on mine was still as strong as ever. It pains me to see you like this, Zuha. Seeing you in pain. Seeing you frail and weak, yet still somehow fighting. Doing everything you can to stay alive. While I’m here, helpless in this battle. All I can do is stay by your side, keep holding your hand, make sure that you know you’re not alone.

I’m stuck in the middle, Zuha. I don’t want to lose you. I want us to spend our lives together for as long as possible. But I hate seeing you like this. I hate seeing you in pain. I want it to stop for you. I want you to be free. I don’t know what to do Zuha. I don’t know what I can actually do. I have no clue what I can do and what the future holds, but I do know one thing.

You never gave up on me. Now, I’m not going to give up on you.

If staying by your side is all I can do, then I’m going to do it. I’m not leaving you. I’ll treasure our time together, down to the last second, however long we have left. That I’m sure of. That I definitely know. 

1 month

The days started to blur together. I lost count of how long it’s been since the funeral. The family's back again, they’re telling me it's been a month. They’ve been going here everyday, making time to check on me, take care of me. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I just can’t get myself to get up from bed. Even more so getting out of the room.

It still hurts. God, does it hurt. Everyone keeps telling me that it’s okay to take time to mourn, just as long as I pick myself up. But I don’t know if I can do it though.

God, Zuha, I miss you. I know it’s still fresh, but I’m always going to miss you. I don’t know how I’m going to move on. I don’t know if I actually can. They all keep telling me that you would want me to. Hell, even I know you’d want me to. I just can’t imagine–

Arf! Arf!

Aki’s barking. And he’s licking my fingers. He’s hungry… and no one else is here but me. Fine. If I can’t get up for my own sake, at least I can for him.

He’s scarfing down the kibble like he hasn’t eaten in days. They haven’t been feeding him properly. Not completely their fault though. He’s our dog, I should be taking care of him not anybody else. He’s doing this thing with his ear. One’s still upright and paying attention. The little thing he does when he’s waiting for you to come home. God it’s gonna break his little heart when he realizes…

Kazuha, I really don’t know if I can move on. I don’t know how to move forward. But seeing Aki like this makes me think that I can, even if it’s just one step at a time.

Even if that part is still a little cloudy to me, I am sure of one thing. I will always love you, Kazuha. I don’t think I can love anyone else. I will treasure the past eight years we had together. I’ll keep them close to my heart. I can recount every last second from the time we spent together, down to the first time I laid eyes on you as you entered the restaurant for our blind date. Every moment that we ever had, from the fights to the quiet nights, I’ll hold them dear. Because maybe that’s the only thing that can keep me going forward.

Because maybe that can fuel my will to live.

[lazylevxd]

Girlfriend's Older Sister

Fromis_9 Chaeyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Cheating, Kissing, Dirty Words, Blowjob, Hickeys, Forbidden Relationship, Kinky, Cowgirl, Creampie, Impregnation, Titjob, Facial

Words : 3,088 Words

Your heart pounds in your chest as you storm up the steps to Jiheon’s house, fists clenched so tightly your nails dig into your palms. The image of her lips pressed against someone else’s is burned into your mind, replaying on a cruel loop. You don’t even knock—you just push the door open, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Jiheon!”

But it’s not her who greets you. Chaeyoung stands in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall, a half-empty glass of red wine in her hand. She’s dressed in a black lace lingerie set that clings to her curves like a second skin, the dim light catching the sheer fabric in a way that makes your breath hitch. Her lips curl into a smirk as she raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by your sudden entrance.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, though there’s a flicker of something else—concern, maybe—in her dark eyes.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I need to talk to Jiheon,” you say, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’re feeling. “I saw her… I saw her kissing someone else.”

Chaeyoung’s expression shifts instantly. Her smirk fades, replaced by a look of disgust—or is it worry? She sets her glass down on the side table with a soft clink and strides toward you, her movements smooth and deliberate. Without a word, she grabs your arm, her grip firm but not painful, and pulls you down the hall toward her bedroom.

“Wait, Chaeyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off with a sharp look over her shoulder.

“Not here,” she says curtly. She pushes open the door to her room and yanks you inside, shutting it behind you with a decisive click. The lock turns, and suddenly, it’s just the two of you in the dimly lit space, the air thick with tension.

“Now,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “tell me exactly what you saw.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the words. The room smells like her—expensive perfume and something faintly sweet, like vanilla. It’s distracting, but you force yourself to focus. “Her friend told me,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “She said Jiheon was at a party, drinking, and… and she kissed someone. They looked… they looked really into it.”

Chaeyoung’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she studies your face. For a moment, she says nothing, and the silence stretches between you like a taut wire. Then, without warning, she closes the distance between you, her hands coming up to cup your face. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender, but there’s a fire in her eyes that makes your stomach twist.

“Forget about Jiheon,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her thumbs brush against your cheeks, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

Before you can respond, her lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Chaeyoung takes control almost immediately, her mouth moving against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You try to pull away, to protest, but she doesn’t let you. One of her hands tangles in your hair, holding you in place while the other slides down your chest, her fingers leaving trails of heat in their wake.

“Chaeyoung…” you mumble between kisses, but she silences you with another searing press of her lips.

“Shh,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice a low, sultry purr. “Just let me take care of you.”

Her hands move to the hem of your shirt, and before you can stop her, she pulls it over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but Chaeyoung doesn’t give you time to think about it. Her lips trail down your neck, each kiss leaving a mark that feels like a brand. You gasp as she reaches your collarbone, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin in a way that makes your knees weak.

“You deserve better than her,” Chaeyoung whispers, her breath hot against your ear. “Be with me instead.”

Her words send a jolt through you, but before you can respond, she reaches for her wine glass, lifting it to her lips and taking a slow sip. Then, with a wicked smile, she tilts the glass, letting the deep red liquid spill onto your chest. The wine is cool against your skin, but the heat in Chaeyoung’s eyes more than makes up for it. She sets the glass down and leans in, her tongue darting out to catch the droplets as they slide down your torso.

“Chaeyoung…” you breathe, your voice shaky.

She looks up at you through her lashes, her lips glistening with wine. “Say yes,” she murmurs, her hands resting on your hips as she presses another kiss to your skin. “Say you’ll be mine.”

Chaeyoung’s lips pulled away from your skin, leaving a trail of heat where the wine had cooled. Her eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, as she pushed you backward onto the bed. You landed with a soft thud, the mattress dipping under your weight. She climbed over you, her black lace lingerie barely containing the curves of her body, her breath coming in short, deliberate bursts.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, her voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. Her hands moved to your belt, fingers deftly unbuckling it and pulling it free with a sharp tug. Your heart pounded as she yanked your pants down, leaving you exposed to her gaze.

Her eyes flicked down, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Oh, you’re perfect,” she murmured, her voice dripping with approval. She leaned down, her hair brushing against your chest as her lips trailed lower, teasingly close to where your need for her was unbearable.

“Chaeyoung,” you gasped, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.

She ignored your plea, her lips finally meeting the sensitive skin of your stomach. Her tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate path downward. Each touch of her mouth sent electric sparks through your body, and you couldn’t help but arch into her, desperate for more.

Her hands moved to your hips, her nails lightly scratching as she guided you closer to the edge of the bed. Then, with a wicked grin, she leaned back slightly, her hand reaching for yours. She placed it on her thigh, just above the edge of her lingerie.

“Touch me,” she commanded, her voice low and husky. Her other hand reached behind her back, unclasping her bra with practiced ease. The black lace fell away, revealing the fullness of her breasts, her nipples already hard and begging for attention.

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, sliding up her thigh and under the edge of her panties. She moaned softly as your fingers found her warmth, wet and ready for you. Her hips rocked against your hand, her breath hitching as you explored her.

“Yes,” she hissed, her head tilting back in pleasure. “Just like that.”

But she wasn’t content to let you take control for long. In one swift motion, she straddled you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. Her hand wrapped around your length, stroking you slowly as she positioned herself above you.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice firm but tinged with desire. You obeyed, your eyes locking onto hers as she lowered herself onto you, inch by torturous inch. Her warmth enveloped you completely, and you groaned at the sensation, your hands gripping her hips tightly.

She began to move, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles. Her breasts bounced with each motion, and she leaned forward, pressing them against your chest. “Suck them,” she instructed, her voice a little breathless. “Make me feel good.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your mouth closed around one nipple, sucking and teasing it with your tongue. She moaned louder, her fingers tangling in your hair as she held you close. Her pace quickened, her body riding yours with increasing urgency.

“You’re so good,” she gasped, her voice breaking as pleasure overtook her. “So much better than Jiheon could ever be.”

The mention of her sister’s name made your stomach twist, but Chaeyoung didn’t give you time to dwell on it. She leaned back, her hands resting on your thighs as she bounced on you harder, faster. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and her eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the rhythm.

Your hands gripped her waist, guiding her movements as you thrust upward to meet her. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, mingling with her moans and your groans.

“Chaeyoung,” you managed to choke out, your voice strained with need.

She opened her eyes, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Cum for me,” she demanded, her voice shaking with desperation. “Fill me up.”

Her words were all it took to push you over the edge. With a deep groan, you spilled into her, your body trembling with the force of your release. Chaeyoung let out a cry of pleasure, her body clamping down around you as she found her own climax.

She collapsed forward, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her lips found yours in a messy, passionate kiss, her tongue slipping into your mouth as she claimed you completely.

When she finally pulled away, she smiled down at you, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’re mine now,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Her hips began to move again slowly.

Chaeyoung’s hips rolled against you, slow and deliberate, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. Her breath was hot against your neck as she whispered, “You feel so good inside me.” Her nails raked lightly down your chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You groaned, feeling yourself stir again despite the exhaustion creeping in. She smirked, sensing your body’s response. “Oh, you’re not done yet, are you?” she purred, her voice dripping with confidence.

Before you could respond, her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Jiheon’s name. Chaeyoung’s eyes flicked to it, a wicked smile spreading across her lips. She reached for the phone, but instead of answering, she held it out to you. “Answer it,” she demanded, her voice low and commanding. “Let her hear what she’s missing.”

You hesitated, but Chaeyoung’s strong grip forced the phone into your hand. You swiped to answer, holding it to your ear. “Where are you?” Jiheon’s voice came through, frantic and confused. “I saw your car outside… Babe? Uhm… Babe, what is that sound?”

Your breath hitched as Chaeyoung began to move again, her hips grinding against you with purpose. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding were unmistakable. Before you could speak, Chaeyoung leaned in close to the phone, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. “You’re such a slut, Jiheon. Cheating on him, even though he’s the perfect guy… like ever. But don’t worry. He’s with someone else now.”

Jiheon’s voice broke. “What? No, that’s not— Babe, is that true? Tell me it’s not true!”

Chaeyoung chuckled darkly, her hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. “He saw you kissing that dumb-looking guy. So why are you crying, little sis? You did it to yourself.” She paused, her breath hitching as she savored the moment. “But thanks to that, I can finally have this cock all by myself.”

Jiheon’s sobs echoed through the phone, but Chaeyoung didn’t give her a chance to respond. She snatched the phone from your hand and ended the call, tossing it aside with a satisfied smirk. Her eyes locked onto yours, fierce and unyielding. “She doesn’t deserve you,” she said, leaning in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Her tongue dominated yours, claiming you completely as she continued to ride you with increasing ferocity.

You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her hips tightly as she took control. Her body was a masterpiece, every curve molded perfectly under your touch. The black lace lingerie clung to her skin, damp with sweat and arousal, and you couldn’t resist slipping a hand beneath the fabric to cup her breast. She gasped, breaking the kiss to throw her head back in ecstasy. “Yes,” she hissed, her voice trembling with need. “Touch me. Make me yours.”

Her words sent a jolt of desire through you, and you complied eagerly. Your thumb brushed over her nipple, eliciting a shiver from her as she ground down harder on you. The friction was almost too much to bear, but you didn’t want it to end. Chaeyoung’s movements became more erratic, her thighs trembling as she neared the edge once more. “Look at me,” she demanded, her voice low and breathless. You obeyed instantly, your eyes locking with hers as she continued to ride you with wild abandon.

“I want to feel you inside me again,” she whispered, her voice dripping with need. “Cum for me, Y/n. Let me feel how much you want me.”

The command was all it took. With a deep groan, you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Chaeyoung cried out, her body tightening around you as she found her own climax. Her hips jerked erratically, milking every last drop from you as she collapsed forward, her chest heaving against yours.

She stayed like that for a moment, her face buried in the crook of your neck as she caught her breath. Then, slowly, she lifted her head to look at you, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “You’re mine now,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, she shifted slightly, reaching down between your bodies to feel the mess you’d made together. Her fingers came away slick and glistening, and she brought them to her lips, licking them clean with a hungry look in her eyes. “Mmm,” she hummed, savoring the taste. “You’re even better than I imagined.”

You watched in awe as she leaned in to kiss you again, her tongue delving into your mouth so you could taste yourself on her lips. The kiss was fierce and possessive, a clear declaration of her claim on you. When she finally pulled away, she smirked down at you. “Now,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. “Let’s see how many more times we can make tonight unforgettable.”

Without waiting for a response, Chaeyoung slid off of you and moved down the bed, her lips brushing against your sensitive skin as she kissed a trail down your torso. Her hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading them apart as she positioned herself between your legs. Her eyes met yours as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your still-throbbing length. “I’ve been dying to taste you,” she purred before taking you into her mouth without hesitation.

You groaned loudly, your hands tangling in her hair as she began to work you expertly with her tongue and lips. Her mouth was warm and wet, and the sight of her taking you so eagerly sent another rush of heat coursing through your body. She didn’t hold back, bobbing her head slow and steady at first before picking up the pace until you were writhing beneath her.

“Chaeyoung,” you gasped, unable to form anything more coherent as pleasure consumed you. She just hummed in response, the vibrations sending jolts of ecstasy through you. Her hands gripped your hips tightly as she took you deeper, swallowing around you until you thought you might lose your mind.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, she pulled back slightly, dragging her tongue along your length before taking you fully once more. Her pace became frenzied as she worked you toward another release, her eyes locked onto yours as if daring you to last longer than a few minutes.

But it was no use. With a guttural moan . Chaeyoung has sucked all of your life essence, her hands were sensually arousing your body even more, as her eyes locked onto yours. Chaeyoung then circles her tounge around your tip, which only made your member more and more aroused. But as you get close, Chaeyoung stopped. She knew that you were getting close.

She then, places your cock onto her tits, as she presses your member tightly with her beautiful Pair of Breast, before she gave you a Titjob. "Mhmmm look how perfect your cock is, All wrapped around my boobs.. Do you like it baby". She teases.

You could only nod, and moaned slowly, as the Pleasure and Pressure was getting deep into your brain. She slowly fasten up her pace, as she smiled. Her body was warm, and smelled heavily of her Lavender scented Candles. And as the pace was getting faster and faster, You got yourself on the edge, and in the end, You cum, splurted all of your seed onto her face, as she giggles, before she licked your cum clean from her hands, and chin.

"That was hot… Right"? Chaeyoung giggled, as she caresses your body with her hands. You nod, clearly out of breath from all of this crazy session. Chaeyoung then snuggled herself close to your chest, as she places her head onto your body. "From now on. Look at me, Y/n. Don't look at that stupid little sister of mine. You got that? You nod once again, letting a small "Alright". Which made her happy. As she then kissed your Forehead.

And just like that, the wild night ended. As You and Chaeyoung spend the night together, on her bed. Meanwhile, Jiheon were busy, crying on her bed, as she scrolled through the images and videos of you and her. She hit herself on the head, as she kept saying "Pabo…Paboo..Paboooo". As she cried even harder, as she stumbled on the old video of you confessing your love for her, and then the times when you first came to her house and met her family.

All she can remember of you were now, That you were now Her sister's Boyfriend, and soon to be Husband.

To Be Continued.

[lazylevxd]

The Best Style

Kwon Eunbi × Male Reader

Older Woman, Tits Sucking, Tits Fucking, Edging, Blowjob, Female Orgasm, Fingering, Chair Sex, Reverse Cowgirl, Vaginal Sex, Creampie

10,120 Words

The longest fic I've written but maybe also contains a lot of flaws. Please pardon me for that. Happy reading!

You're fresh out of whatever fashion school or assistant gig you clawed your way out of, suddenly thrust into the absolute madhouse that is K-pop styling. Not just any K-pop styling, mind you, but the Waterbomb festival. It’s a whole different beast. Think less high-fashion runway, more, well, wet, wild, and strategically placed fabric.

You're the new blood, the fresh meat, specifically tasked with the outfits for the Queen herself, Kwon Eunbi. Yeah, that Kwon Eunbi. The one who basically owns the stage, the one who makes a splash (pun totally intended) just by existing.

The senior stylists, a bunch of seasoned pros who’ve probably seen it all, are buzzing around, already wrestling with hair extensions and makeup palettes that cost more than your rent. They’re handling the glam, the intricate stuff. Your job? Making sure Eunbi looks like a goddess even when she’s getting drenched by a Super Soaker.

No pressure, right? You’ve spent the last week poring over mood boards, fabric swatches, and a whole damn Pinterest full of "sexy summer festival looks" that mostly looked like glorified bikinis. Your mind is a whirlwind of mesh, cut-outs, and the ever-present question: how much is too much for a public broadcast?

You’re in the main styling room, a chaotic symphony of garment bags, steaming irons, and the faint scent of hairspray and nervous sweat. You're trying to look busy, pretending to adjust a sequined top that's already perfect, when the door swings open. And there she is.

Kwon Eunbi.

She’s not in full stage gear, obviously. She’s just Eunbi. Casual as hell, actually. A simple oversized hoodie, some comfy leggings, and a baseball cap pulled low. But even like that, she just radiates. She walks in, a bright smile on her face, and immediately starts doing her rounds.

"Oh, Unnie! Looking good today!" she chirps to one of the older makeup artists, then a quick bow and a laugh with the hair team. She carries that easy charm, truly a genuine warmth that makes everyone instantly relax around her.

It’s no wonder she’s so damn popular.

Then, her eyes land on you. You’re standing there, probably looking like a deer in headlights, clutching that sequined top like it’s your lifeline. Her smile widens, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Oh, who's this?" she says, her voice a little lower, a little more teasing than before. She takes a step closer, tilting her head. "You look young! Younger than me, for sure. So I'm your noona, then?"

She laughs, a light, airy sound that makes a few of the older stylists chuckle too, clearly used to her antics. "Honestly, with a face and body like that, you should be a model, not styling old hags like me behind the stage.”

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot and a blush creeps up your neck. You manage a stiff, "Ah, thank you, Eunbi-ssi, for the kind compliment." You try to sound professional, but your voice is a little squeaky.

She waves a hand dismissively, still smiling. "No, no. No need to be all formal like that! Let's get comfortable, okay? And seriously, you can call me noona. It's not every day I get to work with a younger guy around here." She winks, and then, with a little smile, she adds, "So, my new dongsaeng, what amazing outfits have you got cooked up for your noona today?"

The way she says "dongsaeng," it's not just friendly. It’s got this little purr to it, like she’s already claiming you, already pulling you into her orbit. Her eyes rake over you, from your flushed face down to your nervous hands, it’s like she’s not just seeing a stylist. She’s seeing you.

And suddenly, the idea of picking out tiny, revealing outfits for her doesn't feel like just a job anymore. It feels like a very, very personal mission.

You manage to nod, a little too enthusiastically, and gesture towards the low table piled high with sketches, fabric catalogue, and a thick portfolio. "Please, Eunbi-noona, have a seat. I'm still just arranging some of the collection, but feel free to look through everything."

She settles down beside you on the plush couch, close enough that you can catch the faint, sweet scent of her perfume – something light and fresh, like a summer breeze. Her eyes scan the meticulously organized chaos you’ve laid out.

"Ooh," she hums, a soft, appreciative sound. "You really did this neatly! I like it." Her fingers, long and slender, brush against a stack of fabric samples.

The discussion, for the most part, is surprisingly professional. You talk about silhouettes, about fabric breathability (crucial for a water festival, obviously), about color palettes that will pop under the stage lights and against a backdrop of splashing water.

Eunbi listens intently, her head tilted, occasionally interjecting with a sharp, insightful question that shows she's not just a pretty face – she knows her stuff. But then, just when you’re getting into the nitty-gritty of seam lines, she spots a particularly daring design.

"Wow, this one looks like it's barely there!" she teases and you stammer out some explanation about "strategic cut-outs" while the other stylists chuckle in the background.

About halfway through, while you’re explaining the merits of a particular type of quick-drying mesh, Eunbi sighs contentedly. "It's getting a little warm in here," she murmurs, and without preamble, she shrugs off her oversized hoodie.

Your breath hitches.

Underneath, she’s wearing a simple, ribbed tank top, one is clearly a size too small. Her breasts, full and round, are squished upward, practically spilling over the top. The plunging neckline dips deep, revealing a truly impressive amount of cleavage, pale skin of her upper chest and the shadowed valley between her mounds.

The faint outline of her nipples press against the thin material of her visible bra, just barely contained. It’s a casual top, but on her, it’s a goddamn revelation. Your eyes snag on the sight, lingering for a beat too long before you force them back to the table.

Eunbi, completely oblivious (or expertly pretending to be), leans back, her arms resting on the back of the couch. "So," her voice is a bit more serious now "you know what people call me, right? The Queen of Waterbomb." She says it not with arrogance, but a confident, almost prideful attitude.

"And I intend to keep that title. So, I need something with a big wow factor. Something that will literally blow people away." Her gaze sweeps over the designs.

She flips through the catalogue you prepared a few days prior, her fingers tracing the lines of various daring outfits. You watch her, trying to keep your focus, but the image of her chest, so close, so exposed, is burned into your retina.

She pauses on a few pages, her brow furrowed in thought, before closing the book with a soft thud.

"Okay," she says, pushing herself up from the couch. "I've got some ideas. You take your time, okay? I'm going to go discuss with the others and then I'll be back to finalise everything with you."

She gives you a warm, easy smile, completely unaware of the turmoil she's just unleashed within you, and then she's off, gliding across the room to where the hair and makeup teams are still buzzing.

You’re left there, alone with your thoughts, the scent of her perfume still lingering, and the vivid, almost tactile memory of her cleavage seared into your mind. "Take your time," she said. Yeah, right. You had a feeling time was about to become a very, very relative concept.

You’re sitting there, the catalogue lying open on the table, and your brain is screaming at you to focus. Focus on the fabric. Focus on the cut. Focus on not looking like a complete pervert. But it’s a losing battle.

Your eyes, completely against your will, keep snapping back to her. She’s over by the makeup station now, laughing with the artists, her voice a melodic chime across the room.

Without that oversized hoodie, her figure is on full, glorious display. The tank top is one thing, a peek at the goods, but it’s the rest of her that’s really doing a number on you.

She’s wearing tight, athletic leggings, the kind that hug every curve, every dip, every rise. Her toned legs stretch out as she leans against a chair, chatting animatedly. You can see the defined muscles in her calves, the thickness of her thighs and her ass.

Those leggings accentuate every swell, every roundness. When she turns, just slightly, to grab something from a table, her ass shifts, a perfect, firm glob of flesh that makes your mouth go dry. It’s not just big, it’s high and tight, begging for a handprint.

You try to look away, you really do. You pick up a sample paper, pretending to scrutinize it, but your gaze keeps drifting, drawn back to her like a magnet as she moves with such natural grace, a confident sway that makes her thickness ripple with every step.

You catch her bending over to pick up a dropped brush, and for a split second, that perfect, round ass is presented to you, framed by the taut fabric. You swallow hard.

It’s involuntary, a purely physical reaction. The blood rushes south. Your dick, traitorous bastard that it is, starts to stir, a slow, insistent hardening against your pants. It’s not a full-on, throbbing erection, not yet, but it’s definitely getting there, a solid, undeniable presence.

You shift uncomfortably on the couch, trying to subtly adjust yourself, praying no one notices. Especially not her.

This is professional, this is work. You’re a stylist, she’s an idol. You’re supposed to be thinking about aesthetics and about performance, not about how good her ass looks or how much you want to bury your face in that cleavage.

But the longer you watch her, the more she moves, and the more your body responds. Every casual gesture, every tilt of her head, every time she laughs and her chest jiggles slightly, it’s like another little push.

You clench your jaw, trying to force your mind back to the task at hand, but a part of you, a very hard part, is screaming, “More. Show me more.”

And you know, deep down, that this Waterbomb festival is going to be a lot more challenging than you ever anticipated. Not because of the outfits, but because of the woman who's going to be wearing them.

You’re so engrossed, so utterly captivated by the sight of her, that you don’t even notice her turn. One minute, she’s laughing with the hair stylist, her back mostly to you, and the next, her head swivels, and her eyes, bright and sharp, lock onto yours.

Busted.

Your heart leaps into your throat, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Your eyes, which were just moments ago devouring her ass, snap up to meet hers. You feel the blood drain from your face, then rush back in a furious, scorching wave.

Your carefully constructed professional facade shatters into a million pieces. The hard-on, which was just a persistent throb, now feels like a glowing beacon, impossible to hide. You’re sure she can see it, radiating through your pants like a heat lamp.

A thousand excuses flash through your mind: I was just admiring your posture! I was checking the lighting! I was… uh… thinking about how that particular angle would look on stage! But no words come out. Your mouth feels like sandpaper. You just freeze, a complete idiot with his dick half-hard and his gaze caught in the act.

Eunbi’s laughter, which was just ringing out, dies down. Her smile, however, doesn't. In fact, it widens, a slow, knowing arch – not entirely unpleasant, but definitely unnerving. There’s no judgment in her eyes, no anger, just amusement.

She holds your gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary, her head tilted slightly, a small smirk on her lips. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even move. She just looks at you, letting the silence hang heavy, letting you stew in your own mortification.

It’s a power move, subtle but devastating. She knows. Oh, she definitely knows.

Finally, she breaks the silence, a low husky purr that seems to vibrate right through your bones. "Something interesting over here, dongsaeng?" she asks, her eyes locked on yours, but now she glances down, for a split second, at your lap, before her gaze snaps back up.

You fundamentally short-circuit. Your face is probably the color of a ripe tomato. You manage a pathetic, strangled sound, something between a cough and a squeak. You try to look away, to find anything else to focus on, but her eyes are pulling you back in.

The heat in your pants intensifies, a desperate, undeniable throb. You hear your brain screaming, Abort! Abort! But your body is clearly not listening.

Eunbi chuckles, sending another jolt through your veins. She finally breaks eye contact, turning back to the hair stylist, but not before giving you one lingering look. And as she turns, you swear, for a fleeting moment, that her ass wiggles a little bit more provocatively than it needed to.

You slump back against the couch, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Your heart is still pounding, your face is burning, and your dick is stubbornly hard.

Get your shit together. That’s the only thought screaming through your head on a loop. You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to will the blood away from your groin and back to your brain where it belongs. With trembling hands, you start packing up your materials. Sketches are stacked, fabric swatches are gathered, the catalogue is closed with a definitive thump.

You’re trying to project an aura of pure professionalism, even though your dick is still staging a protest in your pants, a stubborn, aching hardness that refuses to back down. Every rustle of fabric, every clink of a pin, is a monumental effort of will.

Just as you’ve managed to create a neat pile of your work, a shadow falls over the table. You look up, and there she is again. Eunbi. She’s back, a serene smile on her face, acting as if she didn’t just catch you mentally undressing her two minutes ago. But you swear to God, it’s not your imagination, she’s flaunting it even more now.

"So," she says, leaning over the table to get a closer look at your neatly packed collection, "did you find the one for me?" As she leans, her tank top gapes open, giving you a direct, unfiltered view straight down into the valley of her cleavage. Her tits, those glorious, squished-up mounds, are hanging in your face.

A fresh wave of heat washed over you, a toxic cocktail of shame, guilt, and arousal. You feel like a scumbag, a total creep, but goddammit, you are also so fucking hard you think you might burst. "I-I think we have some strong contenders, noona," you manage to stammer out, your voice cracking like a pubescent teenager’s.

She straightens up, but only to stretch, arching her back in a languid movement that pushes her chest out and her ass back. It’s a work of art. A calculated masterpiece of temptation. "That’s good, but I have another schedule I have to rush to. My manager is probably having a fit downstairs."

She taps a perfectly manicured finger on the cover of the catalogue you prepared. "Can I take this with me? I want to mull it over." Before you can even nod, she adds, "And I'll need your number. You know, so I can contact you soon for our future discussion."

Your brain stalls. Her asking for your number is a perfectly reasonable, professional request. But the way she says it, her voice dropping on the word "soon," makes it feel like anything but.

You fumble for your phone, your hands shaking so badly you almost drop it. You manage to pull up your contact card and she quickly types the numbers into her own phone.

"Great! Thanks, dongsaeng," she chirps, her professional smile back in place. She turns to the room. "I'm leaving now, everyone! Great work today!" With a final wave, she snags her hoodie from the back of the chair—not putting it on, just carrying it—and walks out, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a deafening silence and the faint scent of her perfume in her wake.

You finally let out the breath you were holding, your shoulders slumping in relief. You wipe a hand across your forehead and it comes away slick with sweat.

"Hey," a voice cuts through the haze. It’s one of the older stylists, looking at you with a concerned expression. "You okay, hoobae? You're kind of sweating."

You force a shaky laugh, trying to get your heart rate under control. "Ah, yeah. I'm fine," you lie, your voice a little hoarse. "Just nervous. You know, first time working with someone like her."

*

The next few days pass in a blur of frantic activity. You pore over every last detail, every stitch and sequin, making sure the outfits you've prepared for Eunbi are absolute perfection.

It's a delicate balance – they need to be show-stopping, jaw-dropping, the kind of looks that will have the crowd at Waterbomb festival going wild but they also need to be functional, practical, and most importantly, no wardrobe malfunctions, thank you very much.

So you work tirelessly, your mind always returning to that first meeting, to the way Eunbi had looked at you, to the way your body had reacted. It's a constant distraction, an itch you can't quite scratch, and you find yourself double and triple-checking every design.

Finally, the day arrives. Your phone buzzes with a text. “It's Eunbi-noona. Are you free to meet up today? I'd love to try on the outfits you put together." Your heart leaps into your throat. "Of course, noona," you reply, fingers trembling slightly. "I have everything ready. Just send me the address and I'll be right there."

Within the hour, you're standing in the lobby of a hotel, clutching a garment bag full of outfits. The receptionist eyes you curiously as you explain you're here to meet with Kwon Eunbi, but quickly directs you to the elevators. Your palms are sweaty as you ride up, rehearsing what you will say, how you'll act. Professional. Cool. Calm. Collected. You repeat it like a mantra.

But the moment the door to Eunbi's suite opens, and she greets you with that warm, radiant smile, all your composure crumbles. She's wearing nothing but a fluffy white robe, her damp short hair cascading over her ears. "Dongsaeng! You made it," she exclaims, ushering you inside. "Come in, come in. My managers are out taking care of some things, so it's just us."

You nod mutely, your throat suddenly dry as a desert. You follow her into the spacious bedroom, where you carefully lay out the garment bags on the huge, plush bed. "These are the outfits I chose?" Eunbi questions, her fingers trailing over the fabrics. "They look even better in person than in the photos."

You manage a weak chuckle. "Well, I did promise they'd blow your mind, noona."

She laughs, that same bright, musical sound that had first captivated you. "That you did!" She turns to you. "Say, since you're the expert here...do you think you could help me judge how these look? I should probably try them on, right?"

Your mouth goes slack, your brain short-circuiting. Try them on? In front of me? You swallow hard, nodding dumbly. "Uh, y-yes, of course. That would be...helpful."

Eunbi beams, already untying the robe's sash. "Great! I trust your opinion!" The robe slips open, just a fraction, and you catch a glimpse of pale, creamy collarbone and shoulders before she's turning away, heading towards the en-suite bathroom with the clothes. "I'll be right back!"

And just like that, she's gone, leaving you alone in the suddenly stifling room, your heart pounding in your ears. This is your moment. Eunbi, the Queen of Waterbomb herself, is about to model your designs. You feel a throb between your legs, and you silently curse your traitorous body.

The bathroom door clicks open and she steps out. The first outfit is… surprisingly tame. It’s a cute, long-sleeved top that covers her from her neck to her wrists, paired with a flowy little skirt that has safety shorts peeking out from underneath. It’s a standard, safe, idol-on-a-variety-show kind of look.

But even with all that fabric, you can’t miss them. Her tits. They’re there, full and heavy under the top, and with every step she takes, they jiggle, a soft, hypnotic sway that your eyes immediately lock onto. She does a little spin, the skirt flaring out.

"So? What do you think?" she asks, her tone bright and expectant.

You clear your throat, trying to sound like a professional stylist and not like a guy who’s picturing what’s underneath. "It’s… clean," you say, choosing your words carefully. "The silhouette is nice, very safe for broadcast. But for Waterbomb… for the Queen of Waterbomb… maybe it doesn’t have that… wow factor?"

Her smile falters, replaced by a look of dissatisfaction. "Hmm. You're right." She frowns at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "This isn't the one." Without another word, she turns and disappears back into the bathroom.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your dick uncomfortably hardening in your pants. Okay, stay composed. You’re just doing your job.

A minute later, she’s back. The second set is definitely a step up. It's a sporty-looking crop top with some strategic mesh panels on the sides, paired with tight, high-waisted shorts. It’s more revealing, showing off a strip of her toned stomach and giving a much better shape to her breasts.

"This one is really comfortable, too," she says, doing a little dance move, a fluid roll of her hips that makes your mouth go dry. "I could definitely perform in this." She stops and looks right at you, pouting her lips slightly. "Okay, what’s with that reaction?"

Your brain is just a mess of static. Your eyes are wide, you can feel it. You’re trying to form a coherent sentence, something about how the lines are great and the colour pops, but before you can get a single word out, she shakes her head.

"Nope. This isn't it either." And she's gone again, leaving you standing there feeling like you're failing some kind of cosmic test you didn't even know you were taking. Did I say something wrong? You were just being honest, wasn't that the point?

The bathroom door opens for a third time, and Eunbi emerges with a dramatic, "Tada!"

And holy. Fucking. Shit.

This is the third outfit, the one she was most excited about. A white crochet bikini top paired with classic denim shorts. But she modifies it. The short-sleeved, ruffled crop top that was supposed to go over the bikini is gone and the belt that was supposed to cinch her waist? Also missing.

All she’s wearing is the bikini top and the shorts. And that top is fighting for its goddamn life. It’s a delicate, handmade-looking thing, and it’s barely containing her.

The crochet pattern stretches taut across the front of her tits, but it’s too small, leaving the full, glorious curve of her side-boobs completely exposed, squished out. Her nipples are hard, two distinct points pressing against the white fabric.

The shorts are zipped up, but the top button is undone. The denim is pulled low, framing her gleaming V-line, showing off the slight swell of her lower abdomen. There’s no panty waistband in sight. Just smooth skin disappearing into the unbuttoned fly.

She does a slow twirl, her hips swaying, and then she starts walking towards you, closing the distance between you until she’s just a few feet away. The scent of her skin, clean from the shower, fills your senses.

"Now this," she says in a low, throaty purr, her eyes locked on your face, then dropping to the very obvious bulge in your pants. "I like your reaction much better now."

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you can do is stare, completely mesmerised by the blatant display of her body. You finally manage to find your voice, but it comes out as a pathetic, strangled stammer.

"Wh-where's the… the top? And the… the belt?"

That little twirl she does is a weapon of mass destruction. Her glorious, barely-contained tits follow the motion with a life of their own, a heavy, hypnotic sway that makes your dick give a hard, painful twitch inside your pants.

She walks closer, that smirk never leaving her face, until she’s right in front of you. "Oh, those?" Her voice drops to that purr again. She gestures vaguely towards the bathroom. "The top, the belt… that’s for the public performance, dongsaeng."

She reaches out, her fingers hooking into the collar of your shirt, and gives a sharp tug, pulling you so close you can see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes and feel her warm breath on your face. "For this… private performance… fewer obstacles are better. Don't you think so?"

You manage a loud gulp, your hands stiff and useless at your sides. "Wh-what kind of private performance, noona?" you ask.

Eunbi just laughs, a low sound that vibrates through you. "Wow. I'm impressed. You're still playing innocent, even after your eyes almost popped out of your head ogling me the other day."

Before you can even think of a protest, a denial, anything, she cuts you off, her grip on your collar tightening. "Baby," she says, her voice dripping with amusement, "don't you dare say you didn't undress me with your eyes."

With a surprising strength, she spins you around and gives you a firm push, sending you stumbling back into the plush chair in front of the dressing table. She doesn't look angry, not at all. She looks thrilled. Still, a wave of guilt washes over you.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, because what the fuck else can you say? "Noona, you looked so beautiful, so hot… I just couldn’t help it. I should’ve been more professional."

She places a single, soft finger on your lips, silencing you instantly. "Shhh," she whispers. "No need to apologise. I love that you're being honest."

Then, she moves. She holds your shoulders for balance, and in one fluid motion, she swings a leg over your thighs, settling herself directly onto your lap. Directly onto your erection. You gasp as her weight presses down, the heat of her crotch, separated from your cock by just a layer of denim and your own pants.

"I want to test if this outfit truly has that wow factor," her eyes locked on yours. "And I need a good audience. Will you be a good audience for your Eunbi-noona?" She looks down, a slow smile spreading across her face as she feels the thick ridge of your cock poking right into her.

"Well,” she shifts her hips just slightly, making you groan. "That’s a good start. But baby, you need to be less stiff, you know?"

And then she crashes her lips onto yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss; it’s a takeover. It’s wet and loud from the very first second. Her mouth is hot and hungry, and she pushes her short black hair behind one ear with a flick of her head as she deepens the kiss.

Her wet tongue plunges into your mouth, confident and demanding. There’s no hesitation, no shyness. It’s a messy, sloshing sound, the sound of pure lust as she explores your mouth. She sucks on your lower lip, pulling it into her mouth before diving back in, her tongue swirling and dancing with yours in a sloppy rhythm.

Your hands, which were frozen at your sides, finally came to life, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. You grip her back, your fingers digging into the firm muscle there, then slide down to her exposed waist, your thumbs rubbing circles on the soft skin of her tummy.

You feel the slight curve of her abdomen, the warmth of her skin. You deliberately evade her tits, that glorious, squished-out temptation. That’s a territory you’re not brave enough to explore without a direct invitation, a green light from the woman who is currently devouring your mouth.

She breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back just enough to gasp for air, her chest rising and falling dramatically. A string of saliva connects your lips for a second before snapping. Her eyes are dark, hazy with lust, but they’re sharp as they move down to your hands, still resting on her tummy.

"What's wrong, dongsaeng?" she breathes, a teasing whisper. She takes one of your hands and places it on her chest, right over the crochet top. "Are you scared of them?"

Through the rough, holey fabric of the crochet, you feel the softness and immense weight of her breast. It’s so much fuller, heavier than you even imagined. It fills your entire palm. You sense her nipple, a hard pebble even through the material, pressing into the centre of your hand.

You just stare at her, speechless.

"I didn't think so. You didn't seem scared when you were staring at them. Go on." She guides your other hand to her other breast. "They're all yours."

Your fingers instinctively curl, gently squeezing the heavy, warm globes of flesh. A groan escapes her lips, and she arches her back, pushing her tits more firmly into your grasp. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment. "That feels so good."

But the crochet top is in the way. It’s a barrier, a frustratingly thin one. Eunbi seems to think so too. She reaches behind her back. "Help me with this, dongsaeng."

Your fumbling fingers find the thin strings tied at her nape and her mid-back. With a few clumsy tugs, the knots come loose. The crochet top falls away, pooling in her lap.

Her tits spill free, even bigger and more magnificent. They aren't perfectly perky, gravity-defying orbs; they're real natural tits, with a soft, gentle sag. Pale and creamy, except for her areolas, a dark, dusky brown, the size of sand dollars, and they stand out starkly against her fair skin. And in the centre of each one, her nipples are puckered into hard buds.

"Is this what you wanted to see, hmm?" she whispers, "Is this better?"

You can't even form words. You just nod, your eyes wide with reverence. You lean forward, burying your face in the valley between her breasts, inhaling her scent; clean skin and faint perfume. Then, you lower your head and take one of her nipples into your mouth.

A sharp, loud gasp rips from her throat. "Oh, God… yes."

Her nipple is hard and sensitive on your tongue. You suck on it, gently at first, then harder, drawing more of her soft breast into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. Her areola is soft, the little bumps on it creating an incredible texture as you lick and swirl your tongue around the peak.

She tastes like sweet cream. You hear her moaning above you, low sounds rumbling in her chest. Her fingers thread into your hair, gripping tightly, not pushing you away but pulling you closer, harder against her.

"God, dongsaeng… you’re making noona feel so good," she pants, her hips starting to grind down onto your erection.

You release her first nipple, which is now wet, red, and even harder than before, and move to the other one, giving it the same devoted attention. You suck and lick and nibble, laving it with your tongue until she’s writhing on your lap, her head thrown back, her moans becoming louder, less inhibited.

"You were dying to do this, weren't you?" she gasps out between moans, a triumphant, lust-filled smile on her face. "Staring at me like you wanted to eat me up." She lets out a shaky breath as you gently bite down on her nipple. "Turns out… you're a very good boy. You listen to your noona so well. Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."

Her command rings in your ears like a starting pistol. All pretense of gentleness evaporates. You're not just a stylist anymore; you're a man who has been given permission, a direct order, to worship.

You latch back onto her right nipple, but this time, it's different. There's a new hunger, a roughness she unlocked. You suck hard, clamping down with your lips, creating a powerful suction. Then, you pull back slightly, your lips still sealed around the peak, stretching the sensitive skin.

"Ah! Yes... yes, baby!" A sharp, high-pitched cry rips from her throat, and her hips jerk upwards on your lap. Her fingers, which were threaded in your hair, now grip your scalp with bruising force. "Like that... oh god, do it just like that."

Her reaction is pure fuel. You release her stretched nipple with a wet pop and immediately move to the other one, giving it the same brutal, adoring treatment. While your mouth is busy, your free hand cradles the breast you just abandoned. You squeeze it harder this time, kneading it like dough, feeling its weight and warmth in your palm.

"Mmmph... harder..." she moans into your hair, her voice thick and strained. "Squeeze it harder while you suck the other one... yes!"

You obey instantly, pushing her breast up, making the nipple even more prominent for your mouth. You suckle greedily, your tongue lashing the hard little bud until she's whimpering, a string of incoherent, breathy noises falling from her lips.

You move lower, leaving a wet trail of saliva down the pale globe of her breast. You nuzzle into the curve of her underboob, the place where her breast meets her ribcage. The skin there is soft. You kiss it, peppering the fold with open-mouthed kisses, then drag your tongue along the entire crease.

