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#brown platform shoes
urbanangelz · 9 months
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The Lady with the Docker Hat 🏹
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ween3r · 27 days
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i love these shoes
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ladymisslilith · 1 year
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been thinking about these since they hit the runway
(Thom Browne fw22)
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kellylynnberry · 12 days
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Millie Bobby Brown
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so-pretty-in-my-pain · 11 months
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Momma's still got it 🖤
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superwookieman · 1 year
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sarahjalees · 1 year
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Hey Big Feet Baddies! Here’s this weeks shoe.
I love chunky platforms and found these on Amazon. They have a huge color selection. However, they only go up to size 12 and aren’t the widest shoe.
Before you comment, no I’m not trimming MY nails, that’s how I like them.
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stupidcowboykid · 8 months
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shoutout to weirdo college trannies for being the only fucking people i can recognize rn.
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six-of-ravens · 2 years
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okay at lunch today I'm giving the value village one more chance to provide me with a pair of decent shoes for the wedding or else I'll have to go to the mall tomorrow.
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bryqe · 17 days
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i love this heels. they remind me to the old dishes every granny use to have at home in spain in the 80s-90s and it’s part of my childhood
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ween3r · 23 days
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hiya
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luvvysounds · 6 months
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onlinearchive81 · 1 year
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✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫
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✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫
shoes i want(⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)
half of them are from unif
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iznsfw · 5 months
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IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 1 - Kwon Eunbi
IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut
21,183 words
Categories | best friend!Eunbi, facefucking, cum swallowing, against the wall, anal
The most unrealistic thing about this, besides getting to fuck Eunbi, is that she has sex with glasses on.
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“Two things. I need you to tell me two things before I kill you in front of everyone. And trust me, I’m very good with a gun.”
“Oh no,” you say grumpily, and a little more sarcastically, while you're gathering your things into the gray backpack you’ve used through its tatters. “How will I ever see the light of day again?”
Eunbi barely looks intimidating anyway in the toga that sags around her small body. The fabric’s a blackish-blue waterfall that drags on the ground. You’re surprised mud hasn’t done its wicked way with it. It began raining earlier, see, and now, except for the mud as evidence, it's as if it never happened. The heat has become too much.
Everything is too much.
“You won’t,” Eunbi says, tongue between her teeth, “but save yourself for once. Tell me what’s going on.”
Right above the garment, her long tresses fall over her shoulders. Earlier last year, she had it cut and everyone fell for her instantly. But you’ve always taken the speedy growth of her hair a victory for your side.
No victories right now though. It’s supposed to be a grand day—the scam that is college has finally run its course, and today you ought to celebrate and throw your cap in the air like everyone else. 
But you’re still completely, royally pissed off.
Turn your back. Clear answer, with other possible variations that basically say the same thing: I’m not telling you shit. Nope. Stop bugging me. Brat.
She follows, and she’s a shadow behind you who’s too pretty to be one. But you lengthen your steps. Hope she doesn’t pursue you, but she’s always done that. Since you were kids on the playground, she’s never let you deal with things on your own. It’s forever been Eunbi will help you, Eunbi will stay with you, Eunbi will talk for you. 
Why must that knowledge swirl a puzzling mix of emotions in you? She has not once left you alone, and yet here you are, forcing her to do so.
A pair of leather shoes and high platforms (which give way to the illusion that she’s barely shorter than you) pave through the cobblestone ground of the campus you’ll never dream of returning to. You say that yet you and Eunbi are the only other few graduates remaining on the premises. Why? It’s not like you have anything or anyone to be melancholic about.
She walks in the corner of your line of vision. Alright, maybe someone. 
You’ve tried to avoid eye contact but you turn to her anyway. She’s always been this easy on the eyes, even when you were high schoolers with wild hormones and sensitive young hearts. Sharp nose, intelligent brown eyes, and pretty smile—she could’ve been a real heartbreaker back then if she weren’t hanging out with you. She could’ve been everything, because this town is too simple, too small for a girl of her caliber. 
Turn your eyes away before she could notice. Broken out of your train of thought, you start to notice how your bag knocks your spine repeatedly. Painfully. With the way your notebooks from years and years ago are bumping around in there, you’d think you were carrying a luggage good enough to give you a week’s worth of supplies.
“Ugh.” Eunbi pinches her nose irritably, allows the sounds to continue for a good three seconds, then pulls the source off you. "Dumbass. Alright, now tell—”
“No. Become a nun. Live a good life. Go eat ice cream with Chaewon or something.”
“She likes mint chocolate, so no. I’m never eating that shit.”
“You’ll live.”
“Oh, I will”—she taps your bag, smiling evilly—”and I’ll take the bag with me.”
You sigh loudly. “Eunbi.” 
Oh no, don’t get it wrong: she’s always like this. It's not just today that she pushes your buttons, catty with her negotiations and even more so when you turn them down. She discreetly takes control with a sleight of hand, and you never see it coming. You wish luck to whoever smug kindergartner she’ll be an educator to in the future. She’ll quickly show him his place, just like she’s shown you yours.
“What?” she says with a derisive smirk. She pulls on the arms of the backpack to boost its weight up. “No tell, no bag.”
At this point—
“I don’t give a fuck, Eunbi,” you spit. "You have bigger things to worry about.” 
Pause. You briefly consider telling her how your grand day was shattered by your own self and thinking, but you don’t want to bother her. She's your best friend. You shouldn't be making her listen to your woes.
Close your mouth; you didn’t even realize it was hanging open for a while. 
You exhale through your nostrils. “Do yourself a favor and take care of something else.”
You walk away. That was supposed to be the end of the story. It's the hashtag at the end of an article, the death of the conversation. But wide strides can’t keep her from coercing an answer out of you. 
You know that because she’s suddenly pulled you by the wrist then so close to herself that even your cloaks can’t bar yourselves from each other. Her body presses below your chest. Her stern eyes hush you. You can quite literally feel her breathing.
“I think I can handle it,” she says, gaze steady and chin lifting, “much more if it’s you.”
Okay, so maybe you underestimated how intimidating she can get. 
She’s a small girl, lying her way into five foot three, but she’s surprisingly strong. You’re more than aware of that to avoid testing if her palm on your heart is sturdy. Her fierce glare, needling into your integrity, is something new. Frightening, too. Her jaw—(oh, and you can never give that perfectly cut line it’s incredibly lucky to possess a normal glance)—is tight with determination. 
For a moment, you think you know how to speak but just forgot to completely.
You get the hang of it after a few seconds when you crack a smile. “Can’t tell you anything if you got your hands on me, little raindrop.”
Eunbi squints her eyes, then folds her arms neatly. “A silver rain drop. And I’m not little, I’m one sixty flat.”
“Take that cap off and we’ll see.”
You’re not exactly a top student, but you’re smart enough to run away before she whacks you with her rolled diploma.
-
(It somehow lightens your mood, because if there’s anything you love more than your phone and street food, it’s Eunbi’s tiny, challenging self trying to one you up. Her light punches are like package peanuts trying to make a dent in you. And it’s just so adorable seeing her face turn dark as she aims for you, and fails.
Oh, and it’s all in good banter. It wouldn’t be a friendship if those jabs were spiteful. There are a lot of relationships out there, both platonic and not so, where insults are masked behind “jokes” and jokes behind insults—you’re glad that doesn’t count for you and her.
But even if we’re to say that Eunbi’s cornering you to the wall, suddenly having grown taller than you, and snarls, with a knife to your throat, “Say good night forever,” you’d kiss her and tell her: “I won’t let the bedbugs bite.”)
-
"Two, please. Thank you."
Slip the paper bills in the vendor's brown, rough hand and slap yours back on Eunbi's shoulder. You’re still surprised at the bareness you feel, then you remember she's since stuffed her toga in your backpack because of the heat. Now she’s wearing a sundress that flows around her like water. 
Look at her discreetly. You’re wondering how she managed to hide all… that. The fabric fits and compliments her figure too much to go unnoticed. You have to pretend to be curious about the boiling process of the eomuk again to avoid staring at her slim arms.
"I still don't get why you call me that," she says. She pulls the drooping strap of her dress back up her shoulder, and you swear you’re gonna lose it. 
Take deep breaths. You can do this. "Call you what?" 
"You know." She daintily taps away a bead of sweat from her forehead and looks up at you. "'Little raindrop.'"
You return her stare eye for an eye. You have to admit it was a feeble attempt. Whenever you look at her, you're overcome with the realization that she's just so beautiful. Her brows are naturally curved and shaded, and there’s just the tiniest dimple at the side of her mouth when she smiles hard. Who in the world just has a face like that? 
But you can't dwell on it. It's a dangerous premise, and you're a rightful coward.
"Ah." Your fingers tap comfortable rhythms on her skin. "Because… hm. Bi means rain, right? And you’re small, a.k.a little. So there you have it."
A crowd sifts through the streets and roads opposite your university, and occasionally daring motorists. Graduates fill the sidewalks to purchase street food. It's been this cramped since forever. You can't believe this is the last time you'd ever see this commotion: nameless faces that have matured through the years occupying every space, scentful smoke that wafts in the air, and, of course, the familiar sight of these stalls on wheels catering to young'uns like you short on cash.
Now that you think it over once more, perhaps you'll miss this place more than you thought you would.
"Well, would you say it, uh…” Eunbi taps her chin. “Hm, derogatively?"
"Oh, come on," you say, shaking your head emphatically, "I would never."
"Good, because I just lost your bag."
Your eyelids suddenly stop drooping. Realize only this second that you haven't felt torn fabric on the shoulder you’ve been caressing.
"Eunbi, what the—"
"Kidding, it's right here." Eunbi lifts it up in the air cheekily. "Gotcha."
"Oh, fuck off," you groan. Push her away, but not so much that she's out of arm's length. There are people whose intentions aren't so nice in this crowd. 
Eunbi's adorable, you have to admit. Every day that rises is April Fools Day for her. She loves pulling pranks on you and commits to the bit perfectly. It’s been like this since… forever. It’s like you were born knowing her. 
With all that fake innocence on her face when she tells you a white lie for her prank’s sake, she could be an actress. For a moment, you wonder what you'll do if she does become one, if she finds out that she's more than this place is worth. Would she leave you with no warning? Make a name for herself and never bother to reach out?
You gulp a little. That could happen even without the entertainer job. You've been friends with her for ages. One day, she'll grow tired of you and seek brighter horizons. Finer places. Better men.
"You alright there?" Eunbi asks. 
You envy her for a lot of things—her charm, her easy way of making new friends, those legs that she’s worked hard to tone. But right now, you’re jealous because she isn’t privy to all those things that run in your mind about wanting to do things to her. Stupid things like hold her hand, tell her something you shouldn’t, the works.
Jealousy won’t amount to anything, so you just nod. It's not like there's much to say that you won't be embarrassed of saying later.
"Well—"
Just in time, the kind vendor raises two eomuks from the bubbling broth. The delicious scent makes your mouth water.  "There you go," he says in his usual jolly way that always makes you laugh. "Congrats on the graduation!"
"Thanks!" Eunbi says, always the first to be grateful. She takes hers and the aforementioned dimple on her cheek shows itself again. Your chest squeezes.
"Don't forget me when you're rich." His jovial face almost looks sentimental. "One for the gentleman and one for his girlfriend."
Your smile fades into a nervous line. "She's not my girlfriend," you say carefully.
It's more embarrassing each time you have to say it. Are you too close with her? Probably; your arm is always around her and she's one of the few consistent friends you have. She's been by your side longer than anyone. People are gonna think something’s going on along the way.
The vendor nods mockingly, as if to say “yeah, sure,” and winks at Eunbi. She winks back, but fails to halfway—her left eye scrunches up.
"Don't listen to him," you tell her. You walk away from the crowd; it's suddenly begun to feel warmer than usual. "He likes to play around a lot. Even in first year he was like that.”
“Eh. It's not like he said anything bad.” She sinks her teeth into the skewered food and shrugs. 
"It's invasive."
"Invasive," she repeats thoughtfully, (chewing thoughtfully, too.) “Okay. But how?”
"Because… ‘cause…" Suddenly, you find there's no appropriate reason you could dream up to justify your uneasiness. "It's, you know, strange when people do that."
“I don’t mind, honestly.”
You find that you swallow on nothing rather than the delicious treat you’re holding.
The place becomes too much, with the heated smoke eventually making Eunbi hack a cough and the sweaty people surrounding you more than they should. So you squeeze between them with her and go on for a resolute walk down the road. Just a few blocks up ahead, you can see the sun setting. It reflects back and pours a hefty amount of light on your figures. Your shadows synchronize with your steps.
“You don’t?” you ask, just to make sure you heard her right. The possibility of her being so comfortable with you that she isn’t bothered to be called yours… it’s a lot to handle. She shouldn’t just place that on your shoulders and expect you not to buckle.
Try to keep your knees from folding at the idea as you walk down the familiar streets. The roads reside in a subdivision that's humbler than the others, hence the houses being small and more trees standing above you. But you don't mind—you need a break from the urban place anyway.
Your university stays a little near the border between them. That's why more street food stalls come up to view and a few thrift stores. Is this the last time you'll come here?
The last time you'll see her?
“No. Why would I? Alright, now that we’ve got things all nice and settled…” Eunbi takes your wrist. Tightly. She's not going anywhere, and neither are you. “Back to telling.”
“Telling you what?”
“You really wanna play dumb with me?” She presses the point of her skewer to your stomach, seizing you by the waist. “Get those words out. Now.”
"Hit me."
"Two things, right? So answer me." Eunbi's fingers wrap tighter around your flesh. "Why were you crying in the bathroom? What happened?"
Oh.
That.
You're quiet. You look only forward, not daring to meet Eunbi's eyes. If anything, the stick could dig into your guts and it would be infinitely better than having to admit you’re weak. You’ll have to tell her one day. You’ll have to admit that you’re not a better guy just because you’re the only one who has the balls to approach her—you’re just like the rest of them. Nothing special. Grades barely there. Average, probably not even so. Everything but nothing.
“I wasn’t crying,” you say. You can’t remember what happened anyway, but saying what you do leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.
The eomuk stick drops to the ground with barely a click. “Are you lying?”
It’s rare that her voice gets solemn. It’s less rare that you rush behind words to cover yourself.
You fix the mortarboard on her head so that it doesn’t slip past her brows. The staff didn’t quite take her measurements properly, so you had to tip the cap backwards. Good enough. “Think you can figure that one out yourself, Eunbi.” 
You give her a look that tells her all that she needs to know. It’s not like you can explain properly with this state of mind. What else can you say? 
What else can she say?
Perhaps:
“Please.” 
Everything stops.
Eunbi takes your hand, which looks large in comparison to her pale one, and traces a finger along your knuckles. Look down at them—those are the days that’ll go by, the months that’ll lose themselves into the void of timeless time. It could never be the same if fate wills itself to change one of these days, and you wouldn’t even know it. Not even a warning. 
“It’s just me.” Her voice thins, and you figure out that she’s sort of like you, too: it’s not rare for her to hide behind words and wit. “I’m your friend. You can tell me anything. Please tell me what happened, okay? I hate seeing you get upset.”
You wish you could tell her that it’s the same on your end. Eunbi’s the girl you let climb in your lap after a thunderstorm provoked her, the girl you comforted after she had her heart broken by the man she was convinced was the one. Through it all, you tried to be strong for her, but there’s little foundation to build from. 
The side of your mouth twitches upward. “Do you now?” 
Eunbi’s shoulders descend as they release a tired little sigh. She nods, refusing to say anything until you take the lead.
“Well, if you want to hear the whole story,” you say as you ring an arm around her, “I was already having a pretty shit day to begin with.”
“Why?” She chews on her lip. Pink gets on her teeth.
“Didn’t feel like I deserved to graduate.”
See, there are a lot of justifications as to why you didn’t deserve to go on stage and receive your diploma. You aren’t worthy of this toga and hat when you’ve barely accomplished anything compared to the others. They’ve already scored internships and some even sealed some higher positions in well-off companies. You, on the other hand, haven’t got anything going on for you.
That rings true for as far back as first year. You cheated (rarely) but still barely passed. Studied but never got the answers right for the test. Kept a strong face but you’re still in pieces on the inside. Now that you’re graduating, you’re the same guy after all that time.
“I had a… very weird time in there trying to get myself together,” you say. “I did nothing to make mom proud. I just bullshit my way through college.” 
“Doesn’t everyone?” Eunbi hums quietly. Is that her side pressed to your hip? You suck in a breath.
“I mean, sure, but look at how far they got. I’m still in square one.”
“Different speeds for different people,” she says wisely, looking down at her shoes that begin their steps at the heel. “You don’t have to beat yourself up for going at your own pace.”
You chuckle deprecatingly. “When I’m a dumbass, I should.”
“You’re not.”
“You literally admitted you had a hunch I was stupid when I thought your name was Geumbi.”
