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majorblinks · 1 year

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hard to break the habit, part 2 ((g)i-dle yuqi, minnie)

(smut, threesomes, public sex, anal, double penetration, oral, bodywriting, strap-ons, sex tapes, birthday sex, mentions of blood, biting, choking, squirting, sadomasochism, public humiliation, fluff, polyamory, 29k words, i originally wrote this for minnie's bday so she gets to top for once lmfao, first part here)

“So, about that sequel.”

It’s the three of you, but it usually is. It always starts with the most familiar scene.

“Ugh,” says Yuqi, arching an eyebrow at you, the equivalent of a title card, opening credits. “Your obsession with sex is genuinely so unflattering.”

She’s got her hands in Minnie’s hair, thumb skating along the side of Minnie’s neck. Her nail trails across a row of hickeys you’d bitten and Yuqi’d made worse - or maybe the other way around. Oh, well. It’s not like you’re clamoring for recognition, competing during awards season; there’s no point in keeping score.

“I’m up for it,” says Minnie, smiling.

Her eyes flutter open, irises so green you suddenly can’t look away. Tilts her head, the line of her jaw an edge you’d love to drag your tongue across. She says, “I mean, I’m always up to get the life fucked out of me.”

“We get it,” says Yuqi, mouth curling. Her gaze flicks to Minnie’s face, anchors there just like you. You’re supposed to be playing a video game together, but it’s all a completely lost cause. There are too many pretty things in the room to resist. It’s a real problem. “You’re a whore.”

“Just for you two,” Minnie says, so easily that Yuqi actually stops short.

Her surprise is almost comical, because anyone with a view would be able to pick up on the context clues. Minnie, her head tucked into the crook of Yuqi’s neck, her arm splayed across Yuqi’s stomach, fingers brushing at your palm; Yuqi, working her fingers into your sleeve, tugging absentmindedly; you, and the kiss you’d pressed to the crown of her head seconds before. That’s an establishing shot, showing rather than telling; you’re all a little addicted to the physical. One look at the three of you and any audience would get it on sight.

“Oh, come on,” Minnie says, grinning when she spots Yuqi’s expression. “That can’t really surprise you, Yuqi. I’ve been fucking nobody but you guys for months.”

“Yeah,” you add, egging her on. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one out of the three of us.”

“I am,” insists Yuqi, but her dark eyes are gentle, lips quirked like a vulnerability. Heroes and their hamartias. “You guys have a collective IQ of, like, five. It’s not a high bar to clear.”

“Five,” repeats Minnie, jutting out her bottom lip at you thoughtfully.

“I think it’s gone up,” you agree.

“Stop talking,” says Yuqi, wrapping her fingers in the strap of Minnie’s tank top and tugging hard, letting it bite into her hickey-smattered collarbone. Minnie yelps, a breathy, needy noise - and your eyes flash right to Yuqi’s.

“Sequel?” you offer, again.

The pink’s almost completely faded out of Yuqi’s hair, but it smells sweet, tickling your neck. She’s got her tongue settled at the corner of her mouth, Chekhov’s gun - it’ll come back around just in time for the climax. The kind of criminally gorgeous that turns on you in a plot twist, betrays you and does it beautifully.

“You and your fucking one-track mind,” says Yuqi, scoffing.

But there’s the catch that they’re perfect scene partners, dripping chemistry; at her side, Minnie tilts her chin up, effortlessly alluring. Any camera would drink her in greedily, nab all the details: sharp points, places to apply pressure. Slant of her sternum. Slender lines of her shoulders. She’d walk on-screen and turn an audience wild.

“Well,” you say, grinning at the two of them. “It’s probably a little more than a one-track mind.”

Their reactions might as well be straight from a script; Yuqi breaks on a husky laugh, the echo like music itself. Minnie immediately pauses to watch, drawn like a sound cue, waiting with bated breath for the swell, the shift in tone. It’s art in motion, film in real life. Maybe sex isn’t really the thing you’re all obsessed with, in the end.

“Ha,” Yuqi says, sarcastic and somehow delighted, all at once. “You’re evolving.”

“That’s fucked up,” Minnie tells her, smile already beginning to spread. “You know we don’t know what that word means.”

“What, did you skip basic biology?”

“Basic what?”

And it wouldn’t be your kind of art if there was a single hard cut to a happy ending - there’s still a story to tell. You’ll be the narrator, asking your audience to just walk with you here. Stick it out; you’ll get there. Maybe it’s not all about sex, maybe it’s never so straightforward: fine. Maybe you’ll have to look a little deeper.

(Maybe it’s just each other, then. Maybe it’s just this.)

“Oh,” Minnie tells you both, one day. “You should probably know Miyeon’s giving me so much shit about this.”

“About what?” Yuqi asks, neck lolling to look at her. “Getting fucked regularly?”

All this talk of films - sure, the three of you together is more of an episodic thing, a serialized narrative; every moment slips neatly into the next. Apparently Miyeon and her boyfriend had spent the morning making some romantic breakfast together - crepes, blueberry and chocolate - and by noon you and Minnie and Yuqi are out in the kitchen sleepily scarfing down leftovers. It’s domestic. It’s mundane. It’s a perfect kind of day.

Yuqi’s sitting on the counter, splitting a chocolate-filled crepe with Minnie. “She’s one to talk,” she’s saying, about Miyeon. “Her teacher boyfriend’s like twice her age and he fucking ruins her every time they get together.”

“I actually have a question about that,” you say, already on your second crepe. “Or several questions. So, when you say he’s her teacher - do you mean that he’s her professor, like, currently, or-”

Minnie licks chocolate off of her bottom lip; Yuqi freezes, hooked on her mouth. Well, you’ve all got your weaknesses. “He was her high school teacher,” Minnie says, and inexplicably doesn’t elaborate, setting her plate aside. “Anyway-”

The sun’s drifting in through slats in the blinds, a snapshot framed naturally, spilling midday light over the counter, the floor, filtering through Minnie’s glossy black hair. There are subtleties in the set dressing, in the distinct lack of hickeys, bruises; everyone’s able to walk straight, that’s a first. You all stayed the night here yesterday after getting caught up watching some ridiculous rom-com, and managed to miss out on the sex, for once.

(Well, maybe not for once. There’s a recurring segment, like a bit played for laughs - oh, you all meant to be fuckbuddies; now you’re making a habit of sleeping over, sharing breakfast. It’s hysterical. It’s a riot. Slapstick humor at its finest, how you somehow tripped and fell into each others’ beds, and lives, and you just can’t manage to find your way back out.)

“Her whole point was that I have a bad track record,” Minnie’s explaining. “I have a habit of falling in love with my fuckbuddies.”

Yuqi stiffens. “She told you that?” She shakes her head vehemently, brows lowering in distaste. “That’s so shitty. I’ll kick the shit out of her.”

“Is it shitty?” you ask Yuqi, confused.

Yuqi’s jaw works. She’s inspecting Minnie’s face carefully.

“Yeah,” she says. “Considering the reason Miyeon stopped hooking up with Minnie was because Minnie fell in love with her, I think it’s pretty goddamn tactless of her to say.”

“Hey,” says Minnie, gently. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, smile rueful. “I’m okay now. It was a while ago.” Her gaze runs its usual circuit, you to Yuqi, back again. She’s so good at playing parts that no stranger would be able to separate truth from fiction - but you can. You know she means it when she says, “I’m over her.”

“Still,” says Yuqi, irritated. She’s never so easily mollified. “Want me to talk to her?”

“Talk to her? You’re just gonna threaten to beat her up.”

“Yeah, and she deserves it.”

“Yuqi.”

You’ve all started this thing out by sneaking in and out of each others’ beds like you’re all teenagers engaging in some secret love affair - two’s company, three’s a crowd; that’s what they all say. Dodging roommates and donning each others’ sweatshirts. Playing games like there’s some kind of prize to be won, bruises and bright red lines scraped over skin, tallying up your points.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Minnie’s clarifying, patting Yuqi’s knee soothingly, hopping down off the counter. “Like, she didn’t say it was a bad thing. She just wanted me to make sure that I knew what I was getting into.”

But it’s been months now, and somehow, even without all that drama, you’ve learned you can still have fun.

Everyone knows you’re fucking anyway, you’ve all decided; what’s the point in an act? Alright, you’ll spend entire days joined at the hip, let your friends recognize you all as a trio, as partners in crime. Laze around Yuqi’s apartment playing video games and splitting coffees. Get stern talking-tos at the library because you and Minnie can’t stop laughing at some absolutely foul joke Yuqi makes. You drag them both to the gym with you at least twice a week - Minnie never fails to don the most revealing athletic wear you’ve ever seen; Yuqi always ends up drowning in one of your t-shirts. Minnie rounds you all up at her favorite coffee shop between classes. You go to every gig Yuqi’s band has. There’s a name for this kind of thing - some kind of romantic trope, some cliché.

“She’s my best friend,” says Minnie, settling herself between Yuqi’s legs, fingertips dancing across her thigh. “She knows me.”

She knows this, too, you think of saying. Miyeon, with her fondness for flowery novels and pretentious films, mindful of foreshadowing, the way plot points thread together and tie themselves up in bows.

“Fine,” says Yuqi, a little petulantly. Her hair’s swept up, pale pink twining down her spine. “But - don’t you already know what you’re getting into?”

Haven’t we covered this by now? she’s saying. You and me and him. I’ve spent the night here every day for the past week and only half those were because the sex was so intense I couldn’t move afterwards. You know, don’t you? You know.