"Oh... oh my god... dongsaeng..." That gets a whole new reaction. A deep groan rumbles in her chest, and she arches her back so hard her ass lifts completely off your lap for a second before slamming back down onto your cock. "Right there. No one ever... Oh, that feels so good."

She's grinding on you now, not even trying to be subtle. It's a frantic rhythm, her wetness starting to seep through the denim of her shorts, creating a hot, damp friction against your own straining erection.

"You know exactly what your noona likes, don't you?" she pants, grabbing your head with both hands now, guiding you. "Back to my nipple. Suck it, baby. Suck it like you're starving."

You do as you're told, latching on again, your mouth a hot, wet vortex of pleasure. Her whole body is trembling, her moans becoming louder, wilder. She's completely lost in the sensation, her head thrown back, her mouth open as she gasps for air.

"Fuck... fuck... I'm so close," she cries out, her voice cracking. "Just from this... you're going to make me come just from your mouth, you good, good boy... oh, god..."

The last shred of your hesitation, your professionalism, is incinerated. She wants this. She's begging for it. You're not just some kid stylist anymore; you're the one she chose for this "private performance."

You become bolder. Your hand, which was squeezing her breast, slides down over the taut skin of her stomach. The muscles clench under your palm as you trace the V-line down to the unbuttoned waistband of her denim shorts.

You don't stop. You slide your fingers right past the rough denim zipper and into the shocking heat and dampness waiting just inside.

"O-oh..." she gasps, her tangling on your hair faltering as she feels your intrusion.

Your fingers meet a soft line of hair. It’s not a wild bush; it's a neatly trimmed strip, a perfect, manicured sign of her womanhood. It’s damp, and you trace its length, a silent act of reverence before your middle finger dips lower, finding the source of her wetness.

She's absolutely soaking. Her slit is slick and puffy, and with the slightest pressure, your finger slides right in. "Ahh! Oh dear,!" her hips bucking on your lap.

You don't stop your assault on her tits. You keep one hand cupping her left breast while your mouth latches onto the right, sucking hard, pulling her nipple with your lips in a rough rhythm.

At the same time, your thumb finds what it's looking for: her clit, a hard, sensitive pearl hidden beneath its hood. You start rubbing it in slow circles. The combination is too much for her. She's gone. Her brain has completely short-circuited.

"Oh god... oh god, what are you... fuck..." she moans, her voice a ragged mess.

She starts bouncing on your hand, a desperate movement. She's riding your fingers, trying to drive your thumb harder against her clit, trying to push your finger deeper inside her. Her hips slam down onto your lap, grinding her soaking crotch against your own rock-hard erection, the friction almost unbearable for both of you.

"Please... baby, please..." she begs, though she doesn't say for what. She doesn't have to.

You increase the pace, your thumb rubbing her clit faster, your finger pumping in and out of her slick heat while your mouth continues to abuse her nipple. The tension builds in her, her whole body coiling like a spring. Her moans turn into high, keening cries.

"I'm gonna... It's so good— FUCK!"

A scream is torn from her throat as her entire body seizes. She convulses, her inner muscles clamping down hard on your finger in wave after wave of pure pleasure.

A hot thick flood gushes over your hand, completely drenching her denim shorts from the inside out, the wetness spreading onto your own pants. She trembles, every muscle in her body locked tight, her head thrown back, a silent scream on her lips.

Then, just as suddenly, she goes completely limp, slumping against your chest like a puppet with its strings cut. She's dead weight in your lap, her breath coming in huge, shuddering gasps. You finally release her nipple.

Her tits are a beautiful wreck. They're flushed pink, and her nipples are swollen to twice their normal size, dark and puffy and glistening wetly with your spit. You lean in, your tongue flicking out to give one a gentle lick.

She flinches, a sharp gasp. "Ahh! Don't!" she cries, her voice raw. "They're too... too sensitive now..."

She looks down at her chest, then at your face, a dazed, blissed-out look in her eyes. Even in her post-orgasmic haze, a slow satisfied smile decorates her face. "See?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "Wow factor."

She stays limp against you for a long moment, her body a dead weight, her breathing slowly evening out. The "wow factor" has been thoroughly tested and confirmed. You're still hard as a rock beneath her, your own needs screaming for attention, but you just hold her, letting her recover.

Finally, she pushes herself up, sliding off your lap with a wet, squelching sound as her soaked shorts peel away from your pants. She lands on her knees on the carpet between your legs, not out of weakness, but with a newfound purpose.

Her eyes travel from your face down to the massive, straining bulge in your pants.

"Well, that was a good performance... for me." A wicked, predatory smirk returns to her face. "But a good audience deserves a reward, don't you think, baby?"

Before you can answer, she reaches for your belt buckle. Her fingers tremble slightly and somehow deft as she unhooks it and pulls it free. Then comes the button of your jeans, and the zipper, which she pulls down with a deliberate zzzzzzip that echoes in the quiet room.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and pulls, and your cock springs free, thick and throbbing and painfully hard. It's slick with your own precum, the head a glistening, angry purple.

Eunbi just stares at it for a second, her eyes wide with appreciation. "Wow," she draws breath. "You weren't kidding."

Then she looks down at her own chest. Her tits are still flushed and wet, the nipples raw and sensitive. She brings a hand up to her mouth and spits a generous amount of saliva into her palm. Without a shred of shame, she rubs it all over her breasts, coating them in a slick sheen, making them even more decadent.

"Gotta get them ready for you," she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

She takes your throbbing shaft in both hands, her grip firm, and guides it to the valley between her breasts. The moment your cock head touches her skin, you hiss through your teeth. It's an unbelievable sensation, the enveloping heat of her body, the shocking softness of her tits, the slick, wet glide of her spit.

She squeezes her breasts together, engulfing your cock, and begins to slide them slowly and sensually, up and down your length. "Mmm, feel that?" she whispers, her eyes sealed on yours. "How soft your noona is for you. How wet I am..."

With every downward slide, the head of your cock pushes up past the top of her cleavage, exposed and vulnerable. On the third stroke, as the glistening purple head emerges, she leans forward. Her dark hair curtains around you both as she takes the tip into her mouth.

"Oh shit," you groan, your hips bucking.

The tight slippery pressure of her tits squeezing your shaft, and the hot, wet suction of her mouth on the sensitive head. She doesn't deep throat you; it's a tease. She swirls her tongue around the corona, sucks gently on the very tip, licks away the bead of precum. Her tits become a wet sticky mess of spit and her own sweat, creating a unique friction that drives you absolutely insane.

You're losing it. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your cock, a tidal wave about to crash. Your hands grip the arms of the chair, your knuckles white. "Noona... I think... I'm going to..."

Just as you're about to explode, she stops. Everything stops. She pulls her mouth away with a soft pop and releases your cock from between her breasts. It stands there, ramrod straight, blazing with her saliva, twitching violently in the open air.

She looks up at you from her kneeling position, a single string of spit connecting her lip to the head of your cock. A triumphant, teasing smirk stretches on her lips.

"Whoa there, baby," her voice drips with condescending sweetness. "Not so fast. Did you really think I was going to let you cum that easily?" She reaches out and flicks the twitching head with her finger, making you jolt. "Noona decides when you're finished."

She doesn't touch it again for a moment, just watches it. Your dick, still shimmering with her spit, throbs, aching with a need so intense it's almost painful, the blood pounding in your ears.

"Look at you," her eyes flicking from your face to your straining erection. "So big, so hard... so desperate."

Eunbi leans forward, not to take it back into her mouth, but to press her soft spit-slicked tits to your cock. She rubs them up and down, slowly, the friction of her soft skin against your hard length driving you absolutely insane. It's not enough to bring you off, but it's just enough to keep you on the edge, teetering on the brink.

"Mmm, feels good, doesn't it?" she whispers, her voice a low hum against your skin. "My soft tits... all over your hard cock."

She pulls them away, just an inch, making you groan in protest. Your hips buck forward instinctively, trying to chase, but she holds you in place with a firm hand on your thigh.

"Nuh-uh," she chides, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're not in charge here, baby. Noona is."

She then uses her hands, not to stroke you, but to cup your balls, gently squeezing them; a deep, aching pressure that makes your dick twitch even harder. She watches your reaction, her smile widening as you pant, eyes squeezed shut.

"So sensitive, aren't you?" Her fingers trace the delicate skin of your scrotum. "All that cum just waiting to burst out."

She leans in again, her breath warm on your cock, but instead of her mouth, it's her cheek that brushes the tip. She rubs her face on your shaft, her soft skin from her jaw creating a maddening, light friction. The heat radiates from her, the scent of her arousal filling your nostrils.

"Please, noona," you beg, your voice raw. "Please... I can't take it."

She pulls back, her eyes meeting yours, full of playful malice. "Oh, you can take it, baby. You're a good boy, and good boys learn patience."

She then takes your swollen cockhead between her thumb and forefinger, not squeezing, but holding it, teasingly. She drags her fingernail, ever so lightly, across the sensitive tip, making you gasp and arch your back.

"See?" she purrs. "So much more fun this way, isn't it? Knowing it's all right here and you can't have it until noona says so."

She brings her face close to your cock, her lips just inches away, and blows a soft, cool breath over the tip. The sudden change in temperature makes your entire body jolt, and your cock jumps, a thick drop of precum oozing from the head.

"Almost," she whispers, her eyes locked on the bead of fluid. "But not quite." She licks her lips, her gaze fixed on your throbbing cock. "You're going to have to work for it. You're going to have to beg."

She leans in closer, her breath tickles the head of your cock. That thick bead of cum is like a magnet for her. "Look at this mess you've made.” Without breaking eye contact, she extends her tongue, a swipe that starts at the base of the underside and drags up to the tip, lapping up the sticky fluid like it's the sweetest treat she's ever tasted.

The sensation makes your entire body lock up tight. Every joint freezes; your knees, your elbows, even your fingers dig into the chair's fabric as if you're about to shatter into a million pieces. You're right on the edge, teetering so precariously that it feels like you're about to combust on the spot, your balls aching with the pressure, your cock throbbing.

Eunbi doesn't stop there. She flicks the tip of her tongue along your slit, that tiny sensitive opening of your cock, teasing it with light, rapid licks that feel like tiny sparks of fire. Then she sucks on it, her lips forming a tight, wet seal around just the very end, drawing it into her mouth with a gentle but insistent pull.

It's not a full blowjob; it's targeted, precise torture. Her tongue swirls around the slit, probing it, tasting every drop of your leaked cum as if she's savouring it.

"Fuck... noona..." Your voice cracks, your hips jerking. The world narrows to just that spot—her mouth on you, the heat of her tongue, the way her lips are soft and unyielding at the same time.

Your cock twitches wildly in her mouth, leaking even more cum, and you're sure you're about to explode, but somehow, you don't. It's like she's got you under a spell, dangling you right over the abyss without letting you fall.

She pulls back enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head of your cock, leaving a trail of her own saliva mixed with your fluids. "Stay hard for noona, baby." Her eyes lock onto yours with that dominant glint.

"That's it. Just like this. Hold it in, okay? Because only then will you get to cum somewhere nice." Her words are a command wrapped in velvet, and they hit you like a whip, making your balls tighten even more, your shaft pulsing with denied release.

Eunbi steps back, breaking the contact completely for the first time. Your cock bobs in the air, wet and angry, twitching so hard it almost hurts. She turns her back to you, giving you a full view of her flawless form. With a sway of her hips, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her denim shorts - soaked from her earlier orgasm - and starts to slide them down.

She bends forward as she does it, her ass pushing out in a perfect heart-shaped and firm curve, her legs slightly apart. The fabric peels away from her skin, revealing the smooth, bare cheeks of her ass and the sticky folds of her pussy, wet and puffy from her climax.

She's putting on a show, every movement is calculated to torture your cock, leaving you there, rock-hard and desperate, wondering what she's going to do next.

Eunbi doesn't turn around to face you. Instead, she stands right between your spread legs, her back arched, ass inches away from your cock. She reaches behind her with one hand, her fingers wrapping around your shaft. The touch is firm, possessive, like she's claiming what's hers.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body tensed as she lines it up with her entrance.

Then, she pushes her ass back, guiding the head of your cock to the wet heat of her pussy. The first contact—the soft, swollen folds parting as she presses your cockhead to her opening.

With a roll of her hips, she slips it inside, and the sensation is fucking mind-blowing. She's tight and wetter than anything you've ever felt. Her walls clamp down hard, a slow pulse that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

"Oh God, baby," she groans, "It's damn big… Nngh!”

And she drops. Not slowly, not gently; she drops her entire weight down onto your cock, impaling herself in one rough motion. Your hips slam up to meet hers, and you're buried balls-deep inside her. The air gets punched out of your lungs in a guttural groan, and she lets out a scream that's pure ecstasy, it echoes off the walls.

"Ah! Yes! Right there!" she cries out, her head thrown back, her hands gripping your thighs for leverage.

She starts riding you, hard and fast, reverse cowgirl style. Her ass bounces up and down, slamming onto your lap with every thrust. The sound is wet, slapping skin-on-skin, mixed with her screams and your own ragged breathing. Her juices easily gush out, coating your cock and balls, making everything slick and sticky.

"Compliment me!" she screams, her voice cracking with pleasure. "Tell me how good I feel! Worship this body! Tell your noona how perfect she is!"

You're losing your mind. Every time she drops down, your cock hits so deep it feels like it's gonna split her in half. You strain so hard, every muscle in your body locked tight, trying not to explode after just a few thrusts.

"Noona! You're so— Ugh!!" you manage to gasp out, your hands flying to her hips. Your fingers dig into her soft flesh, gripping her hard. "Your pussy... It's so good! You're beautiful!"

She slams down harder, grinding her hips in circles. "More! Tell me more!" she demands, her moans turning into desperate whimpers. "Tell me how much you love this ass! Tell me how you never wanna leave this pussy!"

You pull her toward you with every bounce, using your grip on her hips to slam her down even harder onto your cock. "I love your ass, noona!" you groan, your voice strained. "I never wanna leave your pussy! It's the best I've ever had!"

She screams again, her whole body trembling as she rides you, her pussy clenching. "Yes! That's it, good boy! Keep talking! Keep fucking me!" And you do, your hands gripping her hips, pulling her down onto your cock over and over, straining with everything you've got to hold back the flood that's threatening to erupt.

Eunbi’s back is a masterpiece of glistening skin, her shoulder blades flex and shift with every bounce, her muscles rippling under that smooth, milky flesh. A thin sheen of sweat trickles down her spine, disappearing into the small of her back, and you’re hypnotised by it.

You can’t risk embarrassing yourself by blowing your load too soon, so you force yourself to control your breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—trying to calm down even as her pussy grips your cock like an oiled rubber.

You spread your legs wider, planting your feet firmly on the floor. The change in angle lets you drive up into her even deeper, and the response is immediate. Eunbi lets out a choked gasp, her back arching even more. "Oh, my god! fuck!" Every time she bounces up, you can see it - a thick, creamy white ring of her fluids forming around the base of your cock.

It’s so dirty, so goddamn hot, proof of how turned on she is, how much she’s dripping all over your cock.

You wish you could see her tits bouncing wildly, but you don’t mind one bit when she leans back, giving you access to her back. You press your lips to her damp skin, kissing her shoulders, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her spine. She tastes like salt and sex, and it makes your cock throb even harder inside her.

As for her tits, you don’t need to see them, you merely reach around, sliding your hands up her sweaty torso until you’ve got a handful of each heavy, soft mound.

You grab them from behind, kneading and pulling them like dough, squeezing until your fingers sink into her skin. Her nipples are hard as rocks against your palms, and you pinch them, rolling them between your fingers. Eunbi moans loudly, her head falling forward, her hair sticking to her neck.

Eunbi feels your movements, the way you’re gripping her tits, the way you’re grinding up into her. She glances back over her shoulder, her eyes hazy with lust. "Doing better now, dongsaenh?" she asks, "Getting the full experience?"

"Ugh, of course," you groan, your hands still working her tits. "Gotta enjoy this pussy as much as I can, noona. It’s too good to rush."

She smirks, then suddenly stops bouncing. Her hips still for a second, and you almost cry out from the loss of that frantic rhythm. But then she starts moving again—only this time, it’s not up and down. She shifts her hips back and forth, grinding onto your cock.

Your dick massages her inner walls, sliding deep, pressing against every sensitive spot inside her. The sensation is different—deeper, more intense, a slow-building pressure that makes your toes curl.

"Oh, shit," she whimpers, her hands gripping your thighs again. "Why is it so good... fuck, you’re so deep..." Her movements become more urgent, her hips rolling faster, and her pussy spasming, pulling your cock in, milking your cock for all it’s worth.

Your hands don't stop moving; one stays firmly wrapped around her heavy tits, but the other slips down her sweaty side, tracing the turn of her waist. Your palm presses hard against her full, soft tummy, feeling it rise and fall with every breath she takes.

You can tell—hell, you know—you're about to lose it. The pressure in your balls is unbearable, and your cock is pulsing inside her like a jackhammer but you're not cumming yet. No way. Not without making sure she gets her absolute pleasure.

Your fingers slide lower, finding the swollen bundle of nerves right where her pussy lips part at the front. You press down on her clit, hard and steady, rubbing in small, tight circles. Eunbi's whole body stiffens instantly.

"Ahhh— I can't stop cumming!" she gasps, her voice breaking as her hips jerk wildly. She sits down tighter on your cock, the muscles of her pussy choking the entirety of your cock. Her legs curl up, trembling and shuddering uncontrollably, her toes curling as she rides out the wave of her orgasm. Her moans are ragged, broken little sounds that fill the room.

She collapses back onto your chest, her sweaty back pressed against you. Her spread legs lift off the floor, trembling, as her pussy spasms around your cock. Then, suddenly, she squirts warm, wet spurts shooting out around your shaft, pushing you out just a little.

You groan deep in your throat, feeling the wetness soak your cock, your balls tightening like steel traps. She shivers against you, panting hard, the back of her head buried in your neck.

"Didn't expect you to be like that, baby," she whispers, voice trembling.

You press your forehead to her ear, breathing heavy but steady. "Gotta make you cum one last time before I lose it," you murmur. "You’re so damn perfect, Eunbi-noona."

She lifts her head, eyes glazed. "Then don’t keep me waiting, dongsaeng," she teases breathlessly, "Fill your noona’s pussy with all of your cum."

You feel it; the edge crashing down fast, no holding back now. Gritting your teeth, you thrust your hips up hard, lifting Eunbi higher on your cock. The sudden movement drives you deeper inside her tight pussy, every nerve screaming in overstimulation.

Sliding your head under Eunbi’s arm, you catch one of her nipples from the side with your mouth. You suck it hard, tongue pressing over the hardened bud, tasting the salty sweat. She gasps, arching her back, pushing more of that soft, heavy tit into your mouth. Her hand finds its way to the top of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as she rubs soothing circles.

You throw one last thrust into her dripping cunt and lose it—your cock pulsing violently as you blast your hot cum deep inside her. Thick ropes of seed flood her, filling her womb with a burning heat. Eunbi hums low and content, her breath hitching in little gasps as she rides out the wave with you.

She moans, her voice slightly rough. “I feel you… all in me. You pump me up so much with good stuff.”

She grinds down, squeezing tight, and the wet heat of your cum begins to flow back out, slick and sticky between two bodies. Her hips roll slowly, fucking you back with that delicious, lazy motion, making your cock twitch inside her one last time.

You finally lean back, pulling her close, skin hot against skin. Your hands roam down to her tummy, massaging slow, firm circles over that soft, round belly you're stuffing full of your cum. Eunbi sighs, pressing her cheek against your chest.

“Damn, dongsaeng,” she purrs, breath still heavy. “You’re one hell of a fucking lover. Can’t wait to have you inside me again.”

You grin, heart pounding, as you hold her close, feeling every last pulse of your release settle deep inside her.

You blink, finally letting Eunbi’s words sink in. The way she said it, all casual and teasing, hits you. Lover? Like, her lover? You stammer, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably. “Wait... what do you mean by lover?”

She giggles, that naughty little sound that makes your heart thump in your chest. Then she wiggles her eyebrows at you, all sly and playful. “Why not, baby? Doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”

You’re still dumbfounded, mouth hanging open, when she throws another curveball, “Hey, would you wanna go eat out with me later? Like, dinner or something.”

You’re about to say something when she smirks like she’s got a secret. “And if we’re lucky, maybe some media folks will catch us together... could stir up a scandal or two.”

Your brain short-circuits just thinking about it and before you can process, Eunbi springs up, sliding off your cock with a smooth motion. You flinch, the sudden emptiness making your cock twitch in protest.

She laughs, planting a knee right on your thigh, her tits swinging just in front of your face. She stares at your semi-hard, messy cock, slick with your own cum and her juices. Then her eyes lock with yours, chuckling.

“Relax, dongsaeng,” she says with a grin. “I’m just messing with you. Go rest up a bit while I clean up in the bathroom. Then we’ll get back to talking about those Waterbomb outfits, okay?”

You nod dumbly, still reeling, as she saunters off, leaving you to catch your breath and try to make sense of everything that just happened.

[lazylevxd]

Kinknuary Day 14: Hate Sex

Pairing: IVE Gaeul x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,294

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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Acquaintances, not even a dent but it’ll be hard to deal with but when you’re close with someone, you’re damn sure it won’t be ephemeral and will hold a grudge against you and that’s the last thing you want to see with someone you’re deeply close with.

Yet you eat your words and face that greatest fear of yours, on the verge of breaking apart and cutting connections yet you won’t let that happen even though everything’s falling apart, slowly…

“Gaeul—let me explain—”

“I fucking heard enough—get out of my place or I’ll do it myself!!” Gaeul’s grits her teeth as her words are laced with venom, aiming to faze you out yet it didn’t bother you to fight and to try and enlighten her with the right reasons and brush off the infuriating side that she involved herself into.

“Gaeul, please—it wasn’t much of a thing—we weren’t even close enough and it’s just a friendly approach—” 

“Yeah I know, dumbass—it’s just a friendly approach but it’s not that what makes me furious…” Gaeul clicks her tongue, faces you as she drops her bag onto the floor, giving you a cold stare that sends shivers down your spine and then inching closer towards you with her intimidating glare still painted on her face. “It’s the fact that you kept ignoring me all the time until t-this moment—why?”

You can see Gaeul getting melancholic as the emotions inside her are finally rising up within her veins, making her shed a tear because of all of the grudgeful events that have been happening until this day.

You weren’t ignoring her completely and you never did—it was just her sensitive and manipulative personality that you made yourself to distance away from her but not completely and it’s also the fact that you’ve been showing an interest to a girl that you’ve been captivated right from the start you met her and wanted a better connection but of course, Gaeul will make a hindrance because of her intense anger and jealousy over you. You love Gaeul, but in a way that’s maybe unorthodox and platonic for others but you didn’t care—you love her and you love the relationship you have with her for years, even though it’s not going over the limit but sometimes, she’s just being over the limit and you’re not liking it.

“Gaeul—just please, it’s not about that fact—”

“Then what?” Gaeul inches closer towards you, her eyes are now gleaming with her own tears due to the weightful emotions she’s experiencing, as it streaks down her cheeks and makes her makeup start to become a ruined mess. 

Your heart drops with her current gloomy state as you can feel the sincere sorrow in each of her words. In each word she expresses, it makes up for the poignant feelings she felt because of you and it’s breaking you slowly. You never wanted her to be like this, but here you are, locked with frustration and regret and there’s nowhere you can do to escape—technically, you can but you don’t want it to provoke her further and let this be the day to end your friendship with her.

You’d be with her until the end of time and you’ll let her know that yet this will be a challenge and you’re willing to endure and take it over.

“It’s about the fact of—” Silence ensues as she interrupts your further attempts of explanations as she latches her lips onto yours immediately and instantly, you became intoxicated with her scent that you fell under her spell, further reciprocating the kiss as she grips onto your collar tightly to further deepen the torrid kiss that she initiated. As much as you want to pull out and talk about the situation better, you can’t help but further need the taste of her luscious lips as your hands roamed around her back and played with her hair which tightens her grip onto your collar even more. Not so long after, the kiss came up to a close as she pushed you harshly and then glaring at you, starting daggers towards your heart.

“You know how much I hate you whenever you kiss me, right?”

“It w-wasn’t even—”

Gaeul chides you as she can sense the uneasiness in your eyes, and she took that as an opportunity to let you feel her wrath. Now pinned against the wall and frozen on the spot, Gaeul half-squinted her eyes as her voice tends to curse you and its tone is evidently made to faze you and all you can see is her small figure falling down on her knees, and gripping harshly onto the hem of your pants.

“Gaeul, c-can we just talk about this—”

“Shut the fuck up and just lean down on the wall.” Gaeul’s hands finds its way onto the buttons of your pants as she starts undressing your lower half and with that in mind, you know what Gaeul wants and further retaliation will just not work but rather put gasoline into the flames of anger. You just let her get what she wants as you will also derive pleasure from it but you know Gaeul’s going to put your life in misery within this given moment as you momentarily prepare for this.

“You know that I’ve been so fucking stressed lately and then you, added to that shit I’m going through—well, don’t worry, I’m going to use this delicious dick just for myself.”

Well, if this is how she’ll handle the situation, then so be it. With your defenses slowly becoming useless and deemed to be out of bounds, you take shallow breaths in order to prepare on what you’re about to tackle and ruthlessly, Gaeul yanks off your boxers out as she’s met with your erect length, constantly throbbing since the time she probably kissed you intimately. Unlike what you’ve fantasized or experienced with her, she eyes your cock like some sort of meal, not like something she’s been wanting for a long time as she spat all over your length, and stroked it starting from the base up to your engorged tip.

“Don’t call my name or touch me, because if you do, I’m going to really punch you, I swear to fucking god.”

She can’t be bothered with anymore foreplay as the hunger inside her took over and planted small kisses within your tip, and then sucking half of your length with already a ridiculous pace that inevitably lets out a series of ethereal moans coming out of your mouth, voicing your satisfaction. It’s obvious how deprived she is with your taste as the constant slurps on your shaft and her greedy pace of bobbing is a strong evidence, concluding to a fact she definitely wanted you yet anger and jealousy took over her that she became a different person.

Now, taking your whole length is each bob she does, more broken moans escape your lips as it forms symphonies for Gaeul to hear yet she doesn't care—all she wants is the taste of your cock and to fulfill her own needs. She didn’t mind the gags she does whenever your head hits the back of her throat as she continues to suck every inch of you like she’s been starving for weeks and with her current pace, you can’t help but writhe as you hands unable to find a leverage to fight the sudden peak of pleasure. You can’t help yourself and Gaeul know you can’t handle her properly, as she increases the quality of her oral expertise all over the length of your shaft and the inevitable comes, your hands finds its way onto Gaeul’s dark locks in which, she didn’t like and immediately, she pulled out of your length as the multiple connections of her saliva onto your shaft makes up the mess that made your arousal skyrocket.

Gaeul’s furious at what you’ve done and won’t let you get away from it as she snarls at you, her anger streaming over her like a hot kettle. “What the fuck did I just say? Are you that fucking stubborn??” 

Of course, the question is rhetorical and all you know is that you’ve fucked up with the wrong person. With Gaeul’s ice-cold glare towards you, it wasn’t going to long for a punishment to be ensued as her dainty fingers found its wall on your sensitive balls, and cups it gently. It was a rush of pleasure whenever she does that yet it was quickly changed when she wrapped her fingers around it, making it a makeshift cockring that definitely puts more salt onto the wounds—it’s a little painful yet it stimulates you even further as she continues her oral masterclass, slobbering all over your succulent shaft like there’s no tomorrow to see.

She maintains the ridiculous pace onto your whole length as her soft, warm cavern which is her mouth makes up for the constant pain she’s doing onto your sensitive balls, further unlocking your masochistic side. She shows no mercy and sympathy as she uses her mouth to further derive her wants as she can’t get enough and resist the taste of your length yet even with all of the great things that have been happening, it will all soon come to a halt as she pulls out and catches her breath desperately.

“God—you're glad your cock tastes fucking delicious and I can’t resist this—shit, be grateful because this could’ve ended worse.”

You’d want to argue with her on that scope, but you'd rather not, not when her rage is boiling hot and she wants not yet attended to its fullest. Further continuing her great expertise, she delivers such an incredible pace as her other hand grips onto your thighs for a leverage on a better job and sucking you off. Every thrust she does is genuinely making you brain being fried down into shambles and when forced herself onto deepthroating you, she crossed the line as you can’t help but cry on how great her throat feels, yourself getting weaker with her own spell. It didn’t take long before she ejected out due to her multiple gag reflexes and god, once you look down, you can’t help but feel more aroused with the sight of face sullied with her own makeup, saliva and her disheveled hair.

“I’m g-going to suck this dick until you cum deep down my throat, do you understand?” You nod eagerly as she smirks as strokes your saliva-sheathed length and mutters more commands, “Don’t you dare hold back and be a good boy for me.”

You won’t let her down and will deliver up to her finest desires as she latches her lips onto your engorged head, collecting the copious precum that has been leaking out and then eagerly shoved down your whole length for the umpteenth time in her throat and ensued with a rapid pace. It was breaknecking as the copious drool stained her hands still gripping onto your balls, onto your thighs and some dripping on the floor and it’s just a great element to further ignite the essence of an incredible oral session. She can sense how close you are due to you needy moans and the constant throbbing of your shaft and with profound knowledge, she further doubles her efforts as she needs to taste every drop of your succulent, creamy semen that she’s been addicted to and there’s no way you’re going to last long. Given the fact that she’s been giving you the euphoric experience you’ve had for an undeniably long time now, you’re not able to savor the moments you’d want to as you can feel your loins acting up and hell’s about to break loose for you.

“Gaeul—I’m g-gonna cum…”

Gaeul took this as an opportunity to show how she’s more deserving than anyone and how you could never find someone like her. She didn’t even bother responding by words, but rather, her own, frantic actions as she plunged her throat deep down as she gags and you finally, let out the pinnacle of paramount bliss—shooting streak of thick, creamy semen down her throat as she gags in every spurt, but fight through it because she wants to take it all and not waste a single drop. She successfully did it, given on how great she takes your cock and suddenly, your seed instantly disappeared and is now treasure down to her stomach as she hummed in satisfaction because of your delectable load.

“Can’t get enough of this cum of yours—fuck, it’s so delicious.” Gaeul shares her satisfaction with the flavorful taste of your semen as she averts her eyes towards you, still with a cold glare as she stands up and lets you know about something you’ll never forget. “I guess she can’t do it like I do, hm? Like I said, you’re not gonna find another one like me.” Gaeul, still fueled with her rage, stands up and commands you to lay down on the couch in which you find it puzzling as you’re genuinely confused on why she’s acting like this.

“Gaeul—please, can w-we just talk about this?” Your pleas doesn't let Gaeul distract herself onto her desired prize as she’s still not done with you and would rather hear your moans than your annoying voice pleading for something better.

“Maybe we’ll fucking talk if you dumped another load, now inside my cunt.” Gaeul retorts as she pushes you off the couch and you land with a thud, her not minding if you were alright or hurt because she’s feeling selfish due to her anger blinding her and her animalistic desires that unleashes the devilish side of her. With still your length being full-erect despite your already-impeding orgasmic trance, Gaeul eyes on it as she pounces on your lap like a bunny, hopping onto its favorite meal: your length, still wet with own saliva as she strokes it furiously in order to maintain the libido inside you. 

“Ga—Gaeul, I c-can’t take it anymore—I’m too sensitive!”

Well, she completely ignored your pleas and with that, she completely uses this as her own advantage as she toys with you, further pumping your throbbing length with feverish strokes in which you respond with whimpers due to your sensitivity.

“I don’t care—don’t tell me you don’t want this, asshole! Bet she can’t make you whimper like I do, hm?”

As much as you want to retaliate and stop this madness, you can’t help but feel utter pleasure and pain whenever she strokes your entire length as her touch is your kryptonite, and it will always be that way. Having enough of giving your shaft such pleasurable strokes, she strips her clothing one by one while still pouncing on your lap and with the sight of Gaeul’s slender body on display, your shaft can’t help but twitch because of how hot she is. Given her graceful and quick movements, she removed all of her clothes in quick succession yet she needed to hop off on your lap to strip her lower half and after removing it all, she quickly pounced and teases her lower lips onto your tip. The both of you moaned in unison because of such a great feeling coursing down your veins with your bodies clashing against each other yet Gaeul is growing impatient, opting for the climactic prize as she eagerly plunges herself onto your entire length. 

After she impales herself with your raging rod, such sultry and sexy moans escape her lips as she misses the feeling of your dick inside her tight, velvety walls. She ensued a moderate pace as she greedily grinds her hips onto your length, withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming her hips back, filling her up to the hilt which made her moaned incredibly loud and you, groaning your satisfaction out as your sensitivity slowly dissipates as time goes by and with her rapid thrusts on your shaft. 

You know how incredible it feels everytime Gaeul rides you as she always brings her best, hopping and clashing her hips in contact with your body harshly as she brings the peak pleasure that you’ve always loved. Even though you know how she’s becoming selfish and using your body just for her own gratification and her needs to be fulfilled, you can’t still help but notice how she’s reconsidering your own pleasure as her movements laced with finesse and the peak-quality of her thrusts against you is a strong evidence.

“Yeah—see? You can’t think about her right now, don’t you? Yeah—because you can’t help but get so fucking turned on with my pussy, hah—that’s why, you prick!”

Gaeul growls at you as she uses your shirt as the leverage to further ensure a breakneck pace and to further fight the intense pleasure that’s been coursing down her veins since the start she rode you. You could feel her wetness in every thrust she does on your shaft as rivulets of her own nectar overflow around your shaft and stain the couch—and here comes another event where the both of you will literally stain and destroy another couch because of both your filthiness. The wet squelching of her shaft sends your brain into a stimulation that further makes everything better yet it’s becoming way too pleasurable that you’re starting to have your mind clouded with only the gripping walls of pussy that puts you into a hypnotic trance.

“Gaeul—p-please, if w-we can just talk—”

A smack resonates around the room as she slapped your face with anger still boiling within her as you feel a sting yet it didn’t really hurt you because she didn’t bring much power onto that smack. As how your previous attempts of persuading her onto talking to you in a better way possible concluding onto a major fail as everything was deemed useless against her, you’d just keep your mouth shut and relive and cherish the pleasure that she’s been delivering as you totally succumb onto your own needs too, groaning in pleasure and moaning to voice out how good she’s riding you even though she doesn't acknowledge your sincere compliments towards her—even with her holding a deep grudge, you know that deep inside, she’s deeply flustered because she knows how your compliments literally fuel her do more and makes it more endearing.

The sight of Gaeul’s cunt constantly engulfing your entire length as she creams all over it, her perky mounds jiggling in every time she gyrates her hips and her expressions and moans that contains pure lust and wants—even though she’s suppressing the sounds that’s coming out of her mouth and trying her absolute best to make up a stern and intimidating look, she can’t help but let her true self out as the pleasure is making her give in to her true feelings and putting her hypocritical demeanor into its demise—is so arousing that you’d literally want to take a picture or a video just to save it and possibly even jerk off to it on your free time but of course, you’d probably just conceal everything and let both of your eyes only be the ones to see this filthy masterpiece.

With her given pace, Gaeul can’t help but just lure in to her own carnal desires as she’s coming near to her own promised land, drawing herself closer onto her rewarding trance as the constant pulsations of her pussy and her juices spilling out of it as the evidence of her nearing high. Knowing about this, you thrust yourself upwards as surprisingly, she didn’t bother to stop you but even encouraged you to do so and with her final oscillations, she’s going over to the line and all will break loose.

“God—I’m going to fucking cum all over this stupid cock—shit, it f-feels so—ahh—good—gonna cum!!”

It just took a single scream from Gaeul as she creams all over your throbbing shaft, her juices spilling out and making everything on its vicinity wet and it’s further worsen when she pulled out of your length, spraying her liquid nectar all over your abdomen, your shaft and on the sofa. She falls limp on the sofa as she catches her breath, regaining herself some energy from the enervating orgasm that sends shockwaves throughout her body as euphoria takes over her. Still having some of her energy left, she chides towards you to do something as she complains on how your cock can always make her cum hard.

“Gosh—glad I can only feel this cock ‘cause—fuck, this cock makes me cum so fucking hard I fucking love it… Now will you fuck me? Be sure to finish in me ‘cause I want that load deep inside my cunt.”

Her sinful words makes up for the sudden loss of tempo as you stood up from the couch and without any question, Gaeul positions herself where her freshly-fucked cunt is all on display, all for you to take with no-return and to end what she started a while ago. Your hands then grabbed her hips as her flexibility was tested, her legs now rested onto your shoulders as you immediately plunged your length back into her wet folds and then mustered a ridiculous pace in which she always loved. There was no more foreplay as it was out of the equation as both your needs should be attended as soon as possible yet Gaeul isn’t a fan of what your hips are capable of doing.

“Come on—fuck me harder, come o-on—oh fuck!”

Gripping her hips harshly enough for a bruise to form, you ensued more power in each of your thrusts as she moaned in need with your utter harshness, treating her body like a ragdoll as every plummet your hips do meant to break her in half and turn herself into a mess, uttering such lifeless syllables full of lust and greed. Even with your breakneck pace, Gaeul can’t seem to be impressed with the way you’re treating her as she complains again, fury taking over her and making her boil.

“I s-said—fuck m-me harder—oh shit, just like-fucking-that you stupid asshole!!”

You then fuck her with a pace imaginable, your hips mustering up a velocity that no one can comprehend as you let your pent-up anger inside fuel the rapid thrusts that’s bound to break her apart and possibly, to fuck out the anger she’s feeling and to succumb onto her wanton needs. 

It may seem impossible on this given moment but being derived to fulfill each other’s needs is the best way to end this even though her rage for you is still deep within her—you just hope you can fix this in a better way possible but for now, you’ll just dig yourself closer to the rabbit hole, a hole closer to your own lustful desires and to succumb onto it,

There’s no way Gaeul can’t tell how closer you are on reaching your own, long-awaited high as you gave her cunt the last, ruthless thrusts that made her cry due to the intense gratification she’s feeling as she close her eyes and lets her senses gave her the better stimulation than ever before. Without holding back, you announce your near orgasm to Gaeul and she took this as an opportunity to fulfill her needs as she sexily moans for you for further encouragement and it’s not going to be long before you reward both yourselves.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum inside y-you, Gaeul—shit, g-gonna cum!!”

Now with her legs repositioning to hug your waist and to further lock your whole length to be buried deep inside her, you groan with the tightness her walls are making as you bury your shaft more, filling her up to hilt and shooting down multiple spurts of your treasured seed right onto her womb. Your thighs quiver when you deliver her your semen as at her end, she became enervated due to the exhaustive session of sex and the mind-boggling stimulation that made her brain go haywire. You kept buried in her until your orgasm impeded, and then, you pulled out to admire the mess you’ve made between her legs and as expected, the both of you fell limp onto the couch. With enough courage, you asked her something and anticipated a better approach yet you’re still met with something else you didn’t like.

“Now, can we talk?”

Gaeul rolls her eyes as frustration is still embedded within her, but you can see it being lifted by a little due to the faint smile she did after receiving a warm load deep in her cunt. “I’ll go and clean up first.”

Having a little faith, you let her do what she wanted to do as she stood up and a visible struggle was evident when her legs became a little wobbly due to the intensity of your pace and hers earlier. You ensued on helping but she brushed it off and said that she’s fine and she can help herself up.

But there’s maybe a single thing that Gaeul can’t withstand nor do against it as it’s inevitable for her to resist and put a sleep onto…

“Hey…” Gaeul stopped as she called you, and you were fazed by it but you brushed it off as responded to her.

“What, Gaeul?”

Gaeul sighs as her stern glare still shoots daggers at you, but her tone is now softer than what it was before, “Come and join me in the shower, then we’ll talk right after.”

Yes, her weakness is literally you as you’re insatiable for her. Guess what? There’s maybe another chance to clot what has been wounded and fix what has been broken but you could never be so sure but that? That’s a sign of mending and that alone gives you hope for the better…

[lazylevxd]

At last, we are

Yunjin x Reader | Fluff | 9k words

Synopsis: You meet Yunjin busking on the streets, before her idol career, and become her supporter.

Written for @usedpidemo's prompt: 'Where did the time go?'

The university classes had just ended, and you found yourself once again at the station near your university campus, waiting.

The train arrived with its familiar metallic and the doors slid open. People spilled out like marbles dropped from a jar. You stepped in, slower than the rest, and by the time you looked around, all the seats were gone. You held the pole, indifferent now to the way the carriage swayed. 

A man in a business suit sat with his head tilted against the window. His face had the pallor of someone who had long since forgotten how to sleep. You saw others who resembled him: students with weary eyes buried under makeup, men and women all doing quiet impressions of functioning people. You recognized that look. You’d worn it yourself.

When the train reached your station, the doors groaned open again. You waited for the tide to pass before stepping off. The underground hall looked the same as always: gray, square, sterile. But there had been something odd about the light. A little too clear, maybe. A little too still.

Then you heard it, a faint melody, suspended in the air. Someone was playing a guitar.

You followed the sound almost instinctively, passing under flickering fluorescent lights and scuffed tile walls. At the bottom of the stairs, you found her. A busker.

She was slouched against the station wall, cap pulled low, guitar balanced in her lap. She was singing. Her voice wasn’t loud or showy. It didn’t call attention to itself. There was something intimate about it.

You stopped and listened. You didn’t know the song at first. It stirred something, though—some faint recollection you couldn’t quite place. When it ended, you reached into your pocket and pulled out two five-thousand-won notes, folded and soft at the edges. You placed them gently into the open guitar case. There weren’t many others there. She looked up, surprised, and met your gaze.

“Thanks,” she said. Her voice in conversation was the same as in song: subtle, fragile.

You nodded. “Mind if I sit for a bit?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

So you slid down the opposite wall, sat with your back to the cold brick. She played another song. This one had a trace of brightness to it. You watched her fingers move across the strings. The guitar was old, but it sounded clear. You stayed through the whole song. A few commuters passed between you, but no one else stopped.

Afterward, she asked, “What brings you here?”

“Just passing through,” you said. “Thought I’d stop. Your voice—it's… nice. Familiar.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling faintly.

“What was the first song you played?” you asked.

She thought for a moment. “Dayfly, by Dean.”

“That’s it,” you said. “I recognized it, but couldn’t name it.”

“It’s a good one. Not trendy anymore, though.”

“And Dean’s gone.”

She laughed, her shoulders rising slightly. “He’ll be back. Artists like him can’t stop creating. They might disappear, but they’re always writing in the background. They don’t really quit.”

“Maybe,” you said. “Maybe you’re right.”

She started playing again. The next song was War, by Colde. But you didn’t remember.

“I’m terrible with names,” you admitted. “But I always know the tune.”

“Happens to a lot of people.”

A pause followed, long but not uncomfortable. You sat in the quiet. She tuned her guitar slowly, fingers adjusting pegs without looking. You didn’t feel the need to say more.