“No, no, that was a long time ago. I was like, fourteen. It wasn’t my fault. And neither was it yours.”
She steals a bite from your food. A withdrawal from her as she finishes her robbery and yet you bring her back. Do it by stopping, then wiping away the broth on her lower lip with your thumb. Where did that come from? 
Eunbi’s frozen. For a moment, she says nothing. She pauses, then looks up at you. Just a simple look from her makes you weak. There are galaxies in her eyes.
“Actually,” says Eunbi, hand floating to your wrist—her voice is soft, “you’ve got to stop thinking everything’s your fault.”
Where should your touch go when all it yearns for is hers?
It's easier said than done, too. Therapy fills your brokenness yet it drains out anyway. All those methods and you can't stick to one. Everything bad that happens is your fault. It's like you're connected to them all.
“I’ll try." Your words barely pass audibility. Should you be ashamed? "I don’t like this either.” 
Eunbi presses her lips to the back of your hand then goes on strolling like she didn’t just save you from another spiral. Haughtiness rides her tone. Yep, she knows she’s your anchor. “You can start by carrying your own bag instead of me doing—” She pauses. All the sass is gone; just pure fear. “Shit.”
Your forehead creases and you look around. Nothing out of the normal, just the birds of seldomness and trees that sway with the wind. “What?”
“Don’t be mad at me.” Eunbi bites her lip anxiously. “Promise me. Please.”
“What is it?”
She tells you.
-
“Eunbi lost your backpack?” 
For the hundredth time: “Yes.”
"Like actually?"
"Yep."
“With the notes and sketches you had? What the hell?”
“God, you don’t have to rub it in like that.” You navigate through the streets and try to catch onto anyone perhaps holding a familiar satchel. Nobody fits the description. “We didn’t notice until we were alone.”
You and Eunbi do the very thing characters in horror movies shouldn’t do: you split up. She returns to the food vendors to ask around. They’d cater better to a face like that. You’re left to do the hard work and follow random people to see if they’ve brought away a bag. You really should have reversed roles, but Eunbi’s gone now. You can’t call it off.
The crowds are starting to dissipate, but that doesn’t make your hunt for your bag easier. Whoever stole it must have thought it was his lucky day. That shit was thrifted off a store, but it could sell for thousands if refined just right. 
All those documents, lecture takeaways, pencils… 
It’s not like they matter anymore. You wouldn’t dream of going back to school, so they won’t have much use in the long run. But those things played a major part in your life, especially in college. Losing it feels like missing a piece of a puzzle you spent nights completing.
“That’s so damn irresponsible of her. Not like her, too. She's a fucking—”
“—adult. Like me. Yes. We’ve gone over this.”
You must look like a local pervert right now, peering at people’s lower sides in search of your treasure. You hope they don’t get you wrong. Women are already giving you dirty looks though. Shit, you’re going nowhere with this.
“You don’t have to defend her every time she does something,” mutters your friend Sakura from the other line. Her accent has lost its origins a long time ago. Now, it carries teasing scorn.
Where the fuck could your bag be? Turn your head to the right, then to the left. There you go, you’re a fucking bobblehead doll. Feel even more ridiculous. It’s all a little humiliating, exposing a vulnerability to people you don’t know. Hey, look at me! I can’t find something important! And I can’t ask you for help because that would mean I’m a shameless piece of shit with no dignity and I’m too childish to graduate and—
“I’m not defending her, Miyawaki,” you blurt out, a little louder than you’d like. More dirty and judgmental looks. Always the centerpiece, you, and for all the wrong reasons. “Go back to gaming, can you?”
“Ha. You’re the one who called me and said, ‘Oh no, I’m with Eunbi again and I’m so in love with her!’” Sakura lets out a smug little laugh. “Just ask her out, dumbass. That way you won’t have to play attorney all the time.”
“I’m not asking her out, dumbass. She's just a friend.”
“Ask her out or Hyewon will. Hyem’ll say shit like, ‘She can lose my bag anytime—“
“Hey.” Eunbi comes up empty-handed. Her words are heavier with each passing fragment. She doesn’t have to say them for you to know her search was fruitless, just like yours was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I asked around, too.”
Your hopes are dashed. “Call you back,” you whisper into the phone.
“Tell me how the date goes!” 
With a small beep, Sakura is gone, (thankfully.) (And so is her song about you and your best friend sitting in a tree doing something so lewd you could only spell it out.) It’s just you and Eunbi, in the gentle end-of-September sunset. 
“Now, would you look at that.” Eunbi laughs sarcastically. Sweat usually drips from the side of the face, right? Not the front? She throws her hands up and places them back down her sides anyway. “I guess I did lose the bag after all.”
Something’s wrong. What is it?
You stare at her, not knowing what to say. It is kind of ironic in a biting-you-back-in-the-ass way that Eunbi’s kidding threat about losing your stuff actually came true. 
“You sure you didn’t see it anywhere?” you ask. You’re starting to lose determination. And for what? You did say you didn’t give a damn about it earlier. How easily your words come to you when you only think of yourself.
“W-well—” 
Yep, there's definitely something wrong. Kwon Eunbi doesn’t stutter. Unless she’s mocking Minju, who’s almost always nervous, or does aegyo as a punishment, she doesn’t trip over her words. “What?”
“Fuck it, I’m sorry, okay?” 
Tears come too easily even to the gutsy Eunbi. It’s always been her Achilles’ heel. She’s a great and friendly leader, but one nice word that hits her right where it needs it or a bad day has her reduced to sobs. She smiles through them, wiping the teardrops with the end of her wrist. 
“And don’t tell me it’s fine just because I’m crying,” she says. The frustration gets to her and soon her sobs attract attention. “It was, a-a shitty thing to do on my end. I know it’s not okay, but I’m sorry.”
She’s a tearful painter of emotions under a night littered with starry skies.
She doesn’t have to hold the brush for the two of you all the time.
Take the brush from her just like how you take her into your arms. Eunbi says not to absolve her of her sin, but you’re a god whose mercy merges with bias. You like her too much. There’s something that pulls at your chest whenever she breaks down. 
The tension partially leaves her stiff shoulders. She sniffles, and it’s an attack straight to your heart. It’s so rare that she becomes so weak. 
“Eunbi—”
She shakes her head before you could go on. “Don’t say it. Please. Let me make it up to you.”
“I’ll say it anyway. It’s fine. I can’t use the stuff in there anyway.” 
“I said no. Hmph.” Her tears blot the front of your shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would cry like this. Don't feel guilty, okay? Okay? I just don’t like giving you a hard time.”
“You never could.” You’d trade more than a backpack for Eunbi’s wellbeing.
Somehow, Eunbi cries more. Her hug circles your waist in almost a chokehold, and you realize that the Kwon Eunbi from years back—the one who made everyone call her Madison, the one who’s always glued to your side—is still here. She’s just older, a little braver, and prettier than you could ever imagine.
Emphasis on the last. Her lashes carry her tears in a biblically beautiful manner, like you ought to kneel and venerate her. The southward curl of her lips is so cute yet painful that you’d give anything to see them lift again.
“You don’t have to say I didn’t do anything wrong…” she tells you quietly. You could hear the guilt infecting her words, evident in the cracks of her voice.
“Well.” You touch your mouth on her hairline. “You have a way of making me say it.”
There’s no mourning for your bag. You suspect that there was none at all, perhaps just shock? Must be why you’re cradling her, like a child would to a doll at night, and letting her feel your touch. Maybe the way she’s closing herself into your embrace is platonic, because at the end of day, you’re still friends. But you don’t feel her breath on your skin for a while after you indirectly forgive her.
Eunbi lifts her face from the comfort of your front. Pouting, she then laughs a little. “What are you doing? You don’t have to be so sweet.”
“I could be sweeter,” you offer. She sighs loudly, tired of your mischief; you grin and pat the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go home.”
The night has downed the temperature, and now the breeze whips her small form back and forth. It’s too cold for her to be walking with no sleeves or at least trousers. So you lift your toga up and slip it around her. It’s bigger than the one she had and lost with your bag. Her hands barely fight their way out of being hidden under the long blue sleeves.
Her eyes reduce to suspicious slits while a smile pastes itself on her lips. “You’re a flirt, you know that?”
You shrug casually. “Born and raised.”
“That’s not how you use it,” Eunbi says, wiping the last of her tears. 
"Might as well go on. I opened the can of worms, now I'll lie in it."
"Jesus."
"What? I made my bed more than I could, now I'll eat it."
“Wow, it’s like you never listened to professor June.”
Wasn’t it just afternoon a few minutes ago? The sky has become a blueish black landscape. The only sources that provide illumination to the streets and alleys are the streetlights and moon, plus the twelve especially bright stars etched into the map of constellations.
“Okay, miss Oh My Gadnis,” you fire back. She gives you a dirty look. You immediately take it back.
She throws her head back and lets darkness take over her vision for a while. Gulp. The light welcomes itself back and she lets out a prolonged, wistful breath. Tiny sobs glaze it. “It’s Minju’s fault. She was always shouting that in the dorm. Makes me kind of miss her.”
In the last years of university, Eunbi made friends with eleven girls. She was the leader of their friend group, the one who made plans and provided solutions. But as graduation crept closer and eventually caught up with them, she won’t be seeing them much again. 
“I can always drive you to your meet-ups. Didn’t get a driver’s license for nothing.” 
“You don’t have to. I already fucked up your day.”
“You didn’t. It’s just a bag, little raindrop.”
The chilly atmosphere tracks your nighttime conversation with your best friend. What do the songbirds, sleeping yet eavesdropping, think of you and her? Does the moon brighten to increase your shadows? It’s like they’re listening in. 
She looks down at the edges of her shoes as they mark their path to home. “What brand was it? I’ll buy you a new one. I-I’ll send the notes to you.”
“No can do. Just do this one thing.”
And now, the night quiets.
When time has chipped away at the lack of lines on your faces and brought forth hell, you’ll be there. Together. You won’t go back here anymore, but there will be prettier places for you and her. It’s what you pray for though you’re not all that spiritual, but you know it’s what you want.
“Let’s… be friends until we’re old and miserable,” you ask of her. Even admitting that you want to be with her makes you shy, and you’re anything than that when you’re around her. So why is this happening? Why are you doing this? “Spend more time together. Doesn’t have to be something grand.”
Eunbi blinks at you. There are undertones to your words, some kind of hidden message a veteran film critic could pick apart if your life were a movie. You’re asking her to be with you, yet there’s depths to it, almost like you’re telling her another thing. 
“Sure,” she whispers, nodding. She can do that.
Again, a lot of subtext. But that’s for another night. 
“Oh,” you add, “and be my backpack since you lost it anyway. Get up.”
Eunbi flinches, but she’s smiling the second you lower yourself for her. 
“Come on. You’re tired, little raindrop. I’ll take you home.”
She sighs. She climbs on your back anyway. You support her legs with your forearms and boost her up. You pay your gratitude to the dark for hiding your flushed cheeks at the feeling of your friend’s body pressed so tight to yours.
“Please don’t do silly shit,” she begs, placing her face next to your neck and fearing the worst.
She’s right to be frightened. Lowering yourself nearly to the ground in preparation, you yell: “Here comes the rollercoaster!”
“No, no, no—ahhhh!”
You zoom Eunbi in the night, feet picking up speed and racing through the road. Her arms are rounded around your neck. She shrieks in delight, and while along the way your legs start to ache, you’re just glad to hear that laugh again. 
-
Gently push the door to your house open with the help of Eunbi's keys, which come with a keychain of a knitted rabbit. Darkness greets you, spreading itself around the house like water.
“Why is it so dark?” whispers Eunbi, looking around and twisting her arms around your neck tighter. 
“You’re such a baby," you chuckle. "It's nighttime, of course it's gonna be dark."
Eunbi whines and squeezes her legs around you. The feel of her fluffy thighs in the curve of your palms—it's… something. You can't think like that about her when she's your best friend, but she's so close, so perfect on top of you that your mind runs with ideas.
"Alright, fine. Turn on the light."
"Where?"
"You’ve slept over so many times and you don't know where it is?"
"Doesn't count when I can't see, genius."
"Right here." Twist your head to the wall, where a light switch stays. "Just near the door."
Eunbi reaches out her hand, and you're cohorts with the dark when you secretly inch the fluff of your sleeve against her fingers. She screeches, suddenly struggling, calling your name and whoever Fuck is. 
This is the way of your prank backfiring on you: her limbs are surprisingly strong that her feather-light weight becomes too much. Your legs start to shiver. Your hands weren’t made to suffer this much wildness.
"Something touched me!" Eunbi screams, kicking you in the spine. You try to hold on to her but her legs don't behave. "A mouse, a mouse, a—"
You start to laugh. She's like a proactive rabbit trying to beat you up. "Calm down, it was just—"
"My hand, it touched my hand! Disgusting piece of shit, get it off—"
"Eunbi!" 
She both clings onto you and pushes you away, scared of what lurks in the dark. You can't take it anymore and drop miserably to the floor. The tiles knock your back out. Eunbi won’t let go of you; her screams never stop.
"Help! My hand—"
"What's going on here?"
The light flickers on, letting you see what's happening. You're in the living room that connects portallessly to the dining room. The ceiling generates dizzy circles above you. And then there's Sakura, an unexpected presence, standing near you.
"Whoa there," she remarks, smug like she’s a journalist who caught a forbidden celebrity couple. "There's a time and place for this, right?"
For a moment, you wonder what she's talking about. You sit up and realize Eunbi's squeezed herself on your lap, with your arms tangled into hers during the mess. 
Flush red. Sakura will never let you hear the end of this: you cradling Eunbi on the floor, with her looking so comfortable snuggled up to your touch. “Something couple something something perfect for each other,” that's what Sakura would say.
"It was just a prank," you mumble to the girl on your lap. Pat her head. Show her the fluffy fabric cuff of your sleeve. "See? There's no mouse."
"What the hell? You're such an asshole!" Eunbi's blade-sharp gaze, it cuts through you. You want to keep bleeding, It's unfair how pretty she is even when she's angry.
"Hey, I can do pranks, too." Turn to Sakura, because the next thing you're wondering is how she's here. "How did you get in, Miyawaki?"
"I drove," she says, like it explains everything. "Should we eat? Your dad left some food in the microwave." 
Eunbi turns shy at Sakura's knowing look as she rises. She pulls you up. The veins in her forearm flex. 
Sakura leaves anyway to fetch the food. You can smell spring rolls and freshly-cooked rice. Your stomach churns—running with Eunbi on your back has burned all that eomuk and left you hungry. 
You look at Eunbi questioningly. "Do you know why she's in my house?"
"No.” She returns your curious expression. “I was hoping you would tell me."
“Christ, what's she doing here?" 
"I'm here," butts in the Japanese girl, bringing forth a plate of crispy rolls and utensils, "because I personally want to help Eunbi unnie in making it up to you.”
She takes the liberty of scooping chunks of rice onto your plates. You dig your fork through one of the spring rolls, place it on Eunbi’s small plate, then get one for yourself. The wooden image of Jesus on watches you closely. You’re suddenly aware of every little sin you’ve made.
“Listen,” says Sakura, and you do just that.
So here’s Sakura’s brilliant idea, funded by her and her friends (somehow, Eunbi doesn’t get to contribute a cut): a trip for Christmas. 
It’s out in Seoul, where it’s snowing at that time of the year, where you’ll get to roam the city and buy whatever you want—all on the house. There’s ice skating to do and restaurants to try, each new and exciting. You’ve never been to Seoul before, but the way Sakura narrates the whole plan makes you look forward to it.
She talks about how her new job is paying her great, and how the fact that the other girlfriends Eunbi has are chipping in makes it an all-in-all win. It’s a friend’s duty, she says, to stick up for when one of them is down, and since Eunbi made a mistake, she’ll gladly take the blame. You’re surprised at how dedicated the girls are. You’ve never seen a bond so deep that they’d pay thousands just for compensation. And for just a thrifted old bag, too.
It’s inevitable that you agree. You have nothing to lose. This is a chance of a lifetime, and you’d love to have a vacation anyway. 
Sakura only has one stipulation:
You have to go with Eunbi.
-
Now it’s not that Eunbi is hard to be around, but she kinda is. It’s not in the usual way—she’s your best friend, not any other girl, and she’s not overly dependent that you have to act as her father or something. She can take care of herself, which can’t be said about a lot of people. 
But this is what sets you off: you’ll be the only one with her in Seoul. A guy and a girl sharing a hotel room. Would it be awkward? Of course. How do you tell her that you won’t look when she dresses up? What do you tell her if you find her bra in your sheets?
Still, she’s your best friend. It shouldn’t be awkward around friends, especially when you’re on the journey of spending more time together. That’s the whole point of the relationship: to be free and careless around someone. It’s supposed to be like that until you see how pretty she actually is, with the flow of her long hair and the crinkle of her eyes.