Because that’s how Yuqi sees things; she’s got no logical reason to stick around. She’s always got things to do. But she’s here, anyway, with the two of you, letting Minnie touch her however she wants, letting you sneak over and press a kiss to her shoulder, just above her tattoo. It’s a Saturday afternoon, mid-autumn. A moment of sweet, languid silence, letting the scene speak for itself, letting all the main players just breathe. There’s no other word for it but peace.

“Yeah,” says Minnie, and grins over at you. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Well, the peace doesn’t last very long, but it never does.

It can’t, really. Not with Yuqi, always something of a succubus, seconds from pulling out claws, fangs, going feral; not with Minnie, submissive like it’s something permanent, invariably ready to get on her knees. Not with you, utterly helpless in the face of both of them - oh, scratch that. You have agency. You knew what you were getting into. The point is that you’ve got a sequel to get to, so:

hey, Yuqi says one day, and it’s not in the group chat for once. you’re at minnie’s place, right?

You are, but you’re far from the only one. There’s something about Minnie and Miyeon’s apartment - okay, it’s not exactly a mystery, it’s gorgeous and way too much space for just the two of them; ah, the things old money can buy - that tends to attract strays. Today that just happens to include some of Miyeon’s friends, laughing with Miyeon out in the kitchen; Miyeon’s boyfriend, flipping through a dog-eared book on the couch; you, next to him, asking him if he can proofread one of your essays. Hey, it’s all about using your resources.

yes? you text back, puzzled. why?

minnie and i are on our way home. make sure the apartment is empty before we get there.

Just like that - like there’s no room for debate. ? you text, then: ???????

No response. You stare at your phone for a second, glance up at Miyeon’s boyfriend, watching you expectantly. In the kitchen, Miyeon squeals at something one of her friends says. It’s not even your apartment, but-

hey, you text Miyeon, discreetly. yuqi just texted me saying she wants me to clear the apartment out before she gets back…. can you help please

Desperate times, desperate measures. You’ve learned to read Yuqi’s tone even through texts. It’s an order you’re not about to ignore.

“Sorry,” you say to Miyeon’s boyfriend, “Yuqi is - you know what, never mind.” It’s a lost cause; there’s no point in explaining Song Yuqi’s whims. Instead-

You wait a beat, and then you hear Miyeon snort out a laugh from all the way in the other room.

sure, Miyeon replies over text, because despite it all, she’s a girl who knows how to pick her battles. give me like five minutes.

“Sorry about this,” she says to her friends moments later, true to her word, as she’s ushering them out the door. Her boyfriend’s arm is wound around her waist, the staggering height difference between them as adorably funny as it always is. “I totally forgot we have date night tonight.”

“It’s okay,” says one of Miyeon’s friends - she’s remarkably tall, willowy, voice sweetly soft and understanding. “Have a good time.”

“Yeah, whatever,” says her other friend, a brunette who is ostensibly wearing sunglasses indoors. You recognize her vaguely as one of the baristas from the coffee shop near campus. “You don’t have to be, like, coy about it. If you’re gonna get fucked senseless, just say that.”

“Yunjin,” admonishes Miyeon, adopting that faux-scandalized tone that you recognize on the spot. Miyeon’s rarely anything but shameless, but she’ll play her parts. “No - we’re going to dinner. We’re classy.”

Yunjin slips her sunglasses to the top of her head just to give the most dramatic eye-roll you’ve ever seen. “Sure,” she says, and moves to tug the other girl out the door. “Have fun. Don’t get a venereal disease from having sex in a public bathroom. And don’t get pregnant.” She pauses, purposeful. “Or do, whatever. You’re into that, right?”

Miyeon sputters; it takes a lot to catch her off-guard, but Yunjin’s doing it wonderfully. “I - you-”

“Bye, Miyeon,” the other girl tacks on, earnestly sincere, and lets the door fall shut, leaving you all speechless in the process - and it’s certainly one way to make an exit.

“You’re welcome,” says Miyeon, standing in the doorway with her boyfriend’s hand clasped in hers. “The only reason I did that is because I know Yuqi will hit me with her car if she finds out I’m the person who cockblocked her.”

“I owe you one,” you say. There’s no fighting those allegations; when Yuqi’s that demanding, it can only mean one thing. “Thanks. Seriously.”

You’re about to bid them farewell, but something gives you pause, drinking them both in.

See, you were right about Miyeon knowing stories like yours, her penchant for romantic novels and tales spun - but there’s this, too. Miyeon, who’s been right where you are now; who gets the way sex and situationships can slip into a future, into a finale, into the rest of your life.

Well, at least she’s on your side. There are worse allies to have.

“No problem,” Miyeon says, and her smile spills her own secrets. “Good luck.”

Oh, about your sequel: obviously, you’ve got to outdo yourselves this time. It’s all about setting new standards. There’s a camera, there’s a set-up, there are toys, tricks, daydreams to indulge in, novelties; there’s Minnie, practically asking to be tortured-

The front door slams shut.

“Hello?” you call, and get nothing back but silence.

(Contrary to popular belief, you and Yuqi don’t get riled without a reason. If you’re going to rough Minnie up, take her to the point of no return and push her past it, you’ve got to have at least some incentive. You’ve all been fucking so regularly that it’s a given - but it’s got to be a special occasion, to bring out the cameras.

So: this all means you’re not exactly sure what to expect when you wander into the entryway, but-)

“Oh,” you say, when you see her. “Hey?”

It’s all there, immediately. The flushed cheeks, stark against the faded color in her hair; lips screwed up, half a pout, half a scowl, cute with an edge, adorable with an aggression. The footfalls of her feet in her platform sandals, determined; she’s in jeans and one of your t-shirts, so oversized it’s slipping off a shoulder. Her fingers flex like she’s thinking of wrapping them around someone’s hair. She’s fuming, from the jump. It’s hilarious. It’s hot.

“Uh,” you say, watching Yuqi fumble with the straps of her sandals, too worked up to work anything. “Are you okay?”

“Minnie,” snaps Yuqi, furious in place of an explanation. “She’s fucking - I’ve been out with her all day, and she’s-”

It’s nonsense. You open your mouth, about to ask for clarification - but then Minnie walks through the door after her, and you instantly get the gist.

“Oh,” you say again, struck.

“Exactly,” says Yuqi, seething.

Minnie’s not even paying attention to either of you, humming softly to herself as she leans down to slip off her shoes, teeth notched into her bottom lip. She’s in these criminally short black denim cutoffs, riding high and shameless up her thighs, this cropped black sweater, showing off her flat midriff and dipping low at the neckline - every part of her is slender and lean and gorgeous, just begging to be bruised and bitten and scratched - there’s her silky black hair, her eyes green and rimmed with dark eyeliner, mascara, ten times more arresting than usual, half-lidded and devilishly sexy, lips red and throat just begging for a fist around it - okay, she’s not even fucking doing anything, but-

Minnie glances over at the two of you, gathering up her hair in one smooth, fluid motion; it wouldn’t usually be this teasingly hot, but - alright, that’s a lie. It’s Minnie and everything she does is like an invitation to rip her clothes off, or at least it is for you and Yuqi.

“Hey,” she says, nonchalantly, letting her hair drop back past her collarbones.

“I’m gonna fuck you up,” says Yuqi, like there are a dozen unspeakably violent urges she’s repressing all at once.

Minnie’s mouth falls open, somehow actually startled. “What?”

“You look really hot today,” you translate. “It’s making her, um-”

“Horny?” Minnie supplies, catching on.

“Homicidal,” you correct. Well, when it comes to Yuqi, they pretty much go hand in hand.

Minnie cracks into a smile. “I’m hot every day,” she says, planting a hand on her hip. She lifts her chin, and there’s the fantasy again: tall, toned, threateningly attractive. That familiar brand of beautiful, like something you want to rip up and ruin. “I would think you’d be able to control yourself by now.”

“Don’t be a brat.” Yuqi’s patience is already running thin - there’s a tightrope you’re walking, precarious. There are fault lines, already splitting ground. “You’re such a fucking cocktease.”

“Okay,” says Minnie, still smiling. She’s used to how Yuqi’s sexual frustration practically possesses her, something of a spirit, fury flushing her veins; it’s always a bit demonic, but that’s the fun of it. “Do you want to do something about it?”

She asks it so innocently. She’s always down to push limits. It’s enticing, to her: the opportunity to drag the devil up from hell just to taunt her.

But then Yuqi jerks forward to grab Minnie’s forearm in her hand, and that’s enough for Minnie to give it all up entirely - Yuqi touches her and there’s no point in putting up a fight, not that she’d even want to. She’ll have bruises later. She’ll wear them like jewelry: against her wrists, her neck, bitten into her thighs; rubies, amethysts. This, you’ve come to realize, is a girl who’s used to living in luxury. Sex like this is just another way of showing status.

So you’ll give her what she wants. “Well, baby,” you say, at Minnie’s wide eyes, as Yuqi tugs her roughly towards the bedroom, “when you’re crying later, I hope you remember that you did this to yourself.”

Minnie blinks owlishly at you, but it’s an act with fraying edges; she can’t hide the smirk unfurling at her mouth. Yuqi throws the door open, says where’s your fucking camera - Minnie doesn’t break eye contact with you, flattens herself against the wall, already prepared to get tossed around and manhandled. She’ll make herself smaller, shyer. She’ll give you exactly what you want, too.

“Oh,” Minnie says coyly, and she’s always so much more in control than she’ll pretend to be. “I absolutely will.”

(See, Miyeon was only partially right when she wished you good luck: it’s a sweet sentiment, sure, but it’s becoming very obvious that you're not the one who needs it.)