Eventually, you stood.

“Thanks for the music,” you said.

“Thanks for listening,” she replied.

You nodded. “How long will you stay out here?”

“Another hour or so.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’s shorter when I’m singing.”

You left with a small wave, and she answered it with a tilt of her head.

The next morning, the alarm had gone off again—sharp, shrill, and too soon. The beep felt like a nail driven into your temple. You woke up in your studio apartment, every bone in your back aching. You sat up slowly. You skipped breakfast, like always. Food was expensive. Hunger was manageable.

The train ride back to campus passed in a kind of blur. You recognized the faces. You didn’t remember their names. The classes were predictable. You took notes. You didn’t absorb much.

In the evening, you headed to work. A fast-food restaurant. You flipped patties in the back kitchen. It smelled like oil and boredom. You didn’t hate it. You didn’t love it either. Most of your coworkers never lasted long. The ones who dealt with customers left first.

But that evening, your boss let you go early.

“Not many people today,” he said. “You look like you need some rest.”

You nodded. That was all there was to say.

On your way home, you passed through the station again. And once more, you heard it—her voice.

You found her exactly as before. She wore a hoodie this time. The guitar case was still mostly empty. Her head was bowed again. 

You leaned against the same wall. You didn’t say anything, not until her fourth song ended and she looked up and saw you. She seemed surprised.

“You again,” she said. “How long were you standing there?”

“Since Spring Day,” you replied.

“That was four songs ago.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look up much.”

“I try not to,” she said. “It gets kind of discouraging, seeing no one there. So I stare at the floor and sing.”

Her voice trailed off at the end. You didn’t look directly at her. She didn’t look directly at you. 

“You look like a student,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Five stops from here.”

She nodded. “I figured.”

“What about you?”

She hesitated. Bit her lip, gently peeled the edge of dead skin. “No… I’m working.”

The way she said it, you didn’t ask for more. She kept looking down. You kept looking down, too. The floor was speckled with old gum and cracks.  

“I see you have a ukulele too,” you said, trying to forget the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah, I do.”

“Could you play something with it?”

“Sure,” she said and picked up the tiny wooden instrument. She scratched her head a couple of times and started to sing straight away. This time, you recognized the song: Double Take.

After that day, you started seeing her more often.

It wasn’t exactly intentional. You didn’t plan your days around her. But there she was, always in that same spot beneath the stairs at the station, playing her guitar with the same quiet conviction, the same bowed head. 

She never asked why you came. You never told her. The truth was, you didn’t really know either.

The conversations between you were always light. Sparse.

Some evenings, you would sit across from her with a vending machine coffee in hand. You would listen as she cycled through her set—Colde, BOL4, Taylor Swift, a few English covers. 

“I learned this one yesterday,” she would say.

Or: “I messed that up.”

You never minded. Other times, you would talk more.

One night she asked, “Do you like your job?”

You shrugged. “It’s quiet in the back. And no one yells. That’s enough for now.”

“Fair,” she said. Then she nodded toward your backpack. “And the uni?”

“It’s fine. Competitive, expensive, a little pointless. But fine.”

She didn’t laugh. Just said, “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I guess I’m not.”

She nodded like she understood. And maybe she did.

You learned things about her in pieces, like pulling old postcards out of a drawer. Her name was Yunjin. She told you once, while stringing her guitar, “I used to think I’d make music my job. Like, real job. Now I’m just hoping it keeps me sane.”

“That’s still something,” you said.

She smiled. “Some days, yeah.”

And in return, you gave her fragments of yourself. You told her about your studio apartment, your failed driving test, and how your parents stopped calling as often. 

She didn’t try to fix anything. She just listened.

Once, after she’d finished a song, you told her quietly, “You’re the only person I talk to these days.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Then she said, “Same.”

The routine held for a few weeks.

You would pass through the station after work or class, and if she was there, you would stay. Sometimes you brought her hot canned coffee. Sometimes she brought you tangerines from her landlord’s tree. Other times, you said nothing at all. And that was fine.

One afternoon, the station was colder than usual. Her fingers trembled slightly as she strummed.

“You should wear gloves,” you said.

She kept playing. “Can’t. The strings need skin.”

You reached into your pocket and handed her the hand warmers you’d bought that morning, on a whim. You walked into a shop on your commute, knowing you really didn’t need anything, just to distract your mind a bit. 

Then you saw fingerless gloves. ‘Who even needs these gloves?’ you thought, but then you remembered about the movie The Pianist and how he used those kinds of gloves to play. Yunjin could probably use them.

She blinked. “Really?”

You nodded. “They’re yours.”

She pressed them to her palms and smiled without showing her teeth. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me this month.”

“I have to take care of my radio,” you said without thinking, and Yunjin burst out laughing. Her laugh cracked the quiet of the station. You didn’t mean to say it—not like that. It sounded a little weird.

She shook her head, still grinning. “Your radio?”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah… I mean, not mine, exactly. Just—what I call you. In my head.”

She blinked. “Me?” 

What were you even saying? It was a joke. You should have committed to it. Who even calls a person a radio? It’s too late to turn back now; you have to commit to the bullshit you just said. 

You nodded, half-embarrassed. “I walk by every day, and you’re always here playing and singing. It’s like tuning in to a radio. Or more like a TV, I guess. You know those movies where the kids stand outside a shop that sells televisions and they look at it?”

Yunjin nodded quickly. “So you think I’m a radio, a television.”

“Yeeeeah? The radio that you listen to calm you down. So I have to take care of it.”

She stared at you, like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again or look away. In the end, she did neither. She just stood there, hands wrapped in warmth, still as her guitar waited in her lap.

Yunjin smiled. “I thought no one was listening to me… not like that.”

“I’ve been listening,” you said. “Long enough to know when your fingers start to hurt or when you start to hum because your voice is cold and you have to warm up.”

Yunjin looked down at the gloves, then back at you. “That’s... weirdly sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“I know.” She slid the gloves on, flexed her fingers. “They’re good. I’ll be able to play longer.”

You smiled. “Good.” 

Later that same night, you met her again near a convenience store. It was purely a coincidence, but it was a perfect one. Yunjin still had her bag on, meaning she just stopped playing. 

“Hey,” you called her. She turned around and couldn’t help but smile. 

“What are you doing here?” she said after walking to you.

“Oh, I finished my shift.”

“At the burger joint?”

“Yeah,” you said. “So I went to a convenience store to grab a drink or something. You… just finished playing?”

“Oh, right, yes,” Yunjin said, adjusting the guitar on her shoulder. “I usually continue until this time during the weekends because there are more people around. I go out to the city center where more people are flowing.”

“Did you get a good crowd tonight?” 

“Yes, it was good, a lot of people, more tips than usual.”

You smiled. You hesitated for a second and then asked her, “Want to go with me? At the convenience store, grab something to celebrate your successful night.”

“Successful night?” she laughed, not mockingly but in amusement. “It was just a bit more people around.”

“Well, we have to celebrate the small achievements too, right?” you continued. The truth was, you just wanted to talk to her and didn’t know how to ask her. This seemed like the most reasonable thing to say. “I’ll pay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course, my boss gave me a bonus at work, and you have to keep those tips.”

“You know if I accept, then you can’t back down, right?”

“Yep, of course, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Yunjin said and flicked her head towards the closest shop. “Let’s go.”

You pushed open the door to the convenience store, and the familiar chime echoed as you stepped into the fluorescent warmth. The heater near the entrance blew weakly, but after the cold outside, it still felt like summer. Yunjin followed behind. 

“What do you want?” you asked, heading for the food aisle.

She paused by the instant noodles, scanning the rows with practiced ease. “Ramyeon. Something spicy.”

You grabbed a can of beer from the fridge. “Let me guess. Shin?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do I look basic to you?”

You grinned. “A little.”

She grabbed a packet of Buldak ramyeon, the one with flames and angry chickens. “This one,” she said, holding it up like a prize.

Soon, the sound of boiling water and the hum of the beer fridge filled the silence between you. You found two plastic stools at one of the tiny tables shoved against the window. Outside, the street was mostly empty.

Yunjin set her hot cup down carefully, pulling off the lid and letting steam rise in twisting ribbons. You cracked open your beer and took a sip, the bitterness biting your tongue.

“So,” she said between cautious bites, “what’s your story?”

You glanced at her. “My story?”

“Yeah. You know mine now. Busker by night, occasionally eats fire noodles in convenience stores with strange boys.”

You chuckled. “Burger joint worker by evening, occasional listener of street musicians. Sometimes gives away gloves and overpays for convenience store noodles.”

She laughed. “Alright, alright. What’s the real version?”

You leaned back slightly. “I went into computer science at Uni because I saw that it paid well, and that’s what my parents wanted. I come from a small town quite far away, so I’m working as well to stay here. I don’t really enjoy it, but I’m good at it, so I can’t complain.”

She nodded, slurping a strand of noodles. “You sound like someone figuring it out.”

“What about you?” you asked. “I mean, I know you busk. But what’s... beyond that?”

She stirred her noodles a little before answering. “I used to want to be an opera singer. Classical, orchestras, the whole thing. Then I started writing songs. And I realized I didn’t want to be in those… settings. They just felt very strict, you know? I wanted my own freedom and light.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t seem like someone who likes spotlights.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I like being heard. Even if it’s just by one person standing in the cold on their way to a shift.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” you told her. “You’re the best part of my days.”

She looked at you, eyes soft but unreadable. “You don’t need to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I need to,” you said. “I’m saying it because I want to.”

There was a long pause as she took another bite of noodles, slower this time.

Then she looked at you and said, “Thanks. For listening.”

You raised your beer. She clinked her chopsticks gently against the can.

You took a long sip while she continued to eat. You both looked outside the windows at a group of students walking down the street. They looked happy, jumping around, probably drunk, enjoying life, enjoying their youth. You thought for a long time. You and Yunjin were very similar in the way you lived life. 

She already found something to live for, and you were more drifting by, but you were determined to make it.

“You’re easy to be quiet with,” Yunjin said suddenly, drinking the sweet tea you bought her earlier.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing. A moment passed. Then she added, “It’s rare.” And she was right.

The days continued, and so did the conversations.

Then one day, an idea struck you.

It started with a poster. A cheap, neon-colored one, plastered haphazardly on the glass wall outside your lecture hall: "SPRING SEMESTER PARTY — Live Music, Free Snacks, Open bar." Someone had scrawled a half-faded smiley face at the bottom. You didn’t normally go to those things. You didn’t dance. You didn’t drink much. You didn’t like crowds. But the word music stuck in your mind like a splinter.

That night, you found her again in the station.

She was playing Dance with me by Beabadoobee. You weren’t really familiar with her, but Yunjin introduced you to some of her songs. You stayed through the whole thing, not even pretending to check your phone. When she finished, you handed her a hot paper cup of coffee you had grabbed before going to her.

She smiled. “You’re consistent.”

You shrugged. “One of my only skills.”

She cracked the can open, took a sip, and exhaled. Then looked at you, as if she sensed something was on your mind.

“What is it?” she asked.

You hesitated.

“There’s a party,” you said. “At my uni. They’re having student bands. Music and stuff.”

“Okay…” she said, drawing the word out, unsure where it was leading.

“I thought… maybe you could perform there.”

You hadn’t expected her to go still, but she did. Her hands gripped the warm can tightly. You couldn’t read her expression.

“You want me to play at a school party?” she asked.

“It’s a university and… Only if you want to,” you said quickly. “I just thought—people should hear you. Really hear you. There will be other bands or groups and stuff, so don’t worry about it. Think of it like a normal gig.”

She looked down. One of her shoes tapped lightly against the tile. The station was quiet again. Even the announcements had stopped.

“I don’t know…” she murmured. “I’m not really good at… stages.”

“It’s not a stage,” you said. “It’s just a corner of the quad with fairy lights and borrowed speakers. You’d be better than anyone else there.”

She glanced up at you. Her eyes were dark, unreadable under the cap. Then, she gave a small nod.

“Okay,” she said. “One or two songs.”

You talked to the student council member the next day.

A guy in your literature seminar, who always wore socks with cartoon cats on them. He barely listened, just scribbled her name—“Yunjin?”—into his phone and said, “Cool. She’s up third.”

That Friday, you waited for her at the university gate. She wore the same flannel as usual, but her guitar case was freshly cleaned, like she’d wiped away the layers of station dust just for tonight. She looked around as you guided her through campus—eyes flitting over the crowds of students in oversized hoodies, beer cans, bluetooth speakers, and cigarette smoke.

“This feels weird,” she whispered.

You nodded. “It is.”

The “stage” was really a small wooden platform near the wall. There were some old speakers, some banners, and some balloons. Some junior was messing with the amp levels. The first performer—a nervous guy with a ukulele—was already mid-song.

She stood off to the side, clutching her guitar. You could see her scanning the crowd. Looking for exits, maybe. You touched her shoulder gently.

“You’ll be fine,” you said.

She gave a half-laugh. “No one’s listening anyway.”

And maybe she was right. But you stayed close by.

When her turn came, she walked forward slowly. She didn’t say her name. She just sat, adjusted the strap, and started playing. She sang Your Dog Loves You by Colde. Then 200% by AKMU. And then a song of her own. One you hadn’t heard before.

It was soft and bittersweet. Her voice, even through the crackling amp, sounded incredible. She started a bit uncertain, but the crowd did cheer her up when she started using her high notes. Then she got more confident and sang better. Yunjin tried to stare at one spot on the ground during the first half of the song, like she always did. During the second part, her eyes started darting around, noting other eyes on her. And eventually, she finished the song, looking at you.

When she finished, people clapped. You watched her eyes flick across the crowd, surprised. Maybe a little overwhelmed.

Afterward, she found you near the drink table.

“They clapped,” she said, like it was the most unbelievable part.

You smiled. “Told you.”

She shook her head slowly, then took a sip of water. Her hands were still trembling a little.

“Thank you,” she said. “For… whatever this was.”

You wanted to say something back. Something meaningful. But all you managed was:

“You looked like yourself up there.”

She stared at you, quiet. Then smiled, just a little. The cap shadowed most of her face, but you could see her eyes now. They were tired, but not weighed down. For the first time, they looked alive.

“Make sure they pay you, alright? They won’t give you a whole lot, but… at least 50 thousand won? I think you can get it,” you said. “And if they low-ball you, I’ll talk to them.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “But at least I got the chance to tell them my name, you know? So that has to be worth more than what they’ll pay me.”

“That’s true, you’re right… But you should at least be able to get yourself a cheeseburger after the gig, right?”

Yunjin laughed again, “Right.”

The night continued. Yunjin was able to meet a lot of new people, tell people about her dreams, share her Instagram, and she felt truly appreciated. You stood back, letting her enjoy the moment; it was what you truly wanted after all. 

Also, because the open bar was still open and you had to gain back the price of the ticket.

After the gig, most people filtered away into smaller groups—heading to pubs, convenience stores, or rooftops. The party thinned into something less coherent. You and Yunjin stood together near a dim corner of the quad, the last bit of her music still echoing in your ears.

“You want to go get something to eat?” you asked, your voice casual, like you might’ve asked anyone.

She tilted her head. “Isn’t it kind of late?”

You shrugged. “You played three songs in front of strangers. Feels like you deserve tteokbokki or something.”

She smiled, slow and crooked. “Only if you’re buying.”

You ended up at a stall near the back gate of campus. The kind of place that stays open late enough to feed drunk students and lonely night owls. The woman running it wore a giant padded coat and didn’t ask questions. You sat side by side on cracked plastic stools. The soup was scalding hot. She blew on hers too long before taking a bite.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said quietly, staring at the cloudy broth. “My hands were shaking the whole time.”

“No one noticed,” you said.

She made a soft, doubting sound. “Still felt like my chest would burst open.”

The night got colder. You offered to walk her back. She didn’t refuse. You stopped by a small shop to get something for her to eat first. You talked about the party again, about celebrating the small accomplishments, and about her original song. 

“Yeah, it’s me about admiring another person who grows up to shine and live the life I wanted,” she said. “A better version of me.”

“Well, I think she’s boring; you’re far more interesting.”

Yunjin laughed. “Thank you.” She took a bite from her burger. “Do you not have an idol you aspire to? Someone you want to be?”

“My mom. She does things because they’re right, because they need to be done, and doesn’t complain,” you answered. “You know, I don’t have someone I want to become, as in an ideal job, but I do want to become a reliable person.”

“Well, to me, you already became one.”

“How so?” you said and smiled.

“You’re always there for me. Where would I be without you?” Yunjin replied and shoved your shoulder. 

Yunjin had finished eating now, holding the paper wrap in her hand. Your beer was half-warm. Neither of you seemed in a rush to leave. Then she asked, “Do you live alone?”

You glanced over, a little surprised. “Yeah. One-room apartment, ten minutes from here by train. It’s small, but... decent. I pay rent with my wages and sometimes my soul, depending on the bills.”

That made her laugh. “I get that,” she said. “My place is tiny, too. Like... I can cook eggs and brush my teeth without moving.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s efficient.”

“Exactly,” she nodded, stretching her legs a little under the table.

“I used to live with roommates, but I couldn’t handle the noise. And the sharing. And the smells.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought being alone would be easier. Sometimes it is.”

You nodded. “Sometimes it’s just... quieter.”

“Yeah.” Her voice softened. “Too quiet, maybe.”

“It helps with creativity, doesn’t it?” you said. “Like that essay or story by, uhm, Virginia Woolf.”

“A room of one’s own?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I studied that too. Yeah, having a small room helps me because I don’t have anyone nearby listening to me. You can express yourself without the fear of being judged. Though it’s a bit cramped.” 

You understood that more than you expected. “Maybe that’s why I like hearing you out here. In the open. You sound a lot more free.”

She looked at you then, eyes lingering. “You say things like that without even thinking, don’t you?”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

“It’s both.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Me? No, I don’t.”

“Well, the way you talk, it won’t be difficult getting one.”

“What do you mean?” you laughed. “I sound like a player?”

“No, no, you just say things that a girl likes hearing. You’re more emotional than the other guys I’ve met.”

“I see.”

You found yourselves riding the near-empty train toward your neighborhood. Both of you lived in the same city. Neither of you talked much. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t require performance. She rested her cheek lightly against the cold glass window, her breath making small clouds.

When you stepped out into the night air, she looked around.

“Is this your stop?”

You nodded. “I live close.” You happened to live closer than you thought. “Wanna see it?” you asked her, and she replied, “Sure.”

Your studio apartment was the same as it always was—small, dim, stale with damp air. But when you opened the door and let her step inside, it suddenly felt… exposed. Like someone had turned on a light you didn’t know was there.

She paused in the doorway, guitar case still strapped to her back.

“Wow,” she said. 

You watched her take it in: the too-narrow bed, the stained tiles, the sagging chair. The stacked notebooks, the toothpaste cap you forgot to close, the instant ramen wrappers folded into themselves on the desk.

“You weren’t joking about it being small,” she murmured.

“Nope.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and you sat across from her on the floor.

“I live in a space like this,” she said. “When I first moved out. For a while, I didn’t mind it. Felt kind of like camping.”

You looked around. “A very sad kind of camping.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Mold and ramen.”

The laughter drifted off, and the room fell quiet again. The only sound was the occasional groan of pipes from the wall.

She put her guitar case down gently, unzipping it. Her fingers brushed the strings, almost without thinking. A single chord bloomed in the air.

“I can play something,” she offered quietly.

You nodded. Singing was everything Yunjin did. She talked to you about it. If she wasn’t working, she was singing or writing. All day long. It was an obsession, but that was what made her a great singer. So you let her sing; it was her way of talking to you.

You listened to her quietly, and when she was done, you broke the silence. “That was beautiful. What is its name?”

“Raise your glass”

“Mmh. What’s it about?”

She looked at you for a moment, then down at the guitar in her hands. “It may sound like a party song,” she said, her voice low, steady. “Like, ‘Let’s raise a toast, let’s be wild, let’s celebrate.’ And yeah, maybe on the surface, it is. But that’s not really what I meant.”

You waited, watching her face.

“It’s not a party anthem,” she said. “It’s about struggles and the journey and the people that support you.”

Her gaze was far away now, not on you. “It’s for the people that work silently and never get celebrated.”

You swallowed. “So you wrote it for them.”

She nodded. “I wrote it for me, too.”

You let that sit between you for a second, then said quietly, “I think that’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”

She glanced at you, unsure. “You’re not just saying that?”

You shook your head. “Not even a little. You know, I think even if you make a song sound good, it’s not great if it’s not honest. And you did, it feels like it comes from your heart.”

She smiled softly. “That’s all I wanted it to be.”

“Love you twice is good, but it sounded like you were just talking shit about yourself, so I prefer this one.”

Yunjin laughed again and slapped your arm.

When you laid down beside her, the mattress dipped. You expected it to be awkward—elbows and knees and limbs with nowhere to go—but somehow it wasn’t. She didn’t move away, and neither did you.

You didn’t touch her, not at first.

You just… listened. To the subtle, rhythmic sound of her breathing. Then she turned. Slowly. Without opening her eyes, she moved closer, her forehead brushing your shoulder, and one of her hands reached for yours. Her fingers curled around two of yours—barely a grip at all. Just contact. 

You didn't pull away.

Her voice came again, even softer now:

“Is this okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

At some point, she rested her head against your chest and whispered, “I don’t know why, but this feels like the safest place I’ve been in a long time.”

You didn’t know what to say. But you wrapped your arm around her shoulder and let your chin rest lightly against her hair. It was soft, almost too soft for the world she seemed to walk through every day.

Eventually, her breathing slowed again.

You stayed awake longer than her, but eventually you found the courage to fall asleep next to Yunjin.

After that night, something changed. You began to see her differently, and she began to see you, not as a stranger passing through the station. Not as a listener. But as someone who stayed.

You started meeting more often, though neither of you ever called it “plans.” She’d text you something vague like, “I’ll be playing late today,” and you’d show up, your breath visible in the cold air, hands buried in your pockets, pretending it wasn’t because you’d been waiting for her message all day.

Sometimes after she played, she’d walk home with you. Or you with her. Your apartments were both small, cold, and full of each other’s presence now. She left her flannel draped over your desk chair once and didn’t take it back. You started keeping her favorite tea in your cupboard. She began to show up without knocking.

You’d started talking to her about things you hadn’t said aloud in years. About how tired you were of pretending you were okay all the time. About how scared you were of failing—at school, at life, at everything. She listened without interrupting. She had this way of folding your words gently, as if they were fragile and worth keeping.

She told you things, too. Like how music was the only place she didn’t feel wrong. Like how she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be truly good at anything, but singing made the ache go quiet for a while.

She’d lie beside you sometimes, head on your chest, tracing absentminded shapes on your arm with her fingertip. She’d ask strange questions at midnight, like, “Do you think people have more than one chance in life?” or “What do you think we’d be like if we met when we were older?”

One morning, you woke up and realized her hair was on your pillow. That it smelled like the strawberry shampoo she always denied using. That her toothbrush was next to yours. That your phone had more photos of her smile than anything else. None posed. All in-between moments: half-laughs, tired yawns, the curve of her shoulder beneath the streetlight.

You didn’t know when she became a part of your life.

But she had.

You figured that you had to ask her out properly. There was a movie that was premiering next week. You bought two tickets, right in the middle of the theater, so you had the best view. It was also one of those nicer theaters with a higher resolution and better audio quality. 

You weren’t nervous. You and her have been talking for so long that it was just another hangout at this point.

You didn’t know, but she bought tickets as well. 

Just not the same as yours.

You were both sitting on the floor of your apartment, backs against the bed, knees pulled close, sharing a cheap convenience store sandwich. She was wearing your gray hoodie again, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her guitar rested in the corner, untouched. The winter sunlight came in pale and weak through the window.

“Seoul,” she murmured. “I got a call from a producer. Someone saw a video from that uni gig you got me. They want me to come. It’s just a trial, but... I should go.”

You didn’t say anything right away.  And then, “That’s amazing,” you said, finally.

She looked down. “Yeah.”

You reached over, brushed a crumb from her lip, and smiled, even though it cracked at the edges. “When?”

“Next week.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugged, unsure. “I think if I don’t go now, I’ll regret it.”

You nodded again. Of course she would. Of course, she should go.

That night, she stayed with you, curled close under your blanket, your arms wrapped around each other, neither of you talking much. Her breath on your neck was slow and steady. You traced invisible lines on her back, thinking about her and your future.

She packed in silence the day she left. A small suitcase. Her guitar. A tote bag with her lyrics, notebook, charger, lip balm, and that weird peach-scented hand cream she always forgot she had.

You walked her to the train station. The same station where you first heard her. Where her voice had cut through the noise of tired commuters and tired lives and found you. Where she stayed, even if the world didn’t.

Now she was leaving.

She kept looking at the platform screen, though the train wasn’t due for another ten minutes. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other..

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“I should ask you that.”

You chuckled quietly. “I’m fine. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes shimmered for a second, but she blinked quickly and swallowed it down.

You hugged before the train arrived. The kind of hug where you don’t know how long is enough, so you just keep holding on. You could feel her heartbeat in her chest, rapid and real.

“I’ll message you,” she said against your shoulder.

“You better.”

She pulled back and smiled. It was wobbly, imperfect, and so, so her.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

The train was due in two minutes. The sky was gray. Everything was always gray when it mattered most. 

“I’ll miss this,” she said softly.

You swallowed. Your hands were in your pockets. You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

She stepped closer, close enough for you to see the shimmer of tears she didn’t want to shed. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath even in the wind.

Then she looked up and said it: “Don’t forget me, okay?”

You were both quiet. The kind of quiet that stretches between people who don’t know how to say goodbye.

It was the first time you said I love you—and the last time you meant it.

You didn’t plan to say it. It wasn’t a grand moment. No sweeping strings or sunsets. Just her, standing there with her suitcase in one hand and her guitar slung across her back.

That’s when it slipped out, completely unceremoniously.

“I love you.”

She blinked.

Then smiled, softly. Not surprised. Not startled. Like she had heard it all her life. “I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

And that was it.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside.

You texted for the first weeks. Yunjin’s audition was successful, and she got busier. At first, they took her phone and she’d be able to text only a couple of times a day. Then she got busy herself and could text you only while you were at work. Eventually, you stopped texting each other. That’s how it goes.

It was involuntary. You didn’t have time and didn’t have anything to talk about, with everything you two had on your minds.

Yunjin hadn’t written a single song. Not a word. Not a line. She couldn’t. There was something about this city that was taking away her breath, and each time she sat down to write a word or two, your name always came up.

And you, your face kept surfacing like a faded photograph she wanted to hold but couldn’t. She wanted to write you a letter, send you a message, but every time she picked up her phone, the words tangled and slipped away. So she stayed silent, telling herself she had to focus, that this was the only way to make the dream real.

But late at night, when the city’s noise softened to a murmur, she found herself staring at the ceiling, her heart a quiet ache in her chest.

She missed you.

Time had slipped by: weeks, months, years. You saw her face on the internet. Her dream finally came true, and you couldn’t be happier. You bought albums to support her and hear her voice again. You never forgot about her. 

It was a couple of years later that you were finally in Seoul after climbing the career ladder and landing a good job. The higher you went, the less you had to work and the less competent you became. You continued to practice, and the coworkers who were under you appreciated your ability. The boss noticed and sent you to the location in Seoul.

While you were there, you saw the announcements of Yunjin’s group fanmeet. You had to go. You kinda felt like a fish out of a pond going alone, but it was something you couldn’t share.

There, you saw Yunjin shine on stage. You weren’t familiar with her dancing as you never saw her perform that way. She did some silly dances when you were alone together, but not with that type of energy. The crowd was incredible. It was loud, passionate, and exciting. Finally, it was her song. 

The lights dimmed, and she stepped forward, guitar slung over her shoulder. Now that she had a moment to properly sit down, her eyes swept the room, searching, scanning, and then they found you.

Her mouth remained slightly agape, and she focused her eyes. Was she seeing things, or was it really you? After a couple of seconds, she was certain. Those eyes couldn’t belong to anyone but you. A smile slowly crept up from the corner of her lips, and her heart started beating again, but she kept it to herself. She was a professional after all.

You knew this song. She sang it to you before in your tiny room, and you remembered. Raise your glass was the name. This time, she was singing with her member Chaewon, but it was definitely her song. She looked at the crowd, at all the cameras pointed at her, the eyes staring, the mouths singing; she wasn’t scared anymore.

You did it, Yunjin. The people are listening.

The fan meet came to an end. The room drifted into silence, and the crowd began to shift, folding chairs scraping, murmurs of thanks and applause trailing off. You were about to leave as well, but as you exited from behind the building, Yunjin reached you. She continued to stare at you since the end of the song, and when there was no one else, she ran to you.

Before you could find the right words, before you could even catch your breath, she reached you and wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I fucking missed you,” she said.

“I never forgot you,” you said, while returning her hug.

She didn’t have much time to say anything, as her managers were hurrying her to leave. “I still have my number,” she simply said and left.

The next day, in the evening, your phone buzzed beside you, and when you looked, her name blinked on the screen. It was a simple message, just three words: “Meet me soon.” 

You stared at it for a moment, heart racing and hesitation crowding your mind, then typed back, “Where?” The reply came almost immediately: “Here.” With an attached location link.

You slipped on your coat and made your way to the park. The streets seemed quieter than usual, the hum of traffic distant and hollow, as though the city was holding its breath.

She was already there, her cap pulled low, dark clothes. She tried not to be recognizable by tucking her hair under her hood, but the way she sat gave it away. She heard your steps and turned around. There it was, that familiar smile. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down beside her, feeling the cold seep through your jacket but barely noticing.

There was a long pause. Neither of you came prepared. You simply wanted to meet her and didn’t think about what to ask her. Both of you stared into the distance, looking at the leaves on the grass. It wasn’t awkward, it was just like the old times.

“Do you remember,” she began, “the first time I played for you at the station?”

You nodded, the image flooding back: the cold concrete beneath you, her voice peaking from behind the corner.

“I was so scared nobody would listen,” she said. “But you did. You actually stopped.”

“You made it impossible not to,” you said, smiling. 

She laughed softly. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she admitted. “Especially here.”

“Me neither,” you replied. “But I’m glad.”

The conversation unfolded slowly, like a stream finding its way through stones. You talked about everything and nothing: the late nights studying, the strange rhythm of Seoul, the music she was trying to write but couldn’t quite finish. 

There was a lot to catch up on. 

She reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled photo: the two of you at the university party, her hair messy from laughter, your eyes bright in the dim light.

“I kept this,” she said, voice soft. “It was a very important moment, maybe the most important one. Do you remember?”

You took the photo carefully, tracing the edges with your finger.

“Of course I do. I kept it too, but it’s in my apartment right now. Last time, I dropped my wallet into a fountain, so after I dried it, I made sure to keep it somewhere safer.”

Yunjin chuckled. “It sounds just like you.”

The evening faded into night, the park slowly emptying as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. You agreed to walk with her back to her place, which was now a dorm that she shared with her members. 

“I missed this,” she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

“Me too,” you answered honestly.

And then, “I have a question,” she said while looking at the street in front of her. You hummed. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, it might be a sudden question, I—”

“No, I don’t,” you answered, truthfully. “Didn’t really date anyone. I was focused on my studies. I actually got a pretty high position: senior manager of my section.”

“Wow, you like it?”

“Well, it pays well,” you said, and she laughed with you. “What about you? Have any of the idols hit on you? It must be weird seeing such good-looking people every time.”

“I also see normal people working with them, so it’s kinda balanced. Uhm, actually, there were a couple,” she said. “But I didn’t really accept them.”

Silence poured over them. Both of you wanted to ask that simple question: “Why?” More than asking, you wanted the other to pose the question. And both of you wanted to answer the same way: “Because of you.” 

But you were afraid to say it. It had been such a long time after all.

She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her keys, not quite meeting your gaze. “I, um... I guess I used to wonder if we’d run into each other again.”

You blinked. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. I mean—not like in a creepy way or anything,” she rushed out, then winced. “Just... I don’t know. Random thoughts.”

You gave a small nod. “I think I had those, too. Like—sometimes. In between meetings or at, uh, traffic lights.”

She smiled a little at that, biting her lip. “Weird how life just... keeps going, huh?”

“Yeah. Stupid, unstoppable thing.”

There was a pause. 

“I used to rehearse what I’d say,” you muttered, half-laughing into your sleeve. “If I ever saw you again.”

She looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? What’d you come up with?”

“Hey.”

Yunjin laughed. There you were, saying awkward stuff again. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you asked.

“Take the weight out of things. When you know I can’t do it.”

You shrugged, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Old habits.”

Another pause settled, more comfortable this time. You watched her eyes flicker.

“I wanted to ask that question,” you said. “Back then. But I never had the guts.”

“Which one?”

“The one we’re both still avoiding.”

Her expression shifted. “Then ask it now.”

You took a breath. “Why didn’t we try?”

She was quiet for a beat, then: “Because I thought I had time. I thought you'd be there after everything else had settled. But then life happened... and I guess I was scared you'd moved on.”

“Yeah, I guess it was the same with me…,” you said. “I knew you were busy.”

You looked at the place ahead of you. You already lived that many years without her, and she had become so distant from you. Whatever you said next didn’t really matter. What were the chances that you’d meet her on the streets again? You had to say it.

“Is it too late?” you asked.

Yunjin looked at you with a brief shock. “No,” she said.

You took a deep breath. “I never stopped loving you, Yunjin,” you said. To your surprise, Yunjin put her hand on yours and intertwined your fingers.

“I love you,” she said. “Right now.”

She took a deep breath but didn’t look away; she was looking right into your eyes. “If I didn’t love you back then, I learnt to love you while you were away,” Yunjin confessed. Her eyes didn’t meet yours at first. They lingered in the space between you. “Missing you,” she continued, “was more painful than the sores from dancing for hours. It was more painful than anything I had to endure during the training.” 

You listened quietly. Your heart was racing, trying not to leap too far ahead, not to assume too much—wondering if her words were truly meant for you. But they were. Yunjin meant every word.

“You cared,” she said. “And sometimes… that’s all that mattered.”

Your chest tightened, the way it always did when something inside you softened. “Who wouldn’t, Yunjin?”

She smiled at that, but it wasn’t a smile of comfort—it was one tinged with quiet ache. “A lot of people, apparently,” she replied with a short chuckle. “Now that I’m on stage, yeah, people see me. They cheer, they cry, they call me talented. But back then? I was just a girl who doubted herself. Who wasn’t sure she deserved anything. And still… you were there.”

She held back her tears, her voice breaking around the edges. “I was nothing in front of you. Not an idol, not a singer—just me. And you… you still chose to believe I was something.”

“Thank you,” she said, like it wasn’t enough, but it was all she could manage.

You stepped closer, feeling something catch in your throat. “I should be the one thanking you, Yunjin.” She looked confused at that—almost hurt—until you explained.

“Your art… healed me in ways I didn’t expect. Every song, every performance, every little piece of you that you shared with the world—I held onto it. You were the only constant that didn’t feel like a burden on my shoulders. Just… warmth. Hope.” You paused, trying to find the proper words in your head.

“I know you see me as someone who gave a lot. But you have no idea what you’ve given me.”

Yunjin’s smile was quiet, almost trembling, nothing like the ones she wore on stage. It bloomed slowly as she realized the meaning behind your words. Her eyes shimmered, full of relief. She had been lost for so long, but she finally found you again.

“There was a point where I really hated my voice…” Yunjin began softly, eyes fixed on the pavement. “And I felt really insecure and I felt like—you know—I wasn’t really worthy of much.” Her fingers fidgeted nervously as her words spilled out faster, breath catching. “But! You have found my voice and given meaning to my voice.”

She finally glanced up, just for a second, then looked away, cheeks flushed.  “And you know, that’s really special and… so to make somebody like their own voice, it’s a really powerful thing.”

Her voice cracked slightly as she pushed the last of it out. Then, suddenly overwhelmed by her own confession, she panicked.

“Anyways!” she blurted, too loud. “I love you! And goodnight!”

Without giving you a chance to respond, she surged forward, pressed a quick, flustered kiss to your cheek, and bolted inside the dorm, heart racing, terrified that staying even one second longer might cause her to fall apart completely.

You waited for many years, but for Yunjin, it was all worth it.

[lazylevxd]

Teaching Him - EUNBI Smut - CHAPT 1

OC X EUNBI

Eunbi stood under the cascading stream of the shower, her eyes closed as the warm water flowed over her curves, tracing every inch of her voluptuous body. Her skin glistened, reflecting the soft light filtering through the frosted glass. She was a vision of sensuality, her figure often compared to a goddess by her adoring fans. Her breasts were full and round, the water cascading over them, highlighting their natural shape and size.

FULL STORY ON KOFI - LINK 1, LINK 2

SECOND STORY UPDATED TODAY

TANTRIC YOGA - SOMI SMUT

OC X SOMI

It is one of the wonders of yoga, thought 70-year-old Kim Shik, as he lay supine on the floor, observing his hard, large erection. When the body is completely relaxed, blood flows freely. If you inhale deeply, drawing prana from the air, and then feed it to your body, you become energized.

If energy and blood flow freely, all the organs of the body are energized and vitalized. And a vibrant body can sport what he now sensed -- his hardness, his erection.

Had he known this earlier in life, he might have engaged in yoga much more deeply. He had read somewhere that deeper energizing of the kind that tantric yogis achieve leads to spontaneous orgasm. Without being touched or touching oneself.

FULL STORY ON KOFI - LINK 1, LINK 2

SHOP - LINK 1, LINK 2

[lazylevxd]

(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."

[lazylevxd]

(ch. 1) Eunha: Runaway Sister

ch. 2

I remember it was raining that night. I was relaxing on the sofa, beer in one hand, cock in the other, porn on the TV. The girl in the video was getting spit-roasted by a pair of black guys. This was the life, 21 and not a care in the world. I had moved out of my house on my 18th birthday, the very day---I hadn't even finished my cake---just to get away from my bitch of a mother and her husband. My sister, Eunha, had helped me move all my stuff here before I drove her back home. She had given me a hug before I left.

"Don't forget your promise," she told me. "When I turn 18, I'm moving out too, and I'm coming straight to your place."

"My casa is your casa or whatever."

Of course, I had forgotten all about that. I hadn't seen her or my mother since then, just talked on the phone. And I'd been joking with her. But my sister wasn't on my mind that night. I had called her earlier in the day and left a message wishing her a happy 18th birthday. I had also sent her a card with 100 dollars in it--quite a sacrifice for poor guy like me. With that, my big-brother duty was complete. Time to relax. Time to jerk off. Time to cum.

Then there was a knock on the door. "Oh, fuck off," I called.

I already knew who it was, my bitch of a next-door neighbor, an old bat who always pounded on my door and shouted, "Turn down the TV, pervert!" She had sent the landlord to my door quite a few times too.

Yeah, maybe I could have lowered the volume, but what can I say? I like to hear a woman scream. But, hell, the girl on the TV couldn't even speak with that cock in her throat. Then the knocking started again.

"Fucking bitch," I said. "Fine."

If the old lady wanted to pound on my door, I was going to give her something to complain about. I could hear the landlord now, "Son, you can't answer the door with your dick hanging out." So I crossed my studio apartment---it was a small apartment but it was mine, damn it! That was my sofa, with my pullout bed, and those two windows that looked into the alley were mine too! Hell, that whole alley was mine, sort of. Yeah, these 500-square-feet were my kingdom, and that old lady was an invader. I had my spear ready. My spear is pretty respectable too, just saying---and I yanked the door open with a grin.

"What can I do for you, Mrs.---holy shit!"

"Oh my god, Chris!"

I slammed the door in my little sister's face. What choice did I have, really? "Eunha?" I shouted through the door. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I, um, came to see you."

"Jesus," I said. "Hold on."

I ran across my apartment as if the place were on fire, pulled my pants and shirt out of the hamper in the bathroom and threw them on. I turned off the TV too; the girl was screaming again, DPed. There was no way my sister had not seen that over my shoulder. Then again, they way her eyes had been fixed on my cock, maybe she hadn't. I was back at the door, pulling it open. Thank god my mother wasn't with her. She was probably on her way upstairs though. Eunha didn't have a car. But why on earth had they come here unannounced?

"Eunha!" I said. Her whole face was bright red. "Hey."

And then the door down the hall opened and the old bat popped her head out. "What's that noise, hammering on the door? Your TV is too loud again! It sounds like you're killing a woman in there!"

"Go back inside, Mrs. Webber."

"Who's that? Looks like a hooker the way she's dressed! "

"Mrs. Webber, this is my sister!"

"Your sister? She should know you're a pervert, watching porn all hours of the day! Disgusting! You oughta be ashamed!"

I was. "I am! Go back inside!"

My sister was biting her lip, stifling a laugh. For the record, she did not look like a hooker, but she was underdressed. She had on a jean jacket, which didn't pass her ribs, and a pink bikini underneath. The bowties of a matching pair of bikini briefs were peeking out just above her jean skirt, which barely made it down her thighs. And that was it. She was wearing nothing else, not even shoes. Her feet were filthy and her hair was soaked from the rain outside, almost black as it hung over her shoulders. The last time I saw my sister, I started to notice she was growing up. Now, she looked fine. Cute face, braces gone, great breasts, a solid C cup, with a toned tummy and curved hips, and a shapely ass, all of which I chastised myself for looking at. Her legs, too, were nice and long. She had orange nail polish on her toes and fingers, and her lips were full, like they were asking for a kiss.

"She seems nice," Eunha said. "What are you doing here?" I asked. I was humiliated. I had answered the door naked and I felt like an idiot. I wanted to pretend that had not happened. "Is Mom here? Is Dale?"

"No, I'm by myself."

"Huh?"

"I took a bus."

"A bus? Alone? Why?" She shrugged. "It's my birthday. I wanted to see you."

"Are you serious? Why didn't you call?"

"Well, it's a long story. Are you going to invite me in or are we going to talk out here?"

"Yeah, sorry, come in." I moved out of the way and she came in and looked around. There wasn't much to see, just the sofa, the dresser, a lamp, a fan in the window, two stools at the counter that separated the kitchen. "Smaller than I remember."

"What is?"

"Your apartment."

"Oh, yeah."

"Your cock is bigger than I remember though."

"Oh my fucking God." I put my hand over my face. She was laughing. "Come on, I'm teasing. You knew it was coming."

"Okay, you had your joke."

"I only get one?"

"I was trying to mess with Mrs. Webber."

"Were you trying to kill her? Because if I was her age and I saw a cock that big, I'd have a heart attack." I turned around and beat my head against the door. Eunha was still laughing. "Okay, I'm done now. Can I use the bathroom? I need to dry off."

"Help yourself," I said. She disappeared behind the bathroom door, but the latch was broken. "It doesn't close?" she called. "My landlord is lazy. Do you want something to drink or something?"