That’s where it gets difficult. Really, really difficult.
“Hey,” she says, and that’s what breaks your reverie. Looking up at her, however, has you drowned in another.
Black-framed glasses sit on her nose, curling at the ends behind her ears. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, some fringes flying free from the band. It’s such a deadly attack. Then there’s the graphic shirt that hugs her too tight and the denim shorts that cut too close to the starts of her thighs. 
You gulp. When you thought Eunbi couldn’t get prettier, she proves you wrong.
“You like it?” she asks. She twirls around. “I got glasses.”
“I see that,” you reply. Why is your chest immoveable? 
Eunbi grins. “I couldn’t say that until I went to EO.”
You force out a laugh. You look at your phone, scrolling through your feed in search of a little reprieve from how pretty she is. At this point, it’s a constant run around your mine: Kwon Eunbi is so pretty. And she’s not just pretty, too. That’s what makes her so beautiful: the duo of feistiness and painful attractiveness. Can you say that? No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think it.
The first thing Eunbi does when she takes the seat opposite you is swipe a finger through your ice cream. Glare at her. She beams at you. Your reprimand dissolves. 
“How’d you know where I was?”
“Lucky guess,” she says. She decorates the sides of her face with her palms as she looks at you curiously. “What you thinking about?”
You. “I’m still not sure about the whole trip thing.” 
"Come on," she says, and that pout knows how to break away at your attempts to ever hold her accountable for anything. "It's only weird if you make it weird."
Weird is fitting for October anyway. Should have ordered that Halloween special instead of this. 
You were a solo customer in the ice cream parlor until Eunbi came out of nowhere. She always knows where to find you. Telepathy? Power of friendship? Power of something more than that? 
You don't want to think about it.
"It's Sakura," you say, testily, as you shove another spoonful of double dutch in your mouth. The sweetness can't melt your anxiety. "It's always weird when it's Sakura."
Eunbi considers this. "What about when it’s me?"
“What?”
“I said: is it weird when it’s me?”
She’s clever at finding ways to make you stutter. “No,” you tell her quickly, “it’s not you, I promise. Just… it’s only us.”
You and Eunbi, alone in a hotel room. A straight man and woman in the same place, with nobody else around. You have fantasies about how it ends, but you know it'll never happen. But the thing is: you're stupid. You're going to do something you shouldn't, like watch her as she pulls long stockings over her legs. Think about more details than the shadow of her body on the glass shower panels let on. Want your best friend when it's everything you should never do.
“Is that so bad?” Eunbi sighs and looks around, thinking. As she takes in the jolly retro style of the parlor and the waitresses, she continues, “I mean, if you want to, I can find another way to, like, make things good. I can tell Sakura to call it off—”
“No!” 
She looks at you surprisedly. Always, you speak before you think. To be fair, there’s a single thought behind your too-fast outburst: you can’t let this opportunity pass by. But rather than the grand city lights and expensive restaurants, you think about her. 
You cover your mouth. Shit. You have no worries about fucking up in front of her. The worst thing she’d do is make a reference to it in future conversations or joke about it. But right now you’ve just revealed your true intentions. 
You’re lucky Eunbi never takes things to heart.
“Okay, fine, geez.” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head at you. “You really need a vacation, huh?”
The only thing you need is silver rain, but you somehow always wield an umbrella.
-
“Do you like it?”
It’s what Eunbi says, on her knees before she sucks your tip. Groan you must because that tongue is too talented. It’s a skill you could only make faint guesses where it originated. For that, you don’t care anyway—not when she’s slipping and wrapping those perfect lips around your cock, the intent suction making you reel into her face. Almost knocks her specs away, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? Her appeal just goes to an all-time high with them.
“Fuck, yes, Eunbi,” you say. “I love—”
“No. Now that I think about it, you don’t actually get to speak.” She teases your testicles and nurses on one, her hand attending to your stiff erection. “Not until I have my way with you.”
And she does. She switches back to your cock then, like an expert, she bobs her little head up and down, taking you in her throat like it was nothing. The chest of her tight shirt is stained with precum, and some of the foretelling liquid is in her hair. But when has she cared about that? Never, not in the time continuum of this room. She only likes to keep the propriety of servicing you, no matter how red her knees are or how sore her jaw gets.
Eunbi teases her tongue on the lower side of your cock then brings her lips up. You hiss. Her throat welcomes you again, and, with a hand on your thigh, she makes it work. She’s choking, and yet the clever little thing is so diligent with her work. Through choke and sob, those teary eyes looking up at you for validation, she continues. Spit dots your cock and so does lipstick. It’s smudged at the side of her chin.
She licks your cockhead repeatedly. It’s swollen, and she takes advantage of it by licking. And sucking. Then licking it again so rapidly you start to shake.
There’s a greedy glimmer in her tears. “Gonna cum?” she asks. “Please? I want you to.”
Fingers wrapping around your base, she goes down again. Her nose touches your pubic area. You can feel her hot breath tickling your flesh when she rises for a brief and subtle breath. Then it repeats: Kwon Eunbi is forcing her head up and down, lips wet with saliva and precum. The texture of her tight throat and the welcoming pleasure of her mouth brings you too close. Too damn close—
Fill her throat with white so much that she squeals in surprise. A little adorable giggle, then some more hardworking sucking to work your cum out of you. You want to tell her that you’ve become too sensitive, that she shouldn’t continue. But then you never want it to stop.
“Fuck! Eunbi, Eunbi, Eunbi—”
That’s what you say when she continues despite her breaths getting lost. 
“Good girl. Good pretty girl.”
That’s what you say, with your hand on her ponytail, tugging it so she gets access to the oxygen she willingly deprived herself of. Her mouth’s filled with your semen. She’s gasping. Her chin’s lifted to the sky but her eyes gaze only at you. Your approval isn’t what she needs to get by solely, but god, does it make her think so.
“I love you.”
That’s what she says.
But like everything else—this blowjob that made you fail November’s challenge, the sweet talk, her on her knees, her actually liking you—
It could only ever be in your imagination.
-
December couldn’t come any sooner. Packing was an eventful occasion. You bunched up a lot of underwear in your carry-on like you had a habit of pissing yourself. It was only when you got to the airport that you realized that in all the rage to get clean underwear, you didn’t bring socks.
The twenty-third was a day you both dreaded and yearned for. But then you’re in the airplane, traveling through clouds you used to stare up at, and Eunbi’s beside you. Isn’t she always? She falls asleep a couple of times in the airport, head on your shoulder, and you pat her knee to slumber her. Her Sanrio neck pillow is of no use when you’re a better one. 
Why can't you stop staring? She's been a tear in your heart for a long time, making it pulse and ache, but now she's gotten so much prettier, so much more friendly that it isn't really unexpected that you fall for her. Is that your confession to yourself? Perhaps. You could only ever say it to your own heart. 
Picture this, (and, matching that of the many other scenes you’ve dreamed of her in, it would only be real for a while): Eunbi's wearing that shirt from the day she first sported glasses. On your lap. Looking at you with an aura any man with a heterosexual drawing could read. Hands on the edges of her knees. 
She's leaning over, and she's saying—
"That little witch,” she spits, shoving her carry-on, “I can't believe we fly at seven and we had to be here at two a.m., I'm gonna kill Sakura!"
Close enough?
"You got a mouth on you, huh?" you remark. Pull her wheeled suitcase to the mouth of the plane.
Seoul is a paradise. You could see the greatness even from above. A couple of times you have Eunbi wake up to look, and she does. Her evident happiness shines brighter than the city lights.
"It's beautiful," she murmurs excitedly. Even her eyes that are heavy with sleep appreciate the view.
"So it is."
But you could think of other things that are prettier. Other people.
It's autumn, and the golden leaves are starting to fall. They crumple beneath your feet and release crackles that bring a strange sense of satisfaction. Step on another one. And another one. Somehow all your troubles are gone. 
Look at her. 
She’s reading from a book, paging through leaves containing yellowed words. She looks like a nerdy girlfriend with the new look, which you still haven’t gotten over. In any case, she’s so beautiful, and again, your heart is sore.
Eunbi’s deep into the story woven with Shakespearean words, but she catches your prolonged stare. Blinking, she lifts her head. Smiles. Cocks her head sweetly to the side and you swear she can’t look any better than this: long dark hair swaying ‘round her face and glasses making her more adorable. Says, “What ya lookin’ at, handsome?”
Yeah, all gone.
Eunbi loves playing around with nicknames, and she must think you’re vain enough for her to use that when she wants to rile you up. (She does.) You roll your eyes, and she laughs at her own ridiculousness and your attempt to be dismissive.
“Someone who’s prettier than ever,” you reply. Raise your chin. “You know her?”
“You really love me, huh?” 
“Never said it was you.”
“Oh, darling.” Eunbi licks her lip. “I know it’s me.”
Well, shit.
Eunbi’s the only girl you know who could respond to your teasing. The only person, for that matter. Even the men start to back away. She’s the sole person who can handle you, and you yourself could barely handle her. Good friends don’t suddenly lose their breath when she gets near. Good friends don’t think of ever, ever crossing that borderline between platonicness and romance.
So it’s safe to say you’ve been a bad friend all along.
“Since you’re, like, so obsessed with me…” Eunbi rises and hands you her phone. The phone case is red—of course. “Take a picture of me, please?”
She rises from the bench, and you wince inside at how good she looks. It should seriously be prohibited to look that attractive. You've tried to keep your head clear of her, but then she stands up in those teeny tiny safety shorts, fucking hugging her thighs and that supple backside. Why did she choose to go in that? Not even a skirt to go with it, or dress pants? You’re not one to nitpick at what others wear, but you feel something stirring inside you when she dresses more freely.
And red—it just looks so good on her, doesn't it? That simple tight sweater has you begging for forgiveness. You'd go to a priest, confess your sinful yearning, and you don't think that he'd forgive you after how you describe it.
"Will do," you say, chewing on your lip. "Get to posing. We don't have all day."
"Not to burst your bubble," she tells you, " but we do. But I'm a good girl, so I'll do as you say."
Swallow. Why the fuck is she like this?
"You sure as shit aren't, little rain—"
She bends over. 
The question repeats in your head. She bends over, (forward anyway), but if any shameless man were to walk behind her, they'd get an eyeful of her butt. You want to tell her she shouldn't do this, especially when her bottoms grip her thighs as a sole factor. But she's holding her bag in the edges of her fingers and angling her head to the side, and you know you’re over.
"—drop."
Eunbi smirks, haughty and proud. "Cat got your tongue back there?"
"Not even close. Give me a smize."
Proud of yourself for recovering quickly, you snap a photo of Eunbi. The look she gives the camera (you?): relaxed brows, slight pout, the black eyewear being the cherry on top—it's not easy baggage to carry for a man like you.
You put the phone down. Take a breather; you always have to when you're with her. Kwon Eunbi, national heart player. Kwon Eunbi, number one prank puller. Kwon Eunbi—
—your friend. Your best friend. 
"What's wrong?" All that confidence evaporates from her as she walks up to you, concern taking its place. 
She can be really scary sometimes. How could she be a flirt one second then a sweetheart the next? You're kept guessing, and you're guilty for liking girls like that. But as you study her, look at Kwon Eunbi—her hair and the band that sits atop it, her lips, her face—you kind of figure out that there's no other girl like her. 
And that scares you.
"Nothing," you lie. "You wanna go get coffee or something?"
"Actually," she states seriously, rising, "I do wanna go get coffee or something."
-
The twenty-fourth. The malls are crowded with people buying last minute presents, so you and Eunbi sat on the bench outside. It might be Seoul, but you’re not fighting your way through a crowd. While you stayed there and waited for time to feel wrong, a rich woman mistook you for a beggar, pitied you, and gave you a coin. As you stared at the bust on the metal, Eunbi laughed so hard you were not totally uncertain that she was going to throw up.
"We should leave," Eunbi says, "before someone tries to bring you to a damn church basement."
And the scene repeats itself again: you talk with Eunbi, like you've done a million times, as you go to your home for this night and the next. You talk about everything, because conversations come so easily when it's her. Whether it's about stupid people or school or what happened that day, the words flow naturally. 
Eunbi bites her lip, hands on her hips. "It's getting late."
"That a problem for you?" 
"No. Nope. It's just that… I can't believe it's going to be Christmas tomorrow." 
Christmas lost its spark back when you got into college. You've graduated and still you find no solace in the stockings and evergreen trees. School—oh, its deadlines, its pressure, its it-won't-matter-in-five-years-but-I'll-make-you-think-it-will papers—really ruined things for you. Forever. 
She drags her vision around everything: the sky of stars, the roads that are just a bit cleaner than the ones at your home, the claw machine arcade just across the sidewalk. She goes there, and you follow. Don’t you always?
"It’s Christmas and we're here," she continues. She manages a snortle. "Doesn't your dad feel lonely? I know mine does."
"He likes you, Eunbi. He doesn't mind."
You pull out a bill and slip it into the old exchanger. Sure enough, tokens spill from the gap. Count them in your palm. Divide it between the two of you. You and Eunbi always share, no matter how hard you try to make it seem annoying. You only ask for one drink and one straw. You split rice balls from that trip in grade eleven when your parents forgot to give you allowance for lunch, up until college when the two of you were too broke to eat anything else. What’s yours is Eunbi’s, and what’s Eunbi’s is yours.
"What first?" She studies the old arcade. It's filled with machines that are either anciently old or freshly new. No owner patrols the areas, but instead, a CCTV does so mounted perfectly on the corner of the walls. It watches your every move, reminding you to behave.
"Wanna get a Piglet?" 
“A what?”
“A Piglet. You know, the one who looks like an armadillo.”
“What the fuck is an armadillo?” Eunbi says the English name with spite, almost spitting it into the ground. 
“Forget it. I mean like the cartoon pig people say looks like you?”
"Oh. Nah. A good ol’ vibrating egg for me." She thrusts a thumb into the glass of an 18+ claw machine, where it tempts the player with boxed sex toys and hentai copies.
Heat flares at your cheeks. Now it’s not that you’re thinking of it, but it’s Eunbi’s dirty jokes that make you think of stuff you shouldn’t. Her on her bed, legs spread wide open as the toy pulses on her clit, her throwing her head back and crying…
"Spend my money wisely, please?" you croak out. Slip a token into one machine and start to crank at the lever. 
"I'll be good." 
Your hand curls tighter around the ball of the lever. You hate how you picture double meanings with everything she says. She doesn't deserve that. And you don't either.
Eunbi prances over to the Piglet machine anyway. You want to snicker at her antics, but it gets broken when you see her bend down. The jeans could only hug her backside so much. Her shirt lifts and you could see her tummy—that flat, soft midriff that you’ve wrapped your hands around when you guide her back on the occasion she runs too fast. Or when she needs to move away. She doesn’t mind; she touches you more freely anyway. But you wonder if she’d let you come up behind her and place your hands all over it, not as friends but as something more.
Because for a friend, she sure does take up a lot of your mind.
Put your focus on this keychain. Yes, this one. This keychain is cute. Would be nice to bring something home to your father. You guide the claw to the nearest one and slam the button. To your surprise, the metal actually hinges around the keychain. You could feel your soul lift up to your throat.  It just needs to make it all the way to the hole—
“Shit!” you curse as the claw lets go. That can’t be fair, right? It was doing so well, then it just spread open again. What a waste of time and money.
“Loser,” giggles Eunbi. She shows off a Piglet stuffie, pink and simpering. 
“Wow, really needed to hear that. Thanks, Eunbi.”
She lifts her shoulders. “Hey, for what it’s worth: I just got lucky.”
Tokens become nothing to you. You try again and again for a prize to make it your money’s worth, only to end up with nothing. Eunbi scores a candy from the kids’ section, and you could see her consider trying out the 18+ ones. The appeal of the Playboy magazines and the Japanese girls looking back lewdly at her with barely no underwear on is beguiling.
“Do you think I should try to get a dildo or something?” Eunbi asks, running her knuckles along the markered glass. 
“You don’t even know if it’s clean.” You’re leaning against the outside exchanger, staring into nothingness. But you always manage a little response for Eunbi, as absurd as her questions are and as wild your thoughts are about her. “You might get an STD or some shit.”
Her face squeezes up in disgust. “Ew, right. Forget it.” 
You feel her warm body press into your side later. You’re still surprised even though the girl never leaves you alone. Then her head is on your shoulder, just like in the airport, and your heart surges. How do you deal with her? Pet her arm, and somehow she finds a way to sink deeper in your touch. She looks up at you and offers you a kind smile.
“I got you the keychain,” she says. She drops the Seoul keychain on the hand she forced you to open and looks away modestly. “Saw you sweating over it.”
“Thanks.” You look down at it on your palm and feel warm inside. She really is so sweet. “Appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” Eunbi replies quietly. “It’s the least I could do.”
She purses her lips tightly and exhales through her nostrils. Guilt floats in her face like a dark shadow. 