It’s the outfit. The shorts, more accurately. It’s what you manage to glean from the way Yuqi gets Minnie on the bed, gets them off and to the floor like they’ve personally offended her. You know Minnie; know she probably spent the whole day bending over in them, irresistible to get a reaction, insatiable when it comes to attention. She’s fond of skimpy clothing - she’s got a figure she loves to show off - and you’re obviously not complaining, because you’re allowed to stare and grope and touch. Yuqi is too, but something about today, something about the mood-

“Here’s what you don’t seem to understand,” Yuqi says to her, voice low and deadly. “If you dress like a dumb slut, you’re gonna get fucked like a dumb slut.”

Your eyebrows raise involuntarily.

(Look, today’s particular outfit wasn’t even close to the most revealing thing you’ve ever seen Minnie wear - but your gaze falls to the godforsaken shorts abandoned on the bedroom floor, and you kind of get it, regardless.)

You’ll let Yuqi have this one. Plus, you’re not about to start complaining about this, either, especially when-

“Proposition,” continues Yuqi casually, above Minnie on the bed, trapping her wrists in her hands. “You wanna take two cocks at once, sweetheart?”

It seems like it’s been established by now, the answer to that question: you’ve fucked her throat, Yuqi’s fucked her pussy. Minnie can take dick like she was built for it, her body lithe with a purpose, designed for sin, sex, debauchery - but Yuqi leans in closer, mouth like readying a weapon, preparing a stipulation:

“One in your cunt,” she says, and for a second it’s like she’s already bitten down and broken skin, “and one in your ass.”

And that’s-

“You think she can handle it?” you say, camera in one hand, lens trained and remarkably still. Minnie whines, inhalations shallow; she loves being talked about like she’s not there, loves the dehumanization of it. It takes a certain kind of person to get off on being treated like fucking property, but-

“She’s a fucking whore for anal,” says Yuqi, dismissively, then laughs, raspy and ruinous. “I mean - she’s a whore all the time, we know that. But she really does love getting fucked in the ass.”

You reach out, take Minnie’s face in your other hand. “Is that true?” you ask her, almost placatingly; condescension drips from your tone. “You want that, baby?”

It’s immediate. Instinct, practically. A strangled breath from Minnie’s parted lips; a squeeze of her thighs together, stomach taut and back ready to curve to archways - a tilt of a camera, a discovery of a new angle, a clearer light. It’s rhetorical: you’ve heard it all over again, a million different ways - I’d let you do anything, she says, often and to both of you, halfway to begging; I’d let you fucking tear me apart, I don’t care, God damn, sometimes I just want to get fucked-

“Yes,” Minnie whispers. Then, pathetically: “fuck, please.”

There’s so much power in having her underneath you. It’s a miracle she ever makes it out of shit like this alive. There’s no real guarantee - this could be the time that ruins her for good, but that goes for every time. Yuqi laughs, fingers tightening around Minnie’s wrists; there’s her mirth in a minor key, there’s Minnie’s pulse like a funeral march. The risk is just the fun of it, really.

“Alright,” you say, grinning, and steady the camera; well, it’s all a show, anyway. “Then we’ll make it happen.”

It’s so fast, but that’s how it always goes: Yuqi hates being patient and you’re right there with her. She’s been riled all day, ready to call for warfare. She needs to see Minnie fucked and filled with cock, she says, smirk halfway to sinister, and she needs it now. Just like the two of you, she always gets what she wants, so there’s this:

Minnie, on all fours like it’s an automatic reaction. Yuqi, drenching her own fingers with lube, watching as Minnie whimpers against her pillow, made to part her own ass cheeks with her hands and wait-

Yuqi hums low in her throat at the sight, and shoots you a look behind the camera. “You getting all of this?”

“Obviously,” you say, and your voice sounds just as wrecked as hers; you both purport to have the upper hand, at times like these, but you’re both victims to your desires just as much as Minnie is. It’ll be abundantly clear, when you watch it back. You can’t really bring yourself to care. “Like I’d ever fucking miss it.”

And you can’t - no one can, no one in the room, no future versions of yourself watching it all back, no prospective audience - as Yuqi presses a lube-slicked finger to the pucker of Minnie’s asshole, and truly starts to fuck her.

The intrusion kicks a gasp from Minnie’s lungs, air whistling through her teeth. You can’t take your eyes off of her ass, Yuqi’s hands, the nearly feral gleam in her eye; that’s a sight you could get addicted to, no holds barred. Oh, it all shows here, somehow, underneath the abject filth-

“Yuqi-” Minnie’s voice breaks off, a strangled semblance of a moan. “Yuqi, fuck-”

-because Yuqi’s gentle when it counts, in the end. She’ll let violence bloom in other ways: a harsh smack to Minnie’s bare ass, a laugh at the mewling yelp it gets. The way she balls Minnie’s black hair in her fist just to yank her hair hard, just to see her back curve beautifully - just to snarl, “Nasty fucking slut.”

You can’t look away from the way she works her fingers into Minnie’s asshole, can’t get over the concept, the anticipation, the mind game in motion - Yuqi shoots a grin your way, beckons you closer - the strap-on’s waiting on the sheets, the lens is waiting for a performance.

“You ready?” Yuqi murmurs.

You pass her the camera - it’s all about setting the scene, about getting the perfect shot - okay, that’s only in theory, because in reality you know it’s just about getting fucked in more ways than one, but you’ll use your excuses while you can still think clearly - and then-

(It’s like it’s all been for practice. That’s the first thing you can even manage to come up with, and even that slips out seconds later, your brain too consumed by the feeling, the physical - Minnie’s cunt clamping down on your cock, Yuqi’s strap-on buried in her ass, and then she starts to thrust-)

“There you go,” you choke out; it’s all you can manage. You’re underneath Minnie, and you can’t take your eyes off that face, her devastating eyes, her lips parted prettily. “There’s our girl.”

That’s what you mean: like you don’t even have to say it out loud to fall right into it, to fuck Minnie like you’re returning to a rhythm. There are so many days with sex as a sort of sadistic competition, between you and Yuqi - who can hit Minnie harder, make her cum faster, make her scream louder - but it’s never been clearer: you’ve always had the same goal in the end, identical objectives, purposes and paths to ruin. Like you’ve both taken a girl and corrupted her, wholly and completely. Like - like-

“Like you’re just a cheap little whore.” You can’t see Yuqi’s face, but you don’t even have to; the rasp of her voice is enough. “That’s what it feels like, huh? Having your slutty fucking holes stuffed with cock?” Only a part of it is her performing for the camera, you know; get her in the right mood and this is what’ll make it out of her mouth regardless - predatory, ravenous, like she’s been starved for the sound of pain - or pleasure, whatever, like anyone can even tell the fucking difference - and needs to hear it again, and again, and again. “Having his cock in your cunt while I’m making your asshole gape-”

You’re letting her take the lead, but it’s partly because you can barely breathe, Minnie’s cunt like a vice, her perfect face above yours, green eyes dazed and watery, mouth slack and wet. Her body is so hot it’s almost feverish, simmering on high - her blood’s kerosene, her arteries sparking up in flames - there’s a hunger to this kind of craving, how it scalds and burns and consumes-

“Because you know,” continues Yuqi, so thick and rough she’s almost slurring. Her strap-on’s the kind that stimulates her clit, makes her shudder visibly with every thrust. “That this all belongs to us.” A loud smack on Minnie’s ass - Yuqi’s got the camera, probably getting the perfect angle, Minnie’s spine a winding road - you’ve got a view with how Minnie shrieks, tears forming in her eyes and spilling over - and Yuqi says, “We own you.”

The sound Minnie makes next - needy, desperate, shattering like glass and gorgeously - isn’t anywhere near a protest. Yuqi’s there with her defenses anyway, on the offensive as if Minnie’d screamed out loud, as if she’d writhed and fought it, as if she doesn’t know that it’s exactly the brutal truth. But there’s nothing Yuqi loves more than an argument, so:

“Baby,” she purrs, and cants her hips, “if we wanted to get eight strangers in here to fucking gangbang your tight little body - throw you around and use you like a fucking toy - you know you’d just get on all fours and take it.” Adds snidely, insult to bloody injury: “You’d let us film it, too.”

You suck in a breath at the image, struck, groaning. It’s one of those moments where everything starts to blur at the edges, tear apart at the seams - anything in the periphery seems to swim, melt, fade to obscurity - Minnie’s always deliciously tight, but Yuqi’s strap-on in her ass takes it up tenfold, makes her cunt nothing less than suffocating - you’re not sure how you’re not splitting her in two, how you’ll ever be able to come back from this-

“Gonna cum,” she whimpers, needy and threatening nonsensical, or it will be, in a few seconds. “Fuck me, fuck me, I’m gonna cum-”

She squirts - right there, right around your cock - but neither you or Yuqi stop. Self-control is fucking overrated, Yuqi’d said to you, once; I like taking what I want, especially when she’s fucking begging for it.

But there’s no space in the room for begging now, no opportunity for that kind of effort, for anything other than cumming, crying. Minnie’s sobbing incoherent - you bring that perfect face in your hands and drag her in for a kiss, and all you taste is salt, sweat, tears - her lips part and she’s drooling into your open mouth, unraveling, reduced to nothing but a wet, well-fucked mess-

It’s like you’re both trying to wear her out, make her something to fuck and tear apart and discard later. Hey, all bets are off in this bedroom. You’ll make her scream your names.