"Yeah, a beer," she answered. "You're 18."

"And you still haven't wished me happy birthday," she said. "Happy birthday," I said.

"Thanks," she said. "Do you have a hair dryer?"

"What the hell am I going to do with a hair dryer?"

"You're cranky tonight." I was, but she had put me on the defensive. I still wanted to know why she was here. It didn't make sense, especially alone. I busied myself grabbing a couple of bottles out of the fridge, making my way over to my sofa. I cleaned up the evidence I had left behind, the paper towels, the lube, and stuffed them under the end table. Then I looked up as the bathroom door squeaked. My sister was in a towel! Nothing else. Even the strings of her bikini were missing from over her shoulders.

"That's better," she said. "It's pouring out." And then she sat down on my sofa. Okay, I wasn't going to make a big deal out of this. So, my sister was sitting there in a towel. Don't look at her. I gave her the beer. "So, Eunha," I said, "what are you doing here?"

She took a sip and met my eyes. She had really pretty brown eyes. Her hair was lightening up too, more chocolate than black. She must have dried it off with a towel. It looked messy, but I liked it. "I ran away," she said. "Ran away?"

"Yeah. Well, I moved out, actually."

"Hu? You moved out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, start from the beginning."

"Earlier today I was at this surprise party my friend threw for me. She invited me over to her house and took me in the backyard and all my friends were there. It was awesome. She bought me a bikini for my birthday, and I swam, and I flirted with a couple of cute guys, and it was a really good time."

"That's cool," I said, but I wanted her to get to the point. Watching her sitting there in that towel was distracting. She was holding it closed with one hand, but it was splitting open at her thigh. I could see her waist and all the way down her leg. She had taken off her bikini bottoms too.

"So I came home and Mom started demanding to know where I was because I wasn't answering my phone, and I said it was none of her business. Then she threatened to take my phone away because she pays for it. And then Dale, fucking asshole, said everything I owned belongs to him, everything, the clothes on my back, the phone, everything, and if I wanted to keep my stuff, I had better answer my phone when they call, and Mom agreed, of course. So I said fuck you both, I'm not your slave. And they grounded me. On my fucking birthday, they grounded me. But I refused to be grounded, so I said I was going out and they couldn't stop me. Then Dale grabbed me, shoved me in my room, and held the door closed. Can you believe that?"

"What an asshole," I said. "Yeah, and I screamed that I would call the cops, and that just pissed him off more. He came back in and took my phone. And I told them I'm moving out right now. I'm leaving. And they said if I wanted to leave, I'd do it naked, because everything I have they bought me. And I said that wasn't true, because my friend gave me a bikini, and you sent me 100 dollars---thanks by the way---and with it I bought a jean jacket and a skirt, so I could wear that. So I changed, took the rest of the money you sent me, went to the bus station, and here I am. So hello, roomie."

"Roomie?" I said. "Yup. Home sweet home."

"Whoa, hold on. I can't believe this."

"I know. Mom and Dale are insane, right?"

"No, I meant you living here. You're not serious."

Her smile fell. "Well, yeah. You said I could." See, I had forgotten all about saying she could move in when she was 18, and she took the opportunity to remind me of it.

"Don't you remember?" she asked. "That was a joke," I said. "I was joking." She held her lower lip between her teeth. "You mean I can't stay?"

"Eunha…no, you can't stay. This is my apartment. I don't have room for you here. I barely have room for me."

"But it's not like I'll take up a lot of space, and I totally intend to get a job and chip in."

"What about school?"

"My senior year doesn't start until September. And I'll work part-time."

"But your school is fifty miles away."

"I'll enroll here."

"What about your friends?"

"My only real friend is Sarah, but I'm not that close to anyone else."

"Don't you have a boyfriend or something?"

"Not since school let out."

"You know what, none of that matters. You can't stay here."

"You're going to send me out in the rain?" she pouted. "Of course not." I turned halfway around and picked up the telephone. I couldn't afford a cell phone. Times are tough. "I'll call Mom and she can come pick you up."

"What? No way!" I dialed. She leapt at me and tried to grab the phone, but I wasn't letting go. Then her towel slipped. For a brief moment, I saw her right breast, just the right one; there was a flash of a dark nipple, hard and standing at attention. She quickly let go of the phone to secure the towel. I turned away, pretending not to notice, and finished dialing, putting the phone on speaker.

"Chris, please don't."

"Sorry, Eunha, you can't stay here."

"But I thought you had my back. I thought you'd take care of me."

"You'll be better off at home. You need to finish school, figure out your life, get a job, your own place."

"Come on, no," she begged. The phone was already ringing. "Hello," my mother answered. "Hey, Mom."

"Oh, hello, Christopher, it's you. Now's not a good time. I'll have to call you back."

"No, hold on, Mom. It's important. It's about Eunha."

"You can wish her a happy birthday tomorrow. She ran off and I have to track her down. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Wait, Mom!" She had hung up. "You're going to send me back to that?" Eunha said. "Chris, don't." I pressed redial.

"I'll sleep on the floor," she said as it rang. "You won't even notice I'm here. I'll be a ghost. The corner. That's all I'll need. The corner." "Eunha, stop."

"Hello?" Mom said. "Mom, it's me again."

"Christopher, I don't have time to talk to you. Dale is out looking for your sister, and I need to keep the line open in case he calls. Goodbye."

"Mom, wait, Eunha is here!"

"What?" she said, lifting the phone moments before it hung up. "What did you say?"

"Eunha is here," I repeated. "She took a bus to my apartment."

"Put her on this instant!"

"I'm not talking to her!" Eunha shouted above the phone. "She's a bitch and I'm never coming home!"

"Eunha!" my mother yelled. "You are in so much trouble!"

"I'm not in trouble because you can't punish someone who doesn't live with you, and I live here now, with Chris. He said I could stay as long as I want!"

"Whoa, hold on. No, I didn't."

"Chris, please," Eunha whispered. "Christopher!" my mother shouted. "Is that true?"

"No," I said. "Eunha told me what happened, and I don't think you're being fair to her. It was her birthday and you shouldn't have grounded her."

"Christopher," my mother said, "do not tell me how to parent my own daughter. Now, you keep her there. I will have Dale come by and pick her up."

"I'm not going back with him!" Eunha said. "You will so!" Mom shouted.

"Eunha," I said, "just go."

"But, but Dale tried to rape me!" Eunha said. "What?" I said. "What?" my mother said.

"Dale tried to rape me!" Eunha repeated. "And Mom knows. I told her, but she doesn't believe me! But he did!" I got angry, quick. Blood rushed to my head and I felt hot all over. I wanted to kill Dale. I've wanted to kill him for years, ever since he moved in on Mom after Dad died, but now I really wanted to kill him. "That motherfucker!"

"That's a lie!" my mother said. "Eunha, I swear if you say that one more time!"

"It's true," Eunha said, looking at me. "Chris, please don't send me back with Dale."

"What happened?" I asked her. I didn't care that my mom was still on the phone.

"Okay, it's like this," Eunha said. "Every time I walk past him in the living room, like, past the sofa to get to the hall, he slaps my butt."

"He does not!" my mother shouted.

"You don't see it, but he does!" Eunha said. "I don't even go in the living room anymore when he's there. And, Chris, when I come out of the shower in the morning, in my towel, he's always outside the door, just watching me while I walk back to my room, staring at me."

"He's waiting to take a shower because he has to go to work," my mother said. "And you take forever in the shower!"

"When did he try to rape you?" I asked, my anger still boiling.

"Well, okay, this one time, I woke up in bed, and he was in my room, and he knows I sleep naked, and he was looking at me."

"The laundry basket was in her room and he needed his things," Mom said. "And I have told you not to sleep undressed!"

"But when did he try to rape you?" I asked.

"That night," Eunha said. "He was looking at me, and I know he was thinking about it."

"Thinking about it? That's it?"

"He was, Chris, and next time he might do something."

"Oh, Jesus," I said, my rage deflating. "I thought you meant he tried to force himself on you."

"He did, sort of, with his eyes."

"Fuck," I said, breathing again. "Eunha…"

"Chris, please, he's a terrible man. And he's going to try something serious with me. I know it."

"Eunha," my mother said, "Dale will be by to pick you in a couple of hours. Do you understand me?" Eunha just looked at me with her big brown eyes, her hand clenching her towel closed, waiting for me to decide her fate.

"Mom," I said with a sigh, "don't send Dale. It's already after 10:00 pm. Eunha's going to stay here until the weekend. You and Dale can pick her up Saturday. It'll give everyone a chance to cool down." Eunha was smiling. She leaned across the sofa, hugged me with one arm, and gave me a peck on the lips. She always did that, even when we were younger, and it always caught me off guard. "You're the best."

"But where will she stay in that tiny apartment of yours?" my mother demanded. "You only have that sofa bed."

"She can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor," I said.

"I don't like this, Christopher. Eunha's not the same girl you remember. She's become very slutty."

"Mom! I have not!"

"Oh my God, Mom, seriously," I said. "Christopher, I'm not kidding. You haven't seen how she dresses, or the boys she goes out with. Some nights she doesn't come home at all. She's sleeping around with all of them!"

"Fuck you!" Eunha cried. "Okay, you know what, Mom," I said, "what she does is none of your business. She's 18, and if she wants to be a slut, she can be."

"I'm not!"

"The point is, she's with me, and it's not as if anything is going to happen to her here."

"It had better not, Christopher! I will be there Saturday!"

"Fine, goodbye." I hung up. "I can't believe she said that about you."

"It's not true," she said. "I'm not a slut."

"I meant about you being with me, like, as if we'd…you know?"

"Oh, yeah, no, she's so gross. Like, I mean, what does she think, that'd we'd just start fucking if we shared an apartment?"

"Yeah," I said, but I was looking at the towel. I could see a lot of her tummy as it split open at her side. "I mean, no, we wouldn't. I meant, yeah, you're right, we wouldn't."

"Exactly, but you do have a nice cock."

"Jesus, Eunha."

She laughed. "I'm only teasing. Thanks for letting me stay."

"It's just until Saturday. Three days. Then you're going home."

"Well, the way I see it, I have three days to convince you to let me stay permanently."

"That's not going to happen."

"It might."

"It won't."

"I can be very persuasive."

"I bet. But I have to go to sleep. I get up at 7:00 am, and if I don't get eight hours a night, the mail doesn't get sorted."

"You're still working in that mailroom?"

"Jobs are hard to find around here. And you may have to work a shitty job too if you drop out of school."

"I'd rather work in a mailroom than live with Mom and Dale for one more day."

"Say that after you've worked in a mailroom," I said. "Now, bedtime."

"I don't normally go to sleep so early, but, okay, if that's the rule of the house, I'll sleep."

"What are you sleeping in?" I asked.

"I don't know. Why?"

"I might have sweats or something you can borrow."

"They'll be too big on me. And I like to sleep naked."

"You can't sleep naked here."

She scrunched up her eyebrows. "Well, what are you sleeping in?"

"I usually sleep naked too, but I'll wear boxers."

"Okay. Give me that shirt you're wearing. That'll be enough."

"Just the shirt?" I said. "Don't you want sweat pants to go with it?"

"I can't sleep in pants. I'll put my bikini back on."

"Okay," I said, pulling the shirt off my shoulders and handing it to her.

"Thanks. I'm going to change."

And then she bounced off to the bathroom. I admit I watched her bare legs below the towel as she left. When the door closed, I took my pants off and put on my boxer shorts. Running around in front of my sister in boxers was a little embarrassing, but no more than flashing my dick, so I figured it didn't matter. Besides, it was my apartment, damn it! I gave my half-hard dick a squeeze. It would have to wait. Three days. Shit, that was a long time.

"Okay," Eunha said as she came back out. My eyes were saucers. The dress shirt looked so sexy on her. The sleeves hung down past her hands. She had only buttoned one button, just between her breasts. And I could see the color of her nipples through the white material. As she moved, the bottom of the shirt split open, revealing her tummy, her belly button, and the pink bikini bottoms.

"I can't believe you still have this pullout bed," Eunha said. "Didn't you find this on the side of the road?"

"Yeah," I said. I took the cushions off, piling them up like I did every night.

"Will it be big enough for both of us?" she asked.

"I'll sleep on the floor." I grabbed the handle and pulled out the bed, unfolding it.

"No," she said. "You sleep in the bed."

"I'll be fine on the floor. It's just for a few days."

"No, it's not just for a few days," she said. "If you're sleeping on the floor, you're definitely going to want me out by Saturday. Sleep in your own bed."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"I'll sleep with you. I mean in the bed, not sleep with you. God, sorry. You know what I meant. We'll share. We've done it before, remember?"

"We're a bit old to share a bed. We're not kids."

"It's no different. I won't take up much room. You can sleep however you normally do. I told you, it'll be like I'm not even here. I'm a ghost. Sleep in your bed and I'll just sleep on the edge here."

"Eunha, I don't know."

"Come on. Where's the harm?"

"All right," I said. "I really didn't want to sleep on the floor anyway."

She smiled. "Neither did I." I threw the pillows on and then climbed under the sheet. It was too hot for blankets. I normally slept in the middle but I stayed to one side. She jumped in, pulling the sheet up to her hip, still smiling and looking happy. It wasn't a large bed, about the size of a double. We were right up against each other, shoulder to shoulder. I turned on my alarm and then turned off the light.

"Night, sis."

"Goodnight," she said, lying on her side, looking at me in the dark. "Thanks again for letting me stay."

"Yeah," I said, glancing at her. That shirt button was barely holding her breasts together. I could see her tummy easily. Damn, she was making me think bad thoughts.

"See, there's plenty of room for both of us," she said. "If I stayed, I wouldn't be in your way."

"I guess," I said. Then I closed my eyes. Best not to think about her like that. She's my sister. I was just going to go to sleep, but then she started talking again.

"Do you mean you guess you'll let me stay permanently?"

"No, I meant, 'I guess you should be quiet and go to sleep.'"

"Oh, sorry." She fell quiet again, but for only for a moment. "I wouldn't be in your way though."

"Eunha…" I said, opening my eyes.

"I just want you to think about it," she said. "And there are benefits if I stay."

"Benefits?" I said. "Like what?"

"My gratitude. Like, tomorrow, while you're at work, I'm going to clean your whole apartment. What do you think of that?"

"All 500 square feet? That'll take you all day."

"Come on," she whined. "The floors will sparkle. And your bathroom needs attention."

"So I get a live-in maid who takes up half my bed?"

"A third of your bed," she said. "What else would it take to let me stay? Seriously, Chris, whatever you want, I'll do it. I'm your slave." The moment she said it, my thoughts ran to sex, but then I reminded myself she was my sister. Still, I was going to tease her about it. She had teased me plenty. "You better be careful telling a guy you'll be his slave."

"Why's that? Is there something you want me to do?"

I could see her brown eyes sparkle in the dark, as if she knew what I was thinking. I laughed it off. "Are you joking with me?"

"No. I'll do anything you say. Absolutely anything."

"And what if I abuse my power?" I asked with a smirk.

"You wouldn't do that," she said. "You've always looked out for me. It's not as if you'd ask me to do something seriously depraved, would you?"

Damn it! "If you're willing to do anything, then I'll just order you to go home and live with Mom."

"No," she said. "If I have to be a slave, I want to choose my master."

"You're not my slave, Eunha. I don't need a slave."

"I'm just trying to say I wouldn't be a burden."

"And what if I want to bring a girl home or something?" I asked. "Then what? Yes, this is my little sister. She's going to clean the kitchen while we fuck. Try not to let it bother you."

She pouted, her full lips quivering in the dark. "Do you bring home a lot of girls?"

I wish. "That's not the point."

"Then what's the point? If you want to bring someone home, I'll wait in the hall."

"And if she sleeps here?"

"I'll sleep in the hall."

"Eunha, you're just not thinking this through."

"What am I not thinking through?" she asked.

"There's more to it than that. I like my space."

"You'll have it. You don't have to entertain me."

"I like to sleep naked."

"Then take off the boxers. I never said you had to wear them."

"I can't do that with you here."

"I already saw your cock, Chris."

"Jesus, do you have to keep bringing that up? It's humiliating."

"It's just me. I thought it was funny."

"Yeah, a girl thinks my dick is funny, just what I needed to hear."

"I didn't mean it like that, and your cock is too big to laugh at."

"Jesus, stop teasing me, please."

"I'm just trying to lighten you up."

"And what if I want to watch porn?" I said.

She shrugged in the dark. "I don't care. I watch porn too."

"I can't watch that stuff in front of you."

"You can. Doesn't bother me."

"Yeah, that's fine until I start jerking off. Hey, sis, pass the lube."

She giggled. "Okay, you can jerk off in front of me."

"Stop joking, I can't."

"Seriously, I don't care. I'll turn my head."

"You don't think it's gross to sit there while your bother jerks off to porn? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It's not that gross. I masturbate all the time."

"Not in front of people."

"I'm not people. I'm your sister."

"You know, I think Mom was right. You are a slut."

"Stop it, I am not. It's different with you. You're family."

"So you'd masturbate in front of me?" I asked. My eyes ran over her again, lingering on her tummy. The sheet was slipping down her hip. She was twirling the tie of her bikini bottoms between her fingers, as if she was threatening to tug on those strings.

"Sure, why not? If we see each other, it's not a big deal. It's not like we'd be doing anything together or touching each other."

"Eunha, seriously, you're not the same girl I remember. Mom was right. You are a slut."

"I'm not a slut, Chris," she said. "I haven't even, um, I haven't fucked that many guys."

"That's not my business," I said.

"Well, I haven't. Mom sees me leave for dates and then I don't come home at night, but that doesn't mean I'm out having sex. I spend the night at my friend Sarah's house, and sometimes we eat each other out, but that's it."

"What! You do what? You eat pussy now?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm a lesbian. I'm just sleeping there, and only because I can't stand to be in that house with Dale. I'm miserable. Today, all I could think about was when it would be my turn to move out, and when I got in that argument with Mom, I was happy because I finally had an excuse to get out and come live with you."

"But there's not enough room here for both of us," I said. "Why don't you move in with your friend Sarah? You two can eat pussy all you want."

"She doesn't want to leave home. Her parents are actually nice to her. Would you leave if you got a free car, and money, and you had a pool and your parents were paying for you to go to college? I wouldn't leave that house either."

"Why don't you get a job and save up like I did and then move out?"

"If you let me stay here, that's what I'll do. I'll get a job and I'll save up, and maybe we could move to a new place together, with two rooms, then you could have your privacy but we could still live together."

"That's a long way off."

"I know, and in the meantime, we can be roomies."

"And share a bed and masturbate in front of each other?"

"Sure."

"I'm not doing that, Eunha. It's weird."

"I'm just saying you could do it if you wanted to. I feel comfortable with you. I wouldn't care."

"I care," I said, getting annoyed with her. She wasn't getting it.

"Okay, look, remember when Dad died? I crawled into your bed every night and cried myself to sleep. I did that for…how long, three months? Until Mom told us we were too old to sleep together."

"She was right. We were."

"But I didn't think about it like that. I just wanted my brother. That's how I felt today. I just wanted to get out of that house and be with you."

She climbed up and crawled over, her back arched, the shirt held together by that one button, threatening to pop open and expose her breasts. She came down right beside me, putting her hand on my chest. Then she bumped her nose into my nose, rubbing from side to side like she used to when she was little.

"You know, I didn't come here just to get away from Mom and Dale. I also came because I missed you. I thought it would be fun to be together again, how we used to be."

She gave me a quick kiss. I felt her soft lips on mine for a moment and then she settled down with her head on my chest. She began rubbing with her hand, moving it down, pushing the sheet aside as she went, her hand stopping at the waistline of the boxers. Then her hand came back up to my chest. My cock was stirring. I hadn't had sex in quite a while.

"I've really missed you," Eunha said.

"I've missed you too."

"So, what do you say?" she asked. "Can I move in?"

I wanted to say no, but if I did, she'd keep talking. "Let me think about, okay?"

She smiled up at me. "Really, you're going to think about it?"

"Yeah. I have three days."

"Okay, that's fair. Three days. I'll show you what a good roomie I can be."

"Then be a really good roomie and let me sleep. I have to get up early."

"You got it."

She put her head back down. I exhaled and closed my eyes. She was still rubbing up and down, from my chest to my stomach, her fingers lingering around my bellybutton. My cock was wondering if she was going to go lower, but she always brought her hand back up. It was torture, but she wasn't stopping. She was probably used to staying up late. Maybe I liked this, having her here, but at the same time, it was uncomfortable. I could really feel my cock getting harder as she kept rubbing my chest and stomach. I wish I had finished jerking off earlier. I was going to have to start jerking off in the shower. I couldn't actually do it in front of her. I'm sure that was a bluff anyway. She was going to say anything so I wouldn't throw her out. But she couldn't be serious, could she? Masturbating in front of each other? That was crazy. She was definitely bluffing. I drifted off to sleep but woke up later in the night to the red numbers telling me it was 3:00 am. Eunha was still there, but her head had moved farther down my stomach. Her heavy breathing told me she was sleeping, but to my surprise, my cock was standing straight up, pointing at her face. And it wasn't under the sheet; it wasn't even in my boxers. Somehow, it had worked itself out of the piss flap and was just standing there for all the world to see.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered to myself. I reached around Eunha's head and grabbed it. It was really stiff, almost painful. Without waking my sister, I tried to stuff it back into my boxers. Then I pulled the sheet over it. It still looked obscene, a large tent right in front of her face. Thank god she was asleep.

As gently as I could, I slid my hand under her head and moved her to the other side of the bed. She snorted, but then she was quiet. But the button, that one button, popped open. The shirt tugged as I set her head down and her breasts fell out.

"Shit," I mumbled, but I looked. Her breasts were so perfect, her nipples dark and perky and pointing at me. Her head turned and I froze. Her arms lazily reached over her head and stretched. Her breasts seemed to amplify in size, but her eyes remained closed. She breathed slowly and didn't move again. I think she was asleep. If she wasn't, I was in trouble. I very slowly pulled the shirt back together and buttoned it, just the one, so she wouldn't know.

Then I lay back down. My cock was so hard it hurt. I wanted to take it out and beat the hell out of it, and I almost did. This was my apartment, damn it, and she had told me I could, but there this was this door in my head that kept knocking, reminding me she was my little sister. Still, I slid my hand under the sheet and gave my cock a squeeze, just to let it know I was sorry. I looked up at the ceiling. Then I squirmed. Something was under me. I reached down and pulled it out. Pink bikini briefs. My jaw dropped and my head turned. My eyes instantly went to Eunha's crotch, covered by the sheet. She was naked under there. She had to be. How had these come off? The strings must have caught on something, pulled open accidently. There was no way I could put these back on. What was I going to do?

Forget it. It wasn't my fault. I placed them delicately in her hand and turned all the way around, my back to her. I gave my cock a few strokes over my boxers. Shit, thinking of her naked right next to me was getting me way too worked up. I felt like rolling over and just fucking her awake, but my head-door was knocking again. She's my sister. I climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom, taking my cock out, giving it a few more loving strokes as I stood in front of the toilet. There was no way I could piss like this. I needed to get soft, quick. I moved over to the sink and took handfuls of cold water, running it along the length of my shaft.

"Ahhh…fuck."

That did it. I pissed, turned off the light, and made my way back to bed. Eunha was still sleeping. I could see the outline of her body under the sheet. Her legs were spread wide open. The sheet seemed to melt against her pussy, leaving a crease. I stared at it for a second. It looked almost wet in the dark. Was she wet? No, I was imagining things. I climbed into bed, trying not to wake her with my movement.

"Mmm, Chris?" Eunha whispered. She opened her eyes, blinking at me. "Is that you?"

"I had to use the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she said, but then she rolled over and her arm came down on my chest again. She lifted her neck and once again kissed my lips. It was a longer kiss than the earlier one, with her mouth parted, which felt more like a real kiss, but then her head came down on my chest and she was quiet. Yeah, she was just tired. Then I felt her leg on top of mine. Her crotch was pressed right up against my thigh. My cock jerked, daring me to drown it in cold water again as it filled with warm blood. Eunha must have been really out of it not to realize she was naked and pressing her bare pussy right up against my leg. I pinched my eyes shut and thought of baseball. Then she grinded her pussy against me. Had she just done that? Or was she just twitching in her sleep? What the fuck? And she did feel wet. I think she really was. Or maybe she was just having a wet dream. I took a deep breath and delved into my own dreams.

I woke to the sound of my alarm. I started to sit up, but I found Eunha's head on my chest. She sat up, the sheet falling away as she climbed up to her knees and stretched over me to reach the clock. My eyes bulged. Her knees were spread and I could see her pussy. It was totally shaven, her little clit poking out between her lips. And that wasn't all. The shirt's buttons had opened. Her breasts were hanging in my face as she hit the snooze button. Then she fell back down on the bed, practically on top of me.

"Ugh, way too early."

"Uh, sis?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not dressed."

"Huh?"

"Your bikini is off and your shirt is open."

She lifted up, looking down at herself. "Oh, shit, sorry."

And then she buttoned it. I turned my head.

"What happened to my bikini?" she asked, looking all around.

"I don't know. It's your bikini. Keep your damn clothes on."

Eunha lifted the sheet, which I really wish she had not done, because my cock was raging with morning wood, fighting to get out of my boxers. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed.

"Got it," she called behind me. "Sorry, wardrobe malfunction. Guess we're even for yesterday."

"Yeah, right. I have to shower and get going."

"Okay. I'm going back to sleep."

"I'll be back around 5:00 pm."

"See ya."

As I climbed up and headed to the bathroom, I tried to keep my back to her so she wouldn't see the tent in my boxers, but I was glad to shut the door and climb into the shower. I slid the glass door closed and turned on the water. Finally, I could jerk off. I took some soap, lathered up, and then slowly began stroking my cock. It felt so good after so long---12 hours is a long time for me---I just leaned against the wall and had at it, until I heard my sister.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" Eunha said.

I opened my eyes to see her standing right there, watching me through the shower glass.

"Jesus, fuck!" I said as I spun around. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I had to pee."

"You don't knock?" I yelled.

"The door wasn't closed," she said.

"The door doesn't close," I said. "It's broken, remember?"

"Well, I was just going to be quick."

"Fine, go."

I kept my back to her, but she could still see my butt. I felt like I was on display with the toilet right across from the shower. Was she done yet?

"Are you done yet?"

"Yeah, you can turn around."

I turned but she was still standing there. I spun back around, my cock flying after me, hitting the wall. "What the hell? I thought you were done."

"I finished peeing. I have to wash my hands."

I was angry now. "Damn it, Eunha. See, this is why we can't share an apartment."

"Why? Because I had to pee?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I told you, it's fine if you jerk off. I don't care."

"I don't want you to see me naked. It's embarrassing."

"I saw you naked yesterday. And I woke up in the middle of the night with your cock in my face. It was all hard and just out in the open. But I didn't wake you up and yell at you, even though you yelled at me because my bikini accidently fell off."

"Can I please finish showering?" I said.

"Yes. Sorry, geez." She left and I finished showering. I would just have to wait until Saturday to jerk off. There was no other choice. I climbed out of the shower and toweled off, wrapping it around my waist. I still needed to get my clothes though. Before I even left the bathroom, I could hear noise. Someone was moaning. Was that Eunha? Was she out there masturbating, playing with her pussy? I stepped out, seeing something even more shocking. She was watching porn, my porn, the DVD I had left in yesterday. She was under the sheets. I couldn't tell what she was doing, but…

"What are you doing?" Her hands came out from under the sheet. "Nothing. I just turned on the TV and this was on."

"I thought you were going back to bed."

"I'm too awake now. I thought you were still in the shower."

I laughed. I couldn't believe it. My little sister was playing with herself in my bed. Words escaped me. "Whatever, Eunha. I just really need to get out of here."

I picked out my clothes from the dresser and turned back toward the bathroom.

"Where are you going?' she asked.

"To get dressed."

"Why don't you dress out here?" she asked, turning on her side, watching me.

"Seeing me naked earlier wasn't enough for you?" I asked. She shook her head with a grin. "I want you to be comfortable when you're at home. Come on, let's see that cock again."

"Are you serious right now?" I asked.

"Sure. I've already seen it. You're not going to surprise me. Come on, change." I raised an eyebrow, but then I decided to call her bluff, if it was a bluff. I opened my towel and tossed it on the bed. My cock was still half hard, and getting harder, thinking about her playing with her pussy. Her eyes were on it.

"See?" she said. "Like I'm not even here."

"This doesn't bother you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I like it."

"You like it?" I said.

"Yeah. I think you have a great cock. I like looking at it."

"You do know we're related, right?"

"I didn't say I wanted to climb on top of it and ride it all day long. I just said I like it."

"Are you sure you're not a slut?"

"Why? Do you like slutty girls? Maybe I am a slut. Maybe I like big cocks." I shook my head but started to dress. One of her hands was under the sheet while she watched me. I was pretty sure she was playing herself. By the time I finished dressing, my cock was straining against my zipper.

"See you later," I said. "Wait, come give me a hug and a kiss goodbye," she said, sitting up in bed, keeping the sheet around her waist, the shirt still hanging onto its button for dear life. I wasn't in the habit of kissing someone goodbye in the morning, but I wasn't in the habit of dressing in front of anyone either. And now her fingers were all slick and glossy from playing with herself. Fuck, my sister was a seriously horny girl, and I was beginning to suspect she had undressed herself last night. I sat on the bed, turning my head to offer my cheek.

"No," she pouted. "Eskimo kiss." I rolled my eyes but faced her. She put her hands on my jaw and came in, rubbing our noses together, up and down, her full lips just in front of mine. I really wanted to kiss her, but then she kissed me, and it was even longer this time, closing her mouth around my lower lip. Then she pulled away, sucking on my lower lip as she did so.

"Mmm. See ya, roomie."

I climbed up. "See ya." It is hard, hard to sort mail when you're thinking about your naked little sister all day long, playing with her pussy and watching porn in your bed. But work gave me time to think about the situation. A couple of things occurred to me. First, nudity wasn't that important to Eunha, at least not with family. I don't know where she got that from, but some families were nudists, so maybe it wasn't a big deal. Next, I think she was flirting with me. I wasn't imagining that. I didn't know how far she expected it to go. Maybe she was just being playful, but she was still off limits. And it made me think about why she was doing it. Either she was trying to tempt me into letting her stay, and once I agreed, it would stop, or she was doing it because she really did have some sort of crush on me, which I found just as unbelievable. After all, she was my sister!

On the way home, I stopped at the department store. Shopping in the girl's section for panties, t-shirts, jeans, socks, and shoes will get you looks every time. No bra though. I told myself it was because I didn't know anything about bra sizes, but I really liked the idea of seeing her nipples again. "Hello?" I called as I entered my apartment.

Eunha was gone, but there weren't a lot of places to hide. For a moment I was worried. She must have gone out on her own, with nothing but a bikini and a jean jacket and a skirt! My neighborhood wasn't the nicest either, but then I heard the shower running. Oh, she was taking a shower. Well, I could wait. The apartment itself, I noticed, was very clean. Everything was dusted and the hardwood floors reflected the light. Even all the dishes had been washed and put away. And there was food simmering on the stove. She was making pasta soup, which was about the only thing she could make with my limited pantry.

I sat on the stool at my kitchen counter, thinking about my sister in the shower…naked. I wanted to charge in on her, like she had done to me. It would have been fair too. She's the one who said she didn't care, and I had dressed in front of her this morning. God, had I really done that? Oh, hell, why not go in? I went to the bathroom door and knocked. It creaked open. "Sis?"

"Chris, that you?"

"No, it's the landlord. This apartment is only leased for one tenant."

"He didn't say that," she called back. "Did he?"

"I don't think he'd care."

"Good."

"Not that I'm agreeing."

"Come in here. I can't hear you."

"You're showering."

"I said come in here. Don't worry, I'm not playing with myself, like you were." I sighed. She was giggling. Fine, if she didn't care if I saw her naked, than neither did I. I barged in and stared right through the glass. She was scrubbing her face, giving me plenty of time to stare at her bare breasts and shaved pussy, the fog barely blocking my gaze. The water was running freely from her dark nipples, her legs were spread apart. Her clit was poking out just to say hello. Then her hands slid down and blocked my view. "My face is up here, pervert."

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I got you a present."

"Really?" she said through the glass. She was washing between her legs now, running the bar of soap across her pussy lips. "A present for me? Hey, up here."

"You are totally washing your pussy right now to fuck with me."

She laughed. "When I fuck with you, you'll know it. Come on, what'd you get me?"

Her hands had moved on, lathering her breasts, running her fingers over her nipples.

"I bought you a t-shirt, pants, panties, socks, and some shoes."

"Really? You're so sweet."

"I would've taken you to the store with me, but no shirt, no shoes, no service."

"It's okay. I figured I'd just walk around your apartment naked for the rest of my life."

"What a tempting thought."

"Oh, you're dirty thinking like that, staring at your sister while she's showering."

"You told me to come in here!"

"I didn't tell you to fuck me with your eyes."

I threw the bag of clothes at the shower door. "That's it. I'm leaving."

She was laughing again, her words chasing me out. "Ow, Chris, your cock is so big and hard, and my pussy is so small and tight, be gentle!" I slammed the door, though it creaked back open. I was definitely going to yell at the landlord to fix that thing. Damn, my sister was annoying. And watching her shower like that had my cock hard all over again.

"Fucking hell, I can't live like this. I am going to fuck her or throw her out, but either way she is screwed." A few minutes later, the door opened and she stood there in a pair of white cotton panties and a pink t-shirt with the word PINK across the chest. It was on clearance. Her nipples were poking out between the P and K. Maybe I should have bought her the bra.

"Fits perfect," she said. "What about the pants?" I asked.

"Didn't fit perfect, too big. I guess you've been staring at my tits too much and not my ass."

"Fuck, Eunha, do you have to say that sort of stuff?"

"Calm down. I'm just teasing. The pants are fine if we go somewhere, but I'm going to have to borrow a belt or something, and I don't like wearing jeans around the house."

"So you're going to prance around in panties?"

"Should I put my bikini back on?"

"Fine, wear whatever you want. Not like I haven't seen everything."

"Good, there you go. You're getting more comfortable with me by the minute. See, I told you I'd be the ghost roomie."

"I thought you were slave roomie."

"I'm both. Look at this place."

"It does look good. You really busted your ass cleaning up."

"I did. Tomorrow, I'm going to wash all the windows."

"Both windows? Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I didn't say it was going to take all day."

"And you made dinner?" I said.

"Yup. It should be done. Hungry?"

"Sure. Let me change first."

I took my sweatpants into the bathroom, stripping and tossing my work clothes into the hamper. I considered wearing underwear, but I prefer to rock out with my cock out, or if I have to, in sweat pants.

"No shirt?" she said when I came out.

"It's my apartment, damn it. I don't have to wear a shirt if I don't want to. You don't have pants on."

"I wasn't complaining. You have a nice body. I like it."

Did she just say that?

"Sit," she said.

I sat and ate her pasta soup. Truth be told, she wasn't the best cook, but she only had our mother to blame, who was a terrible cook, and I wasn't giving her the ingredients she needed.

"We really need to go shopping for food," she said over the counter.

"No cash. I spent the last of my money on the pants you aren't wearing."

"What a sweetheart," she said, smiling at me. "How was work?"

"Work was work."

"Did you miss me?" she cooed.

"Actually, yeah."

"Really?" she said, the sarcasm leaving her voice.

"Sure. Just because I don't have room for you, doesn't mean I'm not happy to see you, but only for a few days."

"You were doing so well."

I chuckled and then took my dishes to the sink, but Eunha cut me off.

"Ah-ah, let me. One of the perks of a roomie like me, I do all the dishes. Get comfy on the sofa and I'll bring you a beer."

"Not bad," I said, following her orders. I began channel surfing as she set a couple of bottles down on the end table, and then she sat sideways on the sofa, resting her back against my side. I opened my arm to her.

"What are we watching?" she asked.

"Not much. I can't afford cable."

"I noticed," she said.

"I have a few DVDs."

"You mean porn?" she asked.

"No! I meant movie DVDs. I have, like, Titanic."

"You like that movie?"

"I love it, especially the tits, and all the mayhem too."

"I like the romance."

"It's got something for everyone."

I put the movie in and returned to the sofa. Eunha began squirming.

"What?" I said.

"I'm not comfortable."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

She sat up. "Spread 'em."

"My legs?"

"Yeah." I obeyed, throwing my leg up. She fell between them. I could feel her whole body right up against mine, the plumpness of her breasts, the rigidity of her ribs, her hip bone digging into my cock, and the view, those white panties, bare thighs, long legs curled up under her butt, her feet tucked away.

"Much better," she said. She nuzzled her nose against mine, but this time, I didn't wait for her to kiss me. I kissed her, and I wasn't cutesy about it. I opened my mouth and closed against her lips. She gave a squeal of surprise and pulled away.

"What was that?" she said. "You totally just tried to make out with me."

"I did not," I said. "I was just kissing you like you kiss me."

"I don't kiss you like that. You tried to stick your tongue in my mouth."

"I did not," I defended, and I really hadn't.

"Did so, I felt it."

"I did not," I repeated. Really, I hadn't!

"Did so!" she said. "You went like this."

And then she showed me what I didn't do. She kissed me. It started out as a peck, but she opened her mouth and her tongue flicked out. My mouth opened to welcome it. I licked back and our tongues swirled against each other. She pulled away again and laughed. "You did it again!"

"Whoa, you kissed me that time. I was just participating."

"Is that what you call it?" she said. "And your cock is hard again."

It was, and I knew she could feel it, but I couldn't help it. She was so sexy. "It's because you're crushing it."

"Yeah, right," she said, driving her hip into me.

I responded by grinding back against her. "Slut."

"Me?" she said. "You're the slut, grinding that big cock against me."

"You're the one pushing up against that big cock," I said.

"I came here to get comfortable. You're the one trying to fuck me."

"I'm not trying to fuck you."

"Then why is your cock hard?"

"Because it doesn't know we're related, but I'll send it a memo."

"Mmmhmm," she said, turning back to the TV and settling in, still pinning my cock under her. It was starting to hurt now. "Let's just get back to the movie."

I tried to watch the movie, but it just wasn't happening. I was so horny. I was thinking about fucking her again. It would be so easy to lift her right up into my lap, yank her panties to the side, and thrust up into her cunt. It would take one minute, two tops, and I would be inside her. Fuck, stop! The head-door was knocking again, reminding me this was my little sister. I taught her how to ride a bike. I wasn't going to teach her how to ride a cock. "Lean back a little more," she said.

I lifted up, taking the excuse to grind my cock into her side as I settled back down. Then she sat up. I was worried she was upset, but her head came down and she laid it right on my crotch, pinning the dick under her skull. "This movie is so long, getting a little sleepy," Eunha said, yawning.

"Er, sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For, uh, you know," I said. My cock throbbed under her head.

"Oh, for you cock? It's okay. It didn't get the memo."

"Look, your head is uncomfortable on it, actually."

"Oh," she said, looking up. My dick tented in front of her. "Is it uncomfortable in your pants?"

"Yeah."

"Then take it out," she said, and then she grabbed my pants. I just watched dumbfounded as she pulled the flap open, lined up the slit, and then slipped my cock right out into the open. It was pointing straight out in front of her, blocking her view of the TV. She gave it a long look and then turned her eyes up at me. "Better?" It was better, far better. "Yeah, much. It was really hurting."

"I fixed it."

"You're okay seeing it?"

"I told you it's fine." She lifted her head and kissed my stomach. I thought she was going to kiss my cock. It did brush up against her neck though. "I just want you to be comfortable. It's your home. If your cock is uncomfortable stuck in your pants, take it out. I don't want to be in your way."

"Thanks," I said, and then her head came back down. I was not entirely sure whether she was watching the movie or just staring straight at my cock. Either way, I was so horny I was throbbing involuntarily.

"I didn't know they moved so much," she said with a giggle.

I flexed it for her a few times.

"Oh, neat trick. Trying to impress me?"

"Yeah, he loves his little sister."

"Mmm, I bet he does. He's probably going to cum all over me as soon the Titanic tits come on."

"At least he'll get soft and you can watch the movie."

She chuckled again, but then she yawned. Seeing her mouth wide open like that, I thought about just grabbing her head and shoving my cock in. "Sorry. I'm so sleepy. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Yeah, this sofa mattress is terrible. Another reason you wouldn't want to stay."

"No, it wasn't the mattress. It was my clothes. I like to sleep naked, and the shirt just tugged on me all night long whenever I moved."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't like wearing clothes either."

She looked up at me, my cock bobbing right beside her pretty face. "Think we can sleep naked tonight?"

"Both of us?"

"Yeah. It's not like you're hiding anything now."

"You're okay with that?"

"Sure. Just don't start fucking me in my sleep or anything."

I chuckled. "No promises."

"Oh, you are dirty. I think you're really thinking about it, fucking your poor, defenseless, homeless little sister while she's sleeping…with this giant thing." She flicked my cock with her middle finger.

"Ahhh. Come on, don't do that."

"What, this?" She flicked it again.

"Stop," I complained.

She grinned. "What do you say we pull out the bed and get some sleep?"

"Sounds good." We turned off the movie, climbed off the sofa, and pulled out the bed, my cock bobbing around the whole time. It was really embarrassing, especially the way she kept looking at it. She was still my little sister, after all, but I had talked myself into some rationale here, and that was that nudism was a very common thing in some families, even families who weren't practicing incest, just practicing nudism. And maybe that's all we were doing. The human body is a beautiful thing, especially my sister's. I could admire her, see that she was beautiful. It's not as if we were going to have sex. My whole epiphany pretty much went out the window when she grabbed the bottom of her pink shirt, lifted it up, and exposed her breasts. My eyes locked on her, just staring at those perfectly shaped globes and gorgeous dark nipples. Then she turned all the way around, taking the hip of her panties and peeling them down. I watched as her ass was exposed. And then she bent over, as if she was not content to let her panties fall to her feet. She widened her stance and I could see her pussy lips between her legs, glistening. Then she stepped out of her panties, one foot at a time. My cock was flexing all on its own, as if it was trying to get her pussy's attention, inviting it over for some fun. I wanted to slap it.

"Well," she said, looking at me with her hands on her hips, "aren't you losing the sweat pants?" I pushed them down, my cock tugged along until it sprung back up and bounced around, happy to do its only trick for the naked girl. Eunha was watching, a silly smirk on her face. I shyly got into bed, pulling the sheet up over my dick. She climbed in after me, only taking the sheet up to her waist.

"See how comfortable this is?" she asked. "You can sleep naked, get dressed in front of me, shower, and all of it's fine. Your roomie is not in your way at all."

"I haven't jerked off yet," I pointed out.

"So, do it."

"I'm not jerking off in front of you."

"Why not?"

"I thought you were bluffing about that."

"I don't know how to bluff. Seriously, lower the sheet, rub your cock. I don't mind. I want to watch."