“If it’s about the bag, I already told you it’s okay. I mean, it’s just a bag.”
“So? It means a lot to you.”
Your thoughts race with your words and win, forcing them out. “You do, too.” 
Is she blushing? No. No, can’t be. But she’s stroking your palm with the keychain on it, a little tilt at the edge of her lips. That’s kind of close to that. Friends do this, right? 
Her touch feels both foreign and familiar. You want to reel back and apologize for something you didn’t do, but then you want to hold her. Make her happy. Is that alright?
“Speaking of which,” she says pensively, staring into nothingness like you are, “what do you think happened to it?”
“The bag? I dunno.” Bring back her attention—eyes on me—by actually holding her hand. Sometimes you could be so brave. Toy with it, swinging your joined hands in the air then pressing them to your chest. You laugh at the suspicion clear on her face. “Probably in some lost-and-found counter. Or someone actually stole it and was like, ‘yep, hit the jackpot.’”
“Like trouvaille,” she says.
“What?”
“Trouvaille,” Eunbi repeats. She breaks her gaze from the space on the road and looks down at her sneakers. “A lucky find.”
A lucky find.
Staring at her is your pastime at this point. Your focus glazes over her once more, and you drink her all up. Two locks of her hair are pulled and tied at the back, making her look absolutely gorgeous. You’re lost in her eyes, like they’re an ocean and you’re on a raft floating on its waves. And of course, those glasses—you’re convinced they were made to make you want to do sinful things to her.
But the urge to sweep her in your arms takes over, and it outweighs your lust. Or are they equal? She looks so beautiful, yet so handsome. So pure and sweet, yet such a bombshell.
“Forgive me, but I must reiterate.” She tilts her head with a silly little grin. “What ya looking at?”
You’ve figured it all out. You wonder why you were ever worried.
"Well," you lead a runaway lock of dark hair back behind her earlobe, "guess I’m just lucky to have found you. Even if you're a nuisance."
Her eyes crease up into half-moons. "And I'm lucky to have met you."
"Even… ?"
"Nothing after. Just that: I'm lucky to have met you."
You never meant to actually do it. But it’s become too silent, like the world is leaving the cards on your table to play. And there’s her certain hold on your fingers, like she wants you to do it. There’s the birds tweeting as they gather into the trees for the night, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The stars, too, are bright tonight.
So who could blame you for nailing her to the claw machine and finally, finally kissing her? Her lips are as soft as they look, and you’re melting in them. You’re still holding her hand, keeping it pinned up to her side. Your tongues come out to play and it’s so much better than you imagined, so much better than your stupid little fantasies. Your eyelids shut, too, because this is an experience you never want to end.
That collarbone will be the end of you. It peeks from the neckline of her shirt, and you suddenly have all the courage to seal your lips on it. If only you could have mustered the same courage back in college to socialize, but you’re glad you saved it all up for this moment. Eunbi’s moan is sharp, and it almost makes you falter, almost makes you stop. Nope, can’t do that. When she’s letting out all these other little sounds as you have your way with her, there’s no way you’d let up.
“Hmmm…” Eunbi twists her head to the side and cries out. It unintentionally grants you access to her flawless neck. You leave some flaws: purple bruises she whines at, harsh open-mouthed kisses that trail saliva all over that pale skin. “I need to tell you something.”
You brush your mouth behind her ear. You can smell her faint perfume. “And that is?”
“I lied about wanting to get a drink.” She scoffs at her desperation, then sighs. She gives in either way. “I fucking hate coffee. Hate it. Hate it like a mother hates her firstborn. Or something. Just hate it, hate it, hate it.”
You shake your head. What an unfitting time to say that. Cradle her anyway. “Then why did you get some with me?” you ask.
“I-I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to be with you.”
Wait, so what about all those times you invited her for a study session at the cafe? She had always ordered a latte. Has she been hiding that silly secret each second, just for a chance to hang out with you? To have your company?
You didn’t know coffee would flatter you this much.
You pause. Does she like you? As much as you like her? You don’t know. You’re momentarily flustered. Step back and scratch the back of your neck, similar to a boy having been caught doing something wrong. Kissing your best friend is something wrong. 
You shouldn’t be doing this. A friendship between two heterosexual people of the opposite gender could stray to lengths that are both painful as they are excruciating if someone dared to touch the other. So, if you kissed Eunbi, who could predict the consequences? Chances are you’ve ruined your friendship forever.
Then she grabs your waist and pulls you close. Kisses your chin ‘cause that’s all she can reach and she can barely reach it at all. But it sends shivers down your knees.
“Come on,” she whispers breathily. “Don’t be shy. Touch me.”
Foolish to stop and think. Your immediate yet hesitant reaction is to give her jawline one final kiss and slip your hands under her shirt. 
“Oh!” 
Alright, you’re a lot more confident now. You pull the cups of her bra down and start to squeeze. It’s no secret that she’s got a blessed bust, and now you get to feel it. Her nipples are hard in your palms and the flesh in your hold is just so soft. You could never get enough.
Eunbi laughs. Sort of; it’s kind of a moan, too. She lifts her chin to the sky as you knead and knead and knead. “H-how long… have you been waiting to do that?”
It’s an achievement making her stutter. More stammering breaths leave her lips when you thumb her nipples. Press, thumb, pinch, repeat. It’s how you find out she’s just so damn sensitive, and of course you’re abusing that fact.
“You don’t want to know,” you reply, brushing your lips over hers. 
She gasps. “Again.”
“Huh?”
Eunbi kisses you. “Kiss me. Like this. Again.”
Is anyone aware, by the way, that you are completely incapable of refusing her?
You kiss her, like she asked. She sighs happily, her tongue suddenly coming out to play. More sensations of softness are at hand, and now you’re battling for the upper hand with your tongue responding to her gestures. 
Two can play this game. You slip your tongue through her lips and she sucks it, almost like she’s aware of who’d be controlling who. You force her up to the claw machine glass (plastic? It’s pretty sturdy) so hard that your kissing isn’t gentle by any means. It’s leaving her breathless.
“You’re… you’re good,” she hums, when you finally reward her with a break. “I wanted to be the first girl you did that to.”
The revelation definitely isn’t linked to how hard you’re nibbling on her jawline. Her shuddering breaths are everything.
“Actually,” adds Eunbi, “I wanted to be the first everything for you. First kiss, first love, first time. But you just had to date Hyewon, huh?”
“Jealous?”
“Nope. Never. Just, oh, don’t stop–” Eunbi winces, ribbons her fingers through your own more. “Oh…” 
Your tongue swirls on her neck. Meanwhile, your hands are busier. You squeeze Eunbi’s fantastic breasts so that her leg pulls you close. Your obvious erection pushes against her center. Her hips start to move, bringing herself closer to your rod and getting off on the feeling. Her little whines increase.
Then you remember something.
“Have to.” You retrieve your fingers from under her shirt. Regretfully. Fix her bra back on her.
She’s near tears. “No…” 
“There’s a CCTV, little raindrop. You wanna get arrested?”
You’re out of breath. You pull the ends of her shirt down to hide evidence of the crime, though there’s the camera witness to it, and try to lead her outside. She refuses to budge. Her glare is clear.
“If that means you get to fuck me till I’m begging and drooling,” she says solidly, “then take me to court.”
-
You take her home instead.
She looks frail waiting at the glass doors as you purchase some contraceptives from the convenience store, almost whining when you take too long. How the fuck do they have lube, too? You buy that and all the contraceptives they have, because if you want to have Eunbi, you gotta do it fast and safe.
She manages to wait on the elevator, hand wrapped tightly around your palm. Then, when you get to the room, she pushes you down the bed as if she were actually taller and stronger. She truly is an actress—wasn’t she just squirming impatiently not less than five minutes ago? Directors would look at her for sure, a face to remember among plain ones, and say, “Oh, this is our trouvaille. This is what’ll make us billions.” 
But now, she’s all yours. Your little trouvaille.
There’s pride in that.
“Fuck. Can’t wait to have someone like you.” She kisses you. Again. Another one to your chest. She’s a little greedy with the way she devours you. But you’ll spoil her as much as she wants; curve your body up so her cushiony lips could have more. Your back is buried into the white sheets. “Someone who is you.”
Grasp the small of her neck—her kisses are surprisingly passionate. "Wait,” you say, “you're not a virgin?" 
It doesn’t bother you; just surprises you. Eunbi’s had a fair amount of suitors and boyfriends, and plenty looked too frail to even hold her hand. 
"Virgin? Hell no," she replies, like it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever heard. The center of her jeans grinds against the mountain in yours. She bites her lip. "Mmm. You think with all this hotness a dude would go, 'Oh, I only want to take care of her'?"
"I do want to take care of you," you murmur, caressing her waist.
"Oh?" A grin stretches on her face. Her teeth still trap her lower lip, and it makes your stomach tighten. Your jeans, too. "Tell me more."
“For one,” you sit up and play with the belt loops on her pants, “I’d like to help you out of your clothes.”
“Typical,” she mutters amusedly. “But I’m not complaining.”
Eunbi continues grinding for long seconds that already feel like a taste of heaven, then rises. Her legs are jelly. You can’t imagine how wet she must be, and to think you’d finally see exactly how. She undoes your zipper, and you in turn pull down hers. Your pants are a whirlpool on the floor. It’s only when you roll on the condom and help her out of the shirt that you realize what she’s wearing:
Calvin Klein, from bust to bottom. Her navel sits above the band of the underwear. Her midriff looks even more perfect bare. Flatness travels through its front until it swells largely at her breasts, which look heavy behind the gray bra. Her hair falls messily over her shoulders, a sea of wildness, and her smile is dorkier with those glasses.
“Fuck.” Your Adam’s apple bobs. “Eunbi...” 
“Will you?” she challenges.
You stand up and grab her ass to usher her closer, then kiss her. She smirks; she expected that to happen. Of course, the little devil, always getting her way. But you can’t help but give and give and give; you turn your positions around, push her gently so that she lands on the bed, and continue to kiss her.
Silky legs curl around you. Behind the fabric, you could already feel how wet she is. Drive your hips up because the friction is too good. The wet spot of arousal on her underwear prods your clothed erection. 
Eunbi screams loudly. Chastise her with a squeeze on her butt cheek. She yelps, and your lips land on her again. “Easy there.”
“I hate you,” she groans, slapping your arm impatiently. She whines when you poke her cheek. “Give it to me.”
“Give it to me what?”
Eunbi huffs. “You want me to call you daddy on the first day? Really? I mean, that’s fine, I can do that. But can’t we dial it back?”
“You watch so much porn that you forget basic politeness.”
“Wow, hypocrite. Fuck you—”
“Baby.” 
That shuts her up. Your thumb caressing teasing rhythms on her face plays a big role, too. Her ears are pink at the ends and she genuinely looks shocked. No, not shocked. Can’t be just that anyway. But that tiny pout pulling south at the ends and the tiniest of pants escaping it tell you what you have to know. You and Eunbi can communicate with just a look, and this one she gives writes to you a message of want. 
“You alright? It’s okay, Eunbi. Baby.” Proud to have ruined all her feistiness, you tip her chin up. “I want you to say it.”
Wait, patiently. It’ll take time and you’re not one to rush. When she starts to talk again, her voice is barely above a whisper. 
“Please.” She nods and nods, like she was doing it just in case you started to doubt. “Please fuck me.”
“Good girl,” you tell her. You’ve always wanted to. You can tell it’s the same for her.
You ease her out of her underwear and find her pussy prettily shaven, glistening wet. Light stickiness lines the insides of her thighs. Her lips down here are just as beautiful up there. You glide your fingers up and down between them, a choreography you’ll never get tired of performing again. Your touch is light yet you manage to put your hand on and in all the right places.
Oh, well, barely in. But that’s the fun of it; teasing Eunbi is a newfound hobby. In little time, it’s become your most favorite. Your touch is so light that when you edge the tips of your fingers inside, it’s already a lot to take. She lets out a humbled little growl, shoulders straightening. Mouth slacking. Thighs shuddering.
“No, no, why does it feel so—” Her voice breaks. Her face squeezes up and she’s crying out in strained, tiny sounds. 
Your digits gently curl on the entrance of her pussy, touching her sore clit and making it throb with the stimulation. Eunbi’s lost count of the times she’s done the exact same thing to herself: lying in her bed screaming out silently with only her hand to turn to. And now she’s here, with you doing it for her. 
Slip one finger inside, and even with that she’s already so tight. You start to pump her, each driving her nearer and nearer to the headboard. She’s whining, like no, no, oh, please don’t stop. You add another to hear it more.
“You prick,” she squeals out, palm to her mouth. “If you stop, I’m gonna kill you. I swear, I swear, don’t play around with me.”
“You’re in no place to be making threats, Eunbi.” 
This is her punishment: a speed her little pussy can’t take. She’s so tight that you’re already struggling. Trust that she is, too. She’s thrashing around on the bed, disheveling the sheets the staff oh-so-carefully fitted back. Hold her down so she gets to feel the force of your pace. 
How did she manage to peek in your mind, collect all your fantasies about her, and act them out? She’s there, in her Calvin Klein underwear, shaking at your fingerfucking and flashing you the most needy looks from behind those glasses. That’s gotta come from somewhere. Watch the float of her tummy when you jam your fingers harder; the quiver in her arms when you part her legs more. Now you’re certain.
Because see, it’s how it’s all so frightening: Eunbi’s Eunbi, your best friend and someone you’ve fallen in love with, and it’s the fact that you shouldn’t be crossing the line. You shouldn’t be fingering her with a madness of thousands when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be touching and leading her on when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be—
But oh, you are. 
You’re doing it with the courage of someone who knows damn well what they’re doing is wrong, and with no regrets. 
“In me.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command, veiled under a breathy tone. “Now.”
You pull your fingers out of her and lick them. You don’t know if she’s tangy or sweet or bitter, but you do know she’s fucking delicious. “Whatever you say,” is your reply, because you’re always spoiling her.
Eunbi separates her thighs from one another. Your protected cockhead bumps against her clit when you approach. She flinches, but scurries herself near. She can’t stop staring at you, your cock, your stomach. Everywhere. It makes you possess a kind of narcissistic theory that perhaps she’s just as obsessed with you as you are with her.
You’ve never hoped this hard for a conspiracy to become true.
"Please." Eunbi's breath shortens, and she closes her eyes. She’s suddenly quiet, letting go of her harsh neediness. "Please rub your cock on me. On my clit. Without the condom."
Look at her throbbing nub and catch your breath. Barely. You run your fingers below the sensitive pearl. Then, on it. Under it, too, with little weight in order for the heat to circle around. "I don't know if we should, little raindrop."
"You can put it back on after, i-if you want." Her begging is borderline desperate. No wonder she isn’t sassing you. "I’m on the pill. Should have told you, I’m sorry. But I just want to know what it feels like. Please?"
“Are you sure?” 
She nods. Not that you need it to know what she wants.
You unroll the condom. Her mouth waters, even more when you do as she says. She’s right to be curious—it feels so fucking good that you’re afraid you have to put it on before you cum all over her. She whimpers quietly, the heat gathering in her clit and her legs suddenly tensing.
“Gah—” Eunbi sobs and catches the side of her fist in her mouth. “Oh god, please.”
“Seriously, you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”
“Shut up,” she gasps. “Just put it in me.”
Sure you will, but you can’t resist flicking your cock between her lips. Your tip teases her entrance and slaps her clit. Eunbi lets out a lengthy groan. It transforms into a girlish cry, and you kiss it all away. What you don’t know is the moment you push yourself inside, no amount of petting would get her to quiet down.
So you do.
“You are so—” Eunbi’s legs stretch out. They require an anchor, and you’re glad to act as one. You place your hands firmly on her thighs and start to push yourself inside the delicious tightness. Every time you try to push past the limits, her pussy only closes more around you. She’s all wet and aroused yet she remains so goddamned tight.
She’s slippery but firm in holding your cock inside that warm, wet hole. She has to stop tensing her stomach so that she won’t deprive you of her. It’s hard to push, but one powerful thrust drives you all the way in, making it worth it after everything. She spreads her thighs more which gives you the chance to feel them, and you’re right for grabbing the opportunity. Grabbing her thighs, to be specific.
Each thrust helps spread her out. You’re pushing her apart and forcing her limits to be taken down. Her pussy sleeves your shaft so well, so tight yet so perfect. You slam harder. Take in the beautiful imagery of Eunbi’s small cunt taking more than it could. Its hold is so enclosed that you’re required to guide her legs up to welcome your dick deeper.
“I’m seriously so angry at you,” she hisses out. She bears every drill with a pleasured face and a fist that chokes the sheets to material death. “How did you not dick me down… all those years ago, huh? What a fucking tease, fuck—”
Make up for it by choosing a rocky pace. She won’t relax, and it’s straining you. You’re so deep inside her yet you can tell there’s more to excavate—her tensed body just won’t let up. It’s like every time you roll your hips, her velvety walls close more around you.