But it’s all about the benefits. You’re wired by the expression on her face, saying, “You know we only do this because you get off on that shit.” There’s your hand to her neck, the way she sees it coming and still flinches, still clenches tight around your cock. “You like when we treat you like a dumb fucking cocksleeve, choke you, hit you-”

It’s practically a cue; you hear how Yuqi’s hand comes down on Minnie’s ass, hear the smack, the strangled squeal. She must go for the curve of her hip next, because Minnie jerks to the side, gasps for air, squirts again-

Time shifts, has a way of becoming irrelevant - everything so slick and wet and sloppy it’s impossible to put a source to; Minnie won’t stop cumming - you and Yuqi have your hands everywhere she wants them, nails finding purchase wherever they can: there’ll be broken skin and blood, her body like a crime scene, but at least Minnie’s fucking asking for it - Yuqi’s panting, demanding, “Fucking cum, fucking cum in her-”

You think Minnie cums at the same time you do, but you can’t be sure. The room’s flooding, your head’s underwater; you can barely hear anything, blood rushing in waves. Minnie falls to the side next to you, gasping for air.

Yuqi’s above you with a camera, running a hand through her hair. The line of her neck shimmers with sweat. She looks victorious in the way only she can after sex, like there’s a war she’s won. Hair fucked up and falling down her back. Grin like a gold medal.

“Yuqi,” you say hoarsely, once you can speak.

She turns towards you, and you make your move.

You get the strap-on off in seconds, push it out of the way. For once, it’s all slow; sloppy but somehow gentle, two fingers in her cunt and your mouth on her clit - you fuck her and there’s no danger in it. Sometimes, you’re content to just make her cum; sometimes, she’s content to just let you. Oh, the roles are fun, the swearing and the slapping - but Yuqi’s thighs tighten around your head and she’s cumming around your fingers with a moan, and there’s nothing that compares to this, either.

Something clatters to the nightstand next to her.

You draw back, instantly suspicious, still licking her cum from your lips. “What was-”

But Yuqi’s already got the camera back up again, focused even with her thighs trembling, chest heaving; panning from Minnie’s slack, exhausted face to her tits, to her midriff, where-

FUCKDOLL, it reads, in crude letters across the flat plane of her stomach. Like she’d seen a canvas she just couldn’t resist. There’s an eyeliner pencil on the nightstand, entirely incriminating. You raise your eyebrows at Yuqi, not quite questioning the impulse - you’re so far past that - but entertained by it, nonetheless.

Yuqi grins back, catches the look.

“Well, look at her,” she says, stroking her thumb down Minnie’s midriff, pausing to trace the letters, the sweat dappling her skin. Looks back up at you, smirk wicked and wild, and her expression says it all: it’s the truth, isn’t it? Tilts the camera, supporting evidence. She’s calling it how she sees it, how anyone would. Look at how we fuck her, she’s saying. Look at how she’d fucking die for it.

Hey, she doesn’t need to prove anything to you. You’re seeing it all firsthand. Squirt ruining the sheets, the gape of Minnie’s asshole; her well-fucked cunt, drooling your cum onto her thighs. A toy by any definition - like her body’s designed for it, her pussy, her ass, her brilliantly expressive eyes.

“Realistically,” continues Yuqi, a little cruelly, “there are way worse things I could’ve called her.”

But another second passes and she’s giggling, tracing the sloppy letters, enjoying her own handiwork. It’s practically a compliment, coming from her. An endearment. A giveaway. Anyone she liked less would get something much meaner - but it’s Minnie.

“I don’t give a fuck,” mumbles Minnie, fingers splayed lazily across the drenched sheets. Dazed and only half-alive, words melting into each other like honey. You laugh at the state of her because it’s hilarious, and you kiss her, because she’s gorgeous. She smiles against your mouth, murmurs, “Call me whatever you want.”

(See, but she doesn’t really need to tell you that, either - you’ve known the entire time.)

It’s like that thing all the great filmmakers say: every single frame like a painting, Minnie at your mercy. Vaguely surreal, unbelievable, like she can’t actually be that filthy, that fucked, that beautiful - getting this all on camera; well, it’s something of an art form, if you actually think about it-

“What the fuck are you talking about?” exhales Yuqi, reaching out to brush your sweaty hair off your forehead, affection dulling the snark somewhat. Then: “Oh, God. You’re losing it, too.”

Too, she says, because Minnie’s already long gone, but that’s a given. “No, I definitely have a point,” you protest weakly, throwing a haphazard gesture towards the camera. “We could - like - win awards for this shit.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”

You try in vain for a glare, about to fire back, but-

A breathless laugh. Half a wheeze, so scratchy you would be alarmed - but you know better. Minnie’s got her entire face buried into your shoulder, giggling deliriously, sounding partially like she’s seconds from complete lung failure, a marginally worrying and entirely familiar mark of exhaustion. She’s too adorable to resist, fucked out and hopeless. Yuqi stares, says, “Great. That’s great,” and opens her mouth again, like she’s readying another insult-

Minnie swivels just to tip her cheek into Yuqi’s neck, eyes closed and makeup ruined, a slight, dreamy smile gracing her lips. Yuqi’s mouth snaps shut.

“You were saying?” you prompt.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Not a chance,” you say, delighted, too caught up in the moment to be anything else. “Not when I could be fucking you instead.”

Yuqi rolls her eyes; she’d probably punch you if she didn’t think it’d disrupt Minnie. “Boo,” she says, instead, and throws you a withering look. “That sucks. You get girls with lines like that?”

Minnie’s laughing again, suddenly. She mumbles something incomprehensible into Yuqi’s neck, then tilts her face out, says to Yuqi, “It got you, didn’t it?”

“Please,” says Yuqi, never missing a beat. “I’m only here because you guys are better than nothing.”

But she’s stroking a hand through Minnie’s hair, the curve of her lips soft and honest in a way that she can’t be openly, sometimes; too tender, too shy. She doesn’t try to hide it, but she doesn’t announce it either. She’s content as you lean over, kiss the tip of her nose, make her laugh; content just to be there, with the two of you. Happy to give in, after all of it.

“Right,” you say, smiling back, because you’ll let her confess when she’s ready. “Let’s go with that.”

The dust settles, eventually; the camera’s shut off, the sheets are stripped and thrown in the washer, you distribute Gatorades, waters. You rebuild each other, afterwards. You clean it all up. Minnie needs it most, but she always does; she falls right into your arms, in the end. Fine, says Yuqi, I guess I’ll forgive you for dressing like a whore - but she’s laughing.

“Yeah, what was that?” you ask; it’s all unmasked, the curtains finally drawn back. You’ll thumb back through the script, double back on your lines. “I’ve seen Minnie in way sluttier outfits. That was kind of an intense reaction to a pair of shorts that I’m pretty sure she’s worn, like, forty times.”

Minnie makes a tiny noise of protest - with the kind of money I have? you can imagine her saying, overdramatic and bratty to get a reaction; you know I don’t fucking repeat outfits - but now she’s too sleepy for any real argument, too sated to even want it.

“I was looking for an excuse to lose my shit,” says Yuqi, shamelessly. She tilts her head, thumb tracing a circle on Minnie’s bare hip. “Plus, she liked it.”

“I like you,” says Minnie, dreamily. She pokes your cheek, grin beaming like stage lights. “You too.” She pauses, briefly swerves into another train of thought. “Are you actually going to get eight strangers in here to gangbang me?”

“Of course not,” you say, entertained, before Yuqi can even open her mouth. “Yuqi’s too territorial. She’d curb stomp anyone who tried to go near you.” You stop, amend, “Except for me, obviously.”

“Even you’re on thin fucking ice, by the way,” Yuqi adds, trying her best to glare at you. “No, I’d never have you do that, Minnie. That takes a certain kind of sadist, I think.” She shudders. “To make their girl get fucked by a group of random guys and film it.”

“What?” says Minnie, smile growing.

“Aren’t some people just into that?” you ask Yuqi. “Like, that’s what being a cuck is, no?”

“Wait,” Minnie tries to interrupt, still smiling.

“Okay, but I think at that point it goes past… cuckism. Like, if it’s on that extreme of a level - that’s just fucked up. For someone to get their girl-”

“You said it again,” says Minnie.

Yuqi glances at her, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Said what?”

“I don’t think cuckism is a word,” you say, three steps behind.

Minnie shifts, sheets pooling around her hips. She’s exhausted; you both had to hold her up in the shower, wash her face, her body - she drifted in and out, repeating your name, tipping her face towards Yuqi as if asking for a kiss. Yuqi obliged, every time, cupping Minnie’s cheeks in her hands carefully. There are some things that don’t have to be said out loud.

“You said it’s fucked up for someone to do that to their girl,” Minnie says. “Like you wouldn’t have me do something like that because I’m your girl.”

For a second you and Yuqi just blink at her, caught out and characters broken. Both of you have told her as much a million times while you’re fucking her - you own her, she belongs to you, like property, like a possession - but you know that’s not what she’s really asking, now. Eyes dark again, full of stars, wide and wondrous. Alright: not everything has to be said out loud, but then there’s this.

“Jesus,” Yuqi mumbles, pressing a finger underneath Minnie’s jaw - and then she can’t do anything but kiss her. “Yeah, you are, okay? Fine. You’re our girl.”

“Good,” says Minnie, and curls comfortably between the two of you, like she knows it’s exactly where she belongs.

There’s another life where you’d compartmentalize all of it, draw clear lines. You’d fuck them both and leave without another word. Yuqi’d cut her losses, be just as cold as she pretends to be; Minnie’d slip back into her favorite façades, tall and imposing and intimidating. You don’t need to stay and never did. Truthfully, it’s crazy that you’ve all made it this far, but-

“Cuckism is a word,” Yuqi announces, scrolling through her phone. “I mean, if you consider Urban Dictionary a reliable source. Which I do, so.”

“One of these days,” you say, charmed by her, “you’ll learn how to lose an argument.”

“That’s never happening,” says Yuqi. “I’m always right. I never lose.”