"You want to watch?"

"Yeah. I've never seen a guy jerk off before."

"But I'm your brother. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm a slut, remember? And you made me horny."

"Horny?"

"Yeah. Don't look at me like that. It's your fault. You had your cock pressed up against my hip and then had it wagging around in front of my face. My pussy doesn't know were related either. So, I want to see you play with it."

"You're sick."

"No, I'm not. And I have to show you I'm comfortable with you jerking off in front of me, or you'll kick me out. It's not a problem. We can be roomies. So, get to it."

"Eunha, naked is one thing, but that's too much."

"It's not. Just relax. You're too uptight. Here, I know what you need." Eunha climbed up on her knees and turned around, leaning over the bed. I had no idea what she was doing, but all I could focus on was her bare ass and pussy just inches from my face. Then she came back with a bottle of lube. "I found this earlier. Yours?"

"It's Mrs. Webber's. She keeps it here."

She laughed. "Right. I bet you need it to grease up that giant piston of yours. Here, put some on your cock and get to work."

"Eunha, seriously, I'm not jerking off."

"No, come on, you have to," she said. "If you don't, you might as well kick me out now because you'll never let me stay."

"I can't. I'd feel too weird."

"Just try. Here, I'll help you get started."

And then she peeled the sheet back.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting lube on your cock," she said. She flipped the lid open. "You can do the rest."

"You're not serious."

Before I could argue, she squeezed the bottle, and the clear fluid dripped along the underside of my cock. I groaned, mostly from the cold lube.

"I can't fucking believe you just did that. You know that stuff is cold, right?"

"Come on, spread it over your cock. It'll warm up."

"I'm not doing it," I said firmly.

"Jesus, fine, I'll spread it, but you better start jerking off." And then Eunha began rubbing the lube across my cock with her fingertips, trying to spread it along the shaft, from the bottom to the top, all around the crown. I was holding my breath. She was rubbing my cock. My sister was really rubbing my cock. Should I put a stop to this? How had things gotten so far out of hand?

"Hold on," she said. "I need more lube. Jesus, you have a big cock. Virgins beware." She put a dollop of lube on her palm and rubbed her hands together. Then she wiped both hands on it, trying to get the lube off. I groaned now. I couldn't believe she was doing this. I felt like I should say something, but it felt so good. She was making sure there was lube over every inch of it, top, bottom, sides. She paid the most attention to my head, sliding her little fingers along the slit.

"You really do have a big cock, Chris," she said, glancing at me, her fingers moving in small circles along my shaft. "I saw it a few times when we were younger, but not like this."

"You, uh, you missed a spot."

She smirked at me, sandwiching my cock between her palms, running them from top to bottom. "Did I get it that time?"

Was it wrong if I said no and just told her to keep rubbing? Then she cupped my balls and rolled them between her fingers.

"Was I supposed to lube the balls?" she asked.

"Fuck," I mumbled. "Eunha, do you realize what you're doing right now?"

"What am I doing?" she asked.

"You're jerking me off."

"No, I'm lubing you up, and I'm done now, so get to it."

She sat back on her knees and folded her arms, still naked, her tits on display, her shaved pussy peeking out. I really didn't know how we had come this far, but I do know it was her fault. And I was angry at her. Nobody told me to jerk off in my own apartment, damn it.

"I'm not jerking off," I told her.

"Why are you being so difficult? Do I have to jerk you off now too?"

"Yeah, because I'm not doing it. So go ahead, slave, jerk me off. You want to stay so bad, do it." She stared at me for a moment. I actually wanted her to get angry, storm off, dress, ask me to take her home, now, do anything but jerk me off. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft and squeezed as hard as she could, an angry squeeze. Then she ran her hand from the bottom of my cock all the way up to the top.

"Holy fuck," was all I could say.

She smirked at me, just stroking my long cock up and down, nice and slow. She rubbed the piss slit with her thumb, slick from all the lube.

"Feel good?"

"Fuck."

"That's a yes," she said. She began using both hands, pumping it all the way up, sliding it between her slick fingers, running all the way back down. "This is really making my pussy wet. It's too bad you're my brother."

"And if I wasn't?" I asked.

"You'll never know," she said in a teasing voice.

"I can't believe you're doing this. You've lost your mind, you know that?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, sliding her hands up and down, holding my cock like a baseball bat, the slippery sound of the lube loud as she tugged on my cock. "Doesn't this prove I'd make a good roomie? And this doesn't have to be a one time thing."

"Huh?" I mumbled. Watching her hands run up and down my cock had me in a trance. She began massaging my crown as her other hand went down and squeezed my balls.

"If I rub your cock from now on, whenever you want, would you let me live here?"

"Jesus, Eunha, you're really willing to whore-out hand jobs for half a bed in a shitty apartment?"

"A third of a bed, and I don't give hand jobs to strangers." I was having trouble talking to her while she was working my cock over with those hands of hers. Her fingers were spread apart to keep a grip on the shaft, her orange nails glistening with lube.

"I think I'd be less shocked if you were giving hand jobs to strangers," I said.

"My pussy's still off limits, just so you know," she said.

I glanced at her. "Are you sure?" She laughed. "I bet you'd like that, huh? Fucking my little pussy with this." She squeezed my cockhead. "I'm tight too, you know? You'd split me open. Or maybe you'd like that?"

"Would not," I mumbled

She squeezed my cock harder, digging her nails into it, dragging them up and down. "Come on, admit it. You want to fuck me. You're thinking about it."

"It's hard not to think about it when you're jerking me off and running around my apartment naked. Do you want me to fuck you?" She chuckled, tugging harder on my cock. "Letting my brother fuck me is worth more than a third of a bed in a shitty apartment."

"Fuck, I'm going to cum."

"Cum," she said, wrapping both hands on top of each other. She began pumping them together in fast, long strokes. "Let's see how much cum comes out of a giant cock like yours." That was it. I exploded, showering her with sperm. It went everywhere, her face, her tits, all over her stomach. She kept stroking even as I finished.

"Holy fuck, that's a lot of cum," she said. "Is that normal? You okay?"

"Yeah," I said tiredly.

She was still stroking up and down. "I seriously cannot believe you came so much."

"You can stop now."

"Oh, okay," she said, taking her hands off my cock. They were covered in cum. She looked at them and then down at herself like she didn't know what to do. "I'm a mess."

"Sorry," I said.

"It's okay. Feel good?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Cool," she said. "So…roomies?"

I sighed, falling back, putting my hands over my eyes.

"Think about it," she said. "I'm going to wash my hands." I listened to her leave and heard the faucet turn on. I didn't know what to say when she came back. If anything, I wanted her to leave sooner. This couldn't go on, letting my baby sister jerk me off. I couldn't even believe it had happened. Was she this desperate to move out? Things had never been that bad at home, but I couldn't let her stay here, having her jerk me off on command, because I knew I would abuse my power. And it wouldn't stop there. I would start fucking her. Hell, at this rate, I didn't know if I was going to make it till Saturday. When the bathroom light turned off, I rolled over and pretended to be asleep. She came back and whispered my name a few times, but I was quiet. Then she lay down and wrapped her arms around my waist. I felt her hard nipples against my back, as well as some of the cold cum on her stomach. I felt ashamed, like I had taken advantage of her. The alarm! I rolled over to reach for it, but Eunha was in my way, crawling over me, her breasts hanging in my face as she hit the snooze button. Then she came down next to me. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Eunha was mumbling something. Then I felt a breeze on my cock and realized she had lifted the sheet.

ch. 2

[lazylevxd]

Young, Tight & Risky

Newjeans / NJZ Danielle

Tags: Public sex, Doggystyle, BWC, Blowjob

Synopsis: You are the senior of the running crew you made few years ago. This time, Your private client is the one and only Danielle Marsh.

You sat on the bench in the middle of the not-so crowded park . Waiting for someone named Danielle. As your assistant told you two days ago that Danielle wants to have a private running session with you.

That's all you know. A girl named Danielle who will come to do a session with you. You thought maybe.. just maybe it's that Danielle that you knew but that name is common.

You heard someone running towards to you and you saw a girl who's you thought an early 20's. Wearing a nike crop top, black pants, a hat and an oversized shades.

She stops infront of you and quite breatheless. She took off her shades. "Hello, Senior! I'm not late, right?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. This is the that Danielle! You're not into her group that much, Just a casual listener but you knew all the members names and personalities.

She noticed you're speechless then she chuckled. "Hey! Hey! Come back to earth, senior!" She laughed. "I read a post about your running crew and decided to have a private running session with you today because I want to learn more from you."

"Ahh.. I.. I understand. It was just.. surprising that a kpop idol is my private client." Both of you chuckled.

"Anyway, Shall we start running? You told my assistant that you wanted to reach atleast 20km, right?"

"Yeah! I just wanted to see what's my limits are. I'm so pumped up today!"

Both of you started running at the same pace. You noticed how her crop top clings to her body her exposed toned tummy and the perfect shape of her ass through her pants.

She looked at you and smiled. You smiled back then tried your best to focus on running along with her.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, Sure."

"Of all the hobbies, Why did you decide to go running?"

"Well... My group is on hiatus for obvious reasons why. While waiting for the fair deal between the members and the company, I decided to do something like this. Just want to get out what makes me stressed these days."

You nodded. You knew all about the issues between the group and the company. People taking sides but you are just neutral.

You two passed several shops and people that may or may not recognized her. Still can't believe a kpop idol is running along with you.

Halfway of the running route when both of you decided to take a five minute break. You noticed that you two are near at the entrance of Eungbongsan mountain.

"So this is the famous mountain in Seoul huh?"

"Yeah. It's been long the last time I roamed there. It has an amazing view at the top."

"Wow! Interesting..." She looked up then gaze back to you. "Shall we go there instead?"

"Well... Why not? Let's go then."

Both of you started jogging through the mountain. Encountered some people going down with exchanged smiles and encouragements.

Both of you talked about foods and stuffs until...

"OH MY GOSH!!"

She jumped in shock and embraced you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her slender waist.

She just scared of the sudden rustle at the bushes nearby. It's a cat and a dead mouse on it's mouth as it ran away from the area.

"Relax, Dani. It's just a cat."

"Really? Phew. I thought it's a bear or something."

Both of you looked at each other, You just realized that your buldge is pressed against her tummy. You gently pushed her away.

"Well.. uhh.." You cleared your throat. Trying hard to hide your buldge from her gaze. "Shall we continue, Dani?"

Her gaze lingered at your buldge before meeting your eyes and nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Let's continue then."

She jogged first. You followed her behind. While trailing behind her, you couldn't look away from her body. Your cock is hard and throbbing. Desperately in need to relieve the tension inside of you.

You stopped your tracks, She stopped as well. "I... I'm going somewhere to piss. I'll be quick."

You didn't even waited for her response as you quickly ran across the bushes until you found a perfect spot.

Once out of sight, you let out a shaky breath and pulled down your pants, freeing your erect cock.

You stroked yourself slowly at first, savoring the sensation as you imagined how Danielle would look if she's naked. As you picks up speed, grunts of pleasure escapes your lips. "Fuck... Danielle.. I bet you're so tight." Lost in the moment, You failed to notice that Danielle is creeping up behind you.

"Didn't expect to find you doing that here, senior."

You gasped, your cock twitching in surprise as Danielle walked closer to you, Her gaze lingers at your exposed cock before meeting your eyes. Panic flares in your chest, but it's quickly overridden by a surge of arousal at being caught in such a compromising position.

"Danielle, what... what are you doing here?" Despite the shock, you can't deny the thrill of having your secret desires exposed.

"Do you actually think that I didn't noticed the way you looked at me all this time? I'm curious what turned you on? Is it my tummy? My butt?"

She keep getting closer to you until her body is pressed against yours. Her slim curvy body is too tempting. Almost had an urge of holding her hips. She leans to your ear, hot breath brushes at your ear that made you shiver.

"You got an impressive cock, Senior. Why would you waste it just stroking yourself, when I can help you out?"

Your breath hitches as Danielle's hand closes around your throbbing length, her touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You can't believe she knew, understood you so intimately. The realization only heightens your arousal, making you ache for more.

"Oh god, Dani..." Your hips bucking involuntarily into her grasp. Your hands come up to rest on her shoulders for support.

When her thumb circles the sensitive tip of your cock, your vision blurs, knees nearly giving out. You're teetering on the edge, desperate for release yet wanting to prolong this forbidden encounter with her.

Danielle leans to your ear and whispers. "Almost there? I can tell you wanted to hold it. Tell me, senior... What else do you want me to do?"

"A blowjob... please, Dani." You managed to choke out, voice strained with longing.

"Blowjob huh? As expected.."

Danielle kneels infront of you, Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, framing the determined set of her jaw. With a coy smile, she parts her lips, revealing the wet warmth within. Then, without further hesitation, she takes your cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head.

Your head falls back, a guttural groan escapes as Danielle's mouth envelops your throbbing cock. The sensation is indescribable - her velvety tongue, the slick heat of her throat, the gentle suction that made you see stars. You hold her hair, guiding her movements as she bobs her head, taking you deeper with each pass.

"Oh fuck, Dani... just like that!" Your hips rocking instinctively to meet her eager mouth. The sounds of her slurping, the feel of her breath on your skin, it's all too much, pushing you closer to the brink with every second that passes.

Danielle's gaze locks onto your face, watching intently as she works you over, her eyes dark with lust.

Danielle's skillful ministrations soon have you teetering on the edge, you can feel signal of impending climax. With a strangled cry, you thrusts deep into her mouth one final time, holding her in place as you shoots hot sticky cum down her throat.

"Ah, shit... Dani!" Your body shaking with the force of orgasm. As the aftershocks subside, Danielle let go your cock with a wet pop. satisfying smirk on her face as she stood up.

Danielle looks at your cock and chuckled as it's still hard and throbbing after the first orgasm.

"Seems like your cock needs another round, senior. I know what to do."

She licked her lips and turned around. Only for her to pull down her pants enough to expose her bare ass and glistering pussy at your sight.

Your jaw drops as you take in the sight of Danielle's glistening sex, her invitation clear. Your still-hard cock twitches eagerly, already craving another taste of her warmth. You reached out to hold her hip as you grinding your cock at her wet entrance.

"Oh fuck... Please.. senior.. Fuck me rough, right now!"

You groaned at the urgent demand in Danielle's voice, your body responding instantly to her wants. You spin her around, pinning her against a nearby tree.

"You want it rough, huh? Alright, I'll give you rough." With a powerful thrust, You buried yourself to the hilt inside Danielle, a primal grunt escapes at the sensation of her tight heat.

You sets a brutal pace, slamming into her again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around. "Fuck, Dani... you're so fucking tight."

Your thrusts grew even more erratic as you heard Danielle's moans echoing through the woods, the fact that others might be able to hear and caught both of you only adding to your arousal. You reaches out to pull her hair, making her back arched upright.

"That's it, Dani... let everyone know who's fucking you senseless." You snarled in her ear, hot breath fanning over her skin. Your other hand pulled up her crop top enough to let go her perky breasts, started squeezing and kneading it, tweaking her nipples until she's arching into your touch.

Both of you heard a distant chatter. It just made this risky public sex more thrilling than ever. Until the chatter dies and at the corner of your eyes, you saw couple of people frozen in shock seeing both of you having sex out in public area. They quickly went away.

Your hips piston faster, the tree creaking slightly. You can feel another climax building up.

"Fuck! Dani! I'm going to cum!"

"Yes! Yes! Do it inside please! Aghh!! FUCK! I'm gonna cum too!!"

With a roar of completion, You slammed into Danielle one last time, your cock pulsing as it unleashes a torrent of seed deep inside her. You buried your face in her shoulder, muffling your cries of ecstasy as wave after wave of pleasure crashes both of you.

As the climax subsided, You slowly pulled out your softening cock from Danielle's well-fucked pussy with a wet pop. You turned her around, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, pouring all your passion to it.

"Damn, Danielle... that was incredible." You said after the kiss, your hands cradling her face tenderly. "I never imagined this could lead to something like this."

Danielle smiled. She pressed her forehead against yours as she breathe slowly to compose herseld after the intense lovemaking earlier. "Me too, senior. Your cock made me feel so good, it makes me look forward for more of our 'private runs'."

It took a while before both of you dressed up then walked back to the entrance as you two decided to end the day. A orange glow of sunset colored the whole area as both of you going down.

"Are you free this weekend, senior?"

"It depends. Why?"

"Well.. I just thought about making my friend Hanni join us.. and maybe..." She leaned to your ear. "We can do a threesome at somewhere risky. Imagine both of us worshipping your cock."

You gasped as you imagined the scenario of doing a threesome sex with her and Hanni. The vision of their lips and tongues doing it's work on your cock made you instantly turned on.

Danielle noticed it and chuckled. "Let's turn that into reality, okay?" She groped and squeezed your cock through your pants.

"Y-Yeah.. I... I'll make sure I'm free this saturday."

She smiled then kissed your cheek. "Alright then! See you this saturday, senior! Bye!"

She waved goodbye and ran. You just looked at her until she disappears at the crowd of people.

"Yeah... See you, Danielle."

-End-

[lazylevxd]

Conference Room

Chaewon x Male OC

The fluorescent lights of the office flickered overhead, casting a stark glow on the rows of cubicles. The usual cacophony of keyboard clicks and hushed conversations had given way to the eerie silence of an abandoned floor. Chaewon, a young, ambitious analyst, found herself in a situation she never thought she'd be in: on the desk of the conference room, her legs open, her skirt hiked up around her waist. Her long-term boyfriend, Daniel, a charismatic marketing executive, hovered over her, his eyes pleading. The thrill of their secret rendezvous had transformed the typically mundane office space into a clandestine playground, filled with a tension that was as electrifying as it was forbidden.

"Chaewon," Daniel whispered, his voice thick with desire, "please, just a quickie. No one's around."

Her heart raced as she looked up at him, trying to decide if the risk was worth the reward. The office had emptied out for the night, but she knew the janitorial staff sometimes came in early to start their rounds. Chaewon bit her lower lip, her eyes darting to the conference room door, the only thing standing between them and potential discovery.

"Baby," she murmured, her voice a blend of arousal and caution, "The janitor staff, they might…"

Her protest was cut short by Daniel's assurance as he positioned himself between her legs, his cock already out and pressing against the damp fabric of her panties. "I promise to be quick," he told her, his eyes gleaming with lust as he began to rub the tip of his erection along her slick folds. The fabric of her panties provided a barrier so thin, it was almost as if there was nothing separating them. Chaewon's breath hitched, her eyes closing involuntarily at the sensation of his cock teasing her entrance. The anticipation was exquisite, a thrilling dance on the razor's edge of danger and desire.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she felt him pull her panty to the side, exposing her to the cool office air. He didn't waste any time, pushing into her with a slow, deliberate motion that had her back arching and her nails digging into the conference room table. He was right; she was wet, wetter than she had been in a long time. The friction of his cock sliding into her was almost too much to bear, the illicit setting amplifying the pleasure to dizzying heights. The sound of their bodies colliding was muffled by the thick carpet under the table, but the feeling of him filling her up was all she could focus on.

He smirked down at her, watching as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in silent ecstasy. "Beg for it," he murmured, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, his pace maddeningly slow. Chaewon's cheeks flushed, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as she struggled to maintain the semblance of control she had so desperately clung to. She didn't want to be the one to break the silence with wanton cries, but the need was building up inside her, threatening to spill over.

"Fuck me, baby please" she finally whispered, her voice hoarse.

Her words seemed to snap something inside Daniel as he began to move faster, his strokes growing more urgent as he claimed her. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her hips rising to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The desk beneath her began to creak and groan. The fear of being caught was a heady aphrodisiac, making her every movement more frantic, every gasp louder.

With a wicked smirk, Daniel reached up and began to unbutton her blouse, exposing the lacy cups of her bra. "Show me those gorgeous tits," he demanded, his voice a low growl. Chaewon's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, but she couldn't resist the command in his voice. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts spill out. They bounced with each movement of their bodies, her nipples hard and sensitive against the fabric of her shirt.

He took one in his mouth, suckling and teasing it as he continued to drive into her, his other hand playing with the neglected one. The sensation of his mouth on her skin was overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to her core. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured against her flesh, his voice muffled. Chaewon's eyes fluttered shut as she felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil in her belly.

"Can I cum inside you, baby?" Daniel's voice was strained, his question punctuated by each thrust. The reality of his proposal hitting her like a bolt of lightning. The idea of him filling her up with his warmth in this place, at this time, was more than she could handle. She nodded, unable to form coherent words.

He groaned in response, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up the pace. Chaewon felt the walls of her pussy clench around him, the pressure building as she approached climax. The desk was now shaking more vigorously, and she hoped it could withstand their passionate onslaught. She reached down and began to rub her clit, the added stimulation pushing her over the edge.

Her orgasm washed over her like a wave, a silent scream escaping her parted lips as her body convulsed with pleasure. Daniel's thrusts grew erratic, his own release imminent. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the air, punctuated by the occasional muffled moan that slipped past her clenched teeth.

And then, with a final grunt, he came, spilling his hot seed deep inside her. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt him fill her completely, her muscles contracting around him in a spasm of pure ecstasy. For a moment, they remained frozen, their bodies joined in a silent tableau of passion.

As Daniel pulled out, a warm trickle of their combined release slipped down Chaewon's thigh, a stark reminder of the potential consequences of their actions. He looked down at her, his chest heaving, and asked, "Do you want me to grab the morning after pill later?"

Her smirk was instant, and she simply replied, "Nope."

He genuinely smiles and asks her if she's serious, his eyes lighting up with a mix of surprise and excitement. Chaewon could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed her words. She watched him for a moment, her chest still heaving from the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Then she met his gaze and nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I'm dead serious, Daniel. I want to feel you in me all night, and maybe even tomorrow. And if we're lucky maybe I won't get my next period."

Her words sent a jolt of excitement through him. Daniel had always imagined starting a family with Chaewon, but the timing was never quite right. They had talked about it before, but it was always in the context of a distant future. Now, with the possibility so tantalizingly close, his heart raced with excitement.

As he pulled his pants back up, tucking his shirt back into his waistband, Chaewon couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face. "What?" he asked, a grin spreading across his features.

"Nothing," she replied, still lying back on the desk with her skirt around her waist, "I just love how you look right now, I just know you'll be a great dad baby."

[lazylevxd]

Restaurant Confessions

An Yujin x Male Reader

Tags: Fluff

Synopsis: In a late night adventure to find something to eat, you stumble upon a restaurant that caught your eye. Great food, great atmosphere, and a great server.

Word Count: 2,779

♡♡♡

Some say that the way into a man’s heart is through his stomach.

If that’s so, no one is trying to get into your heart.

Your stomach feels empty, which shouldn’t be the case, as you just ate that sad excuse for a grilled cheese sandwich. Too engrossed in the stack of paper in front of you, you let the sandwich you made marinate in the cold air of your room. When you took the first bite, it summarized your evening so far. Cold, bland, disappointing. The cheese was solid. The bread was dry yet soggy at the same time. Forcing yourself to finish it was the hardest part of the night. The studying part of the night went better than expected. Of course, the bar is in hell at this point because it’s biology after all, but it could have gone a lot worse.

Still, you were hungry as hell. The type of hunger that only good food can heal. Since you have decided to accept that you will never be a great cook, this is the time to start looking outside. You were practically done studying, and the rest can be trusted to the powerful beings of the universe. So you stood up, grabbed your hoodie, and went out.

Probably should have planned where to go before heading out, but what’s the fun in that?

The regular places are now closed, and you aren’t going to some fast food place to fill this void. That chicken wings place? Closed 2 hours ago. The sushi place around the corner? The lights were out already. Your favorite burger place? Closed 2 months ago, you still haven’t recovered from that. Good for your health, not so much your mind.

The streets are almost a ghost town except for the occasional drunkard slurring their words as they wobble past you. You’d think no one lived near you because there were no good food stops open. If they were open, it was either a health hazard or just a safety hazard. Maybe you were paranoid, but at the dead of night, you’d want to eat somewhere where it looks the police could reach it in a few minutes.

You’ve been walking for hours (20 minutes), and you don’t even know how to get back to your apartment (You’re only about 10 blocks away). The only thing you’ve gotten is even more hunger. Your stomach is punching you at this point, demanding more food. You’re close to giving up and eating another sad home-cooked meal. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you would rather die at this point than eat your cooking.

And then you see it.

Small, cozy, colorful, impossible to miss, even though you’ve missed it a thousand times. It’s tucked away in the corner of a rundown street, one you always pass by but barely notice. It looked simple, a bit of a homey feeling from the outside. You can barely contain yourself as you push through the doors. It’s not every day you strike gold.

The second you enter the doors, you’re hit with an aroma of everything savoury in the world. However, the smell of vanilla overpowers everything else. It was almost like the shop was wearing perfume with how powerful it was. You approach the counter, but no one's there. You were the only person in the room. No other customers, no other employees, just you and what is a very cozy little shop. You didn’t even know what they were selling.

You look at the counter, searching for a menu. You pick up the clipboard and peruse through the options.

Oh.

Breakfast food.

Pancakes, waffles, all with a healthy side of bacon and eggs.

Rice meals to your heart's content.

It may be a little backwards to eat breakfast as your dinner, but at this point, you really couldn’t give a fuck. You were already eyeing up your options.

Blueberry pancakes…

Buttermilk waffles…

French toa-

“Hello! Welcome to IVE, may I take your order?”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin and back in again. In front of you is a girl, fairly tall, with beautiful skin and a smile that can light up the entire room. She looks about your age, maybe a year or two older.

Your type.

She’s wearing what you assume to be the restaurant uniform. It was a simple, whitish polo top, almost a cream color. Black pants complemented the cream top, and a brown apron finished the look. Her name was Yujin, at least that was what was on her nametag. It took you almost 5 seconds to register what just happened, who was in front of you, and what to say next. In the meantime, her smile was unwavering.

“Um, one French toast with scrambled eggs.” You told her unconfidently, clueless about whether what you were picking was good.

“Okay, is that all, sir? Drinks?” She replies.

“Orange juice is fine.” You look down, almost shy in meeting her eyes. You hand her the money, before sitting down at the table. There were only like 4 tables, maximum capacity maybe 12 people if they were all squeezed in. She went inside the kitchen, maybe she was the cook and the cashier at the same time. Kind of inefficient but admirable.

Leaning back on what seemed to be the most comfortable chair in the world, you took in the surroundings even more. It had a cabin feeling, wood supports, lampshades with a warmer tone, and the slight use of orange as an accent around the shop in the chair cushions and placemats, all made for a cozy environment.

You were the only one there, maybe because it was just the time, but it seemed like there weren’t that many customers who popped by often. However, you assumed the ones who did try it out stayed loyal.

The train of thought in your head snap as a plate with a stack of maple syrup-covered French toasts was placed in front of you, and on the other plate was perfectly cooked scrambled eggs, with chives on top. All can be washed down with iced orange juice.

“Order complete sir?” The Yujin girl says, wiping her hands clean on her apron.

“Yes, thank you.” You say, almost drooling at the sight of what was in front of you.

“No problem, call if you need anything.” She went back to her station, washed her hands, and when she looked back at you, almost half of the food was gone. You were inhaling everything; the 2 slices of French bread were already halved, and the eggs were not far behind. All of the orange juice was already in your stomach. She didn’t know how someone could eat that fast, but she’s happy she did well.

You realized she was looking at you. Not staring in a bad way, just looking at you, the way you ate, how fast you ate. It made you a little self-conscious that you were resembling a pig in how you ate.

Both of your eyes met before she let out a laugh.

“I take it that it’s good?” She barely controls her laugh while saying that.

You nod vigorously, like a kid being asked if they wanted candy. You swallow the French toast in your mouth before responding.

“Sorry if I looked stupid while eating.”

She shook her head, saying no. “It’s okay, it looked funny.”

Your ears turn red as you blush in embarrassment.

“Wow, you’re already fumbling, Y/N. She just said you looked stupid.”

“At least you made her laugh.”

Another customer came in, ruining the moment. You went back to your food, and she went back to doing her job. That didn’t mean you didn’t glance at her when she wasn’t looking, and the same with her. Passing glances at each other, you looked at her for a split second while she was packaging an order, and she looked at you when you were busy stuffing scrambled eggs in your face.

The food was already long gone when the other customer left, bag of takeout in tow. The door closed as they left, Yujin saying, “Thank you for coming”.

Another silence.

“Are you done inhaling the food?”

You looked back at her, and she was smiling tiredly now. The customer’s order was heavy, twice, even thrice more loaded than your order. A small bead of sweat dripped down from her forehead before she wiped it with the bottom of her apron.

“Yeah, I guess.” You respond, with the idea of it being nonchalant, but it comes out of your mouth as just pure cringe.

She laughs, bringing a tray to your table. She picks up your dishes and brings them back to the kitchen. You let yourself stew in the silence. Some dings of the plates in the background fill up what came to be a very strong silence. She came back out hands wet, wiping them against her apron.

“You’re still here?”

You turn to her, smiling before saying, “I don’t think I can walk after that.”

She laughs, like fully laughs, as if she hasn’t heard of a joke before.

“You’re welcome to stay here, don’t worry. There won’t be too many customers coming around at this point based on my experience.” She grabs the chair next to you.

Your shoulders are now touching, the strong silence mentioned before became comfortable. Her chin on her knees, scrolling on her phone. You, head on the window, looking outside. You’ve just met, she doesn’t know your name, you don’t know her other than the fact that she works here. But it’s seamless, the comfort.

You broke the silence. “How long have you been working here?”

“Not long.” She sighed. “A week, part-time.”

“You study?”

“Yeah.” Yujin nodded. “Entrepreneurship & Business Ownership. It’s fun but tiring.”

“Isn’t that all courses?”

“Some are just tiring, no fun.”

You chuckle, eyes still looking outside the window, but mentally, all the attention is on her.

She points her head to the ground. “You? What do you study?”

Now you look at her. “Medtech.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It is, just more tiring than fun.”

She nods as another silence falls upon you. You notice her features and ticks even more up close. Her dimples when she smiles, her nose glistening under the warm light, the way she licks her lips almost every minute.

She’s unethically beautiful. Unethical in a way that she had to be made in a lab before she was born. Unfair to other people. Her face is unforgettable; you’ll look at thousands of other people, and her smile will be the one you’ll remember the most. Her eyes will be the one you remember the most. Her everything.

And you think you have a chance?

Maybe you do.

Even if you don’t, her presence is enough.

It became a habit. Visiting her in the dead of night.

And you talked about everything. From telling stories about your courses and classes to your interests to debates about which menu item is the best. You said it was the French toast, she believed it was the honey bacon.

It was more chaotic than peaceful.

You found out she loved building LEGO sets. An expensive hobby, she said, but one she grew up with. There was a full album on her phone with Yujin posing next to whatever she completed. Her leaning on the Eiffel Tower, her smile reaching cheek to cheek as she holds the titanic. She dropped it not long after the photo was taken.

Sometimes you just needed company while studying, and you came in with a huge stack of papers and reviewers and plopped all of it down on the table you always eat at. She came up to you with French toast and company. It was all you needed.

The late-night meetups at the restaurant became a retreat to comfort for both of you.

Your friends noticed too.

The bags under your eyes, but your smile was wider. Eyes brighter. You were not smiling at your phone not frowning at it. You weren’t responding to them late at night even though you were online.

Every time they would ask, though, you would dismiss it.

The classic “It’s nothing.” or “I just woke up in a good mood, I guess.”

They could see through the bullshit.

You couldn’t care less.

Later that night, you were arguing who was the GOAT transformer.

“YUJIN, IT’S BUMBLEBEE.”

“NUH UH, HAVE YOU SEEN OPTIMUS PRIME’S SPEECHES?”

You both decided that this debate would lead to more serious consequences, so you both decided to stop. You loved these debates. They’re stupid, but not to you or her.

Because you were talking with the one you loved.

Quickly you were falling, you knew it.

You wanted to stop it, didn’t want to ruin what you built.

It’s the normal gripe with falling in love with your friend. What if you ruin everything? So afraid to take that leap that in the end, you live in a compromise that ends with tears. So afraid to be wrong that you don’t make a choice at all. Comfortable in living in the maybe. Possibly due to being a coward, or maybe because society romanticizes loving from afar. But just because society does, you should too?

Because when she spoke, nothing else moved.

When she smiled, nothing else was as bright.

When she touched you, nothing else felt as warm.

As they say, love is a choice.

You choose to love others. You want to have control over who you love.

You want to choose to love her only as a friend.

But there are times in life where you have no choice. Where something else chooses us. Love is choosing you. You hate it and you love it.

It was a different kind of night. This time, she was the one studying. Which is the complete opposite of what she said she does, proclaiming she was a “natural business woman” and doesn’t need studying.

Well, here she was, head buried in a notebook.

Your head was on her shoulder.

You didn’t try to mention it, but you’ve never felt safer whenever your head was on her shoulder.

She didn’t try to mention it, but it felt right when you hugged her.

Neither of you didn’t mention it, but there was a sense of belonging to each other there.

Yujin was reading something about the supply-and-demand thingy, you don’t know, that’s all you know from entrepreneurship. You were too busy looking at her face. The way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration when she didn’t get something. The way her eyes lit up when she read something she understood. The way she turned smug when she read something she already knew.

It was the most beautiful process in the world.

You were looking at your phone now, trying to distract yourself from the epitome of beauty next to you. Your head was still on her shoulder, your hand now around her body. It was starting to get dangerously close. Something felt inevitable. What it was, you didn’t know.

And then leaned back on the chair. Then, she turned to her face to you. You don’t know when you started to get those thoughts. But a look at her lips was just enough.

Your lips were on hers. Her lips were on yours.

It was sweet. Intoxicating. Addicting. Quick.

You both pulled away a second later. Eyes still wide. Both still looking at each other. You don’t know what you were feeling. Scared? Excitement? Relief? Maybe a mixture of all 3. And then you said it.

“I like you.”

Boom. Like a bomb. No buildup. She went from reading whatever she was reading to now being faced with her friend confessing. She must have been shocked. She was stressed from reviewing, and then you confessed.

You kind of felt bad, but you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“Do you like me too?” What a stupid fucking question.

“I think so.” What a stupid fucking answer.

“You think so?” Another stupid question.

“Yeah, I think so.” Another stupid answer.

And then she looked at your lips. You looked at hers too. Both of you were slowly but surely closing the gap.

And then you stopped.

“Say it.” You whisper to her face.

She looks confused. “Say what?”

“Say you like me. I can’t kiss someone again who only thinks they like me. I want you to be sure, because I’m never letting you go again if I kiss you.”

5 seconds of just staring into each other's eyes. It shouldn’t have taken this long, but it did.

“I love you.”

♡♡♡

[lazylevxd]

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.

[lazylevxd]

The Warmest Side of The Bed

Word Count: 3.4K

Jang Wonyoung!Sub X Male Reader!Dom

Tags: Fluff, Smut

The smell of something warm and sweet drifted into your room before the morning light even had a chance to fully creep past the blinds. You rubbed your eyes, yawned, and stumbled out into the hallway, your hair doing its best impression of a bird’s nest.

From the kitchen came the faint sound of humming — the kind she only did when she thought no one was listening. You rounded the corner to find Wonyoung at the stove, drowning in one of your oversized hoodies that nearly reached her knees. The sleeves were so long she had to bunch them up just to hold the spatula properly.

“Morning,” she said without looking up, voice soft and a little raspy from sleep.

“Morning, bunny,” you replied automatically, leaning your shoulder against the doorway.

That got her attention. She froze mid-flip, the spatula hovering over a pancake. “Bunny?” she repeated, raising a brow but not turning fully toward you.

You grinned, shuffling into the kitchen. “Yeah. You’re small, soft, and cute… plus, you keep stealing all the carrots from the fridge. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Her cheeks went faintly pink, though she tried to hide it by focusing on the pan. “That’s… not a very intimidating nickname, you know.”

“It’s not supposed to be intimidating,” you said, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. “It’s supposed to be you.”

She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. “You’re lucky I’m making breakfast or I’d throw this at you.”

You handed her a mug. “Bunny pancakes, then?”

Her laugh was soft, almost reluctant. “Maybe. But only if you pour the syrup this time. And no drowning them.”

The two of you fell into the familiar morning rhythm — her flipping pancakes, you setting the table in that lazy, half-effort way that always made her roll her eyes. The apartment felt warm despite the early hour, the sound of the kettle clicking off mixing with the quiet patter of rain against the windows.

When the food was finally ready, she slid into the seat across from you, tucking one leg under herself. “You know,” she said between bites, “you can’t just give me a nickname and not expect one in return.”

“Oh?” you smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s mine, then?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think, though you could see the spark of mischief in her eyes. “Hmm… maybe I’ll save it for when you least expect it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, bunny. I’ll be ready.”

The rain hadn’t let up all day, turning the city outside into a watercolor blur. You and Wonyoung were sprawled on the couch, a soft blanket tangled between you. The coffee table in front of you was an absolute disaster — half-eaten popcorn, two mugs from earlier, and a forgotten bowl of instant noodles that had long gone cold.

“Okay,” you said, scrolling through the streaming menu for the fifth time, “we’ve been at this for twenty minutes. Just pick something.”

She huffed dramatically, tucking her knees up under the blanket. “Well, you always veto my choices.”

“Because your choices are either documentaries about rabbits—”

“They’re educational,” she interjected.

“—or those sad romance dramas that end with someone dying in the rain.”

Wonyoung gave you a slow side-eye. “That’s called art, Y/N.”

You grinned, resting your head on the back of the couch. “It’s called depressing.”

She rolled her eyes, but you caught the little smile she was trying to hide. “Fine. What do you want to watch, then?”

“Something light,” you said. “Maybe an action comedy. Or one of those cooking competitions where they panic over burnt cupcakes.”

“That’s oddly specific,” she muttered, but she reached for the remote anyway.

As she scrolled, you nudged her knee under the blanket. “You know, you’re kind of like one of those contestants.”

Her brow furrowed. “How?”

“Because you panic over the smallest things, but somehow it still turns out cute.” You smirked. “Bunny.”

She groaned, hiding her face in the blanket. “You’re still calling me that?”

“Forever,” you said without hesitation.

When she peeked out again, her expression had softened, and for a moment the flickering TV light caught in her eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, but she shifted closer until your shoulders touched.

By the time you settled on some cooking show neither of you were really paying attention to, she was leaning against you, her head tucked under your chin. The blanket was warm, her hair smelled faintly like your shampoo, and the rain outside felt more like a lullaby than background noise.

You glanced down to see her eyelids fluttering, the fight over the remote already forgotten. “Sleepy?” you whispered.

She hummed in response, barely awake.

“Goodnight, bunny,” you said softly.

Her lips curved in a faint smile before she drifted off. And with the weight of her against you, the quiet rain, and the glow of the TV, you figured there wasn’t a single place in the world you’d rather be.

The morning was dreadful. Not because the weather was bad — the sunlight was spilling warmly across the apartment — but because you had to leave Wonyoung for work.

She was still curled up in bed, hair fanned across the pillow, one arm lazily reaching for the blanket you’d pulled halfway up to her shoulder. Her breathing was slow and even, the kind of peaceful that made you seriously consider calling in sick just to stay home.

As you buttoned your shirt, you glanced at her one more time, unable to resist. You stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She murmured something incoherent in her sleep, her lips twitching slightly, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

You bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “See you later, bunny,” you whispered, even though she probably couldn’t hear you. Then you forced yourself to leave before you actually did change your mind.

Work was… eh. The same endless string of emails, polite nods, and coffee breaks that blurred together into one long sigh. But the thing that kept you going was the mental countdown — six hours. Just six hours until you’d see her again.

By the time you clocked out, the tiredness in your bones wasn’t from work, but from the anticipation of getting home. You practically jogged the last block to your building, the thought of her making every step lighter.

As you stroll into the apartment, a warm smile spreads across your face at the cozy scene before you. Wonyoung is curled up on the couch, her bare feet tucked under her, gazing up at the TV with rapt attention. Her pastel pink hair is tied up in a messy bun, wisps falling loosely around her face. She's changed into an oversized sweater and cute little shorts, her tan legs stretched out before her. In one hand she holds a half-eaten bag of popcorn, and the other is fiddling with a strand of hair.

You can't help but chuckle at the picture she makes, so comfortable and carefree. Wonyoung startles slightly at the sound, whipping her head around to face you. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink and she smiles brightly. "Oh hey you! I didn't hear you come in," she giggles, scrambling to sit up properly.

You walk over and plop down beside her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her slim shoulders and pulling her close. "Looks like my bunny girl has been busy today," you tease, nuzzling into her soft hair and inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and strawberries. "What are you watching?"

Wonyoung grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Just some boring old K-drama. But it's not as boring as lounging around all day like a lazy bum!" She pokes your side playfully, making you laugh.

"Ah yes, my girlfriend the productivity queen," you chuckle, pulling her onto your lap so she's straddling your hips. Wonyoung's breath hitches as she feels your growing excitement pressing against her through your jeans. She rocks her hips slightly, rubbing herself along your length. "Maybe if you keep that up, I'll have to punish you for being so naughty~"

Wonyoung shivers at the promise in your voice, goosebumps prickling across her skin. She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "Please daddy, teach me a lesson~ I've been so bad today."

You groan at her sweet words, gripping her hips tightly and grinding up against her core. Wonyoung gasps and arches into you, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "Fuck, bunny girl," you growl, your hands sliding up under her sweater to cup the soft swells of her breasts. "You're so goddamn perfect. I could never get enough of you."

Wonyoung whimpers as you palm her tits through her bra, your calloused thumbs grazing over the stiff peaks of her nipples. She tugs impatiently at your shirt, desperate to feel your bare skin against hers. "Off, take it off," she pants, already working on the buttons.

You let her shove your shirt up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Your chiseled abs and muscular chest are bared to her hungry gaze, and Wonyoung licks her lips appreciatively. She runs her small hands over your pecs and down the defined lines of your torso, memorizing every inch of you.

Gripping her hips, you flip her onto her back and settle between her spread thighs. Wonyoung lets out a breathless laugh, tangling her fingers in your dark hair and pulling you down for a deep kiss. Your tongues dance and twist together as you grind your hard cock against her soaked panties.

You break away with a groan, peppering hot kisses along the elegant line of her neck as your hands work to strip off her clothes. Wonyoung lifts her hips eagerly, letting you pull down her shorts and toss them aside. You make quick work of your jeans next, shoving them down your legs and kicking them away.

Finally bare before you, Wonyoung lies back on the couch cushions, her golden skin flushed and dewy with perspiration. Her round tits heave with each panting breath, the rosy tips pebbled in the cool air. Your cock throbs painfully as you drink in the sight of your gorgeous girlfriend splayed out for you like a feast.

"God bunny, you're so fucking sexy," you rasp, settling back between her parted thighs. "I want to worship every inch of you."