“Well, I didn’t know you were so tight,” you say, kissing her collarbone. Tiny nibbles here and there before you give it a lick. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Oh, you’re sorry? Then fuck me harder.”
You’re terrible at apologies, but you’re sure she’ll forgive you this time. Your core releases a mighty strength in shoving between her open legs. Even that sexy Calvin Klein bra can’t stop her godly tits from bouncing. Her glasses are lopsided while her vision goes loopy behind them.
Her cheeks inflate in labor as her lower body rises to greet you. She’s so adorable; it pinches your heart and leads your mouth down so you can kiss her shoulder and clavicle. See, you’re a good multitasker after all; you can destroy the heat in her center while worshiping her body. It’s good practice. Question is: would there be more times to exercise it?
“That’s it, yes,” Eunbi breathes out. Her hums of affirmation stutter even without her lips opening. “You know what I’ve always imagined? It’s this, it’s always this. When I’m supposed to be studying, I just think of how good you’d pound me. How you’d make me scream. Do what you want to me, okay? Hnnn, so big.”
Plenty of similarities between you and your best friend: your quickness to speak before taking the time to contemplate it, the clothes you accidentally mix and match, your ages. But what you didn’t know is when you sit down at your laptop plagued by thoughts of her, she’s somewhere in her own place being overwhelmed by ones of you. The heat somehow multiplies. Fills the room like a verse.
Therefore, you must hold her in place, give her a false reassurance that you’re going to take her slow. Do so, but then your thrusts become unmeasured and rapid. One hand on the side of that flawless waist, you lead the other to her bra. Harshly pull it down and let her boobs spill out of it. You start to squeeze them hard. Her chest is so bountiful that even the width of your hand can’t map it fully. So you squeeze, forcing it to fit in your fingers, and start to pinch. Her nipple is sore with arousal.
“Oh—oh—oh, shit.” She’s sobbing. But unlike the other times you’ve seen her cry, this one is out of pure bliss. “Just like that. Such a good dick, such a good boy, thank you.”
Your ears heat up. “You’re a pretty good girl, too, Eunbi.” 
“You’re terrible at this.”
She mewls helplessly when you suddenly ramp up the pace. You’re doing her like you’re determined to make her pregnant. It’s the last thing you want to happen, but the grinds make it look otherwise. Along the expedition of your cock, it rubs her needy cunt and makes her drench your cock with more wetness. Enjoy the tightness, enjoy the squeeze of her hole. She’s so warm and wet that you don’t think you could live having only done this once with her. There’s gotta be more, right?
“What about now?” you ask, unable to resist smirking at how she’s now completely broken apart. Then, mirror her words from some days back that drove and still drive you crazy, as ridiculous as they are: “Cat got your tongue back there?”
She chokes up and is rendered even more lost for breath when you start to lose control of your own moans. They harmonize in an erotic chorus with hers and soon you’re muffling them with another torrid liplock.
“You’re a bully,” she says, the words mashing with your teeth and lips. “A heartbreaking, flirty, mean bully.”
Your noses nuzzle against each other. “You like me that way.”
“I’m not commenting… on, t-that.”
“Good. Because you know what you need to do? Cum for me. You’re shaking, Eunbi. Bet you wanna cry and get there so bad.”
“Y-yes!” Eunbi curses with that adorable lisp. She starts to stammer at the thumb floating and frisking on her clit, and she gives you this watery-eyed needy look that tells you, along with her stiff nubs and desperate gasping, she’s close.
You start to swipe at her clit and fit yourself lower in her. Eunbi gasps. She sits up though her forearms barely could handle the weight of what you’re doing, and stares down at your handiwork. She feels hot all over. You’re not helping calm her down. But you are aiding her orgasm, (which, by the way, is so near she can taste it.)
“What are you doing, you’re making me lose it���gonna—”
No need for her to continue for you to understand when she’s creaming all over you. Your rapid rubs on her clit don’t cease and neither do your thrusts. Eunbi’s yelling so hard that you’re afraid that even the well-built four walls of your hotel room won’t contain her noises. However, at the same time, you want them to hear her. That girl you always have your arm around on? Yep, she’s yours. That girl who always steals your socks and shirts? Just the same.
Eunbi’s mouth pinches up before sighing loudly, followed by a series of other gaspy breaths. You could hear a venerating one the moment the tightness becomes too much for you to handle and thus milks you of cum. You fill her so much that it drips off her lips. Your gentle thrusts guide the mixture of her cum and yours back inside her.
“That good enough for you?” you ask, pulling out.
Gently close her mouth and wipe the saliva that dribbles down it. When you lead it back to her mouth, she sucks on your aiding thumb. You take the liberty of running your finger along the soft pillows of her lips.
Add: “You’re incredibly demanding when you’re being fucked.”
Anyone could have guessed that it would be that way if they saw how she’s sitting there giving you teary puppy eyes.
“Of course. You know why?” She gives you a tired yet satisfied look, a triumphant one, too. “I know you would give me more if I asked.”
Fix her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “You give yourself too much credit.”
“Okay. Fine.” 
Eunbi stands up. She steals your attention from her heaving, heavy breasts when she gets on her knees. She squirms her thighs together, letting your creampie leave visible evidence. She massages your thighs, and it makes you even more turned on. 
“Tell me,” she says, another challenge, “that you won’t give me your cum. Tell me I’m such a bad girl that I don’t deserve all of it on my face. Hell, tell me you won’t even dare give me a nice, hot load down my throat as a reward for taking you well.”
You’re speechless. How do you react to this? She’s on her knees, riling you up and about to get to sucking you off. It’s another dream come true. And you hate how she’s right to death. She always is.
“Tell me all of that,” she concludes, “and I’d know you’re a fucking liar.”
Your tongue can’t form a fragment. Not even a stutter is born in your throat. Eunbi stares up at you, her hands neatly folded on her lap. She’s waiting, and you want to tell her it’s fruitless. You can’t tell her anything because it would prove her point. Plus, she’s gorgeous, so what now?
She clicks her tongue. Hums out a contained, satisfied laugh. “Thought so.”
Here’s how it starts: she licks at your tip repeatedly, keeping in mind how sensitive it is after having just cum inside her. Sparks of heat knot there. Then she leads it between her lips, and you’re on your toes again. She just slides those full, pink lips over you so perfectly. From the base to the head she goes with barely a complaining mouth. To you, it’s everything already. But to her—oh no, don’t get it twisted: this is just the beginning of it. A teaser to what will happen.
Her tongue laps side to side while she takes you in her mouth. You let out a stilted breath.
“Damn, you really, really like that, huh?” She pauses momentarily to lick your balls, then travels her tongue to the sides of your rod. With one lick, there’s another ball of heat tightening in you. And another; you’re moaning. 
“Y-yeah.”
“I see.” (She doesn’t; she’s closed her eyes while nursing your sore cock. Okay, now she does.) “What’s something you really wanted to do to me?”
You exhale. It’s the only laugh you can manage to create. “Ah. Where do I even begin?” 
Eunbi brushes your cockhead over her pouted lips. Your toes curl. “Tell me? Please?” she says.
Talking to Eunbi is easy. You can tell her anything and she’d be there, listening patiently and adding a joke sometimes. But when you’re asked to narrate all the things you’ve wanted to do to her, it’s a difficult task.
How do you say you’ve wanted to bend her over a desk while you finish between her legs?
How do you say you’ve strained for the opportunity to ask her out, with the first date being consummated by steamy, romantic sex by the moon?
How do you say you’ve wished for everything, from romantically cheesy to filthily rough, when it comes to her?
“I—I’ve thought about cumming in your throat,” you admit. That’s the first step. You run your fingers through her hair. Take care not to mess the braids. “Making you swallow all of it.”
Eunbi looks smug. “Sure, I can do that,” she chirps. “I mean, I’m me, right?”
“You’re a brat.”
“So make me shut up. Stuff this fat cock down my throat. Make me gag with your load. You always wanted to, right?”
Eunbi’s a challenging girl. She pushes you to go the extra mile, makes you do things you never thought you could. Tonight is no different.
You don’t care to keep the aesthetics of her hairdo anymore. You bunch her hair up in one tight ponytail then shove yourself inside. No gentleness in your body, you feed her wet and waiting mouth.
What bests the other in terms of tightness: her pussy or her throat? You don’t know. Can’t choose properly either. Observe anyway: this orifice provides the perfect wetness and a tongue that services you with glides and licks. Then you have that tight hole when you push yourself deep. You can feel her breaths being blocked by your girth.
Start to thrust away. In the beginning, she still has it in her to suck. You can feel the strength of it doing away at your length. But now, she can barely breathe to even do it. You’re just pushing her face into your stomach and her nose to your navel. You’re using her, which you’ve sworn you never would do. But she’s asking for it. Can’t you break your oath just once? Or at least, whenever she asks for it?
“Can I say how pretty you look like this?” 
The blush on her cheeks adds to the aura of it all. Her eyes are glowing with tears as they blink at you, and she’s started to salivate all over you. She can’t take it all, yet she’s so determined to that you want to stop and praise her. As you fuck her face sloppily, the thought that she’s beautiful still hasn’t left your head. Even when you’re ruining her, you’re still starstruck.
You’re a little flustered yourself. She’s so gorgeous that it sometimes makes you want to go call every visual storm in a rainforest ugly. She’s the prettiest little raindrop, and you stand by that.
“You’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll take all that I’ve got for you?”
She nods so innocently you wouldn’t think that she was having her face used.
She’s promised you to swallow all of your cum, and Kwon Eunbi? She never breaks promises.
Twist the ponytail you’ve bunched together to push her head firm to your stomach. She chokes, her throat constricting. Just what you wanted. You limit the movement of your hips so that you could shove that pretty face into you and make her put that mouth to good use. She’s good at that; even with her gags that somehow sound more heavenly than concerning, she takes and takes and takes your length. 
Pounding away, you bask in the squeeze of her throat, her hold on your thighs, her eyes tearing up. Her glasses are lopsided, and this time you don’t fix them. You caress her cheek then tilt her chin up. Her mouth’s an easy place to access in this position. The imprint of your cock bobs in her thin neck.
“Oh!” she gasps for air once you retreat. 
She sucks sloppily on you when you rub yourself on the inside of her cheek to lead you to a climax. After you’re certain it’s right around the corner, you start to jerk off in front of her face. As much as you’d love to completely release her, you want to see Eunbi fill her mouth with your semen.
Eunbi’s a good girl, so you found out. She doesn’t need instructions for her to cleverly part her lips and wait for it. Her heavy breaths fan your penis.
“Almost there, little raindrop,” you say, “just be good and wait.”
She sticks her tongue out and you aim for it. Eunbi closes in and fills the top of her tongue with your thick release. It pools in her mouth so satisfyingly that you almost wish you could keep cumming forever—not for the pleasure of it but to see her keep that desperate face on.
“Swallow.”
Eunbi shows off the plentiful evidence of your orgasm puddling in her mouth, then does so. After she gulps, she pants. Laughs a little, too. She has a way of finding humor in the most absurd situations. For example: your professor’s voice cracking in the middle of a rant. Your dad calling her “a very well-mannered young lady.” Having her face fucked.
“Do you know you’re, ah, shaking?” she asks, fixing her exposed bosom back in her bra. 
(You are.)
(But, to be fair, she’s made a mess on the carpeted hotel room floor. That’s kinda worse. The saliva can’t be differentiated from her girl cum. But at least yours can.)
“Thanks for letting me know,” you say anyway.
“Anytime.”
Amazing how things could grow awkward after you just abused her throat. You’re like two strangers trying to make conversation, and you’re everything but that, aren’t you? 
“How ‘bout this: d’you know that you glow after being fucked?”
“Shouldn’t you do it again?” She climbs onto the bed you’ve collapsed on. She places your hand on her thigh. “Keep me pretty?”
There’s nothing that could make her look unflattering. The messy hair is wild but she’s still a princess. But if that’s what she wants… well, she’s the last person you’d want to say no to.
“You’re insatiable.” Nevertheless, you let her bring your hand to her used core. You love how she stiffens when you start to rub circles around her clit.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t, too.” Eunbi presses her mound close to the heel of your hand. For a moment, she’s frozen. Then, her lips are next to your ear, telling you of a tale older than her lust. “I want you to do everything you want with me, everything.”
You’ve lost count of all the things you want to do to her. From things as sweet as tucking her in after a bad day to the filthiest like defiling that ass since that day she wore cycling shorts alone, your mind just runs with ideas. You can’t choose.
“You’ve kept me waiting,” she whines out. Her sighs grow sporadic. “So give it all to me.”
“Like I said: incredibly demanding.”
“You asshole.” She chokes this out as you start to roughly prod her nub. “You fucking… gatekeeper of dick.”
“Well, it’s my cock. I think I get to decide what happens with it.”
“You’re selfish.” Her voice gets higher. Her winces grow often, and Eunbi’s starting to babble out these little words of biteless barks. “You’re so, so cruel. You don’t know what I’d do, I will—I will—”
Before it happens, you place your hand on the back of her neck. She doesn’t even get to glare at you because it all happens so fast. You don’t know how you did it. Not just this, but everything else: how you managed to befriend her, how you managed to lay her. 
How you managed to push her not too gently to the wall, her chest pressing its solidness. How you managed to perfectly time it so that her head is tilted to the side so you could still catch a glimpse of that face. How you managed to pull up her bra and free those tits.
How you managed to say: “Do you know what I would do to you?”
Because there’s a million things you could do to Kwon Eunbi—the girl you’ve got pinned beneath you who’s absolutely tense with want. Your little kisses melt the freeze of her shoulders; you can hear her soft moans again.
Her lashes flutter over the undersides of her eyes. “Please,” she squeaks out, “do tell.”
“I’d rather show.”
Eunbi hums strainedly. You pierce through her again, It’s the second time and her velvety pussy still barely budges at your contradictingly welcome visit. Press your stomach into her back till you’re buried deep inside her. As a result, she’s shoved harder into the wall. Then you retrieve yourself handlessly from her, then put yourself in again.
She pants heavily, matching those of yours. She’s shaking, the only leverage to stay upright is your body on hers. Your rhythm is not too different from earlier and Eunbi still finds herself seeing it as something so new. She still spasms and quakes around you. Anything you give to her, she takes gladly. Each thrust pushes out a feeble cry from her throat and from within.
Her arms stretch to support her stance to the painted wall. You adore them, like you do to every other part of her. But these—these beautiful, strong arms whose minimal bulges hint of well-trained muscles—they do a number on you. You run your hands all along them, not making it easier for her. Everywhere you touch delivers a quiver running through her body. 
Although you touch first from the sides, her chest already feels big. You caress her curves before placing your hands right on her breasts. They’re your guilty pleasure, the kind that makes you pray for forgiveness because you don’t even know if you’re worthy of stealing glances at them. Maybe you are, because you’re getting to hold them. It’s a divine sign, if you do say so yourself.
Clutch them. Use them to plunge to places left unnavigated in her cunt. She’s dripping all over you, and it somehow plays the role of lubricant. It lets you thrust easily and keep her wet enough for more.
Any touch you trace on her beautiful body makes her quake. You brush your fingertips lightly over her clit, and the squeeze of her hole strengthens. You massage her fantastic hips and waist and you’re rewarded with a feral cry. Kissing her does no good in helping her calm down because, if anything, she gets more worked up.
“Oh, look at that, Eunbi.” You continue thrusting in her, pushing her limits far from the bounds, and she’s got her hands on her face, tears on her palms. “You’re so desperate. You squeeze so tight around me.”
Standing is something she’ll soon be incapable of doing for her legs are beaten down by your movements. “Not exactly my fault,” she says. “You know who’s to blame? You. You and that smug face and smug everything. You—” 
How is it possible that you  can make her garble but lose her words as well? Eunbi’s excessive whining comes to a halt as you plummet said cock deeper. Silent screams escape her open mouth and she’s clinging to the surface in front of her like she’d slip if she didn’t. There’s a possibility that that’s true—when you let go of her hip, she almost falls.
“You—” If you didn’t know Eunbi, you’d think her voice had contempt in it.
“What about me? Can you tell me?” You know that’ll annoy her.
It does, for she says: “W-wow, big ego.” She whimpers quietly at the soft kisses you place on her neck. The circumstances don’t allow her insult to hit properly. It just swells your pride.
“I know another thing from me and mine that's big.”
Eunbi growls. “Then put it to good—fucking—use.”
She has a point. Why are you fucking her rough when you could be even more so? Your touch climbs from her waist, tiny, to her boobs that can be described as every adjective in the thesaurus except for that. Afterwards, you carry out a brutal pace which drives her so into the wall that you’re not sure how she hasn’t made a dent in it yet. Her only protection from its hardness is your hands on her bust. 