She’s wrapped up in a king-sized bed, recently fucked and cheeks flushed, all three of you smelling like Minnie’s shampoo. Content to stay for the night, stay for all of them. Tuck away all her weapons and sheathe the blades. The morning will come, and Yuqi won’t feel the need to run - she knows what it feels like to be safe when she’s had it in her arms for months.

“No,” you agree, quietly. “I don’t think you do.”

October slips into the frame, eventually. There’s the leaves changing, that bite to the air; autumn’s everyone’s favorite season, here.

Minnie’s birthday is on the horizon - fucking Scorpios, says Yuqi, rolling her eyes like that means anything - so you get caught up discussing outfits, presents, parties; they’ve got a gig at Club Cosmic a few days after that that they’re trying to put together a coherent concept for, something that goes with their songs, their vibe. They’re searching for something new, they tell you. Soyeon’ll be the one who comes up with whatever they end up choosing, probably - she’s the brains behind the whole operation and always has been. But in the meantime-

“Minnie just wants us all to wear lingerie and cat ears,” complains Yuqi, the three of you walking to your usual coffee shop, soaking up the sun and the weather. “Zero imagination.”

“I’m saying we should be sexy cats,” says Minnie, unbothered. “It’s, like, a classic.”

It’s one of those perfect days, more light than lust, more peace than power plays. You’re with your girls and the sun’s high in the sky, blanketed by clouds, hands brushing casually as you walk like you’re right out of a trite, cheesy drama, all three of you. “Ew,” says Yuqi. “What’s sexy about cats?”

“Miyeon says it’s camp,” says Minnie, whimsically, which isn’t an answer.

“Miyeon would rather throw herself into traffic than disagree with you,” says Yuqi. “Her opinion means nothing.”

Minnie’s lips pull up at a corner, amused. “No,” she corrects, “that’s why it means everything.”

The coffee shop’s mildly busy when you enter, but nothing too stifling, occupied by the usual college students and not much more. Some are shamelessly in pajamas, faded sweatshirts, taking up outlets with their laptops. Cramming for exams, probably, writing essays; you’ve been there. Miyeon’s friend - Yunjin - is working the register, chatting with her coworker and the tall, graceful girl she’s with all the time. Yunjin’s saying something to make both of them laugh: the other girl hides her giggle behind her hand, leaning half on the counter.

“Hey,” Miyeon calls from the table by the window.

Her boyfriend’s by her side, thumbing through a heavily annotated novel, tiny post-its sticking out from the pages. Minnie draws out her wallet, redirects towards Yunjin - oh, she knows all your orders by heart, and she’ll be generous. She can afford it.

“Hey,” you say, and you slip in the booth first, take the window seat. Yuqi slides in next to you. “Okay, so, Minnie’s birthday-”

Yuqi groans immediately, and even Miyeon sighs lightly, moves to take a sip of her coffee like just the mention of it’s exhausted her. You’ve been rehashing this conversation all month, practically. They’re throwing a party, but that’s a given. No, the real dilemma is the presents.

Here’s the thing about Minnie - something you already know, but Miyeon, who’s known her the longest and still knows her the best, corroborates immediately: she’s not picky, when it comes to gifts. She’s so easy to please, points out Yuqi. Minnie has everything, so she’s happy with anything; she’d be content with something with a sentiment, and that’s all - and it almost makes it harder.

“What’s an appropriate present to buy your regular fuckbuddy?” you wonder out loud. “Like, what’s too much? What’s crossing a line?”

“Ugh,” says Yuqi, punching your arm. “I’m pretty sure if there were any lines, we’ve already crossed them all, dude.”

She’s got a point. Well, you think, recognizing that you’re sort of on a double date right now, sort of with your favorite people and their favorite people, sort of the happiest you’ve ever been - you’re here, and it already says all it needs to. There’s a silence, contemplating, and then-

“I need help,” calls Minnie loudly from the counter.

You all turn just to see her trying to balance three to-go coffee cups in both hands, eyes wide and exaggeratedly desolate. Behind the counter, Yunjin’s snickering at her instead of coming to her aid, but that seems pretty on-brand. Minnie casts a dramatic, miserable look over at your table, repeats woefully, “Help, please.”

She’s adorable. Half the students sitting at the far wall seem like they’re seconds from sprinting out of their chairs to help her, but - obviously - Yuqi’s never gonna let them get the chance.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she grumbles, standing up to collect the coffees with her. “Stop making that face. Stop. Minnie. Nicha.” A disgruntled sigh, like she’s hopeless. “You’re not as cute as you think you are.”

Minnie smiles in that charmingly lopsided way of hers. “Yeah,” she says, simply, “I am.”

Oh, you think to yourself - her grin’s too infectious to resist, and you’re sure Yuqi knows it too - neither of you can really argue with that.

Nobody gets anything done that morning, except Miyeon’s boyfriend, who has an actual grown-up job and constant work, so you let him be. You and Minnie and Yuqi and Miyeon are content to be dumb college students, dicking around, drinking too much coffee, talking too much shit; Minnie goes to the counter, orders two more for you and her. Yuqi scoffs, says things are better in moderation - “Look who’s talking,” you point out, and she kicks your shin. Like you said - one of those days.

Yuqi’s gotta leave earlier, so you’re the one walking Minnie back to campus. Bids you farewell, in the usual way: “Bye, gorgeous,” she says, leaning in to drop a kiss to Minnie’s lips, then moves on- “Bye to you too, whore,” she says to you, but kisses you anyway, deepens it, nips your bottom lip - right there in public, like she’s thinking of inspiring complaints, disgusting any possible observers with the PDA - breaks it off before it can get too extreme, grin vindictive. “Don’t get any public indecency charges without me.”

“That girl is a menace,” says Yunjin admiringly behind the counter, when Yuqi leaves.

“Completely,” you agree.

“She didn’t bite me,” says Minnie, unhappily. She turns towards you, tips her face up towards yours, lips pouting. “Make up for it, please.”

“Oh, nasty,” says Yunjin, somehow even more entertained.

“Chill,” you say, and Minnie grins, drops the pout and the wide eyes. She’s never really as bratty as she pretends to be, never as demanding; all the things she wants are things she already has. You dip your chin, touch your lips to her hair. Complain, not meaning it, “The face, Minnie.”

Minnie tilts her head, and in a second she’s fallen straight into sultry, eyelids shuttering in that almost sleepy, sexy way, eyebrows lifting, lips finding a curl. Bedroom eyes, sure - it’s the tone she goes for when she’s trying to seduce, inviting tempers, begging to be tortured. “What about now?”

“You heard Yuqi,” you say. “No public indecency charges without her.”

“I’m seriously going to throw up,” says Yunjin, lowering her aviators with a manicured nail like it’ll help her examine you closer. “God. I hate people in love.”

Oh: there’s that word again, like a sucker punch, like something to weaponize - or it would be, but it isn’t, today. The morning’s too beautiful. You’re all too close. Minnie’s in one of Yuqi’s jackets, and your bottom lip is swelling from where she’d bitten it, and you both kind of smell like her perfume.

“I’ll remember this when you finally fall in love,” Minnie says to Yunjin, without any real animosity. “I’m gonna give you so much shit for it.”

It’s a way of relenting, a sort of confession in itself. Yunjin says, disdainfully, “Never happening.” Shakes out her hair, tucks her sunglasses into the front of her shirt, dark eyes sharp and prettily shrewd. “Love is, like, so fucking overrated.”

And Minnie - Minnie, next to you, black hair pulled up and bangs falling in her eyes; wearing Yuqi’s hoodie, wearing your arm around her shoulder, proof of people who would do anything for her. Wearing a hickey on her collarbone like a necklace. Wearing her heart in her grin.

“Hm,” she says, and keeps it to herself, for now. “I think you’ll change your mind, someday.”

“So,” says Yunjin, passing you two matching vanilla lattes, hot and extra-large. “Are all three of you guys, like, dating, or-”

“It’s complicated,” says Minnie cheerfully, hand clasped in yours. She seems perfectly content to leave it there, so you do.

(She’s a little bit of a liar. You think everyone knows it, already: it’s not very complicated at all.)

“I don’t exactly make a habit of sleeping with the same people,” Yuqi says, once. “Familiarity breeds contempt, and all that.”

“Right,” you say.

“I’m sorry,” says Minnie, “my brain stopped working after you said breed.”

“Ew,” says Yuqi, pulling a face. “You’re into all that breeding shit? What the fuck is sexy about pregnancy?”

“I think for guys it’s like a power thing?” you offer, then confess, “I don’t get it either, honestly.”

“No, no,” Minnie agrees, “it sounds like a fucking nightmare. I mean, the thought of being pregnant makes me nauseous - if anyone ever brought it up during sex, my pussy would probably dry up on the spot. Like, if you want to turn me on, threatening to put me through the excruciating pain of childbirth is not the way to do it.” There’s a pause; Yuqi’s already snickering, taken with her bluntness. “Miyeon was always super into it, though.”

“I’m sure her boyfriend loves that,” quips Yuqi.

It’s another one of those days: clouds covering the sun, sky threatening to split and storm. You’re safe in Minnie’s bedroom, thrown about the room somewhat; Yuqi’s swiveling aimlessly in Minnie’s desk chair, scrolling through her phone; Minnie’s leaning over her vanity, doing her makeup. Suddenly, Minnie says, “He wrote this story about her.”

You turn towards her from your place on her bed, hugging one of her egregiously oversized stuffed animals to your chest. Yuqi looks similarly puzzled, brows lifting. “What?”

“Miyeon’s boyfriend.” Minnie squints into the mirror, evens out the precise points of her eyeliner. “He’s a teacher, but he’s also a writer, you know? And he wrote this short story about her.”