Wonyoung blushes prettily at your words, spreading her legs wider in invitation. She's dripping with arousal, her puffy pink folds glistening and practically begging for your touch. You lean down and take a long, slow lick up her slit, moaning at the sweet taste of her essence on your tongue.

"Oh god yesss," Wonyoung hisses, fisting her hands in your hair and grinding herself against your face shamelessly. "Eat me daddy, make me cum!"

You lap and suck at her needy cunt, alternating between flicking her clit with the tip of your tongue and thrusting deep inside her tight channel. Wonyoung writhes and mewls beneath you, her thighs quivering around your head as she races towards climax.

With a final hard suck on her throbbing clit, Wonyoung comes undone with a high-pitched wail. Her back arches sharply as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her, leaving her trembling and boneless in the aftermath. You continue to lick gently at her fluttering hole until she's completely spent, savoring every drop of her release.

When she's come down from her high, you slide up her body and capture her lips in a deep, filthy kiss. Wonyoung whimpers into your mouth, tasting herself on your tongue. She reaches down to grasp your aching cock, pumping it firmly in her small hand.

"I need you inside me," she breathes against your lips. "Please daddy, fill me up with your big cock. I want to feel you stretch me wide."

You groan at her lewd words, positioning yourself at her entrance. With one hard thrust, you bury yourself balls-deep in her soaked heat. Wonyoung cries out at the sudden penetration, clinging to your shoulders as she adjusts to your size.

"You're so fucking tight bunny," you grit out through clenched teeth, giving her a moment to relax around you. "I don't know how long I'll last with this sweet pussy squeezing me like a vice."

Wonyoung whimpers and rocks her hips up to meet yours, coaxing you to move. "It's okay daddy," she pants, "Give it to me hard. Fuck me like you mean it."

Gripping her hips bruisingly tight, you begin to piston in and out of her clutching heat. The wet slap of skin against skin and your harsh grunts fill the room as you pound into Wonyoung's willing body. She meets you thrust for thrust, rolling her hips to take you deeper.

"Yes, yes, fuck me harder!" Wonyoung wails, her nails raking down your back. "I'm gonna cum, don't stop!"

You feel her walls start to flutter around you as she teeters on the edge, and you redouble your efforts. Reaching down between your bodies, you rub firm circles on her swollen clit, pushing her over the precipice.

Wonyoung comes with a scream of your name, convulsing almost violently beneath you as ecstasy overwhelms her senses. Her cunt clamps down on you like a fist, milking your orgasm from you. With a harsh curse, you bury yourself as deep as you can go and erupt inside her, painting her womb with thick ropes of your seed.

You collapse on top of her, both of you panting harshly as you try to catch your breath. Wonyoung wraps her arms around you, stroking your sweat-damp hair tenderly. "I love you so much," she whispers, "Thank you for making me feel so good."

You lift your head to gaze down at her, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Love you too bunny girl. More than anything. My beautiful princess." You press a gentle kiss to her forehead, nuzzling into her hair. "You're mine forever now."

Wonyoung giggles and snuggles closer, resting her head on your chest as you both bask in the afterglow. "Yours forever," she agrees happily, "My Boyfriend who loves me."

The next morning, you wake up to the feeling of something hot and wet wrapped around your morning wood. Your eyes flutter open to the sight of Wonyoung's pink hair splayed across your abs as she kneels between your legs, your hard cock sliding in and out of her parted lips.

"Fuck bunny, what a way to wake up," you groan, tangling your fingers in her silky hair. "Feels so good, just like that."

Wonyoung hums around your length, sending delicious vibrations through your shaft. She bobs her head faster, taking you deeper into her throat with each pass. The wet sounds of her slurping fill the room, only adding to the erotic tableau.

You rock your hips up to meet her mouth, fucking her face gently. Wonyoung looks up at you through thick lashes, her green eyes dark with lust. Seeing your girl so wanton and eager for your cock is nearly enough to make you explode right then.

"God you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around me," you rasp, fighting the urge to come too soon. "Such a good girl, taking me so deep."

Wonyoung whimpers and hollows her cheeks, sucking you harder. One small hand comes up to gently fondle your balls, rolling them in her palm. You can feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine, your cock throbbing with each pass over her talented tongue.

Reaching down, you tug gently on her hair, pulling her off your dick with a wet pop. "Need to be inside you bunny," you pant, "Gonna fill up this sweet cunt and make you scream."

Wonyoung shivers at your filthy words, crawling up your body to straddle your hips. She reaches between your bodies to grasp your shaft, guiding you to her entrance. With a slow roll of her hips, she sinks down onto you, enveloping you in her tight heat.

"Ohhh fuck yes," she hisses, rolling her hips to take you deeper. "Love feeling you stretch me wide, daddy."

You grip her hips, thrusting up into her willing body as she rides you hard and fast. The bed creaks rhythmically as the wet slap of skin against skin and your harsh grunts fill the air. Wonyoung's tits bounce enticingly with each movement, rosy nipples just begging to be sucked.

Growling, you lean up to capture one stiff peak between your teeth, nibbling and laving it with your tongue. Wonyoung keens high in her throat, grinding down onto you harder. "Yes yes, just like that!" she wails, "Gonna make me cum so hard!"

You can feel her starting to flutter around you, her inner muscles already beginning to ripple with impending release. Sliding one hand between your bodies, you press your thumb to her clit, rubbing quick tight circles over the swollen nub.

"Cum for me bunny," you demand, "Let me feel this pussy cream all over my cock. Wanna fill you up with my hot load."

Wonyoung cries out sharply as your words and touch send her hurtling over the edge. Her head throws back and her eyes roll back as ecstasy crashes through her like a tidal wave. Her cunt clamps down on you like a vice as she comes hard, coating your shaft in her slick arousal.

The rhythmic squeezing of her walls proves too much for you, and with a harsh groan, you bury yourself as deep as you can go and start to pulse inside her. Thick ropes of your seed paint her insides as you fill her up to the brim with your essence.

Wonyoung collapses on top of you bonelessly, both of you panting harshly as you try to come down from your high. You wrap your arms around her small frame, holding her close as your spent cock slips out of her still fluttering hole.

[lazylevxd]

Translate - Part 3

Part Three of Three. Part One. Part Two. 13k words.

---

It takes your eyes a few moments to actually open. They’re heavy for some reason, as though your body itself was resisting the inevitable arrival of dawn and hoping to spend just a few more minutes in the wonderful bliss of sleep.

But the dawn is merciless. Your eyes eventually pull open, adjusting to the bright beams of light piercing the blackout curtains she’d probably left open the night before. She herself is absent from the bed, but the warmth beneath your arm splayed out on her side of it meant she hadn’t left too long ago. With a grunt, you swing your legs onto the floor and sit on the edge of the bed for a while to allow the rest of your senses to actually come online.

You rub your eyes. You stretch muscles tired from the previous night’s activities - your hips, mostly, and your thighs. A slim smirk appears on your lips as you rise from bed and find last night’s boxers to throw on before heading into the kitchen.

The rest of the large, lavish apartment greets you as you emerge from the bedroom. Hardwood and marble, glass and oak - all modern, sleek, furnished like a glossy brochure from one of Vancouver’s high-end real estate offices. 

And there she is, at the kitchen, half of her hidden by the marble and polished oak of the kitchen island. You watch as she pulls two mugs - a matching pair, one with her initials on it and one with yours - from the cupboard and places them onto the whirring, ridiculously expensive coffee maker that neither of you really needed, but had somehow become something neither of you could live without. 

She’s wearing a t-shirt - yours, of course, although the lines that separated what was yours and hers had been blurred to the point of irrelevancy since you bought this apartment together a year ago. 

She’s so small in it. She was always small, but today she’s drowning in the soft cotton, the soft, worn fabric draped over her slim frame and resembling a loose, short dress more than anything else. As she emerges from behind the kitchen island her long, slim legs come into full view. Even from your vantage point in the bedroom hallway, you can see the slight blushing and bruising around her upper thighs and hips, evidence of last night’s indulgences. 

She stretches her arms above her head, her back arching slightly as she lets out a small, soft little yawn. The shirt rides up, up over most of that cute little ass of hers and confirming the fact that she was, indeed, wearing nothing else. The sun peeks through the gap between her thighs - the skin between them glistens as the sunlight catches on something wet or moist. Your cum from last night or her new arousal, you didn’t know nor care. You knew only that the sight of it stirred something inside you, chasing away the last vestiges of drowsiness and pulling you into full wakefulness.

“Come here,” she says, softly, without turning around to look at you. Of course she knew you were there. Of course she wanted to give you a little show first, with that performative little stretch of hers.

You leave the hallway and approach her, eyes drinking in the sight of her with every slow, measured step.

When you reach her, she leans back against you, her body molding to yours. You kiss the back of her head as your arms wrap around her tiny little frame - gentle, chaste gestures compared to what came before and what was probably to come soon.

Something like a soft purr leaves her throat. You can’t see it, but you know that her lips are pulling up the corners of her mouth in a soft little smile. You don’t waste any time. Your hands find their way beneath the shirt - one finds a small, round breast, relishing the soft weight of it in your palm; the other slips between her legs, finding her slick and ready, just as you’d thought she would be.

She says your name. It is soft and breathy as it leaves her lips, heavy with yearning as your fingertips glide along her slick, soft flesh. 

You say hers.

“Taeyeon.”

The sound of her name as it leaves your mouth triggers something inside you. The feel of her body pressed against yours, her stiff nipple against your fingers and cunt dripping onto your palm - it sends you somewhere long past, a day you’d left behind…

Her lips open. When she speaks again it’s barely above a whisper.

“Fuck me. Don’t stop until--”

You remember--

---

“--you fucking cum in me!” she spits, four years ago. 

“Fuck, Ryujin,” you hiss. You bring the tip of your cock between her legs. She rocks her ass back against you, needy, impatient. Angry.

“Just fucking do it,” she says between her teeth. “This is all I’ll ever be to you anyway, all we’ll ever be-”

You silence her by entering her with a deep, hard thrust that punches the air from your lungs and hers. 

You’re there again, in Ryujin Shin’s apartment.

Her apartment is small, cramped - a far cry from the luxurious penthouse you’d buy with Taeyeon three years later. Half-packed moving boxes litter most of it, each haphazardly filled with the sundries of a young woman’s life. Her messy, looping handwriting labels each one - clothes, kitchen, random shit. The movie posters and abstract art that once breathed life into the walls are gone, rolled or folded into a box, leaving behind cold, empty voids where they once painted its cold walls with vivid colors.

The sound of a police siren off the street filters in through the open window. It mirrors the alarm and desperation in Ryujin’s voice.

“Just fuck me,” she says, even as you begin to slide in and out of her tightly grasping cunt. “Just, fuck--, oh, just fuck me.”

Your hand leaves her breast. It wraps around her torso, pressing her back tighter against your chest. Her fingers dig into your forearm, as though wanting to bind you to her, keep you from the inevitable parting that was at this point only days away. She winds her free hand back behind her to grasp your skull, nails digging into your scalp as her head lolls back against your shoulder.

“Please,” she hisses, a note of desperation now amidst the anger. “Just fuck me. I’m your fucktoy, that’s all I am-”

You want to silence her. Want to tell her she’ll be more than that. Want to comfort her, want to tell her that you’ll find a way to fix things, find a way where she can stay here in Vancouver, with you, and not end up on the other side of the planet next week-

But you couldn’t bring yourself to lie. Not when you weren’t sure what the future held for the both of you. Maybe she didn’t need to hear them. Maybe she already knew that whatever you said wouldn’t be enough, whatever promises you made would be hollow.

And so you let yourself indulge in the enticing if temporary pleasure you took from her body with each thrust into her tight, wet heat. There is an intensity, a needy impatience to her tonight that had not been there before. She’s miserable, frustrated, sad - at you, the world, the email in her inbox that would uproot her from her home and send her to the other side of the planet for the foreseeable future. She’s heartbroken, most of all, because just when she thought she could allow herself to be happy the universe decided that she wasn’t worthy of it.

She channels the anger, channels the sadness, turns the painful aching in her chest. She turns it into something dark, something dangerous.

She throws her hips back against you as much as she can. She clenches tight around you, her cunt pulsing and quivering around your shaft as it drills into her over and over again with a fast, harsh pace that matches the frustration in her own movements. 

“Ryujin,” you begin, her name leaving your lips like a curse. “Fuck-”

“Shut up,” she spits, “shut up. Just fucking shut up--”

It was all too much. Her cunt, her anger, the flight next week waiting to take her away from you just as you’d finally found each other - it was all too much. You latch on to the guilty, disgusting pleasure worming its way up your spine. It wasn’t pure or pleasant, but you could feel it taking you over, just as it was taking over the young woman that had been reduced to a quivering, shaking mess in your arms.

“Fucking cum,” she spits, saliva flying from her lips. “Fucking cum in me, leave me a part of you--”

“Ryujin--”

You bury yourself inside her. As deep as you can go. Your cock quivers and your world goes blank as you fill her with thick, possessive ropes of thick white cum. She trembles in your arms, legs having long since given up on keeping her upright, relying only on your arms to keep her where she was. The feel of the cum pooling in her womb triggers her own orgasm, and she cums in your arms.

The pleasure is there, coursing through your bodies - and yet it is temporary, replaced quickly, all too quickly, with fatigue and something like disgust. Discontent. Dismay.

Ryujin’s hands finally leave your forearms, where they’d dug deep furrows in her pleasure. She holds herself against the wall, finally supporting her own weight again. 

Your cum drips from her cunt, still stuffed with your softening cock. It leaves a slick slide of glistening whiteness down the softness of her inner thigh.

You catch your breath. You look down between you, at the trembling cheeks of her ass. You move slightly with your hips and she lets out a sigh at the movement inside her cum-filled cunt. You begin to withdraw, but she stops you.

“Don’t,” she says, a whisper. “Just a little longer.”

You sigh. Fatigue sets in, accompanied by unwelcome reality. You press your forehead to the back of her skull, your arms wrapping themselves around her torso once more. It’s all you can do, all you can give her. You hold her close. 

You look for the words, but they still aren’t there. The ones that are won’t be enough, and ones that you want to say never come.

She clutches your forearm with her hands as though they were driftwood keeping her afloat. She doesn’t need words. She needs your arms, holding her close.

---

Four years later, you slide out of Taeyeon’s creamy, dripping cunt, and she lets something like a content but modest sigh escape her mouth. She raises her torso from the kitchen island, which you’d bent her over minutes before as you fucked her. Before she pulls her shirt back down a flushed imprint of your palm blooms over the pale skin of her lower back where it pinned her down onto the cold marble surface.

Cum drips from her cunt, down her thighs. She makes no effort to wipe it away. She turns, looks up at you. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glassy - but she is composed, held together, the same way Taeyeon Kim always was in every facet of her life.

She kisses you, slowly, passionately. A rare moment of vulnerability. She was often cold and made of steel, but there were occasional moments of softness, chinks in her otherwise ironclad and imposing armor. These are the moments, rare and ephemeral, that bind you to her, that render you unable to walk away - because they convince you that one day, perhaps, she would shed her armor and never feel the need to put it back on.

The kiss ends. She turns, takes her cup of coffee, and starts to head towards the hallway and the bathroom within. 

“We have a budget meeting at 10,” she says. “Better start getting ready.”

---

Four years ago, Ryujin is on her balcony. She’s wearing nothing save the white tanktop she’d stolen from you at some point during your month together overseas. Her nipples poke out from beneath its thin cotton in the chill of the evening Vancouver air, but she neither notices nor cares.

She takes long drags from the cigarette dangling between her fingertips. Her building was a non-smoking building, but the moving boxes littering her apartment and that fucking email in her inbox meant she cared little for what the strata council might say about her nicotine indulgence at next month’s meeting - not when she wouldn’t even be in the country this time next week.

You join her. For a while the two of you sit there in silence, leaning against the rail.

“We should end things,” she says, plainly, with a clarity that both surprises you and hurts you. She doesn’t look at you. She takes another drag. The smoke leaves her nostrils and lingers between you. Just four words, but with them she’d ended everything you’d built up in the month you’d been together.

You say nothing. She doesn’t say anything further. Maybe she already knew what you wanted to say, even if you never actually said them. She was good at that. Perhaps the right words - words that would somehow fix this - didn’t exist.

At some point, long after her cigarette has become ashes on her balcony floor, she steps back inside her apartment and walks wordlessly into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. The click of the door closing sounds much louder than it had any right to be in her packed up, empty apartment.

You don’t follow. You linger on her balcony. It reminds you of the balcony of your hotel suite in Tokyo.

---

“The request came from Sakura,” Taeyeon says over the phone, two weeks before. Despite being on the other side of the planet her voice was calm, measured, the voice of one with armor securely fastened and shield raised. “Hirai approved it.”

“She’s not even in Logistics, or Strategy,” you hiss. Your hand tightens its grip on the balcony railing, turning your knuckles white. Tokyo’s evening buzzes around you, loud and bright and glittering, but you process none of it. “She’s in Marketing. She’ll get eaten alive in Logistics. You know damn well Sakura and Kazuha can get the transition to rail done on their own. Fuck, Kazuha can probably do it all by herself.”

“She said she wanted overseas experience. Now she’s getting it. And a promotion to boot.”

You scoff. “This isn’t a promotion, Taeyeon. This is exile.”

“Exile?” her turn to let a faux-laugh escape her lips. “It’s three years, max. Less if she’s as good at her job as you think she is.”

Silence. The anger burns, bright and insistent, in your veins. Anger at her and the audacity of what she’d done to you; anger at the corporate mechanisms that ground on mercilessly, without heed for the lives it was carelessly altering; anger at the sudden darkness that would take someone away from you right when your future with them seemed so bright. 

“I have work to do,” Taeyeon says, eventually, before the line goes dead.

You remain on the balcony for a while, long after the call ends. You look for a solution, somewhere within Tokyo’s palette of neon and LED - but the city is uncaring. It grinds on, cold and emotionless and relentless. Defeated, you step back inside the hotel room, empty handed.

Ryujin’s there, on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest. Her expression is unreadable, staring blankly in front of her. She’s still in shock, you realize, but the tears tracing glimmering streaks down her cheeks are unmistakable.

But as soon you re-enter the hotel room and her eyes find yours, she knows you have nothing to say - her features shatter, and she begins to cry.

---

Two weeks later, you leave Ryujin’s apartment, eventually. You take one last look at the hallway where her bedroom door remains shut. 

Three days later she flew over the Pacific, and was gone.

---

Four years later, you are standing outside Taeyeon’s office as she finishes up a meeting with the Director of the London office, who was in town for another occasion that same evening. The door is slightly ajar, and you are able to catch most of what was being said inside.

“I don’t care how much she cares about her staff’s work-life balance,” Taeyeon states, sternly. “The UK is a key market for us and she needs to get her team’s numbers up. It’s on her to figure out how best to do that. If she doesn’t, then you would do well to remember that as one of your direct reports, her performance is a reflection of your own, Miss Park.”

The London office’s director, one Miss Choa Park - well known around the company for her upbeat and friendly demeanor - gives a terse acceptance of Taeyeon’s criticism before Taeyeon dismisses her. There’s no joy or friendliness in her features today. The Director leaves her office looking frazzled, hands balled into fists next to her navy blue miniskirt as she stomps away, every step of her high heels echoing throughout the hallway like sharp gunshots. 

You enter Taeyeon’s office after Choa enters the elevator at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, a frown on her cherry red lips.

“Tough meeting?”

Taeyeon shakes her head, already readjusting, already pivoting to the topic of your own meeting with her. 

She was machine-like, most of the time. She had to be, to succeed in her world. She rarely showed weakness or emotion, and certainly not here, in her office, where her position left little room for it. This was her throne, her element. Here, she was always in control of her emotions.

Except when she wasn’t.

---

Four years ago, Taeyeon’s office was dark, unwelcoming. There is something in the air, something heavy and unpleasant. 

You storm in, all anger and rainwater from the heavy rainfall that had drenched you from the moment your plane had touched down in Vancouver after 9 hours of holding Ryujin’s hand as she trembled and sobbed in the seat next to yours.

Taeyeon speaks first.

“Surprised to see you here this late,” she says, with a glance toward the large designer clock on the wall that told you both it was nearing ten in the evening. She doesn’t make eye contact, eyes still fixed on her laptop and the documents littering her desk. “How did you know I was here?”

“Where else would you be, Taeyeon?” you spit. A hurtful statement. The indignation in your veins takes a perverse pride in the way she flinches at your words. It hurts her more than she lets on. Her lips purse into the slightest of frowns, but still she doesn’t look up at you.

“Sakura told me about the transfer,” you state. “She put it in, but you wrote it up and had her sign it.”

“I just did what Hirai implied I should do,” she says, not bothering to look up at you. She shuffles papers around on her desk, scribbling notes on the margins of one of them in red ink the color of freshly spilled blood. “Need I remind you that she said there ‘was a place for Ryujin in Strategy’?”

You step closer to her desk, leaning to plant your hands on the cold oak. 

“You know damn well that didn’t mean you had to transfer her to Tokyo,” you hiss. “You knew that Hirai meant transferring her up a couple of floors, not across the fucking ocean. But you did it anyway. And for what, Taeyeon? Why did you do it? Because some lowly Marketing Lead stole your thunder and made you look stupid in front of Hirai? To make sure she didn’t steal me from-”

“I did it for us!” 

Taeyeon finally looks up at you with an intensity in her eyes that catches you off guard. Her hands are fists now, the papers on her desk and the notifications on her monitor suddenly forgotten. There is silence for a few moments as her eyes bore into yours. 

“Hirai’s going on maternity leave in a month,” she says, softly. She drops her pen and brings both her hands to her forehead, as though massaging away a headache that was on the verge of breaking out. “She wants me to take over for her while she’s away. Senior Vice President.”

Silence again. The title lingers in the air, fills the space between you with its weight. It was only a title, but it meant so much more to the relationship between you. You knew what titles meant. You knew what they’d meant to your relationship.

“I’ll need someone to take over for me. A Vice President of Strategy--”

“Oh fuck off, Taeyeon--”

“Fucking listen to me!”

Taeyeon rarely ever shouted, rarely ever raised her voice. Even in her most intense moments her tone and volume rarely elevated.

It shakes you, as does the sudden passion in her eyes as she rises from her chair and comes around her desk to approach you. When she comes close, she straightens the collar of your shirt and brushes stray raindrops from your goretex rain jacket - but you don’t miss the slight, barely noticeable tremble in her fingers.

“We’re finally here, baby,” she says, softly, quietly, her voice small in a way it hadn’t been in years, not since she was your girlfriend a lifetime ago. “All those years of hard work, all those late nights slaving away - we’re finally here, at the top. You and me. Like it used to be. Like it still can be.”

“You’re insane, Taeyeon.”

“And you’re in love with a girl you didn’t know existed a month ago.”

You step away from her, shaken. Her fingertips leave your shirt.

“That’s not fair.”

“How long have we known each other, huh?” she counters, eyes fierce now, burning with a passion you only rarely saw in all the time you’d known her. You wish you’d seen this passion, this vulnerability more often, even if it was in the heat of an argument as it was now. “How many years? How many Christmases, how many birthdays? How many long nights in this office or in the fucking boardoom? We’ve been working for this for so long, baby, and it’s finally here. And you’re going to throw it all away for a girl you barely know?”

Silence again. A painful, dark pit of something like pain forms in your chest, forms a lump in your throat that made it suddenly difficult to breathe. You wanted to cry, wanted to shout and hit something, wanted to run away. It was all too much.

“Listen,” Taeyeon continues. She takes in a deep breath, as though steeling herself, forcing control back over her emotions - armored panels sliding back into place. Her hands return to your shirt, fiddling with its collar and buttons as she speaks. “Let’s do this, okay? Me and you. We’ll fill in for Hirai while she’s away - it’ll look great on our resumes, to say nothing of the pay and the bonuses. When she comes back, we can do whatever you want to do. We can go back to our old jobs or find something new. Whatever you want.” 

You run your hand through your hair and clamp it over your mouth, letting a long, heavy breath leave your nostrils. This was all too much. All too much, all at once.

“We’ll move to the other side of the country, or the other side of the planet. Whatever you want. But just give me one year. I need this. Please. After this, it’ll be just us. Me and you.”

She comes close again. She looks up at you with glassy eyes and a tremble in her lip. The smile on her lips is fragile, made of glass. She places her palm on your chest, above your rain jacket and shirt, over your heart.

“Me and you,” she says, one more time.

---

It didn’t happen right away. But when it did, it happened all at once.

She was an ocean away, and she’d wanted a clean break. It hurt, at first, and you’d spent many an evening with an empty bottle and thoughts of what might have been. But Taeyeon was there, as always, and soon enough her comfort became something similar to what you used to feel for her.

The apartment came next - with your respective salaries and her signing bonuses from taking over for Hirai’s maternity leave, the cost was never really an issue despite living in one of the world’s most expensive cities. It was almost trivial, the way Taeyeon had organized its purchase. It was in one of Vancouver’s most exclusive downtown districts, and was all newly-constructed exposed wood and steel and glass, with a view overlooking False Creek. She wasted no time in filling it with lavish furniture and fixtures, all of it arriving and being set up and installed almost at a whim. You’d come home from the gym or the office or drinks with friends and there it would be - a new designer side table, or art piece, or ridiculously expensive coffee maker that would soon become something you couldn’t live without. 

A small part of you chafed at all the extravagant expenses, feeling uncomfortable amidst all the opulence - but as the seasons changed, you became more and more used to this new life.

Four years passed. Four more birthdays, four more Christmases.

You only rarely heard about her - a brief mention of her name during a Town Hall meeting or company newsletter, if that. But you never spoke, never interacted, not since the day in her apartment when she’d walked into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She was on the other side of the planet. And it seemed, more and more with each day, that she’d moved on. The month you spent together seemed far off, becoming more and more of a memory than a what-if.

Life went on. Taeyeon was there. She wasn’t, not anymore. 

To many it seemed you’d made it. Gorgeous, successful girlfriend; Vice President within your company; ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment to come home to every night. 

Life seemed perfect. You almost let yourself believe it was true.

---

From across the well-decorated, extravagant ballroom, he seemed almost ridiculously normal.

And yet there he was - the man from all the stories that had constantly circulated throughout the office. The same man who’d brought down YG, who’d engaged in the kind of corporate espionage that wouldn’t have been out of place in the movies or in some triple A stealth action game. And yet here he was - an average, normal looking dude.

To be fair, he certainly seemed to be winning at life, if the people surrounding him were any indication. In his arms is a bundle of soft white cotton, within which was his new son. His wife, the almost equally legendary Hirai Momo, is greeting the latest of the arrivals to her baby shower - a delegation of three women, one of which you recognized from earlier that afternoon as Choa Park, director of the London office. JYP himself, CEO and President of the company that bears his name, is chatting away with him like an old friend about the recent trades the Vancouver Canucks have made in the offseason, and whether they would be enough to propel the team into the playoffs.

“Guy’s got it made,” you say out loud. Taeyeon, next to you, lets out a sound under her breath that sounded close to approval.

“Guy deserves it, if even half the things he did overseas that year is true,” she states, matter-of-factly. She takes another sip of her champagne, and you both watch as a new pair of women approach Momo and her husband, exchanging warm hugs and pleasantries before revealing the matching engagement rings on their left hands to shouts of joy that quickly spread throughout their little group.

Every attendee in the hall orbits Momo, her husband, and the new baby - rightfully so, you thought, it being her baby shower and all. They vie for her attention or that of the little bundle of joy in her husband’s arms - or both. You’d had a long day in the office and you were more than willing to sit back and nurse your glass of whiskey rather than actively engage in the festivities. As happy as you were for Momo and her new family, you were looking forward to making an early exit from the event and spending the rest of the night at home, unwinding.

You are watching another new pair of women approach the happy family - a short, tattooed woman and an elegant looking woman walking hand-in-hand - when a woman’s voice calls out Taeyeon’s name.

“Paging Miss Taeyeon Kim,” says the soft, melodic voice, which belonged to one Suzy Bae. The Director of Human Resources looked lovely in a slim, backless emerald green dress, the smile on her lips warm and polite in the way that those belonging to HR staff usually are. You’d always had the impression that there was a kind of sadness behind her corporate-approved smile, although you’d never had the chance to figure out whether your hunch was correct or not.

Taeyeon returns Suzy’s smile before the Director continues.

“Hirai would like to have a chat,” she states, “now, if possible.”

Taeyeon gives you a nod. “Duty calls,” she states, before leaving her champagne glass on your table and leaving arm-in-arm with Suzy, one of her only real friends in the company.

You watch as the two approach Hirai, but before they reach her, the Vice President’s attention is stolen by yet more new arrivals.

One is a blur of neon pink hair and a loud screech that somehow passed for a greeting - Sakura Miyawaki. Kazuha followed closely behind, composed and refined as always in a conservative black dress. 

The Tokyo office. Which could only mean--

At the entrance to the ballroom, framed by the light of the hallway outside, was Ryujin Shin.

---

Your heart leaps to your throat, and for a moment there is an ache in your chest, as though you’d been physically struck.

You consider, for a moment, hoping she hadn’t seen you and disappearing into the crowd - but it’s too late for that. Her eyes find yours across the ballroom, and you see that same flash of fear and hesitation in her that you no doubt had plastered all over your face.

But it softens. Quickly. For a moment she looks sad, forlorn, as if she, too, was hit with the same unnamable ache in her chest. It’s only there for a moment, but you don’t miss it. She replaces it swiftly with a polite smile.

It stings, how casual her smile is, as though you were just another work colleague she hadn’t seen in a while, and not the woman you’d spent a month falling in love with. 

She’s wearing a short black dress, similar but not identical to the one she wore during that stupid networking event in Seoul - a lifetime ago. Another life. Her hair is a dark crimson now, falling around her bare shoulders in loose waves the color of spilled wine, framing a face slightly slimmer but still possessing the youthful charm that made her so ridiculously attractive four years ago. 

She steps towards you, right hand raised tentatively in a small, friendly wave. Her heels sound impossibly loud on the hardwood of the ballroom floor despite the jazz quartet playing in a corner, each one bringing her closer and closer to you, each one making you feel something between fear and longing.

Your legs suddenly feel like they’re made of gelatin, but you do your best to remain upright. You’d known that her presence tonight was a possibility, especially given Hirai’s relationship with Sakura, but you’d assumed that the crowd would be larger, or that you and Taeyeon could have made an early exit, or that--

“Hi,” she says, the first word she’s said to you in four years, and somehow with that single syllable the ache in your chest widens, deepens, and begins the gradual transition into pain. 

“Hey,” you manage.

Silence reigns for a few moments longer than you wanted. You stare at your champagne, and her at ruckus Momo and Sakura’s reunion has caused within the group at the center of the banquet hall. 

“Your, uh, your hair-” you stammer.

“Yeah,” she says, too quickly, eager to end the awkwardness. “Is it nice? I think it’s nice. Sakura said it’s ‘sooooo 2017’.”

“Funny, coming from her.”

There is silence for another moment, but this time your eyes meet. There is something there, in those dark chestnut pools, that you want to capture and keep and never give away. She gives you a smile - small, awkward, unsure, but genuine.

“It’s good to see you,” she says, finally, voice small.

Her words break you and fill you all at the same time. So warm, and yet so casual.

“It’s good to see you too, Ryujin.”

Her name on your lips sends a little shiver up her spine that she hopes you don’t notice - but it’s there, in the little quiver of her lips, the glimmer in her eyes that speak of too many lonely nights in her Tokyo apartment wishing she could hear it again.

“So how’s uh…” you begin. “How’s-”

“Trucks to trains?” she says, smile a little looser now, a little freer, now that you’d given her a mundane topic to speak on. “Went great. We wrapped up the last contracts in the last quarter.”

“Went?”

“Yeah. Now we just sit back and wait for the cash to roll in so I can rub it in Taeyeon’s face,” she says with a small grin - that small, sly little grin you used to know well.

The mention of her name causes your eyes to snap, involuntarily, towards Taeyeon’s last known direction. She’s deep in conversation with Momo now, the topic likely work-related, if her rigid posture were anything to go by.

“Speaking of which,” Ryujin says. “I hear you two are-”

“-yeah,” you finish. “It, uh, kinda just happened. Not married, or anything. Just… yeah.”

Ryujin nods, but there’s a flicker of something between surprise and hurt on her features. She does her best to hide it, and most people would’ve missed it, but you knew her better than most people. She smiles, but there’s no joy in it.

“Got it. You two were meant to be, anyway.”

You shrug, unwilling to give voice to a confirmation. “And you?”

A moment passes. Her eyes are locked on yours, as though she were surprised by your question, or didn’t quite know how or if to answer it. Then she smiles. “There’s a guy,” she admits, as she takes a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray.

It’s then that you notice that the silver chain that she was never without is missing from her wrist. Its absence makes you wonder for a moment - and what could have happened in the past four years that might have caused it. Another story, another part of her life you had no insight into.

While you are wondering about the chain, you realize that on the ring finger of her left hand is a glimmering diamond.

---

The conversation flowed easier from then on, even if a part of your chest ached every time she raised her glass to her lips or brushed stray locks of hair from her temple, because it brought that ring on her finger into your view. She shares anecdotes from life in Tokyo, talks about how the best places to get vintage games is in the used goods stores in the suburbs and not those in Akihabara; about how the coffee is so much better there but her first sip of a Tim Horton’s double double this morning almost gave her an orgasm; about how she feels like she’s baking alive in the almost 40 degree Tokyo heat come summertime.

Every story, every tale about the past four years of her life hurts just a little more than the last. Here was a woman who you had no trouble imagining the rest of your life with - and she was out there living that life without you. You wanted nothing more than to have been there with her -  digging for that copy of Lunar: Silver Star Story in a bin of used games; sharing coffee at a small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Nakameguro; fanning each other in vain as you struggle with a broken air conditioner in July.

But that life belonged to someone else. And the diamond on her ring seemed to remind you of it with every glimmer of light it caught in its many facets.

“What about you?” she asks, ignorant of the internal battle being waged in your chest. “How’s life dating the queen of JYP?”

“Great,” you answer, quicker than you would have anticipated, answering almost out of reaction and instinct rather than genuine thought. “Great,” you repeat, as though wanting to convince her or you, you weren’t sure. “She’s great. We… have a place. On Homer Street. By False Creek.”

“Wow,” she says, trying to appear surprised and impressed even when it was obvious not a bone in her body was either surprised or impressed. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” you force. “But who knows where we’ll be soon. Taeyeon took over for Hirai while she was on maternity leave, and we promised each other we’d do the executive thing for a year. But now that Hirai’s coming back, we might do something different. Maybe travel? Something quieter, something less intense. Taeyeon’s promised me we’ll do something I want to do. Maybe we’ll sell mini donuts at the fair. Who knows,” you quip, earning a smile from Ryujin.

“Nice. Let me know when you open up your stand. I like the ones with sprinkles. Oh, and the ones dipped in caramel. Those are an S-tier mini donut if there ever was one.”

You let a small chuckle escape your lips despite yourself. When she doesn’t immediately continue the conversation, you find yourself in silence again - but this time you are oddly okay with it, the seconds seeming to pass slowly as you look into each others’ eyes. You aren’t sure what she sees in yours, but in her eyes you see the girl that you spent one of the best chapters of your life with.

You’re stirred from your reverie by the sound of someone testing a mic. You hold Ryujin’s gaze for a moment longer before you both turn your attention to the small, raised stage at one end of the hall, where Momo has approached the podium with her husband and child.

“This on? Suzy? Am I-” Momo begins, until Suzy gives her a thumbs up from the corner of the stage. “Great. Good evening, everyone,” she begins, bright and radiant in the way that new mothers are. “Thanks for coming. My little brat appreciates it. My kid does too.”

The crowd gives a small, polite chuckle. Her husband turns the baby in his arms towards the crowd, and the baby wriggles his hands and feet to a chorus of “awws.”

“As you know, I’ve been away from the company for the past year giving birth to and taking care of this little one,” she continues. “Thankfully the company has been doing great-”

“Hell yeah we have!” comes a shout from JYP himself, to a healthy dose of diplomatic laughter from the audience.

“-and that’s thanks mostly to the work of Taeyeon Kim, who’s been filling in for me as Senior Vice President!”

Momo extends an arm towards Taeyeon, who is waiting at the edge of the stage with Suzy. The crowd gives her a healthy, if reserved, round of applause.

“Well,” Momo continues, “I have a little announcement that I hope you’ll all enjoy. I know you’re all just waiting with baited breath for me and my husband to come back to the company, but you’re all going to have to put up with Taeyeon a little longer, because she’s agreed to continue in the SVP role while my husband and I - and our little brat - go on extended sabbatical. Two years, maybe three - as long as Mr. JYP himself will let us!”

“Take as long as you want!” JYP himself answers, to cheers and laughs from the crowd.

Momo continues her speech. She thanks everyone for coming. She shares stories and jokes about her husband, her child, and motherhood. 

All you see is the way Taeyeon avoids your gaze.

---

“Wait. Stop. Let’s just fucking talk about this-”

You spin on your heel. The audacity. The gall. You step up close to her.

“No, Taeyeon. The time to talk about this was before you decided to stay on with that title for the next three years.”

You turn and continue towards the waiting Uber. Taeyeon follows.

“Listen-”

“No, you fucking listen to me, Taeyeon,” you snap, turning to face her again. Your hands ball into fists, and it took more self-control than you would care to admit not to grasp her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. Every inch of you brims with anger. It makes you tremble. “You asked me to do this executive thing for one year. One year. Then you promised me - you fucking promised me, Taeyeon! - you promised me that we would stop and do something that wasn’t wasting away the best years of our lives as slaves on the fucking corporate ladder.”

She holds your gaze. Her hands, like yours, are fists at her side. She is small and tiny here, in her short dress and outside the fancy hotel ballroom and on the street, but she holds her ground. Composed. Like she always was, even a part of you wanted her to explode and shout and fight you - because then at least you would’ve known it meant something to her.

You’d been waiting forever for that moment, you realize. For that moment for her to choose emotion - choose you - over logic. Over her work. Over a title.

“You promised me,” you say, one more time, the words heavy in the air between you. “And I stayed, because I thought you’d keep that promise. Because you were building a life with me, or because - fuck me - maybe you were as much in love with me as I was with you.”

That’s it - that’s when the first crack in her armor appears. It’s small, subtle. But it’s there. She crosses her arms, now, as though to plug the gap and ensure it didn’t widen. For a moment she looks away. Her eyes linger over the space between you.

“Listen, I-”

“No,” you state, as firmly as you can, given the lump in your throat and the aching emptiness in your chest that Momo’s announcement left there. “No, Taeyeon. I spent most of the years I’ve known you listening to you. I spent it watching you choose a title over me once. And when we got back together I thought, just one more year. Fuck, maybe finally she’ll choose me - choose us -  over another promotion.”

Silence. She looks up at you again. For a second, there is a quiver in her glassy eyes, as though the great Taeyeon Kim might actually shed a tear or submit to emotion over logic. You want her to say something. You beg her.

“But here we are, Taeyeon,” you continue, when she says nothing. “And you chose the title over me. Again.”

You turn and open the Uber’s door, climbing into the back seat. The car peels away from the curb, leaving Taeyeon there alone.

---

Taeyeon handled it like she did most things in her life - efficiently.

It took a single day, all in all. You got a knock on the door of your new apartment one morning and the movers started piling the boxes in neat stacks in your empty living room - each one filled with all your belongings, neatly packaged and labelled. Neatly folded clothes, your PS5 and gaming computer, your mountain bike and snowboard.

It took her less than eight hours to completely erase all trace of you from the apartment you shared. Her lawyer sent you a PDF to electronically sign that same day, finalizing the 50:50 split of everything you owned jointly - investments, season tickets for the Canucks chief among them - except for the Audi, which she gave you, and now sat in your parking space in the garage. Maybe she didn’t want to drive around in a car that you picked out. Maybe she couldn’t be bothered to spend time removing the mountain bike rack. You didn’t have a couch or even a bed, but at least you had a luxury SUV. Lucky you.

When the movers finished before noon, you took a few minutes to peel off the egregious amount of packing foam and moving tape they’d wrapped around your gaming chair - the only thing you currently owned resembling something to sit on - and cracked open a beer. 

You’d taken a few days off work - Suzy was kind enough to explain it to the board as a “family emergency,” and quickly found and settled on a small but comfortable apartment in Vancouver’s Kitsilano neighborhood. You’d had to call in a few favors with friends in real estate to fast track the paperwork, but you were willing to do anything to get away from Taeyeon. The mere thought of returning to your shared apartment to gather your things filled you with dread - until, thankfully, she decided to take care of it for you. Efficient, as always. You expected nothing less from the Senior Vice President of JYP Inc.

You wonder if she felt anything as the movers came in and took your things. If she did, she probably hid it well, behind her armor. She was good at that.

---

The next day you’re putting your new desk together and cursing the fact that your set of allen keys was likely buried somewhere in the cardboard fortress that still took up most of your living room when there’s a knock on your door. As you get up your bare foot lands on a stray screw, sending a sharp spike of pain up your heel. Thankfully it doesn’t break the skin. Small mercies.

You hobble over to the door. Probably a furniture delivery. Hopefully it was your bed. Your back was not a fan of the inflatable camping mattress you slept on last night.

It’s Ryujin.

In her hands are a couple of paper bags, one of which clearly carried green glass bottles. 

She looks at you - messy clothes, favoring a leg, messy hair - complete mess. She is about to say something, decides not to. She smiles, crookedly, as though she is stifling a laugh at your present condition. That told you all you needed to know.

You smirk, open the door fully, and let her in.

---

You’re sitting in the middle of the cardboard box fortress, sharing soju and rice crackers on the floor, when she asks.

“So,” she begins, throwing another cracker into her mouth. “The fuck happened to you?”

You let a breath out through your nostrils and smile, despite yourself. You empty your glass, and Ryujin quickly refills your glass.

Vancouver’s golden hour sunset makes the ring on her left hand glimmer.

“She did what she does,” you answer, vaguely. You look up at her and assume that she needs further detail than that, but you can tell by the look in her eyes that she doesn’t. She understood exactly what you meant, even when you didn’t actually say the words.

“What did you want to do?” she says, carefully, as though she were afraid of poking a fresh wound. “I mean, if she hadn’t chosen work over your sorry ass. Again.”

You shrug, taking a cracker and nibbling on it. “Move to New York? Stockholm? Manila? Fuck around, maybe get married and have brats of our own because we’re bored?”

“Taeyeon having kids. They’d be born wearing pantsuits.”

You let out a laugh under your breath. “She’d have quarterly KPIs for them to meet in pre-school.”

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. She downs the rest of her glass of soju, and you refill her glass only to find the bottle empties mid-pour. You crack open the next one. Ryujin gives you a moment, letting you choose to continue - if you wanted. The silence isn’t heavy or oppressive. It’s easy.