Nothing can protect her from your hardness, however. It’s almost cruel how pink that milky white skin is, culprit of the defilement being your core that slams and slams into it. But you know she likes it this way. So why stop? Of course, there’s no reason to.
“God, please– you’re—” Her expression changes. Pleasure becomes bliss as bliss becomes paradise. “Oh no, I think I’m close.”
No quote from philosophers and learned individuals could inspire you like that simple statement. Yes, she’s close to cumming. And it’s because of you, she just confirmed it. So you tweak her hard nipples and tilt your moves up. You must have hit a certain spot because a simple “oh” turns to a scream. Several of them actually, each increasing the smacks of your hips on her butt and your lips’ ravages on that delicate, vulnerable swan’s neck.
“Hngh, I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, harder, please!” she yells, falling back to the wall and shaking. 
Your moves become frequent and rough. Your hands join in with the roughness; they begin to harshly pinch and grab her boobs until she unravels. 
Eunbi suppresses her scream into a whiny cry and falls into you, unable to keep her balance anymore. The flood rages in her core and overflows. Your cum slides out of her pussy as she tightens and loosens. She frantically pushes her ass back into you to keep the climax on a high, coupled with sharp shrieks of affirmation.
“Keep fucking me,” she rasps, “keep ruining me.”
Her voice ranges between low and sexy to high and needy. Both sides, however, are draining you. It’s the way the sweat sticks to her gasping face and how her legs are practically limp. She’s completely under your control, and you… like it? Is that how it’s supposed to work?
“Yes, yes—don’t stop.” Her nails scratch the paint. “Don’t, wait, not inside me. Okay? You can’t.”
You manage to successfully quiet your groan of disappointment. You pull out reluctantly. Tell yourself you already ejaculated in her moments ago, so it’s only fair for it to be once. However, your cock’s still rock hard. What do you do about it? You’ve already done more than you should with her. It was all supposed to be just one kiss. How did you get here?
She turns around and places her hands on your shoulders. Her palms are sweaty in spite of the air-conditioner breezing in the room. The exhaustion on her face from sex is there, and so is this little serious look. 
“I want you to cum,” she says, “in my ass.”
Thoughts. Too many of those, none pure. Thoughts of Eunbi that didn’t stay as fantasies because look at them bleeding into reality. Silence, too—you’re not saying they speak louder than words, but of course you can tell she’s serious with those watery bunny eyes.
“What?”
And of course you gotta act like a prude. What the hell? You? A prude? That’s a fucking lie. You’ve pleasured yourself countless times to the thought of her and that body, so why are you backtracking? As Eunbi would say, right after you made fun of lazy students while never studying much yourself, “Hypocrite.”
“What?” Eunbi drags your hands down that supple ass and makes you squeeze its full cheeks. “I want you to get your money’s worth from that expensive lube and pound me. And don’t you even think of stopping.”
You glance at the plastic-wrapped bottle on the bedside table, then back at her. It just doesn’t make sense. You—you and your awkwardness and spontaneous bursts of overconfidence—getting to cross the line? Everyone has probably doubted their worth one way or another, in stories written the same as yours, but is she serious? Does she really, really plan on letting you do it?
You look down at your bare feet. She sighs loudly, obviously and slightly irritated at your hesitation. Only an idiot would pass up that opportunity. But maybe you want to be an idiot—because fucking her would mean wanting her. You’ve already done both. You’ve made her cum twice and always wanted to do so, always desired her. To you, it just makes you worse than the rest of the men who vied and strived for her.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Eunbi,” you tell her quietly. Let them rage at your words as if your life were a movie and they were a judgmental audience, but it’s true. You can’t violate more unwritten rules. 
She lifts her head, her face parallel to your own. “What if I want you to?”
-
You blackmailed everyone into reading your story, you’ll say it straight up. This isn’t a love story or tragedy, or whatever. This is a tale about you being too generous. You’re always giving Eunbi what she wants. Every key point’s been triggered by her wishes—from her bailing answers out of you right up to this passionate Christmas Eve. You’re the genie who keeps giving her extra. Oh, you’re a pretty girl, you see, you’d say, blue hand stroking her hair, so of course you can ask for more. It’s all on me, beautiful. All on me.
You keep granting. And granting. And granting. 
“Spread those legs.”
Because it’s all written on paper, in the law of nature: she’ll be the one who calls you names and drags you around. But here? Nothing remotely close to that. She’s the girl who sits on the counter of the kitchen table, and opens her legs. Why? Because you told her to. You’ve already fucked all the sass out of that sharp-tongued mouth. There’s little left.
In this wealth-stealing coup of a hotel room, she’s the one who does what you want. She’d slacken her mouth to have you give her a throatpie. She’d ride you like she would a pillow if you asked her. But in a way, behind the scenes, it’s her screenwriting it all. She’s got it predicted from front to base—you’ll fuck her here. And there. You’ll do what she wants and do what you want. Make it meet in the middle.
Because, you think as you slick her asshole and your cock with the lubricant, that’s what friends do.
The edges of Eunbi’s palms are on the counter. You can see them struggle to keep her body upright. You can’t really say you blame the girl when the two of you have done too many things to fit into one night. Anal is another you’re trying to squeeze into a tight schedule.
But that’s what she wants. And, (heads up—skip if you don’t like spoilers): you just so happen to have a habit of being too easily swayed by pretty women.
“Open more.”
“There’s enough already,” she whines, words pitched and tiny. 
“I know, Eunbi. Baby.” You’re clinging on that high of seeing the color rose her cheeks. In every way, red (can’t be pink when it’s that dark) looks good on her. 
Eunbi’s breath skips a pattern. Her ass retreats at your touch yet goes back every time for you to hold. “You’re too good at this,” she says, speaking as if the words were a foreign language. Which is to say: cute. It’s like when she speaks English; it comes out sounding like fresh, pretty talk.
“Glad you’ve come to terms with that.”
“Wow.” Can’t tell if she said that at your cock pressing to her anal hole or at your quickness to speak. “Okay.”
“I mean, I’m serious. I only called you baby. How does that make me good?”
Eunbi coos when you touch the side of her face. Hold its jawline over the line your palm calls its own. Glimmering sweat and exhaustion and lust, she still has ways to make you go crazy. Your hand comforting her shudders nearly makes her forget you just want her to admit that you’re cut from the rest.
Both of you know what’s true anyway. 
“I just…” Eunbi kisses the space between your index and thumb. “I just fall in love too fast.”
“How fast are we talking?”
“I won’t tell you, it’s been crystal clear since the time I met you. But for this?” She taps your hip impatiently. “As fast as you can.”
Her voice deepens, a stretch from her cheerful pitch. Where did that come from? She smirks at the change in your face, but she can’t hide the desperation in hers. 
Her hole and your cock are shiny with the lubrication. Turns out the lube was a good buy; getting the tip inside her proves to be easy. However, it can’t help your job in hilting the entirety inside her. Thighs that glisten with wetness and lube wrap around you. Her midriff tenses, and so does her hole. So do her hands on your arms.
There’s already her cum and yours wetting her ass, as well as the lube you bought that was crazy expensive. So why is she still so tight? Her squeals thin and her face makes clear the labor. You’re spreading her apart in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.
She’s straining, too. Eunbi’s using every method in the book to allow your width to enter more: breathing deeply, relaxing her body, spreading her legs. But they don’t seem to work for her when her ass is only focused on closing around the little you’ve put inside her.
“Why do you have to be so big?” she whines. She pushes her cheeks to your stomach, inching you south and into her. “Why does it have to feel so good? Don’t just stand there. Fuck me. Split me open, I need it.”
Her wish is your command. That’s three wishes she’s making there and you’ll grant all of them. In a hard moment of pure will, you pull yourself out and slam yourself harshly into her tight body. Your attempt is successful; your whole girth is snugly hugged by her round butt. The enclosed walls of her anal ring are so overwhelming that you’re close to blowing your load already.
If you’re a genie, Eunbi’s the taker of wishes. She takes and takes and takes, even with your cock prodding past the hurting limits of her little asshole, and she does it oh so well. She’s probably seeing ghosts or the stars they’ve become with the way she’s not even looking at you anymore. No, her body is slanted up to allow you to give what you can. And by what you can, you mean your all.
Eunbi sobs and hugs you close. For comfort? Assurance? Speed? You’ll give her all three. That’s six wishes there, but with her, there’s no limit. You hold her as you find a perfect pace, one that makes her thighs squish on the ledge of the table and has her mouth gaping while you’re making another orifice of hers do the same.
When did pain feel this good? Eunbi doesn’t know. But she loves and accepts it. She’s reciprocating your thrusts with her own ones. It feels too good, so good that the sounds coming out of her are difficult to comprehend. She’s moaning, yet crying, too. Crying yet gasping in delight. Gasping in delight yet panting as if it were too much.
There’s one thing you’re certain of, though: she’s enjoying it. Wetness drools from her cunt and onto your shaft. It’s only a tiny bit of help, but it already aids in fucking her ass open sloppily. Her breaths are warm gushes of wind on your skin, and soon in the air as she throws her head back. Have to place a hand behind her neck to prevent her from bumping onto the all-too-near cupboard.
“So good, so big, can feel you t-throbbing,” she mumbles. Her lips purse before releasing a sharp moan. You’ve just placed your mouth on one of her breasts. “Know you wanted to do this. Saw you, hnn, staring at my ass.”
“Who can blame me?” You lightly slap her backside. “This thing is the best.”
“You got me so...” Eunbi’s gasp becomes a little lost ghost when you start to suck on her brown nipple. “I wore them, those ridiculous shorts, just for you. Wanted you to make me feel good, make me hurt, oh, I want it so bad—”
Her words pierce and break. Their propriety becomes worse yet the willpower they induce becomes stronger. Rapidity becomes a pastime when you’re pumping her. Of course, that’s already a given when the girl’s absolutely incapable of keeping quiet. Anything you do to her she reacts to. She’s still the same girl in the sheets as she is when she’s out and about, and it makes this sinful act—anally ruining her—seem like something so endearing.
Your thumb starts to rub her clit again. You’ve done this plenty of times in this hotel room right after the heat started, yet it still gauges the same reaction from her. She can’t stay still. She wants to stay in one place to receive you better but there’s the pleasurable pain in her ass, your mouth on her bosom, your hand feeling her up. She can’t take it, and you can’t either. She’s a combination of wetness and tightness and loudness and shrillness—you’re both too much for the other.
A lit match to a flamed lighter.
“Oh, god, no.” Eunbi’s teeth dig into your shoulder before retracting. Signs of her sobs linger and roll down her perfect face that wields an expression you admit to have fantasized often on her. “You’re gonna make me cum again. You're gonna make me cum again, I can’t handle it. Please—fffu—”
You stuff your fingers inside her. Match the pace with how you’re fucking her into the kitchen wall. She clenches around you and doesn’t let go. The wet squelching sounds compels you to be harsher with her. Fuck her like it doesn’t mean anything, just like she wants you to.
“Mmm!” Eunbi shrieks at the harsh intrusions she thought would be over. 
“Not over yet.” You kiss her. “Still gotta cream this perfect ass.”
The promise of that makes her blush. Red and sweaty, she exercises those toned arms by using them in fucking herself on your cock. The pleasure is addicting, and she’s still keeping you to that oath to cum inside her a second time. 
She’s so wet that it’s almost unbelievable. Your fingers curl, spread, jam themselves in her, and each time they pull out they’re soaked to the knuckles. Her clit twitches and you get your touch on there again. A little leak of cum wrinkles your hand from it.
“You really want it, huh?” Hiss at how she bounces that jiggling rear onto you. “Just a little more, baby. You’re gonna have to do much better than that.”
Since when did Eunbi do what you say? Since when did she do it with this much enthusiasm? Despite your shaft wrecking her insides and rearranging her guts, along with the orgasm she’s had, she perseveres. She rolls her body, a snake’s dance, and takes you in further. You admire how much you’ve spread her. Hold her backside to guide her. 
You pity the housekeeper who’d have to clean up evidence of your sin. There’s her wetness on the kitchen table, the smell of carnal need in the air, sheets torn by the little power Eunbi’s fingernails have. But there’s no regrets, you think, for this one:
An explosion. The kind that doesn’t kill but brings her to life. Its origin is the base of your cock and birth inside her tight little ass. Hold her close. Slam inside her as if you were mad at her, while she lets out gasped repetitions of “oh, oh, oh.” Now you pull out your digits and resort to furiously rubbing her nub, effectively making her even tighter.
“That’s it, fuck, such a good girl,” you groan. Grip her ass so tightly that it draws a yelp out of her. After it’s all done, you pull out. 
“You,” she drawls when you pull out. She spreads her legs and stares at the semen dripping out of her holes. At the mess you’ve made on the floor, the bed, the table, everything. “You…”
She doesn’t continue what she’s saying, but you’re pretty sure you got the gist of it. It was you who fucked her. It was you who made her climax so many times in one night. It was you, her best friend, who did her in.
“Yeah,” you say, laughing. 
Somehow, the whole experience is making you guilty. You feel like the richest man in the world, the luckiest, too. So why do you feel you did something wrong? 
Eunbi narrows her eyes. She knows you too well. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
You don’t.
“Now kiss me.” Her words fan your chin, a haunting love spell. “Again.”
You do.
-
Christmas comes, and by then you've flown home. You’re at Sakura’s house to celebrate. Green and red are all over the place: red cupcakes on a baking tray, old books leaning against each other, the rug beneath you and her friends. There’s a giant statue of Santa Claus, overweight and jolly, at the corner next to the Christmas tree. What used to be under the plant were gifts Eunbi specifically said not to touch until 12 a.m midnight. No sleeping in now that you’re well aware that the man himself isn’t real.
Sakura’s undoing the ribbon on her gift, but her eyes are on you and Eunbi. “There’s something really weird going on with you two,” she says. 
The girls nod and hum choruses of agreement: yes, he and the bunny leader are acting odd lately. No, they don’t know why. Is it because of the vacation? Seasonal depression (but with Christmas lights!)? They’re gonna find out for sure.
You and Eunbi look at each other. Your faces hold an unreadable expression, until you take an interest in one evergreen branch and her in the collar of her ugly Christmas sweater.
“Nah,” you say.
“Nothing much,” she echoes, drinking her hot chocolate.
Yena groans, tired of your pretentiousness. “You fucked, didn’t you?” 
A liquid spray of sugar lands on the rug, courtesy of Eunbi. The girls begin cackling, slapping their hands on their thighs and on each other. You look away to manage your laughter. Unfortunately, it’s as loud as Eunbi’s scheming little members.
“That means yes!” Yujin shouts gleefully. Her dimples are printed on her cheeks.  “You owe me ten thou, Yena unnie!”
Christmas spirit truly is in the air. They’re jumping up and down, laughing and cheering, while you two are mortified. You’re the Grinches of the holidays, but even that can’t sour their happiness. 
“It worked!”
“I can’t believe it worked!”
“They’re so obvious about it, too!”
“No wonder Eunbi unnie was limping when they came home!”
The whole thing was a setup. It’s all dawning in on you. Why else would eleven girls pool ridiculous amounts of money for a two-person trip? You’ve given them the best Christmas present of their lives unknowingly. 
But with how much Eunbi loves them, she’s okay with that. 
You are, too.
-
“Hey.”
You lift yourself up from the comfort of the pillows and sheets. Eunbi’s standing at your bedpost. She still has on the sweater, courtesy of your mother, and her ears are still pink. That’s one of the cutest things about her: when she gets shy or humiliated, it’s pretty obvious.
How do you go about this? It’s been awkward and silent ever since you had sex. It’s so unlike your dynamics, and it’s scaring you. You don’t want to lose her. Is that the same on her end?
At the end of the day, though, she remains your best friend. You’ll always reserve a place for her with you.
“Hi.” You pat your bedclothes, and she sits.
She looks away as she pushes a paper shopping bag in your arms. “Merry Christmas.”
You wonder how you didn’t see it peeking from her tiny back. The bag isn’t too heavy, but it obviously is something large with how much you can feel whatever is inside it. Quickly stapled and taped, it’s a last-minute present for sure. Did she forget you? Of course, your heart squeezes with the idea of it.
“Way to time your—”
“Don’t be stubborn and just open it. Please?”
Do so. 
It’s a bag. Not just any bag—it’s a brand new original of the backpack she lost you all those months ago. She’s got it down to the same color (gray), design (two pockets, with black zippers and one for a bottle) and size (medium). The only thing that sets it apart from your first one is the unavailability of shreds and tatters on the bottom side.
Stare at it, dumbfounded. How did she track it down? It’s sure to be expensive, seeing as it isn’t thrifted and is wrapped in the branded plastic of an overseas branch. “Eunbi,” you say.
“It was shipped later than expected.” She shrugs, trying to play it off. Still, you can hear her laughing shyly. “Hope you like it.”
“I told you to save yourself the trouble.”