“Was it dogshit?” Yuqi asks, always ready to jump to the least flattering conclusion.

“I wish,” says Minnie, turning to meet Yuqi’s gaze. “No. It was gorgeous. It was like - it’s incredible, you know? To love someone so much that you can make something like that for them. In honor of them, inspired by them.” She stops, then tacks on, a little wonderingly: “I feel like - in another life, I could do something like that. I could love someone enough to make art for them.”

She purses her lips thoughtfully, casually returns to her makeup. Yuqi abruptly can’t stop staring at her. Minnie’s like that; she’ll say things without realizing how they come across, how personal and profound. Like she’s not making your head spin just by opening her mouth.

“Oh,” says Yuqi. Then, haltingly: “I think I could, too.”

You watch her, can’t help yourself; the way her dark eyes seem to catch a spark, fondness like a wildfire, consuming everything it touches. It’s such a romantic idea, creation and love intertwined. You think that’ll be the most of it, but then-

“You already do that, though,” says Minnie, sweetly, simply, like it’s the most obvious thing. “Through your music.”

And it’s like you can see it - can see the moment when Yuqi’s heart works its way out of its chest and leaps right into Minnie’s hands. Like you can catch the split second, frame it as a photograph, in vivid, screaming color: if it was showcased and shown off, it’d be titled one word, four letters. A seismic shift; one slip-up and you’re falling.

“Minnie,” you say, unable to fight your grin.

Minnie glances over her shoulder, your tone alerting her. “What?” she asks, and then spots the expression on Yuqi’s face - and then she’s laughing, swiveling to look at her. Eyes lined in black, eyeshadow shimmering, glitter and gold. Beautiful like it’s something she was born for.

“Yuqi,” Minnie says, and then, smiling, “Baby.”

“Shut up,” says Yuqi, hotly, and looks away, but she’s smiling too.

Yuqi never actually finishes her point, whatever she was trying to say about not usually sleeping with the same people - but, in the end, you know she doesn’t even need to.

“I was wondering about that, actually,” Soyeon says to you, one day, as you’re out grabbing lunch together. “It’s so weird. I’ve known you probably about as long as I’ve known both Minnie and Yuqi, but-” She shakes her head, purses her lips. “I wouldn’t have put the three of you together.”

“It’s crazy,” you agree, tugging absentmindedly at the sleeve of your coffee cup. “What about it?” You add, before she can answer, “Minnie says Miyeon thinks it’s more than sex, with the three of us.”

“Miyeon’s like that,” admits Soyeon, full lips in a half-grin. “Hopeless romantic. Also - she’s in love, so she likes to see other people in love, too. She can’t help it.”

“Well, what do you think?” You’ve known her long enough to trust her judgment.

Soyeon’s silent for a beat, considering. Then she says, “You know how Yuqi and I write the songs for our band, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You spend enough time with Yuqi that you’ve seen her bent over the small notebook she scrawls lyrics in, caught up in a moment or a melody, gaze darting from you to Minnie like she thinks she’ll discover prose in your eyes, her mouth. She smiles, sometimes, like she’s gotten what she’s looking for. Never once says what she finds. “So?”

Another silence. “I don’t know,” Soyeon says, but her tone suggests entirely the opposite. “She’s just - she’s been happy, lately. Even if she won’t say it out loud, it shows in the things she writes, you know?”

Yuqi, playing at detached and unaffected, until she isn’t - passion with a bite, affection still sometimes on the offense - and then a second, a misstep, features softening and eyes crinkling at the corners, laugh raspy and suddenly brazen, so gorgeous you think you could stop breathing, just looking at her face. Tucked under your arm hiding from some scary movie; leaning through the passenger side window to kiss Minnie’s forehead before she leaves. It’s all so normal, shockingly easy. Get her outside of the bedroom, and there’s that feeling again - peace.

You get what Soyeon means. Yuqi won’t give it up that easy, but she’s also not the type of girl to lie about the things she wants for long.

(A moment, a few weeks back. It’s a normal day, or it would be - you’ve all got nothing to do, and that’s the way it begins.

Yuqi’s got her notebook open on her thighs, penning lyrics as they come to mind. There are points where she’ll pause, hum out loud, fingers tapping at the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to find the chords at your veins, notes in your bloodstream. She’s been inspired lately, she says.

“Oh, I get it,” says Minnie, slyly, nudging your arm. Her eyes glitter, conspiratorial. “We’re your muses. The songs are about us.”

“The songs are about sex,” says Yuqi, dryly.

“Same difference,” you point out, and tug Minnie into your lap, grinning as she squeals. “There’s no one else you’re having sex with.”

There’s a pause, a significance. It’s the three of you crowded on Minnie’s couch, limbs overlapping; sometimes, you’re with them, and there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“No,” says Yuqi, finally, softly, like there’s something she’s confessing. “There’s no one else.”

You turn, meet her eyes. Minnie goes still in your lap, reaches for Yuqi’s hand, tangles their fingers. You don’t say it out loud, but it’s there, anyway; you’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.)

“Yeah,” you say, to Soyeon, smiling. “I know.”

It’s a Saturday, when they give you the full story. Rain, thin and misty outside the windows, streaking down the glass; you’re inside with tea and television shows, curled in blankets. Yuqi’s got some of her coursework on the coffee table, wavering between her textbook and her laptop. You’re all bored. That’s the first step.

Minnie’s recapping the story of how she got involved with the band - she starts with how she met Miyeon, which leads to a long, convoluted narrative of their best-friends-with-benefits arrangement that kind of went to shit - “It was then,” says Minnie, dramatically, “that I learned to never catch feelings for someone you’re fucking,” and you and Yuqi exchange an amused glance. Minnie’s got her legs in your lap and she keeps folding post-it notes into adorably lopsided hearts, tossing them in Yuqi’s direction. There are some phases you’re past.

“So,” you say; you’re pretty sure she’s leaving you in suspense for a reason. “How’d the two of you meet?”

Yuqi’s fingers pause over her keyboard. She’s in one of your sweaters, hair finally lifted to a striking blonde, loose down her back. Throws Minnie one of her looks: purposeful, devious, smirk deliciously sharp.

“It’s a slutty story,” says Minnie, after a moment, always too susceptible to the way Yuqi looks at her.

You raise your eyebrows at her. “When are your stories not slutty?”

Ah, there’s a point. Minnie smiles sweetly, readjusts her thighs, leaning back into the couch. She’s almost feline in her grace, her intention. “Does that mean you don’t wanna hear it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you counter, and Yuqi pushes aside her laptop abruptly, picking up on a mood. It’s not the most suggestive expression - but it’s not the least, either. There’s a lot you could be doing with your mouth, right now; Yuqi stares like she’s calculating just how much, lashes flickering. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Huh,” says Minnie. Then, demurely, “But it’s not even really that interesting, babe.”

“Fuck off,” says Yuqi, fed up with the games, and enjoying the theatrics regardless. It’s all about the contradictions, with her. “I’ll tell it.”

They tell it together; they can’t resist. There was a party, they inform you. Something like lust at first sight, they say. There was a moment. There was a short dress and there were idle hands and the devil right there in the room with them - and like all bad habits, that’s how it starts.

“Miyeon had just broken things off with Minnie,” explains Yuqi, setting the scene, “so she was looking for a rebound, which meant she was in the sluttiest outfit known to man, which meant everybody in the room was staring at her-”

Oh, you can see the image just fine; you remember how you and Minnie met. You know what it’s like to see her face and promptly forget anyone else in the world exists. You throw an entertained glance to Minnie, who shrugs, unaffected: she’s not ashamed of her coping mechanisms.

“-and I took one look at her and then I told Soyeon, if I don’t get that girl on her knees in front of me in the next ten minutes I’m actually gonna go fucking insane-”

“Cute,” you say.

Minnie grins, somehow flattered. “Right?”

You can see it so clearly - Yuqi will never admit it out loud, but she’s so easy when it comes to Minnie, when there’s a pose or a smile or a look in her eye; the light hits Minnie just right and it’s like Yuqi will drop dead if she’s not touching her. Some nights she won’t let Minnie out of her sight, won’t let anyone else lay a hand on her, won’t let anyone look at her without bringing the claws out-

Well, anyone except for you, but by now that’s old news.

“And then,” continues Yuqi, and all of a sudden she’s studying Minnie a little too intensely, like she’s projecting the night on her all over again, scrawling the past across her skin, “I went up to her, and I was like, hey, and she was like-”

Minnie waves her hands in the air, giggling - “No, no,” she interrupts, “I was a fucking mess-”

“She couldn’t even talk,” says Yuqi, smugly, sketching circles over Minnie’s bare thigh, nails blunt with a threat. “She was just staring at me.”

Minnie sighs, throws her hands up, shoots a helpless look over at you - can you blame me? she’s saying, with the rueful tilt of her mouth, and you’ve been right where she was, so you can’t. “I thought she was the hottest girl I’d ever seen,” she says. “Her hair was dark back then, and she was in, like, the tightest shirt, and this black miniskirt - I couldn’t breathe. And she looked at me like she wanted to kill me - and she didn’t even know me.” Minnie shakes her head, always one for the histrionics. “It was so sexy.”

“Masochist,” you prod affectionately.

“Yes,” says Minnie, despite it not being a question. “Yeah. I am. Everybody knows that.”

There’s a beat, meaningful. Yuqi cuts her gaze across at Minnie, doesn’t say a word. They’re both recalling history, the beginning of everything. There are no other details at first, but then-

“It was probably a bad idea to tell this story, now that I’m thinking about it,” says Yuqi, belatedly. “It always makes Minnie wet.”