“She told me everything she did was for us - the late nights, the relentless climb up the corporate ladder,” you begin. “But it was never for us. It was for her career. I was just an accessory. Can you believe it? Me, a trophy boyfriend.” Ryujin smiles and plays with the rim of her soju glass, fingertips tracing the edge. “Did you love her?”

“Yes,” you answer, after a moment spent staring at the clear alcohol in your glass. “But the more I think about it, the more I realize maybe I was in love with the girl I’d convinced myself she was. A girl that would pick me over her career, once it was all said and done. But fool me once…”

You down your glass. Ryujin re-fills it, spills a little over on the floor, but doesn’t bother moving to clean it up.

For a few moments there’s silence between you. Rice crackers are chewed upon, soju swallowed. 

“How long?” she asks, quietly, as though the words took every ounce of her willpower to say. “How long after we-”

“A while,” you answer, sparing her the trouble of finding the words. The mood shifts. The silence gets a little weightier. “You… wanted to end things, Ryujin. She was there. I thought you moved on. I thought it was clean.”

Ryujin nods. She stares at her glass. 

“It wasn’t clean to me,” she says.

You look at her, but her eyes are cast down at the floor, and she doesn’t look back. Perhaps she is afraid of what would happen if she did. Perhaps she was afraid of showing you what was there in her eyes.

“I had it in my head that you were going to show up at the airport,” she begins, voice starting strong but quivering slightly as the words left her mouth. But she continues, bravely. “Or maybe you’d booked a seat on the plane and you’d get up and sit next to me, because you decided to transfer along to Tokyo with me, and we’d spend the next three years living together in Tokyo. Or maybe you’d show up at Haneda. Or at Tokyo Station…”

Her voice breaks, as though each word cost her a piece of herself to say. She brings a hand to her mouth, covering her lips, gathering herself.

“Kazuha had to pull me out of bed those first couple of weeks,” she admits, softly, the quivers in her voice more apparent now. She sniffles, choking back emotion. “Then for a while I convinced myself you’d show up at the Tokyo office one day with a bouquet of roses. Maybe you were delayed, y’know? Maybe you had some trouble with HR arranging your transfer to Tokyo for the project.”

She lets out a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. She wipes a tear from her eye before it has a chance to fall, and seeing it makes your chest hurt. 

“Stupid,” she says, taking a sharp, wheezy inhale. “I was stupid. So stupid. I wanted a clean break and you gave it to me and it broke my fucking heart.”

Your lip quivers, the way it does when your heart aches. You look at her and you want to gather her into your arms and kiss her and chase away her pain and heartache. But you don’t. You can’t, because she’s not that woman anymore. She’s not yours.

“I’m sorry, Ryujin,” you say, eventually. “Those first few weeks… they were hell for me too.”

She nods. She wipes away another tear before it breaks free of her eyelid. You had to touch her - had to do something - and you reach out with your right hand. She sees you, with your outstretched hand, and for the first time in a long while she makes eye contact. Her eyes are glassy. The smile on her lips is a sad, broken thing.

She reaches out with her left hand and grasps yours. You squeeze it for a moment, but the ring on her finger makes you pull your own hand away.

“Your fiance won’t like that you’re having drinks at the apartment of a guy you used to fuck,” you say, softly, with a smile, to make sure she knew you were joking.

Ryujin looks at you for a moment, searching, as though she were incredulous that you would try and make a joke right now. But eventually her lips curl into a smile. She straightens out her fingers on her left hand, eyes fixated on the ring.

She laughs, and twists the ring off her finger.

“He would be, if he were real.”

She tosses the ring at your chest. It’s cheap pot metal, the “diamond” actually clear plastic.

You reach for her hand, examining her ring finger. No tan, no indent - she hadn’t been wearing it for very long. She hadn’t been wearing any ring there at all.

“I bought it at Haneda on my way here,” she admits. “Wanted to piss you off. Make you jealous. Show you what you missed out on. But…”

“...but?”

She laughs, despite herself, washing her face with her palms as though ashamed.

“Ah, fuck,” she sighs. “The second I saw you I wanted to tear it off my hand. So stupid-”

You kiss her.

You were moving before she’d even finished her sentence, crawling across the floor and pressing her lips against hers. She is surprised, caught off guard - but it takes only a second for her to ease into the kiss, lips opening and tongue finding yours.

The tension between you snaps, shatters under the weight of your mutual need for each other - for lust, yes, but also for comfort, for a reminder of what once was before the world decided to send you to opposite sides of it.

Her hands find their way into your scalp, and suddenly she’s falling onto her back on the hardwood floor, your lips and the tongues duelling all the while. You break the kiss for a moment, and your eyes find each other. You will the words to appear and you get the sense that she is doing the same - but the moment passes without one being spoken. She lets her actions speak for you both, pulling you to her mouth and kissing you again.

You break the kiss, wanting to have more of her. You delve into her neck and she hisses your name into the air between your teeth. She’d said your name more than once since you’d reunited but not like this, not the way she used to - half breath, half gasp.

Before you know it she’s pulling her wool sweater off, revealing the modest bralette she wore beneath. She’s slimmer now, a little more toned than she was four years ago, and the sight of her body steals the breath from your lungs. She watches you take her in and giggles, reaching for the hem of your t-shirt and pulling it over your head.

When you return to her neck it’s hotter now, more passionate, the increased skin-to-skin contact between your upper bodies making every touch feel like electricity. You place messy, rushed kisses down her neck and upper chest and collarbone, and before you know it she’s arching her back and reaching behind her to undo her bra. The garment sags on her when she undoes the clasp and she practically tears it off her body.

Her small, soft breasts give the slightest bounce when her back hits the floor again - and the sight of her makes your mouth water. 

Her hands - which have found their way into your hair, nails digging into your scalp - pull you down to her. 

You find her left nipple first, the one she told you on a warm afternoon in Seoul was the more sensitive one, and latch onto it with your lips. Your tongue darts out to flick her sensitive bud and the sound that it tears from her throat sounds like relief and pleasure and something more, something deep and primal. You suckle deeply from her, tongue weaving random patterns atop her stiff bud, your other hand capturing her other nipple and pinching and rolling the nub between your index finger and thumb until it too is taut with pleasure.

She’s writhing on the floor now, lower body moving restlessly, capturing your hips between her warm thighs and pressing herself against you. You can feel the heat of her on your own thigh, knowing that she was probably already dripping.

Your hands slide down her side, catching on the waistband of the small black skirt she wore. Through the pleasured haze your suckling on her breasts has brought upon her, she quickly finds the skirt’s zipper beneath the small of her back. Her back arches off the floor again, pushing her breasts further into your mouth, and allowing her room to pull her skirt - and the drenched panties beneath - off her hips and down her legs. 

You take a second to take her in - naked, needy, wanting. Her cheeks are flushed, hips still writhing, still needing you between them. You glance down, at the glistening, slick flesh between her thighs as she spreads them and allows you between her legs.

“Fuck me,” she says, a hiss, a whisper - something you’d heard her say many times before but never like this, never so soft, so vulnerable. “Please,” she adds, as she pulls you down for a kiss. “Please, I need you--”

You reach to pull your sweatpants down just far enough to free your cock. It bounces free of your boxers and glances against the slick flesh of her cunt and that first contact is enough to wrench a wispy, breathy gasp from both of your lips. You grasp your aching shaft and bring your tip to her dripping entrance.

“Please,” she hisses, and then you push forward, and you’re inside her again.

You force your eyes open, despite the overwhelming desire to close them and simply savor the feeling of her tight cunt taking you - but you want to watch her, want to see what she looks like as she takes your cock again. Eyes closed, brow furrowed as if in pain, lips apart as a low, breathy moan leaves them - sublime. 

It’s uneven and wild, the rhythm you quickly find and settle into, as you fuck her on the floor of your new, messy apartment. The unresolved history between you, the empty void of four years you spent apart, the lingering ghost of what might have been and question of what still could be - it’s all still there - but it fades for just a moment. Right now it’s the feeling of her body taking you in that matters, and that sensation is all consuming.

She’s tight and wet, so tight and wet around you. You still remember what she felt like four years ago - how could you forget? - but she somehow feels even better now, as if her body remembered what you felt like, how you stretched her, and was waiting for you to return to it.

She hisses your name into your ear. “Oh god,” she spits. “Oh god, fuck me - fuck… for so fucking long, god--”

You only catch fragments of sentences - or perhaps she could only manage fragments - but the meaning is clear. She’d wanted you for so long, had waited for this moment for so long. 

Her nails dig into your scalp. Her thighs tighten around your waist, heels digging into the small of your back and butt. 

“Harder,” she says into your ear, and you obey, increasing your pace, thrusts gradually increasing in pace until you’re hammering her against the floor. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes in the empty living room, the raw, carnal sound echoing against the cardboard boxes and half-assembled furniture.

“So big, stretching me out, fuck-” she sighs, pulling your head from where it had settled in the crook of her neck so you’re in front of her now, face-to-face, every thrust sending a stiff vibration through her body. “Needed you, needed this--” 

“Fuck, Ryujin,” you spit, between gritted teeth. She was so tight, so slick around you. “Still so fucking tight for me.”

“Yes,” she answers, immediate. “Just for you, fuck, just for you. Fuck me, okay? Fuck me-”

You silence her with a rough, violent kiss, hard teeth clashing against soft lips and causing spikes of pain that lend the pleasure more sharpness. You break the kiss and raise your upper body with your arms, placing your palms flat on either side of her head.

What a view - her slim, tight body beneath you, small breasts bouncing with each thrust, saliva-streaked nipples tight and taut; warm, flushed thighs spread wide; the slick, pink lips of her cunt taking you in and squeezing tightly around you on the way out; her juices glistening on your shaft as it drills in and out of her, gathering and pooling on the wiry hairs at your base.

You relish the sight of her body, her lips, her eyes. She does the same. Her right hand grasps onto your left bicep, her nails of her free hand digging into your side as she tries to anchor herself against the pleasure building to a peak inside her.

“Gonna fucking cum,” she spits. Saliva drips down her chin, and her makeup runs. She doesn’t care. Doesn’t even notice.

“Cum for me,” you order, and almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, she does. 

Her body quivers, trembles, then goes rigid - then does it again. Her nails dig almost painfully into your side, and her heels pull you against her as though she were afraid you would pull out and leave her wanting. But you don’t, slowing but not stopping your pace, fucking her through her orgasm with slow but firm thrusts, elongating the length of each wave of pleasure that courses through her body.

You feel your own peak coming - quickly, far too quickly. Your arms give out, suddenly weak, and you find yourself back in the crook of her neck as the last aftershocks of her orgasm slowly fade from her. 

“Gonna cum, Ryujin,” you say into her ear, almost embarrassed at how quickly it was coming - but the time apart, the emotion, the spoken and unspoken words between you - it was all too much.

“Inside me,” she says, the same way she’d said it so many times in the past, but this time is different, is unlike all the others. “Fill me up, please. I’m yours, okay? I’m yours--”

Just as your words instantly brought about her orgasm, hers brings about yours - and before you know it you’re burying yourself as deeply as you can inside Ryujin Shin and letting your orgasm overtake your senses. You quiver, tremble, and go rigid - your cock pulses as it spurts thick, warm ropes of your semen deep inside her cunt and into her womb. 

“Oh god, yes, please,” she says, the words half-moan as she feels you cum inside her. “Yes, cum inside me, cum inside me just like that. Give it to me, Daddy please-”

Her old pet name for you breaks you, shatters what’s left of you. Your orgasm shakes you to your core, and you’re a trembling mess in her arms by the time you begin to recover. 

You raise your head from her neck to look at her. Flushed, eyes half-lidded, makeup messy - and somehow more beautiful than you’d ever seen her.

You want to say something, something that will resolve all the ghosts and make clear whatever future lay before you. But she smiles, warm and soft, and you realize there was no need for words with Ryujin. She knew what you were going to say, knew how you felt, even if you never gave those emotions a voice. 

In recent days you’d found yourself searching for words that were always somehow eluding you. The emotion is there, but the articulation of them wasn’t. 

The words you need are in the kiss she gives you.

---

You both spend a few minutes there, cuddling naked on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by cardboard boxes and soju bottles, sharing kisses and making jokes, fingertips tracing idle patterns on each others’ skin as though trying to etch the feeling of each others’ bodies into your memories - or perhaps trying to re-learn the same. 

It’s quiet for a moment as her eyes find yours, and before you know it her hand, which was cradling your cheek, is pushing you gently onto your back. 

She’s on you before you know it, thighs cradling your hips. You can feel the wet heat of her above your cock, the soft drip of your cum or her juices falling from her open, cum-filled cunt and onto your crotch. She grinds on you, the lips of her cunt splayed on either side of your rapidly hardening shaft, coating it in a slick sheen of juices.

Throughout it all she doesn’t say a thing - just lets her body and that unspoken connection between you speak for her.

Her brow wrinkles, her eyes shut, and her lower lip curls under a tooth as the first spikes of pleasure begin to work their way up her spine and into her brain. When you’re fully stiff she reaches between you, points your tip at the pink, slick lips of her pussy, and slides you inside her.

She begins to ride you - slowly, passionately. Your hands find their way to her hips and stay there, not pulling her down or guiding her, just touching her, anchoring yourself to her. You let her lead the way, let her find her own pleasure, at her own pace.

You take her in - the sight, the feel, the sound of her. She’s small - she’s always been small - but toned, now, slim and tight. The fading sunlight of the afternoon highlights the ridges and curves of her body - her round, small breasts and the taut nipples atop them, the flex of her abs, the fullness of her thighs. 

She moves with a grace and flow that takes your breath away with each movement, her full hips moving softly and slowly upward as you slide up and out and away from her, only to drive herself down and forward with a little more force as she takes you into her cunt. Her hips move in slick, slow gyrations. Every twitch, every movement sends another quiver of pleasure up your spine.

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, eyes finally opening. Her hands dig into your chest, her upper arms bringing her tits together into a delicious looking cleavage. “Fuck, you feel so good, stretching me-”

“You feel better, baby,” you reply. Your hands dig a little deeper into her hips, fingers clutching at her soft flesh, slowly pulling her toward you with each gyration of her hips, no longer able to contain the need for more of her, faster, harder.

“Can feel… fuck, can feel your cum inside me. I’m so full of your cum already, Daddy. Can feel you pushing it deeper inside me-”

“Ryujin-”

“Fuck,” she snaps, reaching between your bodies, her fingers finding her slick clit and teasing it. “Gonna cum on your cock, Daddy. Are you- are you gonna watch me cum?”

“Yes, baby-”

“--Fuck!”

Ryujin Shin shatters atop you, body trembling as she momentarily loses control of it. Her cunt pulsates around your shaft and for a moment you think you might cum there and then. Your hands tighten even further around her hips, surely leaving bruises for tomorrow - and you do your best to keep your eyes open, watching the orgasm course through her tight little body, watching her go rigid and tense for a long moment before loosening and falling to a heap atop you.

You kiss, passionately. She breathes heavily into the kiss and into your mouth, suddenly exhausted. You don’t give her long to recover. The hands on her hips slowly push her off your cock, and you both let a sigh out at the sudden emptiness.

You guide her onto her hands and knees, rising to take up position behind her. No words, no pausing to give her time to catch her breath - not when your need for her was so strong. You take your slick shaft in your hand and point your tip at her and you’re inside her again, her cum-slick, tight heat welcoming you, taking you.

You’re fucking her again, quickly finding a fast and firm rhythm, the wet smack of your hips meeting her ass filling the room. Your hands clutch at her hips and waist, pulling you back against her - and soon she’s doing the same, throwing herself back onto you, meeting you thrust for thrust.

“Fuck, Daddy, feels like, fuck, like-- feels like--”

“Use your words, baby girl,” you say, giving her ass a firm smack that leaves the full cheek reddened.

“Feels like… fuck, like you’re pushing your cum deeper inside me.”

Her words tear a sound that feels like a growl from your throat.

“Do it, Daddy,” she continues, looking back over her shoulder with fierce, needy eyes. “Do it, okay? I can feel your cum inside me, in my fucking womb, making me yours-”

The wet slap of skin on skin increases in pace. 

“God, I want it,” she hisses, eyes still not leaving yours. Spit drips from her lips. Her eyes want, plead. “I want it so bad. Want you to breed me, please, so I’ll have part of you in me always-”

You reach forward, grasp her hair, pull her upright - until her back is pressed against your chest. One hand wraps around her torso, claiming her breast in your palm, squeezing tightly - the other grasps her bruised hip tightly as you continue to fuck her. Juices - your cum, her arousal - drip from her overflowing cunt and onto the floor beneath you in heavy, slick drops.

“Yes, Daddy please,” she begs. “Breed me. Do you- do you feel… your cum, already inside me? I want more, Daddy please, give me more, cum inside me again I’ll be good, please, I’ll be so good for you, Daddy please--”

Your orgasm hits you all at once, without warning. You bury yourself inside her and lose yourself to her. Your cock quivers and pulses inside her, filling her already cum-filled cunt with another load of thick, warm semen.

You hug her tight against you, hand squeezing her breast almost painfully, the other surely leaving bruises on her hip that she’ll feel tomorrow. You empty yourself inside her - every part of you, every lonely night you spent in the last four years wishing she were there next to you. She sighs and moans as you fill her for the second time and there is nothing you want more in the world than to stay there, in that moment, joined with her in the most intimate way possible.

Your strength gives out, eventually - muscles burning with effort for a few moments too long. You release her, reluctantly, from your grasp, and she falls forward onto the floor again. You join her, her back pressed to your chest, and gather her into your arms. She wraps her own arms over yours, as though making sure you weren’t going to let her go ever again.

---

The third time is softer than the others.

This was not about ownership, or possession, and really not as much about pleasure. It’s about the way she looks at you, the way her hands cradle your face as you move in and out of her body. It’s about the words that linger between you, unsaid and unspoken, but still somehow understood, as though you were communicating on some level other than the physical.

But she took it, translated the unsaid and turned it into emotion, the way no other woman in your life could.

She’s sore and leaking, and maybe already bruised from your hands and the hard floor, throat raw from moaning and sighing her pleasure into your apartment. You’re similarly sore, exhausted, drained. But none of that matters. All that matters is telling her with your actions what you never could with your words.

When she cums it’s softer, more subdued, but no less impactful on you. The way her back arches up off the floor, the way your name leaves her lips half-moan, half-gasp as the orgasm courses through her tired, exhausted body - it’s perfect. When you spill into her for the third time that night it’s far from the thick spurts you gave her earlier, but no less pleasurable.

She takes every drop. Her body is filled to the brim and the slickness between you, sweat and cum and her juices, drips onto the floor and binds you to each other. Her arms wrap around your neck and her legs around your waist like she’s afraid to let you go, as though she wants to take you and this moment and make it a part of her forever, make it a part of who she is.

You kiss her. When your faces part it’s her that wants to say something, wants to tell you how she feels. Her lips part, but like you, she cannot find the words. 

So you kiss her again, and remind her that between you there’s no need to speak.

---

She’s gone in the morning. 

There’s a note on the floor where she lay sleeping just hours before, hastily scribbled in her loopy, messy handwriting. 

We’re never fucking around moving boxes ever again.

P.S. Clean your floors and get a bed, you fucking neanderthal.

Beneath the note is her ring, cheap and plastic. It still glimmers in the sunlight.

---

“I wish you found a way to stay,” Suzy says, as she stares down at the formal resignation letter you’d handed her. She takes it and gives it a sad look before placing it atop another recently received letter atop her desk. “I suppose I can’t blame you, though. This is a case study in why you shouldn’t date co-workers, I guess.”

She stands, walks around her desk and gives you a warm hug. Suzy was a real and genuine person, and a small part of you would miss seeing her around the office.

“What are you gonna do now?” she asks.

“Not sure,” you answer, honestly. “But I’ll figure it out.”

You give her the best smile you can manage, pick up your suitcase from the floor next to your seat, and make your way out of JYP HQ for the last time. You don’t look back.

---

You’re stepping outside the front doors of the building when you see her standing there - an iced caramel macchiato in her hand, phone in the other. Next to her is her carry-on luggage.

“Hey,” you say, motioning towards her drink. “Thanks for not randomly spilling that on me.”

She blushes. “Fuck off,” she spits, but with a smile.

“Don’t you have a flight to Tokyo to catch?”

“Had one last meeting with HR this morning. My flight’s this afternoon,” she says. She takes a sip of her drink. “Heard you’re quitting. What are you going to do?” she says, eventually.

“No idea,” you admit. 

Ryujin nods to herself. “You’ll figure it out,” she says, eventually, with a small smile.

“What about you?”

She shrugs, takes another sip of her drink, and looks up at the imposing tower of glass and steel that made up the JYP HQ building. “You’re not the only one that’s breaking up with JYP. Sakura’s put in her two weeks notice. Sounds like Hirai recruited her for another off-the-books adventure. Her job’s up for grabs.”

“Wow,” you say, genuinely surprised. “Gonna take it?”

“Maybe,” she says, playfully swaying in place and shooting you that crooked, mischievous smile of hers.

“Kazuha doesn’t want it?”

She scoffs. “Kazuha wouldn’t want that job with a ten foot pole. I’m thinking about it, though. Ryujin Shin - Director, Tokyo Office,” she says, free hand fanning out in front of her as though picturing the title on a nametag or on a wall. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“It does,” you agree, a soft smile managing to perk up the corners of your lips.

The city bustles around you, but for a moment, it’s quiet between you. The space between you fills with unsaid words and thoughts, the way it often did around her. You look up at her and for several long moments you look into each others’ eyes.

For a moment you see it all - the moments in your relationship when things could have gone differently.

Maybe you could have remembered your ramen date, back when she was new to the company and you were her mentor; maybe you could’ve remembered who she was when she was assigned to be your translator for your trip; maybe you could have argued more to keep her in Vancouver instead of having her transferred to the other side of the ocean; maybe you could have stepped into her bedroom on your last night together, finding her door unlocked because she was hoping you would open it, and spend the night comforting her, telling her you could both leave the company and start all over again somewhere else - together; maybe you could have stopped her at the airport, or met her in Tokyo; maybe you could have reached out to her at some point in the four years that passed since.

You see all those different paths in a heartbeat, and you picture yourself in them, allowing yourself to wonder what might have been had you done this or that differently. Maybe you would both be living in Tokyo, and were about to catch the same flight this afternoon to the apartment you both called home; maybe you would have realized that you just weren’t the right fit for each other, and the resulting breakup would have been messy and painful for the both of you.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Ryujin’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she slips it out of her pocket to check the notification. A message from Sakura or Kazuha? A text from a boyfriend back in Tokyo? You didn’t know. You didn’t much care.

Her eyes return to you. After a moment, she turns and heads toward the sidewalk, dragging her luggage behind her. 

She looks over her shoulder back at you. She smiles and calls out.

“I hear the ramen place a block from here makes a good tonkotsu!”

She continues to walk down the block.

You smile and follow her.

---

Author’s Note:

“Maybe it will be an epic poem. Maybe it will be a short story. Maybe it will be a dirty limerick. You don’t know, but part of the joy is finding out what it will be.”

-Dr. NerdLove, on relationships

[lazylevxd]

Beyond the Curtain

Mina x M!Reader

Note: ...gosh i actually don't know proper words to say about this fic except it is a pretty angsy melodrama. I have spent quite a long time writing this pretty strong angst fic and this got me very attached to the plot. Plus, I wanna make it justice for my first ever bias, Myoui Minari.

I hope you guys will enjoy it as much as I do (sorry if it got too gloomy). It's actually the longest I ever wrote.

Please feel free to give feedback (here or dm) as well on how you thought about it.

Special thanks to the goat @kwilquib and my twin @wonyology for suggestions and proofread!

(The song that started all this TT)

You’ve fixed that damn light three times this week.

It still flickers—quietly, stubbornly—like it’s mocking you. A soft, rhythmic pulse above the entrance, casting a stuttered glow over the velvet ropes and the scratched linoleum floor in the lobby. You stare up at it with a wrench in one hand and a roll of electrical tape in the other, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to feel your pulse there.

One more thing that doesn’t work right.

The bulb’s only three years old, like everything else in this theatre that was installed just slightly too cheaply. You remember when the renovations finished—polished wood stage, fresh paint, clean seating. It was modest, nothing like the polished chrome palaces of sound across the city, but it had charm. It had character. It had promise.

Now it has peeling corners on the stairwell posters and a faucet backstage that leaks when it’s cold.

You step down from the stepladder and exhale slowly, pushing the wrench into the back pocket of your jeans. Your shoulders ache. Your jaw’s sore. You haven’t unclenched it properly in days.

"Another day in paradise," you mutter.

Your voice echoes slightly in the open auditorium, the kind of silence that fills a space that’s waiting. Not dead silence—no, it still hums with the memory of applause and feet scraping the floor and chairs creaking under shifting weight. But today, now, it just feels... suspended. Like everything in here is holding its breath.

“Flickering again?”

You stiffen. She always appears like that. No footsteps. No hello. Just is, suddenly, somewhere nearby.

You glance toward the seating and see her—already in the fourth row, third seat from the aisle, exactly where you knew she’d be. Where she always sits before rehearsals.

Mina.

Dark coat still on, scarf tucked perfectly into her collar, fingers laced in her lap like she's waiting to be called for judgment. Her posture perfect, her gaze passive. There’s something about her presence that’s always still—like she’s carved out of calm. She doesn’t fill the room the way most performers do. She doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t have to.

Her silence just... resonates.

You sigh and lean the ladder against the side wall. “It’s the wiring. Again. I swear this building was put together with spare parts and positive thinking.”

Mina blinks slowly, her expression unreadable. “Do you want me to call someone?”

You raise an eyebrow. “With what budget? The imaginary one?”

"We do make pretty decent money."

"Well, I'm stubborn, ok?" You huffed.

"Suit yourself." She hums. It's soft. Barely audible. Probably her version of acknowledging a joke.

You eye her from the edge of the stage. The house lights aren’t on, but some sunlight filters in through the narrow windows above the rear seats, catching in her hair. She looks composed. Untouchable. As usual.

“I thought Jihyo told you rehearsal wasn’t for another hour.”

“She did. You did as well.”

You pause, arms crossing. “Then why are you here?”

“I like the quiet,” she says. “Before the crew arrives.”

You scoff and step down off the stage, the boards creaking under your boots. “You? Liking something? Now that’s new.”

She tilts her head the tiniest bit. “I didn’t say I liked it. I said I preferred it.”

“Wow. Don’t be so enthusiastic, Sharon. You’ll scare the walls.”

Again, nothing. No twitch of the mouth. No glare. No snark back. Just that quiet stillness. Always watching, always composed. You fold your arms tighter, a familiar irritation prickling up your spine.

It’s not that she’s rude. She’s never been cruel, never been arrogant. She just doesn’t... react. You’ve known her for years now—years of her singing like moonlight and sounding like magic—and still, she rarely shows you more than her carefully measured words and that impossible calm, which suited well with her stage name.

You never know what she’s thinking. The stoic face. The calm expression. You're unsure if you should be annoyed or not, but it definitely makes your stomach twist.

You’ve heard the rumours. Whispers from other theatres. The bouquets. The calls. The offers. The elegant invitations sent directly to her, not through you. And she hasn’t said anything. Not a word.

So you haven’t either. Because if she is leaving, if she’s going... you’re not sure you want to hear her say it.

You force a shrug. “Well, there's nothing to do for you right now. Just lighting adjustments.”

“I know.”

“So go home. Eat your donut. Breathe.”

She glances at the empty stage. “I don’t mind being here.”

You hate how she says things like that—so quietly, so simply—and it always sounds like the full stop on a sentence you weren’t finished writing.

You run a hand through your hair, already regretting coming in early.

“Suit yourself,” you mutter, turning toward the back hallway. “Just don’t blame me when your throat gives out and I say I told you so.”

Behind you, there’s no answer. No protest. No sigh. Not even the sound of her shifting in her seat.

She just... watches. Like always.

And you walk faster than you need to, because suddenly the quiet in the theatre doesn’t feel peaceful anymore.

It feels like the kind of silence right before the curtain rolls.

-

There was a time—five years ago—when no one knew who she was. You don’t even remember what the other acts sounded like that night.

It was a rainy Thursday—one of those bone-deep, unforgiving downpours that made the walls of your theatre shudder with every gust of wind. Open mic night had been a last-ditch idea. Something to keep the lights on, get a few curious locals in the seats. You’d even printed flyers yourself, leaving stacks at bus stops and cafés, hoping someone—anyone—would show.

Eight people came. Five performed. None stood out.

And then, near the end, just as you were packing up leftover water bottles and untangling mic cords, she walked in.

Mina.

You didn’t know her name then. She wasn’t famous yet. Wasn’t even known. Probably as famous as that quiet ladder tucked away backstage.

She was soaked to the ankles, black coat damp from the rain, clutching a small USB drive in her hand. She didn’t introduce herself. Didn’t smile. She just looked at the stage, then looked at you, and said, flatly:

“Is it still open?”

You were a bit thrown, honestly. She didn’t have that awkward shuffle most people had when walking into a performance space. She just existed there—quiet, still, strangely poised.

“…Yeah,” you said after a beat, gesturing vaguely to the mic stand. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got a few minutes.”

You expected nerves. A shaky voice. Maybe another cover of some indie ballad.

Instead, silence.

Then music. And then her voice.

The room stopped breathing.

It was like glass breaking underwater—delicate but cutting. Soft, yet commanding. You felt it in the back of your teeth. Her voice didn’t beg for attention, didn’t fight to be heard. It simply was. As if the space itself had been built to carry that sound. She didn’t move. Barely blinked. She wasn’t emoting with her face or body—just her voice.

And somehow, that was more powerful and enigmatic than anything you’d seen in months.

You sat there in the front row, dumbfounded. Halfway through the song, you leaned forward without even realizing it, elbows on your knees, heart pounding like you were watching something rare—something fragile that could vanish if you so much as blinked.

When she finished, there was no applause. Just stillness. Reverent and a little stunned. She just walked off stage without a word after giving a light bow.

You shot to your feet, practically tripping over a cable. “Wait—!”

She stopped mid-step, turning slightly, expression unreadable.

You didn’t have a pitch ready. You just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“That was… incredible. I mean, I’ve never—where did you learn to sing like that?”

She tilted her head slightly, as if the question confused her. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“I just sing.”

Wow. Of course she just sings.

You exhaled, trying not to look as breathless as you felt. “Okay. Listen. This is going to sound insane, but—would you consider coming back next week? I mean, it’s just a small slot, nothing fancy, but—hell, I’ll arrange the whole lineup if you want. I’ll find a better mic, or get you a proper spotlight, or—whatever you need. Just say the word.”

She stared at you for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable.

“…You run this theatre?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you said, a little sheepishly, glancing around at the modest rows of red seats, the modest stage, the modest everything. “Well, I mean, it’s not the fanciest place, but… it’s mine. And I really think people need to hear you.”

Another pause. You didn’t breathe.

“…Okay,” she said simply.

And then she left. Just like that.

You stood in the middle of the aisle long after the door clicked shut, grinning like an idiot.

Luckily, she came back the following week. On time. Alone. Dressed just as plainly. No entourage. No expectations. And when she sang again, the audience was twice as big. And then three times. And then sold out. And the rest is history under the name "Sharon". You didn't remember how that name came to be, but at least it made her feel like a part.

You started paying her more before you even paid yourself. Anything just to keep this lotus here among the mud.

You began managing her schedule personally, not because she asked, but because she forgot to reply to emails. You handled inquiries, screened messages, declined the sketchy contracts she barely glanced at. She never requested anything, but you left tea at her seat anyway. Always warm, like she preferred.

She never said thank you outright. But sometimes she’d hand you a tea before your meetings. Or stand next to you a little longer backstage before a show. Or hum one of your favourite songs during warm-up.

You didn’t need more than that. Not back then.

You were just happy to be near the music. Her music. Happy to help her find a place to be heard. Happy she chose your theatre to sing in.

And now, she’s outgrown you. And you hated that you knew this place hindered her.

-

The theatre is quiet again, the way it always is after everyone’s gone.

You don’t like this kind of quiet. Not anymore.

It used to be peaceful — comforting, even. A sign that you’d made it through another day. That the crew finished the set without killing each other. That the lights didn’t explode, the sound didn’t fail, and no audience member vomited during intermission. These used to be victories.

Now, the silence feels… loaded. Like the air is waiting for something to collapse.

You pass the dressing rooms, scanning for signs of life. Most of the doors are open, lights off, seats empty, clothes gone. But hers — fourth door on the right, with the gold star sticker half-peeled on the top corner — is still shut.

You knock twice. No answer. So you knock again, already pushing the door open. “Mina, it’s me.”

She’s sitting in front of the mirror.

Her back is to you. Her reflection meets you first — smooth porcelain skin under the soft warmth of the mirror bulbs, lips just a touch parted, like she had something to say but forgot it halfway through the thought.

She’s brushing her hair with slow, deliberate movements. One side already sleek and pinned. Her posture is impossibly straight, like she’s carved out of poise. Or maybe like she’s bracing for something.

You linger in the doorway.

“Still here?” you ask, pretending your voice isn’t cracking around the edges.

Mina doesn’t look at you. Her gaze stays fixed on her reflection, like she’s looking at someone she’s trying to recognize.

“We finished over an hour ago,” you say.

“I know,” she replies softly.

You take a breath. It tastes like dust and hairspray and the last ounce of patience you’ve been carrying.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

You scoff and step inside. “Great. Real communicative as always.”

She says nothing.

You run a hand through your hair, gripping it for a second at the root. “Mina, what are we even doing anymore?”

Finally, she turns slightly. Just enough to see you from the corner of her eye. “…you tell me.”

You’re not ready for that answer. And yet, it’s the one you’ve been circling for weeks now. You drop into the armchair by the costume rack, the one with the fraying seam you never got around to fixing.

You don’t look at her when you speak next.

“Starship Theatre’s rep came again,” you say. “This time that guy brought a contract. Tried to slip it under the staff door like he’s a fucking spy.”

Mina hums. “He’s persistent.”

“Because he knows what he’s getting.” You stare at the carpet. “Because everyone does. He has a better hand here.”

She doesn’t respond. You can feel her watching you in the mirror.

You lean forward, elbows on knees, fingers twisting into knots.

“I know you’ve been getting offers,” you continue. “For months now. I know your name’s started showing up in music blogs. I know that video of you singing Doughnut hit over a million views. I didn’t bring it up because… it’s your choice.”

A beat of silence.

“And yet,” she says evenly, “you’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry!” you snap, moving closer. “You’re the reason this theatre is still standing! You’ve been carrying the weight of it for years and—yeah, I didn’t want to admit that, but it’s true. You saved us. You saved me. And if you go—”

You stop yourself. If you go, I lose the only thing that makes this place feel alive. I lose you.

The words hover at the back of your throat, but you swallow them.

Mina doesn’t flinch, but her fingers are tightening around the hairbrush. You notice.

“I told myself I wouldn’t use you. That I’d keep it fair. That I’d only ask for what you were willing to give. But I did ask. Again and again. Even when you were tired. Even when I could tell you didn’t want to.”

Your throat tightens.

“But I was selfish. Because I thought… if I gave you space, if I supported you right, if I never pushed too hard—you’d stay.”

You look at her through the mirror, fully now. “And maybe you still will. Or maybe you’re already gone, and this is just a fucking formality.”

Mina is quiet. Then she places the brush down.

“I know” she says, measured and soft.

You look up, startled. “You… know?”

Her gaze stays in the mirror. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Her voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t falter — but it lands heavy.

“I know this theatre is holding me back. I could have left a year ago, maybe two. But I stayed.”

You blink, unsure where she’s going with this.

“I stayed,” she continues, “because I thought… maybe something else would happen. Between us.”

The floor drops out from under you. “You…” Your voice cracks. “Mina—”

"You were and still…" Mina took a breath. "…a big part of my life. You gave me opportunities. You gave me a future. I gave my all…gave myself…. to this theatre. I want you to…just…look at me properly."

You swore the air got stuck in your lung. "I do-"

“I waited,” she says, turning to look at you directly now. Her expression is calm, but her eyes hold something sharper — the edge of disappointment honed over years. “For years. Hoping you’d say something. Do something. Anything that doesn't make me feel like a product. And every time you didn’t, I told myself to wait just a little longer.”

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t.

She exhales quietly, as if admitting this costs her more than she wants you to see.

“When you asked for more shows, I said yes — because it meant more time here. More time near you. And I kept thinking… maybe this time. Maybe now.” Her eyes drop for the briefest second, then rise again. “But nothing happened. It’s always nothing.”

Her voice is still soft, still steady, but each word is measured like a final judgment.

“And I’m tired,” she says simply. “Tired of expecting something from you. Tired of living in a loop where I give you more, and you give me the same silence back.”

You step toward her, but she doesn’t move.

“So now,” she says, “I’ll give myself to something else. My career. Somewhere I can grow. Somewhere I’m not… waiting.”

You bite down on your lip. The word is right there, clawing its way up your throat, but you choke it back.

“Just like that?” you murmur.

“It’s not just. And it’s not easy.” She lowers her voice. “But I’ve known for a while.”

You stare at the spot on the vanity where her name is taped in crooked gold letters. You put it there. You remember how she didn’t react at all. But you sometimes saw her trace the edge of the tape when she thought you weren’t looking.

“…So that’s it?”

She nods.

Then, for the first time in what feels like years, she says something that breaks your heart more than the rest.

“I’m sorry.”

And this time, you see it — not just the emotion, but the weight behind it. The flicker in her eyes. The tiny, nearly imperceptible tremble in her voice.

You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to scream that it’s not. You don't know what role you should play in this damn tragedy.

Instead, you drop your head into your hands and breathe in the scent of powder and old wood and her.

“…Can I be selfish one last time?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

You take a breath. “Stay for one last performance.”

You don’t realize how much hope you’re putting into the words until they’re out. You’re looking at her like maybe she’ll read your mind. Like maybe she’ll see all the things you can’t say.

Her expression doesn’t change.

For a flicker — less than a heartbeat — her eyes soften. You can almost feel the air shift, the ghost of something unspoken passing between you.

Maybe, just maybe, she thinks — this is it.

But then you stop. You say nothing more. You let the moment die.

And she knows. That tiny ember of hope sputters out.

“Alright,” Mina says quietly. “One last performance.”

-

The afterparty ends in laughter you can’t really quite join in on.

The crew claps your back. The supporting performers hug each other. The staff finally breathe. The new girl in costuming cries a little and wipes it away before anyone notices.

And through it all—you smile. You thank them. You nod. You raise your cup. But you don’t feel any of it.

Because she’s not here.

Not even a goodbye. Not even a glance.

When the last person leaves and the theatre goes quiet again, you lock the side doors, check the back rooms, and finally—finally—let yourself return to the stage.

You walk slowly, as if your feet weigh more tonight. Past the props still stacked from the encore, past the dimmed ghost light humming faintly in the centre. And down the side steps of the stage... to the audience seats. The seats stretch before you like gravestones in orderly rows, still warm from the hundreds that sat through her final performance. You stand at the edge of the aisle, hands deep in your pockets, gaze locked on that one familiar spot.

You sit where you always wanted to. Always wished you did.

Not in the aisle. Not backstage. Not on the ladder hastily fixing that light bulb whenever she comes early despite being told by you and Jihyo. But here. Fourth row. Third seat from the aisle. Mina’s seat.

You don’t sit in it. That feels wrong. Still too warm with her shadow.

Instead, you sit beside it. Close, but not quite touching. As if she’ll walk in any second and (hopefully) scold you for invading her space. As if she’ll glance sideways and say something dry, something cool, something so uniquely her.

But the seat beside you stays cold. Empty.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together loosely.

The theatre smells faintly of roses. Someone must’ve forgotten a bouquet behind. The kind she always hated receiving. “Too flashy,” she once muttered, when someone tried to hand her thirty-five long stems wrapped in gold foil. “I prefer lilies.”

You should’ve remembered that sooner.

“…I always thought I’d have more time with you,” you say aloud, voice hoarse. “Not forever. Just… more. To properly know you.”

The walls don’t answer.

“I kept telling myself I didn’t want to bother you. That you liked your quiet. That it was enough just to… see you every day, to manage things so you didn’t have to worry.” You stare at the empty seat. “But I should’ve sat here. Just once. I should’ve just talked to you.”

The knot in your chest tightens.

All those days she came early and sat in this very spot. All those moments you caught her staring at the empty stage. You thought she needed silence. You thought she wanted space. But maybe—maybe—she would’ve let you stay, too.

You would’ve asked her how her day was. What song she was into lately. What she would like to do when she wasn’t rehearsing or performing or trapped in this little world you built around her. Maybe she would’ve shared more, even if just in fragments. Maybe it would've helped you know more on how to talk to her last time in the change room. Properly.

You read the crumbled note she left again, even though you’ve already memorized every word.

You were the first person who saw me. I sang for the theatre. I stayed because of you.

I’m sorry I never said it until now.

—Mina

“Why didn’t I just fucking sit next to you?” you whisper, voice cracking.

A part of you knows the answer. Because you were scared that if you did, and she didn’t say anything… it would hurt worse than pretending you didn’t want to. You always got close to just sitting next to her every early morning when she tagged by. Always but lost the courage to.

Now there’s nothing left to pretend. She’s gone.

You sit there a while longer. Not saying anything. Not needing to. You just…breathe out.

The theatre breathes with you. Or maybe it exhales for the first time since she left.

It’s strange—how her absence fills more space than her presence ever did. Like she didn’t take up room until she was gone.

And maybe that’s what you’re really mourning. Not the fact that she left. But the realization that you let her slip through your fingers quietly, gently, without ever asking her to stay. Because you knew she wouldn’t.

Still…you wish she had said goodbye out loud. To you at least.

Just once.

-

You stop sitting next to her seat after the third night.

It was quiet comfort at first — not solace, never that — just the act of occupying the space she left behind. Like you could hold onto the faintest heat her body had left in the cushion. A phantom warmth. A last trace of her presence before the crew moved on without her.

But after three nights, it began to feel pathetic.

So instead, you get up earlier than everyone else. Show up before the city has even warmed beneath the morning sun. You unlock the side door with stiff fingers, lights still dark, and walk into that small, modest theatre that once felt full of life. Your steps echo a little too loud now.  The sound rings back at you like an accusation.

The theatre isn’t falling apart. Not quite.

It was never one of those grand velvet-draped relics with golden balconies and champagne intermissions. No, your theatre was always modest — clean, functional, bare-boned charm with just enough character to feel intimate. It had that gentle kind of age, like a smile line near the corner of a mouth, like it’s been through enough to feel lived in, but not enough to lose its soul.

But now, the soul feels like it’s missing.