You lift the bag up and stare at it. The transparent plastic allows you to marvel at its beauty. The faint scent of newness fills your nostrils. 
But the real beauty is the one who sits on your bed late on Christmas night, with her hands folded neatly on her lap like a Catholic schoolgirl. A few locks of her hair are braided with red ribbons to go with the season of giving. Her brows are as dark as her glasses, her cheeks as red as her ugly sweater.
“I like it when you trouble me.”
As always, her statements hold more meaning than they should. And, like you could through her eyewear, you can see right through them. Knowing what she tried to say causes you to inch closer to her. The sides of your thighs press against each other.
“Makes me want to trouble you more,” you reply. 
She lifts her head. Already the light cockiness she so often brings with her pours back into her face, and you couldn’t be more relieved to see it again. “So do it.”
Things have a way of coming back to you. Your bag, the thrill of meeting her again, Eunbi. Not everything will return, but then it’s probably just a sign that things aren’t gonna be bad forever. There will be days you’ll get to have a vacation with her again, the promise of December’s Christmasses, being with her and her friends you’ve grown to love. There will be days for new beginnings, like this one. This is a fresh start with her. There will also always be days you’ll do whatever she wants, which somehow align with what you want too.
Refer to this:
You kiss her, your little trouvaille.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months
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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)
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AU MASTERLIST || PART II
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PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)
WORDCOUNT: 7.7k
WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 
The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.
You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 
“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.
Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 
Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 
You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.
“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 
“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 
“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 
“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 
Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.
“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”
You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.
“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”
Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 
You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 
Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 
You liked how he spoke to you.
“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”
You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”
Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 
You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 
“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 
Knows what can hunt you. 
You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 
With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.
“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 
A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.
It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 
They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 
Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 
As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 
Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.
But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 
You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 
Turn back. 
The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 
“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”
The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 
With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 
“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 
Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.
But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 
The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 
The Ghost.
Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.
As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 
“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”
Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 
Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 
A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.
Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 
Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.
“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 
“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
Your eyes are half-narrowed. 
That wasn’t a twig.
Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 
The Ghost. 
Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 
The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 
A ghost.
The Ghost.
You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.
“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”
Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 
With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.
Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 
There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 
Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 
Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 
Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.
“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”
Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 
You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.
“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 
You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”
In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 
“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”
“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”
“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”
“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 
The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 
“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.
The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 
Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 
Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 
Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 
But you’d never imagined him to be dead.
You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 
Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.
Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.
You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 
Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 
“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 
A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 
Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 
You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 
Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 
Eyes like a burial mound. 
You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 
A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 
The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 
Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 
But the Ghost isn’t even there. 
“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 
The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.
You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 
Where did it go? 
Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 
Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.
Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 
Those eyes. 
Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?
Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 
The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 
You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 
“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”
The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 
“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”
The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 
A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 
You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 
 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 
You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…
“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 
You shutter.
“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 
Why were you still alive?
The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.
This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 
Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.
But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 
Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.
A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 
Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 
On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 
So run you did. 
Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 
Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.
You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 
Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 
You never should have come through here.
Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 
But the house was different. 
No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.
You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 
Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 
What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?
Had…had he been behind you the entire time?
You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 
“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 
Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 
You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 
But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…
…and nothing happened. 
Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.
Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 
“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”
Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 
Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.
One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 
This would be your sanctuary for the night. 
“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”
If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 
Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 
Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 
Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 
Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 
“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 
Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 
"Simon Riley."
Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.
Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.
“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 
Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.
In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.
“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 
Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.
That only serves to make you even more angry.
Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.
The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.
“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 
Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 
The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 
Your confidence wavers.
“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 
A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.
“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 
A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.
“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 
It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.
Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.
Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 
There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 
“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 
The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 
You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.
“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 
Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.
Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 
You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 
“...So why didn’t he kill me?”
You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 
Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 
The beast patrolled the glade. 
You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 
Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 
“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 
A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.
He smells you in here. 
“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 
You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 
If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 
If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?
You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.
Simon Riley, your neighbor. 
Your neighbor the Werewolf. 
You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.
Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 
There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 
He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 
As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.
“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 
“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 
“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 
You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 
“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 
You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 
“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 
“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”
You shrug. 
“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”
Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 
“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 
You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 
Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 
“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 
“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 
“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 
It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.
“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 
“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 
Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 
An embarrassing giggle meets air. 
The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 
Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 
You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 
Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 
You should be afraid.
Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 
All sound ceases. 
So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”
It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 
A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 
His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 
A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 
That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 
The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.
“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 
You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 
Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 
As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 
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lustspren · 8 months
Text
P.S.T EP. 7 | Hold on Tight ft Aespa.
length: 6.6k words ✦
Aespa & Male Reader
genres: airplane sex, blowjob, oral sex, kinda fivesome, hard sex, footjob, squirt, ass eating 
✦✧✦✧✦✧
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“H-hello…” you stammered. You were sure that when you first met them you hadn't acted like an idiot, but this time it was a different situation. They were waiting for you, hunting like a pride of perfectly coordinated lionesses. You weren't going to let your nerves get the better of you that time, you decided that you would be confident at all times. As much as they allow you, of course.
They all looked exaggeratedly beautiful for just a simple flight. Karina's bangs looked exaggeratedly pretty, she was wearing a kind of short black dress, with separate sleeves that went from her shoulders to her hand, covering it like a glove, and black boots. Ningning wore her brown hair down and in slight waves; a gray knit crop top, a black sports skirt, and chunky platform Mary Jane shoes. Giselle also had her dark hair down, dressed in a long, loose black skirt, a long-sleeved black blouse, black shoes, and a black choker. Winter looked the most stunning by far, with a light brown bob haircut, a black knit crop top, baggy jeans that revealed her milky, flat belly, and high-soled converse.
When they finished their joint laughter, Winter stood up, took a few steps down the hallway and leaned her shoulder against a wall to look at you, as if she were waiting.
"You can leave your things here, we'll go somewhere else," Karina, despite appearing intimidating many times, was by far the friendliest and kindest of all of them. She was the leader, you wouldn't expect anything less.
"Somewhere else?" You took off your backpack and left it on your seat, you hesitated whether to leave your phone there or not, but you thought about it for a second and considered that maybe you wouldn't need it for the trip. You wouldn't be too far from reality. You left your phone in one of the front pockets of your backpack.
While you were doing that, the rest of the girls had already stood up and were heading towards the hallway. Karina waited for you while the girls were behind.
"Follow me," Karina nodded at you toward the hallway, and you, moving away from all your belongings, followed her, "you know, we're really excited to have our own 'personal assistant'," she made quotes with her fingers.
"Oh my god yes," Giselle confirmed a few steps ahead of you, "our companions do nothing but talk about the wonders that happen in that fucking spa."
"I can confirm that," Winter said as she walked with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, looking to the front, "I've done nothing but die of envy over the past few weeks."
While they were talking you couldn't help but focus your attention on Ningning, who so far hadn't said a single word and was just walking with a relaxed look on her face. She didn't seem as impatient and forward as the other three, in fact, she seemed unexpectedly shy, you would say reserved, as if she didn't want to appear vulgar towards you.
"Fuck, Seulgi-unnie couldn't stop talking about how much she loved how you worshiped her feet," Karina said, as you stopped at the door that led to another booth, "you must be good huh?" she asked you, raising an eyebrow with an amused expression on her face.
“I do my best,” you shrugged.
"Let me believe you do a lot more than that," Karina laughed, and just then Winter opened the cabin door for you to walk inside.
The cabin you had entered could easily be part of a Star Wars spaceship thanks to its design and futuristic atmosphere. White leather furniture and black trim, each and every one of them with white LED lights underneath; the floor and walls were a perfect combination of varnished walnut wood and satin white paint, with abstract divisions that matched the fluctuating ceiling and the number of curved shapes that the cabin had.
To the left were two chairs facing each other, which, like the rest of the furniture, lacked legs attached to the floor, instead, they were fixed to the wall. Embedded in the curved wall was a long screen, which indicated the cabin temperature and certain data that you didn't stop to detail. To the right was a small U-shaped sectional couch, with a thin table in the middle sticking out from the wall. On that same wall were the tinted windows of the plane.
Further on to the left was a chair exactly like the previous one between two semi-walls, and in the last visible section of the cabin, which looked like the rest area, a bed with curved edges embedded in the wall to the left, and a long sofa on the right that looked unconventional but at the same time extremely comfortable. On that same couch, sitting while she looked at her phone, was Noze.
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The exaggeratedly beautiful woman, dressed in a wide, loose black T-shirt, sweatpants of the same color, and a pearl pink cap, had her legs drawn up on the sofa in an Indian position, a cushion in her lap and her fanny pack at her side. She seemed focused on her affairs, so you noticed how you disturbed her peace as you approached her.
She took off both AirPods, turning her head towards you as she examined you up and down; she let out a funny and sexy little smile that left you cold. How was it possible that she was just a manager and did not dedicate herself to being a model or actress? She had everything to be one, from her face, her body, and even her charisma.
"Welcome aboard, pretty boy," she greeted you, as each of them took a seat except you. Winter and Ningning on the bed in front of Noze, Giselle on the chair behind you and Karina next to Noze, "everything okay?"
"Well, you could say so," you shrugged, looking at the cabin around you, and then at the navy blue curtain a few meters away from you that marked a division, you were sure there was more space behind there, "I certainly never expected to get on a Mercedes-Benz private jet."
"Life takes many turns, you of all people should know that," she laughed, "for now just focus on holding on tight for what awaits you."
"Are you trying to terrify me with a reference to one of their songs?" at that moment Ningning began to sing the beginning of Hold on Tight very quietly, only audible thanks to the small silence that was generated between your question and Noze's answer. You all turned to look at her, she opened her eyes wide, and a small wave of laughter flooded the cabin for a few seconds.
“Hey, don't just stand there, come here,” Ningning, who was still blushing thanks to the embarrassing moment she went through just now, moved to the side to give you enough space next to her.
"Oh, thank you," you and her looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds as you smiled at her, sitting in the space between her and the inside wall of the bed. She smiled back at you, but then turned around surreptitiously.
At that moment, two men dressed in elegant and immaculate suits entered through the curtain, each of them had a tray in their hand, with glasses full of what appeared to be Champagne, six of them, one for each of you. On each tray there was also a box of Melatonin, a medicine to help you fall asleep.
"Thank you," Karina said to the butlers, as they let you take your glasses, you all gave them your thanks too. Unlike the others, you hesitated whether to take a pill or not.
"I recommend you take it," said Noze, taking a sip of champagne, "it will be quite a long trip, and that will help you with the jet lag," at that moment they all took their pills with the help of the champagne.
"Are we going to sleep right now?" you asked, leaning forward slightly so you could see Winter next to Ningning, you also looked at the others.
"Yup, so make yourself comfortable," Karina said cross-legged, making circles with her glass to stir the champagne.
"Uh..." you looked around, knowing there wasn't enough room for all of you to sleep and lie down separately, "where?"
"I don't know, there are a lot of seats, some of them should work for you," said Karina, after finishing all the champagne in one go. Giselle imitated her, as did Noze. Winter took her time, and Ningning only left the cup half empty.
"The back couch is mine, you have to sleep in a chair, darling," Giselle said, standing up, blowing you a kiss and going to the couch near the entrance.
"Do you want to sleep with us, pretty boy?" Noze asked as she lay down with Karina behind her on the couch, "we could make a sandwich with you in the middle," the unintelligent you would have accepted without question, but your brain reminded you that that could easily be a joke and that it wasn't serious. So you decided not to push your luck.
"Uhm, I think I'll be better off in a chair, thanks," you said more nervously than when you climbed aboard, Karina and Noze laughed, and then snuggled together.
"Hey, would you give us some space?" Winter asked you in a low and adorable tone of voice, seeing that you were still taking up space on the bed.
"Oh right," you stood up immediately, and exchanged glances with Ningning again.
"I don't like that you have to sleep in a chair, I'm sorry," Ningning said, and you noticed the honest regret in her tone of voice.
"You have nothing to apologize for," you smiled, shaking your head, "it's not my first time sleeping in a chair, in fact, compared to these chairs the old ones are pieces of scrap metal," Ningning laughed, and her laugh rubbed off on you. You automatically felt your cheeks warm and your stomach ticklish. Oh no, it was happening again.
"I'll see you in a bit then," she said.
"See you in a bit, yeah," you nodded, and without taking your eyes off her, you slowly retreated to your chair, which was not too far away but when you sat down you could only see Giselle, who had settled into the sectional sofa just a few feet from you.
"She likes you," Giselle said with a mischievous smile, covered up to her neck in a blanket. You looked at her with a frown and an expression as if she had said something very stupid. She started talking to you with her very nice and charming English.
"Of course not, you're trippin," you returned, also in your English, "and lower your voice, she's probably listening to you."
"You're not very smart at reading eyes, are you?" she asked, laughing at you like you were a fool. You probably were.
"Not really, but why would she like me?" Unlike her, you did lower your tone of voice, "she barely knows me."
"I don't know, you're cute," she replied, shifting so she was on her stomach facing you.
"Is that enough for you to like a boy?" You raised an eyebrow.
"No, first I have to know if they have a big cock," Giselle rested her head on her forearms, letting you see how her ass formed a big bulge under the blanket, "and you have it."
You felt like you were going to get tongue-tied coming up with an answer, so you stayed quiet for a few seconds, breathing deeply as you stared at her, Giselle just laughed. It was going to be a pretty long tour.
"You know there's a completely free spot on the couch that you're not using, right?" you asked her, masterfully changing the subject.
"Yup, I know perfectly well," she nodded.
"Aren't you going to offer it to me?" You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a blanket that was folded over the back of the couch.
"I could, yeah," she raised her head to see you, "but what if I woke up out of nowhere wanting to suck a cock? There wouldn't be a bell to save you, what's happening on that side of the couch can't be seen over there," she pointed her finger to the space behind you, where the other girls were.
"It's a risk I wouldn't mind taking," you replied, playing her game as you hugged your still folded blanket. Giselle bit her lip and smiled.
"Alright then," she motioned her chin toward the free space, "rest well, I'll see you in a few hours..." she shifted position on the couch again, this time with her head toward the corner and her ass purposely not covered by the blanket for you to see.
"Aha, rest well too," you said, and got up from the chair to go settle into the free space of the sofa. On the table in the center of the couch, there was an unopened bottle of water that you used to take the pill. Minutes later, after waiting for it to take effect, you lay down on your side of the couch and soon fell asleep.
—————————————————————————
You woke up feeling a little strange, colder than normal. You remembered covering yourself with the blanket when you fell asleep, but why couldn't you feel the soft cotton fabric against your skin at that moment? You also noticed a slight pain in your spine, and you had to stretch your neck from side to side to relax it. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, first you wanted to rub them, like you always did when you woke up, but when you wanted to raise your wrists to bring your hands closer to your face, they didn't move.
"Hfmm?" you stammered, opening your eyes slowly as you felt something cold in your crotch. The light blinded you for a few seconds, but when your vision cleared, you almost had a heart attack.
In front of you, standing at different points, were the Aespa girls completely naked as they watched you (Noze wasn’t there). Karina with her arms crossed, Giselle with her hands on her waist, Ningning with her hands on her back, and Winter… Winter was measuring your erect cock with a transparent silicone dildo.
"Hm, it's even bigger than my favorite toy," Winter said, as you slowly regained your senses. You tried to stand up, but it was useless since you were tied hand and foot to that chair, which you were originally going to fall asleep in a few hours ago.
"What the fuck?!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists with a worried expression, "what the hell have you done to me?"
"Wow wow, relax silly," Karina intervened, taking a step forward, and your gaze inevitably went to her heavy tits and the rest of her milky body, "we would never have done anything to you while you were asleep, and Ning had Winter under control."
"How the hell did you move me here and why?" You weren't as upset as you were at the beginning, but you still deserved a good explanation.
"Your sleeping pill was a little stronger, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to move you there," she explained, "Look, I know this isn't to your liking, but we've heard great things about you, and we wanted to somehow... test your reputation before anything."
"Weren't all the so-called tests that Noze put me through enough?" you asked, indignant at the aforementioned manager who at that moment was not among the faces in front of you. You would have loved that, tho.
"Those were tests Noze set up for you, we were never involved in quality control," she exonerated herself, "so this is our quality control."
“Fuck…” you cursed under your breath, “so be it,” you said out loud, followed by a sigh of pure resignation.
"Alright..." Karina took a couple more steps forward, gently pushing Winter away to sit on your thigh, you felt her bare buttocks against your skin, and your cock throbbed, "this is what we're going to do, sweetie," she put a hand to your hair and started caressing it, "we will all have our turn, and at least three of us have to cum so that your test can be considered passed."
"And what happens if I don't get it?"
"Then our tour will be drastically different for you compared to how it's planned so far," she said with an innocent smile, giving you a kiss on the forehead, "no pressure."
"Anyway, I can't move, everything is your responsibility and in that case, the fault wouldn't be entirely mine," you defended yourself.