Yuqi wears arousal more subtly - she’s never as outwardly eager as Minnie, but no one is - but you can see it, regardless; you just know her too well. There’s an indication in the tense set of her jaw, the way she keeps clenching her hands to fists, like she’s already imagining strangling something between her fingers. Minnie’s hair, your cock, either of your throats in a chokehold - pick a poison. It’s that familiar gleam to her eyes: cunningly dark, devastating. They can’t hide a damn thing.

“We’re all full of bad ideas,” you muse. “Isn’t that how we got into this whole situation in the first place?”

Minnie shifts conspicuously between the two of you on the couch, bottom lip bitten into her mouth. Light pouring through the windows, the sea-glass green of her irises: she couldn’t be more fucking transparent.

“Sure,” says Yuqi, carding a hand through her hair. She’d be something out of a classic old-Hollywood movie - the pale blonde, the red gloss on her mouth, the stunning sensuality - but she’s got that vicious edge to her, fatally gorgeous, too rough, too reckless. Well, you wouldn’t have her any other way. “So - you need a reenactment or something?”

“Jesus,” you say, entertained.

“I don’t know,” says Yuqi with a sigh. She tips her head, levels Minnie with a conflicted stare, false and facetious. “I’m thinking I need to elaborate a little bit more.”

She’s just looking for an excuse to fuck Minnie. She’s not terribly discreet, but none of you are.

“I mean,” you say, already where she’s at. “Minnie does look great on her knees.”

That’s an invitation, and Yuqi knows it; the look in her eyes is enough to whip up the rain outside, drown you all in a matter of minutes - she’ll take down the house, if given the chance.

“Exactly,” she says, and the devilish line of her grin is so familiar you could cartograph it, pinpoint just where it leads. Redirecting the weather; there are better sources for a storm. Let the wind pick up and bolt all your shit to the ground and wait, wait, wait.

“If you say so,” says Minnie, smiling in the face of a tsunami, and lowers herself to the floor.

They carry it out, right there in the living room. You ask if you should get the camera, but-

“Respectfully,” says Yuqi, the rasp in her voice reminiscent of knives on steel, her ass perched on the coffee table, one hand wrapped tightly in Minnie’s hair, “if I don’t get her mouth on my cunt right now, I’m gonna kill both of you.”

Minnie’s knees are pressed to the tile floor - she looks like she’s seconds from worship, from complete and utter devotion - she’s tugging desperately at Yuqi’s shorts, at her panties; she knows an order when she hears it, knows a threat when it’s a blade pressed to her throat.

“By the way,” says Yuqi, her eyes locked on yours, “don’t even think about jerking off to this right now.” Minnie gets Yuqi’s shorts to her ankles. “Or you won’t get to fuck either of us for a month.”

“Please,” you scoff. “Like either of you would survive that long without my cock.”

Minnie stops, waits for permission, rests her cheek delicately against the inside of Yuqi’s thigh. She’s practically salivating already, but her eyes are big, expectant; she knows the deal by now. You’re all talk, really. You’re the one who wouldn’t make it.

“Believe me,” says Yuqi, grinning deviously down at her, and the dip of her chin’s a go-ahead. “We have lots of ways to entertain each other.”

Minnie’s eyes snap to you for a millisecond, and you see a smirk so quick you could’ve mistaken it for your imagination - turning tables, proving points - but a second later and she’s perfectly meek again, and completely prepared to demonstrate exactly how good she is with her tongue, so:

“Minnie.” Yuqi’s hand tightens in Minnie’s hair, tendons straining under skin, pale and startling - voice breaking on a rasp, intoxicatingly husky - says, “Jesus, fuck-”

Minnie’s a demon when she’s giving head - when she’s got your cock shoved down her throat, when she’s lapping messily at Yuqi’s cunt - partly because she’s so damn good at it, but partly because of those eyes.

She doesn’t let her gaze leave Yuqi’s face, not even once. A flick of her eyelashes, fingers curling tight into Yuqi’s thighs; she’ll leave bruises, but it’ll be allowed, for once. Yuqi can’t look away, and you can’t either - Minnie between Yuqi’s legs, tongue-fucking her pussy, so sloppy and filthy you can hear every slick, obscene sound, and that’s almost too much - it’s accosting every single sense, the way Yuqi’s trying not to moan and failing, thighs quivering around Minnie’s head-

“Fuck,” mutters Yuqi, voice low and raspy, cheeks flushed and chest heaving - and no one’s even touching you, but it doesn’t matter. “God - Minnie-”

(You see a hint of it, then - everything that’s to come. Minnie’s nails are scarlet, digging into skin like she’s capable of drawing blood; her eyes flash somewhere near arrogant, half-lidded and calculating. For a second all her sharp edges - her collarbone, the points of her wrists, knuckles, jaw - turn weaponized, like she used them to kill once, like she could do it again. She’s been so submissive in front of you, so far. You forget, sometimes; she’s taller than Yuqi, imposing when she tries, intimidating when she feels like it. She’s got hands that know what they’re doing. The only reason she ever gets smacked and shoved around and fucked senseless by you and Yuqi is because she allows it.

It’s then and there, watching Minnie - her utter, striking satisfaction at making Yuqi moan her name - that you really start to wonder.)

But it slips away as you watch Minnie make a mess of herself, works her tongue like a professional, keenly aware of each stumble, each hitched breath, the way Yuqi’s face crumples as she comes closer and closer to cumming. Minnie’s the one on her knees, but she’s undoubtedly in control; it’s a side of her you never get sick of seeing.

(Well - a side of her you don’t see enough of, really. You’ll get there.)

So you watch, struggling against your own instincts, violent impulses - you believe Yuqi’s ability to follow through with a threat; she doesn’t believe in self-control, until it comes to a punishment. Forced to stay still and painfully silent as Yuqi’s head jerks forward, mouth wrapped around expletives, lips made to part and pant. Minnie’s eyes dart to you, again. She slows her pace.

“Greedy,” she mumbles, eyebrow in a point like a challenge. “That’s the thing about you two, huh.” It’s not a question. “You’re both so fucking greedy.”

She’s showing her hand. Yuqi’s hips rock, but she’s too keyed up to get a counterargument out - you’re the one on your knees, she could say, so who’s really greedy here - but Minnie’s licking her pussy again, sucking her clit; there’s no room to manage words. Not that she’d even need to; Minnie gets how to follow orders, knows her expression fixed in obedient innocence makes Yuqi just as wet as her mouth does, knows half the pleasure is in the power of the position, knows when she cums Minnie will lick it up like she does everything else - she will, and she does.

Later, tracing a thumb over her chin, sucking cum into her mouth: “You’re good at that,” you tell Minnie, as Yuqi’s coming down, thighs trembling.

Minnie’s clambering into your lap, palm brushing your cock through your pants; you’ve been good, you’ll get rewarded. “At eating pussy?” she asks, eyes exaggeratedly naïve.

At getting away with it, you mean. At maintaining control by letting someone else take it. At hovering in this impossible place between being a toy to use and being the one pulling the strings - at understanding that sometimes, you could tell her, if you let people do something to you, you’re really doing it to them.

“Sure,” you allow, instead. “I mean, among other things.”

From her precarious spot on the coffee table, Yuqi throws her head back and laughs radiantly. “She’s multitalented,” she says, as Minnie flicks her focus up at you from her place between your legs - now, you’re both gonna watch her prove it.

It’s far from the wildest thing the three of you have done together, so it’s strange that this is the time that triggers it, but it does.

“Hey,” you say, to Yuqi, a day where you’re alone together; she’s got her hair tied up and her eyeliner a little smudged, making her dark eyes look even wider, deceptively adorable, gorgeously hypnotic. You can’t stop staring at her - but that’s nothing new. “Can I ask you something?”

You’re maneuvering through some video game together, something so gory it keeps making Yuqi flinch, reluctantly hide her face half in your shoulder; she’s tough, sure, but never as tough as she acts. “Whatever,” she says, gaze stuck on the game, chewing the inside of her lip.

You get distracted, press a kiss to her forehead. “You’re cute.”

“I’m literally not doing anything,” grumbles Yuqi, but looks at you sideways, smile flickering at her lips. “What’s your question?”

“It’s sex-related.”

“Naturally.”

“It’s just…” You’re thinking of the other night, considering terminology. “Do you ever, like - not top? With Minnie?”

Yuqi shrugs, unperturbed by the query. “Not really,” she says. “I pretty much always top. I mean, it’s what she likes, with me. I know Minnie likes to top, too - like, she used to fuck Miyeon regularly, and Miyeon is literally the biggest bottom I’ve ever met - but… I don’t know. It’s just what works for us.” She glances towards you. “I’m definitely open to experimenting, though.”

“Really?”

Yuqi pauses, inspects your face. In the game, you’re dissecting a dead body; her gaze cuts twice as sharp. “You’re baiting me,” she realizes, caught between pride - she’s gotta respect a good game plan - and irritation; she hates being on the wrong side of a scheme. “You want something.”

“I think I’m getting better,” you say, thoughtfully. “At the manipulation thing.”

“You’re not,” disagrees Yuqi, irked, eyebrows furrowing adorably. Doubles back, “Well, you’re learning from the best”- she can’t resist the opportunity to flash her ego - “but - ugh - what’s your point?”

“Minnie’s birthday,” you say. “We keep talking about how we don’t know what to get her, because she has everything, but…”

You make a vague gesture at Yuqi, drinking her in. Shirt oversized and slipping off a shoulder. Body softer than her words, thighs creamy and flawless, hands small and wrists dainty. Deadly in theory, five-four in practice. There’s a reason you like pushing her buttons, fighting her when you’re fucking; she’s so fun with her attitude, her antagonism, mouth like she’s contemplating murder. But for Minnie-

“It’s just an idea,” you say. “I mean, it’s the one thing she’s never had.”