You sweep. You rehang posters. You change the lightbulbs before they even have a chance to flicker. You spend hours poring over spreadsheets and emails from underwhelming performers, trying to sell them on a dream that doesn’t exist anymore.

Because the dream was her. And she’s gone.

It’s been a month since Mina’s last show.

And no matter how much you work, how hard you grind your teeth through meetings and rehearsal schedules, you can’t clean away the ache she left behind.

People talk to you less now. Not out of fear. Not exactly. But something colder. Hesitation, maybe. Like they’re walking around someone with a freshly bandaged wound they’re afraid to bump into.

You used to be sharp, sure — biting and sarcastic, that kind of "show not tell" energy the team secretly loved. They used to tease you about it. Laugh when you scolded them for wasting time, even as you handed out snacks during breaks and made sure everyone had water bottles at tech rehearsals. You were cold in words, warm in action. That was the balance.

But now… now it’s just cold.

No more dry jokes. No offhand remarks laced with reluctant affection. Just clipped orders, frustrated sighs, and a silence that wraps around your shoulders like a soaked coat.

Jihyo, your stage manager, tries to hide her concern. She gives you looks. The kind that hover between annoyance and worry. But she doesn’t push. Not at first.

Others aren’t so subtle.

“I heard she’s doing shows at Starship now,” your assistant, says one afternoon, while coiling cables. Her voice is low but pointed. “Sold out four nights consecutively. Must be nice.”

You grunt. Don’t look up. Just keep typing into the budgeting spreadsheet that refuses to balance.

“She probably doesn’t even think about this place anymore.” she mutters.

You glance up slowly, meeting her eyes. There’s a flicker of guilt on her face, but it’s buried under something else. Frustration. Jealousy, maybe. You don’t answer.

“…Probably not.” you say, voice flat.

And that’s all it takes. A shift in the air.

Your silence gives them permission. Not directly. But something changes after that. Whispers get a little louder. The ones who worked with Mina — who watched her light up the stage without even trying — they start to speak of her with less reverence.

“She was distant, anyway.”

“She didn’t care about any of us.”

“She sang, sure, but she never stayed after shows. Never smiled. Never shared anything.”

“She just left.”

You never correct them. You never defend her. Not because they’re right — but because you don’t have the energy to untangle all the mess she left you with. Because deep down, you know that if you open your mouth, it won’t be a neat explanation. It’ll be a dam breaking. A flood of things you never had the courage to say to her face.

So you stay quiet. Bottling up all the things you knew about Mina more than everyone else. And they start to dislike her. Not hate. Not really. Just enough for the resentment to bloom in corners. Just enough to fill the space she left behind.

The new cast members — the ones who came in after Mina’s final bow — hear the bitterness second-hand. They weren’t there to see how she moved. How she never needed grandeur or choreography. How the air would still around her when she stood at centre stage and simply sang. How she didn’t perform for attention, but for some sacred rhythm inside her chest you were never allowed to hear.

They don’t understand. They don’t want to understand.

So they shrug, and say, “She wasn’t that special.”

You hear it backstage. You hear it too many times. Each time, it chips something inside you. But you don’t respond. You just stare at the spot on stage where she used to stand — downstage centre, left foot slightly forward, chin tilted in that exact unintentional elegance. The spotlight always caught her eyes just right.

You remember everything about her presence. It lingers, even now, like perfume in an empty room.

Eventually, Jihyo corners you after a long, soul-crushing rehearsal. The new lead fumbled two lines. The sound tech cut out. You snapped harder than necessary. People left with their heads down.

Jihyo doesn’t sugarcoat it. “You’re bleeding the team dry.”

You barely glance at her, rummaging through your bag. “They’ll live.”

“They’ll leave.”

You stop. Stare at her.

She folds her arms. “You think no one notices? You haven’t smiled in days. You bark at everyone. You’re distant, cold—worse than usual.”

Your jaw tenses. “I’m…keeping the theatre running.”

“We’re all keeping it running,” she fires back. “But you? You’re not directing anymore. You’re surviving. And you’re dragging the rest of us through the mud with you.”

You stare at her long and hard. No energy in your voice this time. Just exhaustion.

“She left,” you whisper. “She walked out the side door without looking back. And I let her.”

There’s a long silence. Jihyo’s face softens, but only slightly. “You didn’t make her leave.”

“No,” you murmur. “But I didn’t ask her to stay, either.”

She leaves you there, standing alone under the harsh fluorescent lights. You think she wants you to take a break. To go home. To rest.

Well, you don’t. You wait until the theatre is empty again. Until the hallway is silent. Until the last staff member has left.

And then, for the first time in a while, you walk to the fourth row.

You don’t sit.

You just stand there. Staring at her seat.

You remember the way she used to sit — poised, always straight-backed, hands folded. Never slouched. Always composed. Like she was made of something quieter than confidence. Something permanent.

You look down at the cushion. It’s just fabric. Just foam. But it still faintly feels like her.

Your fingers brush the armrest.

“Mina,” you whisper. Her name still fits awkwardly in your throat. “Why didn’t you make me stop you?”

There’s no answer. Of course not. So you just clench your jaw and turn away.

And once again, you go back to work. Because the show must go on. Even if the person who made it feel worth watching is no longer in the audience.

No longer in the wings. No longer… yours.

Just a silence, now. And a seat that remains empty.

-

The house lights hadn’t even dimmed yet, but the backstage buzz was already picking up. You stood on the edge of the stage, clipboard pressed tight against your ribs, eyes narrowed as you studied the rigging high above. The familiar scent of old wood mixed with the faint trace of freshly painted set pieces wrapped around you like a familiar shroud. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of light piercing through the upper windows, making the quiet theatre feel almost sacred.

Jihyo approached, her footsteps cautious but steady. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, voice soft but carrying that unmistakable edge of concern. You barely glanced at her.

“…fine,” you muttered, adjusting a spotlight with the long pole. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped it tighter, trying to will the weakness away.

“Ya, you’re not fine.” She stepped closer, folding her arms. “You’ve been rubbing your temple all morning and skipping lunch.”

“I’m just tired, Jihyo. You know how it is.” You tried to force a smile, but it cracked halfway through.

She didn’t buy it. “You don’t look tired. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You swallowed hard and took a breath, willing your legs not to betray you. “I’m fine. Really.”

She frowned, stepping back but keeping her eyes on you. “If you say so.” She glanced toward the wings, where crew members busied themselves setting up. “Look, the others are asking for you. The act's warming up. We start in thirty.”

You nodded stiffly, turning your gaze back upward, focusing on a tangle of cables dangling near the lighting rig. Your vision blurred at the edges for a moment, but you blinked it away. You couldn’t afford to slow down—not now. Not when the theatre was hanging by a thread.

Jihyo lingered, watching you carefully. “Seriously, you need to sit down for a minute.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit’” she insisted, stepping forward and catching your arm before you could move. “Look at me.”

You met her worried eyes. She was always so steady, so grounded—your anchor when everything else threatened to fall apart. But right now, even she looked shaken.

“I—” you started to protest, but the world tipped sideways.

Your knees buckled.

Jihyo’s grip tightened instantly as she caught you before you hit the floor, lowering you gently to the stage. The clipboard slipped from your hands, clattering against the wood like a gunshot.

“Hey! Hey, stay with me!” she said urgently, shaking your shoulder.

Your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. The dim lights spun overhead, and a cold numbness crept from your fingertips, crawling up your arms.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Jihyo shouted, voice cracking. "Hurry up!"

You tried to speak but the words tangled in your throat. Darkness edged your vision.

“Stay awake! I’m right here!” Jihyo’s voice was the last thing you heard before the world went black.

-

The room smelled like antiseptic and too many flowers.

When you came to, the world was blurred around the edges. The hospital ceiling looked just like the theatre’s light grid—white, rigid, oppressive. You tried to sit up but immediately regretted it, your head pounding like it had stored weeks of pain just for this moment.

“Don’t,” someone said.

The voice was familiar.

Soft. Gentle. A little out of breath.

Your eyes adjusted, and slowly, familiar silhouettes came into focus. Was it Mina? Did she actually came?

….it was Jihyo, eyes red. A few staff. Some of the newer performers. Even the grumpy lighting tech you always butted heads with. All hovering like anxious bees around your bed.

You blinked at them, ignoring the disappointment in your tone. “What… what are you all doing here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up, dumbass,” Jihyo mumbled, brushing their nose. “You scared the living shit out of us.”

"I'm…not dead though…?"

"You're very close to be, boss."

A chorus of relieved laughter rippled around the room, but it didn’t lift the heaviness from your chest. You searched the crowd, eyes scanning. You don't know why you looked around for her anyway.

You thought it was finally time to let her go until the door open. She walked in like she hadn’t been gone a day.

The same dark coat, buttoned neatly to the collar despite the early spring warmth outside. Hair smooth, the kind that didn’t give the wind permission to move it. Her expression was the same as the last time you’d seen her — cool, unhurried, eyes deep enough to reflect every question you wanted to ask but would never answer them first.

But somehow you can see the slight trembling on her lips, the grip on the coat sleeve with her delicate hand that is tighter than usual, the small impatient tap of her foot.

Mina.

She didn’t look at anyone else.

Not Jihyo, not the actors, not the crew members leaning against the far wall. Her gaze locked on you from the moment she stepped through the doorway, and for her, the rest of the room may as well have been furniture.

There was a stiffness from the others. Not open hostility, but the kind of quiet bracing people do when someone they don’t like walks in. Mina either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  You could feel the shift—the tension crackling like static in the air. Everyone knew what she did. Everyone saw what she left behind.

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. “Mina—”

“Later,” she said, calm and clipped, the kind of tone that left no space for argument.

Her eyes flicked once toward the others, then back to you. “Out.” It wasn't loud. It wasn't even sharp. But it had weight and the room responded to it.

"Are you seri-"

"Jihyo, it's ok." You stopped her, summoning all of your power to. "Can I have a moment with Mina, guys?"

"Bu-"

"Please…?"

Jihyo sighed, loud and reluctant. Then the room began to clear. Your staff shuffled out, muttering and avoiding eye contact. You sat up slightly in the bed, wincing, watching as the door clicked shut behind the last person. Mina remained standing by the foot of your bed, fists clenched at her sides, throat bobbing.

Only then did she let her gaze settle on you again.

Up close, her face was exactly the same as you remembered — controlled, unshaken, every emotion buried just deep enough that you could only guess. If she’d missed you, you wouldn’t see it. If she’d been worried, she wouldn’t let it show.

She stood there like that for a long moment, then finally spoke. “…you idiot.”

The words were quiet. Too quiet for the hallway to hear. But her voice carried a faint tremor that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from her before.

Then her knees gave out and she fell to her knees at your bedside. Not sat. Not crouched. Fell.

“Mina, are you-” you gasped, but she shook her head violently, both hands clenching the bedsheet like it was the only thing tethering her.

You finally took a proper look at her eyes. They weren’t cold. They weren’t indifferent. They were shattered.

“You think I didn’t hear?” she continued, low but quick, as though saying the words any slower would let them unravel her. “About you skipping meals? About the hours you’ve been pulling? About the fact that you…” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “Do you even understand how stupid that is?”

You blinked, unsure if the haze in your vision was from fever or disbelief. “You left.”

“I know.” She swallowed, eyes locked on yours like she was daring you to look away first. “I thought you’d be better without me.”

You stayed silence.

“…I thought if I left, you’d rest. I-I thought if I left, maybe you’d finally put yourself first. But you didn’t.” Her hands trembled as they gripped the blanket draped over you. “You got worse. You—god dammit, you collapsed.”

“Mina…”

“I’m so stupid,” she murmured, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Y-you made me who I am. You protected me. You believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. And all I did was leave.”

You tried to shake your head, but she kept going.

Her voice shook, and tears started rolling down her cheeks. Quietly at first. Then faster. More frantic. She buried her face in her palm, soft sobs muffled, her breath catching and hitching as the flood finally broke loose.

“I kept telling myself it was for the best. That bigger stages meant I could make you proud. Make my biggest supporter proud. That maybe you'd… you’d finally stop pushing yourself so hard.” Her shoulders shook, her voice barely holding together. “But I was just being a piece of trash. Running away when things got hard. From you. From everyone.”

"Mina-"

And then it happened. Her voice rose.

She looked up at you then, wailing. “But hearing you like that—hearing you fall in front of everyone—I’d rather just burn out completely and die than let that happen again.”

For anyone outside, the sound must have been jarring — the calm, unreachable Mina breaking through the wall she’d built around herself, her voice spilling out raw and uneven.

Inside, mascara streaks ran down her face. Her lip quivered. Her perfectly done makeup was a mess—but she was still Mina. Still beautiful. Still yours, in some impossible, broken way.

You couldn’t help it. Tears slipped from your eyes too, and you reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand. You choked out a laugh through your tears, finally noticing her attire underneath the coat. “Ya, you ditched your act tonight? Can't believe the Sharon did just that.”

She nodded against your arm, still clutching the sheet like a lifeline. “I couldn’t sing. Not if I didn’t know if you’d ever… wake up.”

"I don't die that easily…" You reached out, hand weak but steady enough to touch her hair. Her soft, raven-black hair. She leaned into the touch like she had been waiting years for it.

And then it hit you. A memory. A name.

Sharon. Her stage name. The name that shook the world.

She had chosen it with you. Late one night in the green room, the two of you huddled over a list of names, laughing at the ridiculous ones and pausing at the ones that meant something.

"Sharon" had stuck. A name of beauty, strength, and determination in solitude. You’d said it suited her. And it did.

But now… now you were reminded of something you hadn’t let yourself remember. That underneath Sharon—the siren-like, enigmatic voice that saved your theatre—was still Mina.

Just Mina.

A girl who didn’t know how to cry in front of anyone until right now. Who didn’t know how to tell you that the spotlight was starting to burn. That she was deep down afraid of letting people down.

Even though she looked so composed around everyone else, her hands always shook behind the curtain. That a cold girl like her can be so beautiful even when in glassy tears while leaning to your palm.

“I missed you…” you whispered.

She looked up then, eyes rimmed red, voice breaking apart with every syllable.

“I missed you more.”

And so, for the first time since that quiet, aching parting weeks ago, you both cried together. No pretences. No walls. Just the sound of regret and longing, unspoken for far too long.

She wept audibly, and you held her, gently and delicately. And for a moment, just a moment, the world beyond the curtain didn't exist.

(gosh she's so pretty)

[lazylevxd]

You Don't Know Me

"Why can't it be me?"

Pairing: Sullyoon x Male!Reader

Synopsis: Just because you need something doesn't mean that they'll need you back.

Word Count: 1.6K

Tags: Angst, Yearning

A/N: Double upload with it

♡♡♡

"The one's who yearn are the one's who earn."

You've yearned, but you haven't earned anything.

How much can someone yearn until they go insane? It feels like a social experiment, your situation. Someone so deeply in love with someone else, so convinced that who they're pining for is the one, that all abject reasoning is thrown out the window.

She needs someone at 2 AM to cry about a test? You're there. You cook for her, always making sure she's never hungry. You let her cry on your shoulder every time she has a problem. To be hers is all you can dream of. Her lips on yours, her arms around you, her head on your chest.

But love really does make you stupid.

She's at your apartment, after another long day of classes and conversations. It's your favorite time of day, and you hope hers too. Sullyoon watches you as you dance around in the kitchen, trying to work as quick as you can to please her.

Sometimes she hates that you're so concerned in making sure she's comfortable. It makes you forget yourself. One time, you were too focused on being as quick as possible that you cut yourself while cutting onions.

Some screams, a few drops of blood, a verbal scolding from Sullyoon, and a band aid around your finger later, you finally served her food. She ate it, she always loved your cooking.

You know she loves you, but how deep her love goes is something you'll always wonder.

Sometimes you fear that it's not as deep as yours.

You knew she was at least comfortable around you, she said it herself.

You were your apartment building's rooftop, the bright city lights glimmer below the both of you. She said she loved this view, made her feel more powerful than she really is. You always chuckled at that. To you, she was more powerful than she could ever realize.

As you watched her eat the tonkatsu you made for her, she said something you'd never expect.

"I think I'm the most comfortable around you."

You felt your heart jumping up and down, rattling your ribcage. You could barely contain yourself after you processed what she said. "What do you mean?"

She smiled, the smile you always wanted to be yours, and then said. "I don't know… everything just feels so natural. The way we talk, the way you know everything about me, and vice versa. It feels… comfortable."

That might've been the most teeth you've ever shown in a smile. You looked stupid, and you were thankful to God that she didn't she your blushing face. It was fully red, looking more like a tomato with hair than an actual human face.

That was your favorite memory of the both of you, but every moment with her was a special memory.

You don't know if she does it on purpose, but whenever you have long study sessions that last up to 6-9 hours, she finds a way to rest her head on your shoulder.

It was probably the closest you have been to her.

Straight out of a rom-com movie, she always falls asleep as soon as she rests her head on you. You didn't know whether to jump and celebrate, to carry her to your bed and sleep on the couch, or just not move and let her sleep there until she wakes up again.

Most of the time you end up choosing the last option. And it doesn't last very long, 10 minutes later she's woken up and apologizing for drooling on your t-shirt.

You didn't mind, as always.

However, one time you decided to carry her to bed.

You princess carried Sullyoon from her living room, up the stairs of her house, and all the way to her bedroom. It wasn't the first time you were in her room, you've been there countless times. her parents know you and love you like a son.

This time felt different, you didn't know why.

As you placed her gently on her bed, you fixed your sweater before turning to the door. Not before you felt something grab your hand however. Scared shitless, you look back to see Sullyoon grabbing your arm.

"Stay. For me, please."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Sitting down beside her, you let go of her hand and adjusted her blanket. "Are you okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "Just stay until I fall asleep, please."

How could you say no?

You watched her drift slowly to sleep, her eyes closed as she holds your hand.

Your heart wasn't racing unlike that one moment on the rooftop. It felt right, like you were born to do this for her. You were still blushing, but not more than her. Sullyoon's cheeks were pink like yours, you didn't know if that was because she was tired or because she was holding your hand, but you'd like to think it was the latter.

That was when you realized that you loved her.

Not just some silly collage crush anymore, a real love. One that people get only a few times in life. Some don't even get to experience love like this. This is the type of shit Shakespeare would write about. To yearn. To need.

But does she yearn for you like you do? Does she need you like you need her? It's a scary question to ask, and an even scarier one to answer.

Maybe it was best one left unanswered.

Now you're staring at her.

You're always staring at her.

She sits across you, the kitchen island separating the both of you. She's tasting the egg fried rice you always make her, just with a different twist.

"So?" You ask.

"I like this one better." She concedes. "What did you add?"

"Secret." You say, packing the rest of the rice into a plastic container.

Sullyoon rolls her eyes at your answer, always so secretive about your recipes. Sometimes she thinks it's because you don't want anyone else to make them for her, and she'd be right. She hops off her chair, crashing on the couch.

You turn to the sound of the thud the couch makes. "You good? Something bothering you?"

She shakes her head. "I'm tired and I don't want to go to school tomorrow."

"I mean, don't we all?"

She sighs before rolling over, standing up again to look over your shoulder as you wash the dishes on her sink. Sullyoon's house is just for the two of you this week, her parents are out of town. It's quiet, peaceful, you love it like this.

As you scrub the insides of the pot, she asks a question that you don't know how to answer.

"Do you… like anyone right now?"

What a complicated question, and an even more complicated answer. You don't know how to respond, do you tell her how much you love her? Do you say yes but don't specify who? Do you choose to lie?

You choose to lie.

"No." You claim. A claim so fake that almost anyone can see through it, except her.

She nods her head slowly.

"I think I do."

Time stops around you, you don't know how to respond. You don't know if you're dreaming or in a nightmare. She might be talking about you, but there's also a very big chance that it's someone else.

So you ask who it is.

"It's… that guy from two classes over."

That's your queue to cry. You don't, even though you really want to. You don't know what to say, what to do.

"He likes me too." Who the fuck doesn't?

"I think he wants to go on a date." Who the fuck wouldn't?

You wanna scream that you're right there, that there's no need to go with someone else because you'll be better than them. That she'll be happier with you. You need to say it.

But you can't.

Still, you smile through the daggers in your heart. "Do you want me to do a backround search on him or something?" It's so clearly fake, it's so clearly forced. The fake laugh, the fake smile, the fake everything, but she still doesn't see it.

She really didn't love you like you did.

She doesn't need you like you do.

The question if she loves you as much as you do is answered. The answer's no. It's so bitter, the truth. So hard to swallow what should've been clear.

She laughs. "No, it's okay. I just wanted you to know, because you know, we're best friends."

Best friends.

You've been strangers, classmates, roomates, friends, best friends.

But never lovers.

Never even considered to be anywhere close to being a lover.

What a strange way for the universe to tell you to go fuck yourself.

She stands up, as if she hasn't beat you to a pulp. "I'm gonna go take a bath."

You nod your head, that's all you can do. Your head slams onto the couch cushions, trying to suppress the noise of your cries. Why couldn't she notice? Why couldn't you just tell her? Why do you have to be so slow with telling her that she's the one you think about at night?

She's no longer your girl. In fact she never was.

Why should you be angry at her? You're not, but you want to be. She didn't know. You never confessed, what right do you have?

She always said that she knew the best out of everyone in the entire world.

But she didn't know that you loved her.

Did she truly know you?

[lazylevxd]

Backstage Frustrations

Word Count: 4.8K

Sakura Miyawaki X Male Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

a/n: I actually had this in the drafts for a while, and thought this should be my first smut post, but I am stewpidcheescatarinabluu and its “stewpid” (see what i did there? display of elite writing prowess) not to post karina as my first smut debut, anyways enjoy this sakura smut, i’ll be cleansing my soul once again :)) requests are open as always and commissions are highly appreciated and are prioritized!

The lights were blinding, the bass thundering through the floor, and thousands of voices merged into one deafening roar. You’d seen Sakura Miyawaki command stages before, her every move razor-sharp, her smile effortless — but tonight something was off.

It started small. A half-step out of sync during the chorus. Then another. You saw the flicker of panic cross her face, so quick the cameras might’ve missed it. But she knew. And from that moment, the rhythm seemed to slip through her fingers like water.

By the bridge, her hands trembled. She glanced toward the wings, eyes searching for an anchor, but the heat of the lights and the sheer volume pressing in on her only made her breath hitch.

Then, as the final beat hit, she didn’t bow or wave. She turned. Fast. Almost stumbling. Her mic clattered into someone’s hands as she pushed past the stagehands, ignoring the voices calling her name.

Down the narrow hallway backstage, her steps quickened until she was practically running. The arena’s roar fades behind you as the dressing-room door seals, leaving only the soft hiss of air from the vents and the glittering hum of the vanity lights. Sakura bursts in, shoulders hitching with a tremor you’ve seen a thousand times before but never looking so fragile. Her hairpin catches a stray beam of light and glints like a fallen star as she leans against the vanity, hands pressed to her temples.

You don’t rush. You don’t crowd. You move close enough that the scent of citrus wipes and perfume wraps around her, then you pause, let her exhale—one, two, three—before you speak.

“Tell me what happened,” you say softly, your voice a steady anchor in the storm of her nerves.

She looks up, meets your eyes with a flicker of rage and relief braided together. “I—” Her teeth worry her bottom lip. “I messed up a move, right in the middle of the chorus. The timing slipped, and I—” She swallows, trying to steady the tremor in her hands. “I’m supposed to be flawless.”

You reach out, not to take over but to share the weight. Your hand lands at the small of her back, guiding her to sit and settle the rattled energy into something more manageable. She sits, the sequins of her shimmering dress brushing the edge of the chair as if to remind her of the moment she’s supposed to own.

“Let’s reset it,” you say, voice low but sure. You speak with the calm you’ve learned to wield on crowded streets and crowded stages alike. “Take a breath. Look at me. We’ll take it from the top.”

Her gaze lingers on you, then drifts to the mirror, where the reflection of a woman who can bend light with her flighty smile stares back. A strand of hair loosens and you tuck it behind her ear with a touch that’s almost intimate in its quiet certainty. The moment doesn’t demand anything more than a careful, honest presence—so you give her that.

“I need you to feel safe,” you murmur, and it isn’t just about the show. It’s about the space you’ve carved out together, where mistakes don’t erase worth but teach a better way forward.

Her breath slows. The edge of her mouth softens into a grateful smile that trembles at the corners. “Okay,” she whispers, and the word lands between you like the first honest note of a new run.

Slowly, you slide closer, not invading her space but offering yourself as a shield against the world outside these walls. You rest your hand at the back of her neck, not to pull her body into you but to steady the tremor there, to remind her that she has a harbor to return to.

Her fingers slide along your sleeve, a cautious, almost hopeful touch that tells you she’s ready to lean. You tilt your chin just enough to catch the line of her gaze, keep it there, and she meets you halfway with a breath that fogs a little on the glass between you.

Then it happens—not a rush, but a slow, deliberate closeness. Your lips brush hers in a kiss that’s light at first, a question you both answer with a shared exhale. It grows into something warmer, more certain, the kind of kiss that says you’re not erasing the failure but embracing the person who’s resilient enough to move past it. Her hands find your shoulders, pull you in with a gentle insistence, a want threaded through the reassurance you’ve offered since the moment she walked through that door.

You don’t fuse tongues or press for more than the moment allows. You hold the kiss, slow and meaningful, and when you finally ease back, the room feels different—safer, steadier, as if the wings of doubt have folded away for now.

Sakura rests her forehead against yours for a heartbeat, cheeks catching the soft glow from the vanity lights. “Thank you,” she breathes, not just for the kiss but for the space to be imperfect and still worthy.

“Always,” you say, and your voice feels like a promise you both can hear clearly in the quiet between breaths.

your hand still resting lightly on Sakura’s shoulder as you searched her face. Her breathing had slowed a little, but the storm in her eyes hadn’t fully cleared.

“You okay now?” you asked quietly.

Before she could answer, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. You turned just as Chaewon rounded the corner, followed closely by Kazuha, Yunjin, and Eunchae, their expressions tight with worry.

“Sakura!” Chaewon called, rushing forward.

Sakura straightened immediately, slipping out from the small space between you and the wall. Her smile was faint, shaky at the edges, but it was enough to send Eunchae running into her arms.

“We saw you leave the stage,” Kazuha said softly, brushing a stray hair from Sakura’s face. “We thought you were hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Sakura murmured, hugging Eunchae tighter. “Just… needed air.”

Yunjin glanced at you briefly, her sharp eyes catching the subtle tension still hanging in the air. She didn’t say anything, just stepped closer to drape her jacket over Sakura’s shoulders.

The group formed a loose circle around her, their voices overlapping in a mix of reassurance and gentle teasing — anything to pull her back into their orbit.

You stayed a step back, watching. The way they looked at her, you knew she was more than just their teammate — she was their anchor. And for now, that was what she needed most.

The room once again goes still as the last door shuts and the hallway’s distant hum fades into a quiet sigh. You hear the soft murmur of the arena outside, then the faint rustle of backstage curtains as if the building itself is catching its breath. The others have checked in and drifted away, leaving you two alone with the glow of vanity lights and the scent of citrus wipes still clinging to the air.

Sakura turns to you, hair catching the light, eyes bright and fixed on you with a spark that says she’s choosing you in this moment. She steps closer, body softening the space between you, and you feel the pulse along her throat as she inhales, as if she’s gathering courage from the very breath she’s shared with you before.

Her hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers threading through the hair at the base of your skull. Your grasp answers hers, one hand sliding to the curve of her waist, pulling her in close until there’s barely any distance left between your mouths. The kiss is hot from the first press, a hungry collision of lips that learns the fast language of need as much as protection.

Her mouth moves against yours with a tremulous certainty, lips parting to meet your tongue in a messy, fevered dance. She whimpers a little, a sound that goes straight to your chest, and you respond with a deeper pull, guiding her closer until her chest brushes yours, the soft breath of her exhale warming your skin. Her hands roam—one at your shoulder, the other sliding down your spine, fanning to your hip and stealing a moment to grip you there, pulling you tighter still.

You tilt your head, angling the kiss until it becomes a fierce flood of sensation—teeth catching lips, tongues tangling in a rush of shared heat. She answers with a star-bright, messy kiss of her own, mouths clashing, breaths hitching together in a chorus that only the two of you can hear. Her legs find a wordless invitation around your waist; she threads a leg between yours, hitching it higher as you deepen the kiss, the world narrowing to the feel of her body pressed against yours and the way her fingers trail heat across your chest through the fabric of your shirt.

The touch grows bolder: her nails lightly rake your back, leaving a line of fire that travels up and down your spine. Your hands drift—one feeling the curve of her waist, the other tangling in the lock of hair at the nape of her neck—holding her in place as the kiss grows sloppier, more urgent, the room vanishing into a private thunderstorm of mouth and breath and heartbeat.

For a moment you pause, foreheads resting together, the heat between you buzzing in the quiet air. You murmur against her lips, soft and steady, “Are you sure—” and she cuts you off with a breathy, breathless nod, the answer written in the way she leans into your hold, submitting to the moment with a dangerous kind of trust.

Then you surge back into the kiss, slower this time but no less intense, savoring the messy, electric connection—the way her tongue finds yours with reckless abandon, the way she clings to you as if you’re the only thing keeping the world from tipping. Her hands slide lower, tracing the line of your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt, seeking warmth, seeking closeness, seeking you.

The kiss finally breaks not with a shout, but with a breath that raggedly catches in your lungs. You rest your forehead against hers, your chests heaving in a shared rhythm, the faint sound of the arena drifting in through the door like a distant storm you’ve learned to ride together.

Sakura wipes a damp strand of hair from her cheek and smiles, a reckless, bright thing that feels almost dangerous in this private moment. “That was…,” she starts, trailing off with a hungry laugh.

“Too honest to pretend it didn’t happen,” you reply, pulling her a fraction closer and stealing another faint kiss before you both loosen your grip and settle into a safer distance. The moment lingers, the heat between you not fading so much as settling into something steadier, something you can carry with you back to the stage.

The encore fades into a roar of applause that rolls through the arena like a tidal wave. You’re backstage, shoulders still tight from the tension of the set, when Sakura reappears at the threshold of the wings—glowing under the stage lights, that same damn cute smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s the kind of smile that makes your heartbeat stutter, the kind that feels like a secret you’re sharing with the whole room.

She catches your gaze and holds it for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then tilts her head with that bright, reckless ease she wears so well. The smile isn’t big, but it’s enough to wreck you—soft and wicked all at once, the kind that says she sees you, cares, and perhaps wants to tease a little more than the performance allows.

The crowd’s adrenaline still hums in the air as she drifts closer, not in a rush but with a measured grace that makes the moment feel personal. You meet her halfway, the press of bodies and timing dissolving into the heat between you. Her hand lands at the back of your neck—the same touch that steadied you before, now threaded with a new, teasing intent. She leans in close enough that you can feel her breath warm your cheek, the scent of stage makeup and something sweeter curling between you.

“Nice save out there,” she whispers, a spark in her eyes. “That smile was your best move.”

You swallow, wanting to reply with something witty, something honest, but all you can manage is a quiet, “You did most of the saving.”

She laughs softly, a sound that travels straight to your ribs. Then she steps closer, the toe of her shoe brushing yours in a playful, deliberate way. The smile widens, and you’re struck again by how that little curve of lips can make your world tilt—how her presence tightens the air you share, turning ordinary backstage into a charged space you both know isn’t just about the tour.

Her fingers glide along your sleeve, a subtle invitation to lean in, to let the warmth of her body pull you into the moment you’ve both been circling. When you do, she rests her forehead against yours for a heartbeat, a breath you both ride together. The smile never fades; it grows bolder, more mischievous, as if to say, I’m here, I’m yours, and we’re not done yet.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she murmurs, the command playful but sincere. The next beat she tilts closer, brushing your lips with a kiss that’s soft and lingering, enough to ignite a spark you both pretend isn’t there in the middle of a world of lights and cameras. It’s a kiss that tastes of relief and risk and the thrill of being seen—just you and her in this private, shared moment.

When the kiss breaks, she rests a casual, teasing smile against your mouth, her breath still warm against your skin. She steps back with a wink that hits you in the chest, then glides away toward the corridor with the same effortless grace she carries on stage. The smile lingers in your thoughts as you watch her disappear into the bustle, the memory of that sweet, reckless moment settling into the rhythm of your heartbeat.

The arena’s roar swells again as the next act lines up, but you feel a new current running through you—a promise that the next time she looks your way, it won’t just be a glance. It’ll be the same cute, arousing smile, and a shared moment that pretends the world doesn’t exist outside the backstage door

The weeks blurred into a carousel of airports, rehearsal halls, and neon-lit hotel lobbies. You moved like clockwork, always a step behind Sakura — ready to guide her through crowds, shield her from overeager fans, or just keep her in sight when the chaos hit.

But somewhere between the stages and the soundchecks, she started playing this quiet game with you.

A glance over her shoulder mid-performance. A subtle wink during soundcheck when no one was watching. The kind that didn’t just catch your attention — it derailed your entire train of thought. By the time you remembered to breathe, she’d already turned away, pretending nothing happened.

And now, in Bangkok, the game had followed you here.

It was late when she found you in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall outside her room. The city lights spilled through the tall glass windows behind her, catching in her hair.

“You’re up late,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “So are you.”

For a heartbeat, you both just stood there — you trying to read her, her looking at you like she already knew what was in your head. Then, with that same quiet confidence she carried on stage, she stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of her door.

And before you could find an answer, she was already holding the door open.

"C-come in," Sakura stammers, stepping aside to let you enter. The door closes softly behind you as Sakura leads you into the living room, her bare feet padding against the plush carpet. She offers you a drink from the mini-bar, her fingers trembling slightly as she hands you the glass.

"I'm really glad you're here," Sakura whispers, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "It gets so lonely on the road and... I just wanted someone to keep me company tonight."

She sets her own drink down on the coffee table and turns to face you, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "I've never... I mean, I don't have much experience with this sort of thing," she admits shyly, her gaze darting to the floor. "But I feel so comfortable with you."

Your heart swells with affection for the sweet, innocent girl before you. You set your drink aside and take Sakura's small hands in yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. "It's okay," you soothe, tilting her chin up with your finger so she's forced to meet your gaze. "We don't have to rush into anything. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Sakura nods, her shoulders sagging with relief. You pull her into your arms, resting your chin on the top of her head as she burrows against your chest. Your hands stroke up and down her back, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric of her dress.

After a moment, Sakura tilts her head back and captures your lips in a chaste kiss. She tastes like champagne and cherries, her mouth soft and pliant against yours. You deepen the kiss slowly, coaxing her to part her lips and allow you entrance.

Your tongue delves into the warm cavern of her mouth, tangling with hers in a sensual dance. Sakura whimpers into the kiss, her fingers curling into your shirt as she presses closer. You walk her backwards towards the bedroom, never breaking the contact of your lips.

When Sakura's legs hit the edge of the bed, she sits down, pulling you with her. You settle on top of her, your body cradled between her thighs. She arches beneath you with a soft sigh, her hips lifting to meet yours.

Your hand finds the zipper of her dress and slowly drags it down, baring her smooth skin inch by tantalizing inch. Sakura blushes deeply as you peel the fabric away, revealing her simple white bra and panties. You dip your head, pressing hot kisses along the column of her throat and down to the swell of her breasts.

Sakura gasps as you palm the soft mounds, her nipples hardening against your touch. She squirms beneath you, mewling with pleasure as you lavish attention on her sensitive breasts. Your fingers make quick work of the front clasp of her bra, freeing the perfect globes to your hungry gaze.

"Beautiful," you breathe, lowering your mouth to one rosy peak. Sakura cries out as you draw the nipple into your mouth, suckling gently. Her hands fist in your hair, holding you close as you worship her body with lips and tongue.

By the time you tug her panties down her thighs, Sakura is a quivering mess beneath you. Her pussy glistens with arousal, the pink folds slick and swollen with need. You trail your fingers through her damp curls, circling her clit lightly.

"Ohhh," Sakura whimpers, her hips bucking into your touch. You tease her mercilessly, drawing out her pleasure until she's practically begging for more. Only then do you sink two fingers deep into her tight channel, curling them just right.

Sakura's back arches off the bed as she comes undone, her inner walls fluttering around your invading digits. You work her through it, stroking her G-spot until she collapses bonelessly against the mattress.

With trembling hands, Sakura reaches for you, fumbling with the fastenings of your pants. She frees your aching erection and strokes you reverently, marveling at the thick length.

"I want you inside me," she breathes, spreading her legs in invitation. You notch the head of your cock at her entrance, pushing forward slowly. Sakura lets out a shuddering moan as you fill her inch by delicious inch, stretching her impossibly tight sheath around you.

You set a gentle pace, letting Sakura adjust to your size. Her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails digging into your skin as she meets your every thrust. Soon she's writhing beneath you, her hips lifting to take you deeper.

"Harder," Sakura gasps, surprising herself with the demand. You oblige, slamming into her with increased fervor. The wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo through the room, mingling with Sakura's wanton cries.

You feel your climax building at the base of your spine, your balls drawing up tight. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself to the hilt and explode inside Sakura's spasming pussy, coating her womb with your seed.

Sakura follows soon after, her body shaking with the force of her release. She clings to you, her face buried in the crook of your neck as she rides out the waves of pleasure crashing over her.

You collapse beside her, pulling her close as you both struggle to catch your breath. Sakura snuggles into your side, placing a soft kiss on your chest. "That was... incredible," she sighs happily. "Thank you for being so gentle with me."

You press a kiss to the top of her head, smiling down at her adoringly. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, my sweet Sakura. I'm yours, forever and always."

Sakura beams up at you, her eyes shining with love and contentment. "I'm so lucky to have you by my side," she whispers, curling into you even more tightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You and Sakura spend the next few days exploring each other's bodies in increasingly intimate ways, each encounter more passionate than the last. On the third night, you find yourselves tangled in the luxurious hotel sheets once again, your skin slick with sweat and desire.

Sakura mewls beneath you as you kiss your way down her body, lingering at her breasts to suckle and tease her hardened nipples. She arches into your touch, her fingers threading through your hair as she guides your head lower. You obey her unspoken command, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her toned stomach until you reach the apex of her thighs.

The scent of her arousal fills your nostrils as you inhale deeply, savoring the intoxicating aroma. Sakura whimpers as you part her glistening folds with your fingers, revealing her swollen clit. You dip your head, your tongue delving into her wet heat to lap up the sweet nectar of her desire.

"Oh god, yes!" Sakura cries out, her hips bucking against your face. You work her relentlessly, alternating between licking and sucking on her sensitive nub. Your fingers pump in and out of her tight channel, curling to hit that magical spot that has her seeing stars.

Sakura's legs quake as her climax approaches, her inner walls fluttering around your invading digits. With a final flick of your tongue against her clit, she comes undone with a keening wail, her release gushing over your chin. You lap at her hungrily, prolonging her pleasure until she collapses back onto the bed, boneless and sated.

But you're far from done with her. Flipping Sakura onto her stomach, you admire the tantalizing view of her pert ass and glistening pussy. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes dark with lust. "Fuck me," she demands breathlessly, arching her back to present herself to you.

With a growl, you notch the head of your cock at her entrance and surge forward, burying yourself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Sakura gasps at the sudden intrusion, her hands fisting in the sheets as she adjusts to your size. You give her a moment to acclimate before setting a hard and fast pace, slamming into her from behind.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as you pound into Sakura's dripping cunt, her slick walls gripping you like a vise. She meets your every thrust, pushing back against you greedily. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips as you rail her mercilessly, the force of your movements causing her to slide across the bed.

Sakura's moans rise in pitch as another orgasm builds low in her belly, her pussy starting to flutter around your pistoning shaft. You reach around to strum her clit, circling the sensitive nub with your thumb. Sakura shrieks as she comes apart at the seams, her body convulsing with the force of her release.

You're right behind her, your balls tightening as your climax swiftly approaches. With a final thrust, you bury yourself as deep as you can go and explode inside Sakura's spasming sheath, flooding her womb with your hot seed. You collapse onto her back, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath.

Later, as you lay entwined with Sakura in the bathtub, you take turns soaping each other up, your hands gliding over slick skin. Sakura turns around to straddle your lap, water sluicing down her back as she sinks down onto your hardening cock. You groan at the feel of her enveloping heat, your hands gripping her hips to guide her movements.

Sakura rides you slowly, rolling her hips in a sensual grind that has you seeing stars. She leans in to capture your lips in a languid kiss, her tongue tangling with yours as she undulates above you. The water sloshes around you with each rise and fall of her body, the sound muffled by the pounding of your hearts.

You thumb Sakura's clit in time with her gyrations, feeling her walls begin to ripple around you. She breaks the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back as she chases her release. With a few well-placed swivels of her hips, Sakura comes apart in your arms, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

The sensation is too much and you follow her over the edge, spilling yourself inside her with a ragged groan. Sakura slumps against your chest as you both come down from your highs, your hands stroking soothing circles on each other's backs.

The next morning, Sakura awakens you with a sensual kiss and a sultry smile. She straddles your hips and rubs herself along your growing erection, moaning at the feel of your hard length between her slick folds. You sit up and take a nipple into your mouth, sucking and biting gently as she grinds against you.

Sakura reaches between your bodies to stroke your shaft, guiding you to her entrance. With a smooth roll of her hips, she sinks down onto you, engulfing you in her velvety heat. You groan against her breast as she starts to ride you slowly, building up a steady rhythm that has you both panting with need.

Your hands grip Sakura's ass, kneading the firm globes as you thrust up into her from below. She bounces on your cock with increasing fervor, her nails digging into your shoulders for support. The room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin and Sakura's wanton moans as she chases her pleasure.

You flip Sakura onto her back, driving into her harder and faster. Her legs wrap around your waist, heels digging into your lower back as she meets you thrust for thrust. "Fuck me harder," Sakura demands breathlessly, her eyes wild with lust. "Make me yours!"

Your hips snap forward like a piston, slamming into Sakura's g-spot with each deep stroke. Her pussy starts to flutter around you, signaling her impending orgasm. You redouble your efforts, pushing Sakura higher and higher until she finally shatters with a scream of ecstasy, her inner walls milking your cock for all it's worth.

With a final, powerful thrust, you bury yourself as deep as you can go and explode inside Sakura's spasming sheath, flooding her with your seed. You collapse onto the bed beside her, both of you gasping for breath as you come down from your shared high.

In the days that follow, you and Sakura continue to explore each other's bodies in every way imaginable - missionary, doggy style, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, spooning that leaves you both impressed and breathless. Each encounter is more passionate than the last, fueled by a growing love and devotion for one another.

And as you lay entwined together on the final night of The Le sserafim’s tour, basking in the afterglow of another mind-blowing lovemaking session and the excitement of how the members don’t know anything., you know that no matter what the future may hold, you'll always have this incredible bonding experience to look back on - the time when two souls came together in perfect harmony, leaving an indelible mark on each other's hearts.