"That's true, but I don't care," she patted your chest and stood up, "good luck," she winked at you, and gave way to Winter, who had a hungry look on her face as she climbed right into your lap.
Her small tits were just a few centimeters in front of you, you wanted to put your hands on her small, tight and delicious body, but all the effort was useless. Without saying a single word, she let out a big spit on her hand and brought it to your cock, to lubricate it a little before raising her hips and impaling herself completely on your throbbing erection.
"Oh fuck! And it feels even better than my damn toy!" Winter whimpered after letting out a long moan with you. Her tight pussy smothered your cock from all directions, and you began breathing heavily with her ass resting against your pelvis. She hadn't started to move and she already felt fucking wonderful, in addition to that, you could notice a slight bulge protruding from her lower abdomen, it was the tip of your cock.
"That fucking whore has been wanting to do that ever since we tied you to the chair," Giselle said, sitting on a chair with her legs crossed, one meaty thigh on top of the other.
"And it'll be worth all the waiting," Winter moaned, gripping her hands on either side of your neck firmly as she began to slowly move up and down, feeling how easily your cock slid in and out of her before she dedicated herself to frantically bouncing on you.
Winter moved over you with the ease and lightness of a feather, filling the entire cabin with the dry sounds of her tight ass slapping against your pelvis and thighs. She dug her nails very superficially into your neck, before completely embracing it with her arms and immersing herself in your lips with a kiss lacking affection and care, instead, she attacked you furiously with her tongue between incessant moans.
That was being much more difficult than you expected, it was torture not being able to hug her small frame, or her thin waist while she jumped full of vigor and desire on you. She separated from your lips, and looked into your eyes with her face flushed and distorted by pleasure, you looked down, noticing once again how the tip of your cock constantly made a bulge in her abdomen.
"Fuck, I'm getting really horny..." Karina said close to you, but you couldn't see her since your gaze was fixed on the cutie in front of you.
"Me too, you can tell that cock is filling her up so well..." Giselle confirmed.
Winter tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling it hard and then planting her feet on either side of your hips and starting to bounce even harder against your cock.
"He's filling me up too fucking good!" Winter squealed, letting her head fall back as she bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the immense pleasure your cock was giving her before she climaxed, "Oh my god!" she screamed, clinging to your neck again and pressing your heads together.
She violently impaled herself downwards, and when she lifted her hips to pull you out of her pussy she squirted all over you, wetting your cock, your thighs, and even the floor. Her body began to shake between violent spasms, screaming and moaning with her nails digging into your shoulders.
"Fuck, this girl made a mess," Karina sighed, "whatever, we'll clean up later."
When her orgasm had passed Winter lowered herself to her knees over you again, looking into your eyes with an evil smile and heavy breathing.
"Consider that a gift," she winked at you, "it was obvious I was going to cum."
"Thanks, I guess," you said between gasps, still recovering from the wonderful ride she just gave you. She stood up, and you noticed how she had gone to lie down so she could rest.
Your vision was clear now, and your eyes went to each of the girls to see who was next. Karina, with her arms crossed and a small smile of satisfaction, did not stand up, Ningning, who had her cheeks flushed and licked her lips while looking at your cock, did not stand up either, the one who stood up was Giselle.
She was without a doubt, the complete package and the definition of luscious and thick body. Her meaty thighs were a work of art on their own, not to mention her surprisingly big juicy tits and her massive round ass. She walked towards you slowly, noticing that your eyes never left her thighs.
"You seem to love my thighs, don't you?" She asked, standing between your legs, even knowing the answer, "and what do you think of my ass?" When she said that she turned around so that you could have her ass facing you, she leaned forward very slowly, and grabbed her buttocks to spread them apart and let you see her plump pussy and butthole, "I bet you would love to have this ass bouncing on your cock."
You said nothing, your mouth watering as you stared at the exquisite work of art a short distance from your face. At that moment, by the work and grace of God or some guardian angel of yours, a timely turbulence shook the plane and the cabin, everything shook, and thanks to that Giselle staggered and, unintentionally, fell on your face, which was buried between her soft buttocks.
Instinctively the first thing you did was devour her like a hungry animal, using your tongue to lick between her delicious, wet folds. You sucked, kissed and moved your tongue in different possible ways, and Giselle, between cute moans, didn't even try to separate her ass from your face, on the contrary, she leaned even further back to lean on you.
In less than a minute Giselle was already going completely crazy between moans and whimpers while you ate her pussy with utmost greed. Her folds were deliciously soft, as were the fluids that seeped through them, it was without a doubt the tastiest pussy you had ever eaten in your entire life, closely followed by Lia's.
"Don't think it will be so easy to make me cum, boy," Giselle said with one hand on your head, fingers clinging to your hair, "higher," you obeyed and moved your tongue up through her slit, reaching her entrance to insert there your tongue, Giselle let out a louder moan as you explored her pussy inside with your tongue, but it wasn't enough, "I said... higher," she whimpered, and you smiled, realizing what she meant.
You raised your tongue a little higher, and when you reached her beautiful butthole, the first thing you did was spit all the saliva accumulated in your mouth onto it, and then make circles with your tongue around it. Giselle tensed her body, and she let out a louder moan as she felt the contact on her butthole. Great, another butt play lover.
After a few seconds of just playing with her you finally began to force your tongue into her tight butthole, causing loud squeals to come from her. You moved your tongue in circles inside her, hitting places that made her jump and jerk with pleasure. She was incredibly delicious, and you let her know that by eating her ass like a hungry dog.
Her buttocks felt too good, pressed on either side of your face, and feeling them tense was the last straw for you. You clenched your fists and arms tightly, making a tremendous effort to try to free yourself from your bonds; you tensed your entire body, pressing your forearms upward. A vein stood out from your temple, and you stopped eating Giselle's ass only to grit your teeth, let out a grunt, and finally free yourself from one of the restraints.
Your right hand was completely free, and it immediately went to one of her buttocks to squeeze and grope it as much as you could, returning again to her ass and slowly taking Giselle towards her peak. The seconds passed, and between loud moans she climaxed in an intense attack of spasms that made her collapse onto your lap, pressing your cock between her round buttocks while her body shook constantly.
"You better use that strength to stop me from walking," Winter said from somewhere behind you, in contrast to her adorable little tone of voice. You could only laugh in disbelief, with Giselle's back resting against your chest. Your chin rested on her shoulder, from where you could see her pair of tits rise up and down between heavy breaths.
After a few long seconds, Giselle finally gathered enough strength not to get up, but to lean forward as far as she could, put her hands on the floor and slowly lower herself towards it, making sure that your cock passed between the folds of her pussy before getting on her knees and hands. She looked at you over her shoulder, winked at you, and began to sensually crawl away from you, knowing that your gaze was on her dump truck.
You were completely mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walked away from you, but soon your attention was transferred to Karina, who had stood up and was now walking confidently towards you, swaying her hips from side to side. You admired every corner of her hourglass shaped body, from her voluptuous tits to her creamy thighs, not ignoring her pretty, shaved pussy. At this point you were too horny, and your cock hurt from how hard it was.
"Maybe there was more than just melatonin in that pill you took earlier," she apologized when she was standing in front of you, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk that cock dying early."
"I don't even care at this point, you tied me to a chair against my will," you shrugged, looking her up and down, "Well? Come get me, precious," she stared at you in silence for a second.
"You're having fun, aren't you?" she asked, and before you could answer, she raised one leg and put one foot inside your already opened mouth, you sucked on her toes as much as you could, and then she rested her sole on your chin. Understood, you were never going to be in charge with her.
You didn't try to answer her question, instead you started kissing every part of her foot as much as you could, going up from her sole to her toes, which you sucked and licked with great care and delicacy. You raised one hand to bring it to her foot and give it a kind of massage while you used your tired tongue to lick between her toes, leaving them completely wet and sloppy.
Karina noticed the tiredness in your tongue as it danced between her fingers, and in an act of mercy, she lowered her foot from your face and placed it now on your crotch, her fingers gently placed on your balls, you held your breath, with fear that she would apply pressure.
"You're incredibly lucky that you had enough balls to break free from one of your restraints," she said with her arms crossed, staring at you, "otherwise you wouldn't have had a chance with me," after saying that, she picked up your wrist and guided your free hand to her wet pussy, which immediately felt warm against your fingers, "now then, I repeat... are you having fun, darling?" she applied light pressure to your balls.
"I'm enjoying every damn second, Yu Jimin," you replied, as you began to rub her pretty pussy with your fingers, concentrating on her clit first. You made small slow circles, and then moved your fingers along her slit to moisten them with her fluids.
"Was Minjeongie's pussy tight enough for you, honey?" You turned your head, seeing Winter on the bed slowly rubbing her pussy as she watched the two of you.
"I fucking loved it," you responded between gasps, taking one of your fingers inside Karina's pussy to begin pumping very slowly in and out, "I loved how my thick cock slid so easily in and out of that tight little pussy," Winter started moaning and touching herself faster, "I also loved how it made her pretty belly bulge, and how that pussy squirted all over me at the end."
With that answer, Winter inserted two fingers inside her pussy and began pumping them frantically between adorable moans, and Karina began to play with your cock with her foot, running her soft fingers up and down over it. In response, you inserted another finger inside her pussy, pumping slightly faster.
"And tell me, did Aeri taste good to you? Was she delicious?" Karina asked, playing with the tip of your cock between her toes.
"She had the most fucking delicious holes I've ever tasted," you gasped with a small smirk, then biting your lip. Saying this, Karina removed her foot from your cock and planted it on the ground, only to raise her another foot from it and stick it directly into your mouth.
"You're only saying that because you haven't tried mine," she said, removing your hand from her pussy as well, "but you will."
During her little interrogation you had been applying force with your other wrist, the ties were already loose, so you only had to give a small pull upwards to free your other hand, which you brought to her ankle to hold it and keep her foot still, while you repeated the same work as with the previous one, distributing kisses, licks and sucks to her toes.
Karina allowed you to continue working on her foot for a few long seconds, until she placed it on your cock again to slowly rub it from the balls to the tip. With your two hands now free, you brought the left one to one of her beautiful tits and squeezed it, feeling how soft and spongy it felt, while you brought the other one back to her pussy, quickly rubbing her clit as you pinched her nipple.
“Fuck… Seulgi was right about you,” she moaned, slowly falling for you, “do you like my feet, baby?”
"I love them," you responded between gasps as her foot continued to work on your cock.
"And you'd like to fuck my brains out, wouldn't you?" She asked, moaning slightly louder, as you continued to rub her clit and then stuck your fingers back inside her pussy, pumping them hard. Your other hand was still on her tit, squeezing and massaging it. Her foot was making your cock twitch, and you felt how little by little she pushed you closer to the edge.
"Believe me, I would do anything to pin you against the wall and hammer that pussy," you said between moans.
"Now tell me..." she paused slightly, closing her eyes as she controlled her moans, "Do you like my feet better than Yuna's? Does Aeri taste better than Chaeryongie? Is Winter tighter fucking than Yeji?" In the midst of that flurry of unexpected questions your anger began to heat up inside you, she saw it in your eyes and smiled, and you became rougher with your touches on her, "I'm sure Yuna loved how you fucked her in that mall," she laughed, "Oh, and how does Lia's ass feel? I don't think it's as tight as Aeri's."
"Unnie, you're going too far..." Ningning finally spoke close to you, she was sitting on the back of the sectional sofa, with her hands crossed on her thighs as she waited patiently for her turn.
"Shut up!" Karina said to Ning, looking at her, and then back at you, "do you want to know how I know all those damn things?" She said angrily, removing her foot from your cock, and you had no choice but to please her.
"I like your feet better than Yuna's," you started, now pumping three of your fingers in and out of her pussy as fast as you could, jiggling her thighs, and also squeezing one of her tits, "Aeri tastes a lot better than any of Chaery's holes... and Minjeong is much tighter than Yeji."
When you finally gave her the answer she was waiting for she reached her orgasm between loud moans and whimpers, her spasms shook her completely, and she fell to her knees while her entire body trembled. You heard another wave of moans behind you, these ones higher pitched and smaller, Winter had come for the second time in 20 minutes.
Karina was still on her knees, with both hands on your thighs as she caught her breath. When she did, she struggled to her feet and looked into your eyes with a devilish smile.
"Good boy," with that, she walked away from you, her smile still stretched from ear to ear. She had left triumphant.
“Fucking b...” you muttered, and caught yourself when you saw Ningning separate herself from the couch to slowly walk towards you, her hands on her back and a slightly worried expression on her face.
"You already passed the test, don't worry," she said with a calm and soothing voice, "you don't have to test your skills on me."
"Huh?" She fell on her knees between your legs, and as she looked at you with her beautiful big eyes she took your cock with one hand and started pumping it slowly, "Oh..." you stared at her, feeling your stomach become ticklish again, you felt affection for her, and maybe something more.
"You're a cute boy… you deserve it," she said as she continued to move her hand up and down your throbbing cock. You felt your cheeks warm again.
"T-Thank you..." you thanked and then gasped, when you did, she brought the tip of your cock to her mouth. You moaned louder, and Ningning began to suck on your tip slowly and sensually, being careful but still perfectly working her tongue and head motions.
She brought her mouth further to the middle of your shaft, slurping softly on your cock with one hand at the base and the other caressing one of your thighs. You two exchanged glances, and once you did, you couldn't stop looking into each other's eyes for a single second, not even when she took your entire cock inside her mouth, sucking something faster without the need to be disastrous.
You raised a hand to gently caress her face, your finger on her cheekbone and the rest of your hand on her chin. Her eyes changed at that moment, and you could notice how they somehow transmitted affection and gratitude towards you, they were extremely beautiful, and you were hypnotized.
Ningning took you out of her mouth for a few seconds, licking, kissing and sucking on your balls as her hand pumped quickly on your cock, and after giving your balls enough attention, she returned your cock into her mouth to take you straight down her throat. She didn't show any gag reflex, she just scrunched her face up a little as she looked into your eyes and rested her nose against your pelvis. You moaned loudly, and she pulled you out of her mouth with a long gasp of air.
She didn't give herself any time to rest, a few seconds later she dove back into your cock, giving it more sensual sucks and slurping all the saliva that was dripping from it. Your breathing was agitated and you felt how you were slowly reaching the top. Karina noticed your expression, and quickly took a step forward.
"Stop right there," Karina said to Ningning, who had pulled you out of her mouth, walking over to you and sitting next to the confused girl. She leaned back, bringing her feet up and closer to Ningning's face, "prepare them."
Ningning looked at you for a few seconds, once again as if to say that she was sorry, and then grabbed Karina by the ankles to lick and kiss her feet as disastrously as she could, leaving them all slippery and full of saliva.
Once her feet were ready, Karina turned her body towards you and raised her feet onto your lap, trapping your cock between them and starting to give you a footjob which completely suppressed the rage you felt at that moment thanks to her. Her feet moved deliciously up and down, your cock sliding easily between them and throbbing as your orgasm was just around the corner.
Karina's toes also swirled over your tip every time they went up, and one massaged your balls every time they went down. That resulted in an inevitable downhill slope from which you had no salvation.
"Cum baby," Karina moaned, moving her feet faster around your cock, "Cum on these pretty feet that you like better than Yuna's."
That last sentence made your blood boil, but at that point you couldn't do a damn to show it since you started shooting multiple thick jets of cum everywhere. You held on tightly to the chair and squirmed on it, while Karina drained you completely with her pretty feet, which were being completely covered by a layer of white liquid. You squeezed your eyes shut, still spasming slightly as your throbbing cock spilled the last drops of cum onto Karina's feet, which dripped your cum into your pelvis.
Karina stopped, and removed her feet from your cock to turn around and present them to Ningning once more.
“Go ahead honey, clean up,” she ordered in a cute, kind voice that sounded really fake to you.
Ningning sighed, and took Karina by the ankles again to begin passing her tongue through every corner of her feet, collecting your cum and swallowing every little drop without even complaining, on the contrary, she seemed to enjoy it, knowing that the true architect of that great load had been her. Once Karina's feet were completely clean and shiny, Ningning took the liberty of ignoring her and began running her tongue over your pelvis, collecting the small pools of cum that accumulated there before taking you into her mouth. again, just to suck your cock clean for a few seconds and then pull it out.
At that moment, a small beep was heard through the plane's speakers.
"Attention, passengers, we are approaching the final descent," the pilot's voice said over the speakers, "so please, we recommend that you fasten your seat belts properly," another beep sounded, and the pilot fell silent.
"Well, you certainly won't need to fasten the seat belt properly," Giselle joked, followed by a loud laugh, you looked down, and noticed that your ankles were still stuck to the chair.
"Fuck you, Aeri," you told her in English.
"You'll have time to fuck me later, don't rush it silly," she replied back in English.
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Spren Notes:
FINALLY P.S.T IS BACK AND ON FIRE FAM.
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