Hey, you’ve always sort of wondered what it would be like if Yuqi switched up the part she plays. It’d be a challenge for her, certainly, giving up those survival instincts. Getting someone else at the reins; dropping to her knees and following orders. It seems like it’d go against everything written in her code, but you’ve just got this feeling that-

“Aw, fuck,” says Yuqi, grin blooming, the concept taking root, finding ground. “I think I kind of like that idea.”

-oh, it’d be a challenge, alright, but she’s always loved one of those.

(The one thing Minnie’s never had: complete and total power. Well, there’s a first time for everything.)

So: Soyeon’s not the only one who notices all the recent developments. She’s with Yuqi all the time - she sees her side of it. But Minnie’s different, because when she’s not with you or Yuqi, there’s basically only one other person she spends all her time with, and that’s-

“Honestly,” Miyeon tells you, once, “I think you’ve been good for her.”

You’re in the kitchen, collecting snacks. The apartment’s having something of a movie night, current partners included - or at least that was the prompt, so Miyeon’s boyfriend is here, and Yuqi is, too. It feels more official than if you’d put a label on it, somehow. You’re college kids, you’re dumb; sometimes that’s how it goes. The tiniest things mean the most.

You cast a glance towards the living room. She doesn’t say Minnie’s name, but you know. “Really?”

Miyeon lifts a shoulder, a resigned sort of nonchalance, but you get the secret significance: she doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean. “I think she was…” Her eyes follow yours, trail to where you can both hear Minnie laughing. “Not unhappy, exactly. But - I think something was missing, before she met you. Both of you.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little speechless. “You think so?”

Miyeon tilts her head. She’d cropped her blonde hair short maybe a month or so ago; it brushes her collarbone. She and Minnie are so close they’re practically joined at the hip; you can’t imagine a point where it wasn’t that way.

“She loves being loved,” she says, like it’s so straightforward. “I mean, everyone does, on some level, but Minnie - she needs it to breathe, you know? Always has.” Her mouth curls at a corner, gentle and secret. “I don’t blame her. She’s just one of those people. So - so easy to love.”

She leaves it there, silence settling, like there’s something else she could say but doesn’t. A beat - another peal of Minnie’s laughter ringing out from the other room, bright and carefree - and it manages to be enough, anyway.

(But you hear what she’s really trying to tell you: thank you. For being what I can’t. For giving her the things I couldn’t offer. I broke her heart, once; thank you for putting it back together.)

“I didn’t do it alone,” you feel compelled to say. “You know that.”

“I know,” Miyeon says. “Don’t worry.” Her smile’s so soft it can’t possibly be anything but genuine. “I’ve already given Yuqi my thanks.”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” says Minnie, the morning of the twenty-third.

It’s a perfect day, but that’s all of them, when you’re all together. You’re standing idly by, watching her get dressed. She’s making it a production more than anything - dragging her shorts up her thighs, buttoning her loose, long-sleeved blouse up the center, black and purposely, slightly sheer, showing off the lacy bralette she’s wearing - and only Minnie could make putting her clothes on feel like a striptease, but she’s pulling it off perfectly.

“You take me shopping all the time,” she’s saying, drawing her hair out from under her collar; she’s been growing it out, letting it tumble loose past her shoulders. “And it’s not like you can buy me anything. I mean, no offense, but, like - you don’t exactly have money to burn on me.”

You snort out a laugh. It’s not a criticism coming from her - just a fact, her tone genuinely puzzled. She’s filthy rich. She’s always the one doing the buying. “I know. So?”

“So this is suspicious.” Her nose crinkles cutely, arching a brow. “And where’s-”

Her bedroom door swings open, and Minnie’s jaw drops.

Because standing there is Yuqi, blonde hair tied low in pigtails, in a godless fucking outfit.

Top skintight and black, skirt tiny and dark denim. So much creamy skin on display, her thick thighs, the tantalizing cut of her neckline - somehow the flare of her hips seems pornographic, the sliver of bare midriff - but more than anything is the way she’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, and finally her front fits every part of her face perfectly: the delicate nose, the wide, sparkly dark eyes, so often too brutal to come across as adorable, in these contexts, but today-

Yuqi looks up at Minnie through her eyelashes, chin dipped, and says, “Happy birthday.”

She can’t disguise the rasp of her voice, and she doesn’t try - but there’s something about it; you’ve spent so much time witnessing her spit venom, demand orders, laugh cruel and cold - and now there’s this new, unmistakable meekness, low and innocently soft, and-

Minnie says, “Holy fucking shit.”

She’s just staring, lips parted. You run a hand almost demeaningly over Yuqi’s hair, like you would a pet.

“Like she said,” you say, and grin meaningfully at Minnie. “Happy birthday.” Skate your fingers down the glide of Yuqi’s shoulder blades. “Here’s your present.”

For anyone else, it’d require more clarification - Yuqi in a mildly slutty outfit, what’s really new - but Minnie observes Yuqi candidly, scrutinizing her like she would a film; there’s the body language, there’s the inflection, there’s the clothing, reflecting a character choice. Yuqi, making herself smaller, quieter, letting you touch her wherever and however you want. She gets what it means. She gets what’s being given to her.

An opportunity, a power. A chance to switch sides. Minnie tilts her head, says slowly, “Cute present.”

She’s falling into it fast. It’s a comment meant to degrade and it does its job marvelously.

You hook a finger in the belt loop of Yuqi’s skirt and tug her forward. “Say thank you,” you instruct, plainly domineering. “She paid you a compliment.”

Yuqi doesn’t sigh - doesn’t roll her eyes, doesn’t snap at you, doesn’t do anything she usually would in the face of a command like that - and complies, instead. “Thank you,” she says, carefully measured, and miraculously keeps it together. It’s a good sign; like you said, it’s a challenge and she’s rising to it wonderfully.

(Well, she’s always been competitive: who’s better at being submissive, that’s a new one. Yuqi’s in front of Minnie - the best she’s ever seen do it. She’s got something to prove.)

“It’s your birthday,” you say, to Minnie, hand slipping to trace the hem of Yuqi’s godforsaken skirt. “Do anything you want with her.”

“Anything?”

You can practically see Yuqi’s teeth cutting into the inside of her mouth, regulating. She’s not used to being shoved around and humiliated like this; there’s a learning curve - but you dip two fingers between her legs, draw them back just to show Minnie how fucking wet Yuqi is - and you know she loves it anyway.

“Anything,” you confirm, smiling. “No panties.”

“Good,” says Minnie. Eyes half-lidded and lined, tongue skimming a corner of her lip, smirk drawing wide. Tone deceptively honeyed; the devil with a new host and a motive. “A slut like this doesn’t really need them, does she?”

Game, set - Minnie’s got no such motivations. She knows what she’s capable of.

“You’re about to have way too much fun with this, huh,” you say, wryly.

Minnie steps forward, grasps your wrist in her hand, laughs at the slickness coating your fingers. Lets her gaze wander to Yuqi almost analytically; oh, the quirk of her mouth says, you’re so into this - a glint of teeth - oh, of course you are. Like she’d never expected anything different. Like Yuqi, in the end, is just like all the rest of you: so goddamn predictable.

“It’s my birthday,” Minnie says, a deliberate echo. “Isn’t that the point?”

Sure, it absolutely is, but you all knew that already. Minnie cocks an eyebrow coolly and grins with all her teeth, not bothering to press for an answer. Drag me to hell, the gleam in Yuqi’s eyes replies; it’s not like I was gonna end up anywhere else.

“Exactly,” you say, anyway, and she drops your arm. “Like I said - whatever you want.”

Okay, fine - it’s October. You’re not, like, actually evil. Minnie wraps Yuqi in one of her jackets, shearling and soft black leather, collar turned up to the wind, says, “She’ll be way less sexy if she dies from hypothermia, I think,” and Yuqi cracks up.

“She’ll be way less hot, you mean,” you say, which seems like the obvious joke.

“Eat shit and die,” says Yuqi, unappreciative of puns and immediately deadpan - but this hits Minnie so hard she almost tumbles into your side giggling, nearly sends you all careening across the sidewalk, narrowly missing a passing couple.

They send you dirty looks, which only sends Minnie into further hysterics - and then you’re all a mess, dying laughing. Well, that’s the thing about the three of you, when you’re together: forgetting anyone else exists, because it doesn’t feel like anyone else even needs to. It’s a habit you wouldn’t want to break even if you could.

“What do you think of this one?”

Minnie holds the dress up to her body, swivels side to side. It’s a long, silky black slip, dipping dangerously low in the front, tied in thin, crisscrossing laces; you can imagine it on her as easily as you can imagine it on her bedroom floor.

“Love it,” you say. You nudge Yuqi’s side. “Sweetheart, what do you think?”

You can almost see the edges of conflict in her, manifesting physically: the dark, slicing sharpness of her gaze, dissatisfied pucker of her lips. Sweetheart: it’s her least favorite nickname to be called, meant to debase - but it’s a special occasion, so she takes it.

“It’s pretty,” says Yuqi, the timbre of her voice delightfully docile. Opens her mouth again, says almost bashfully, “It’d look really nice on you, Minnie.”

Minnie’s lips curl, enjoying it tremendously. “Thanks, baby,” she says, and moves on.

So far, Minnie’s been so mild. No getting a vibrator inside Yuqi and making her tremble and try and hold it together in public; no brushing up against her in an aisle, pretending the proximity is necessary. No, actually, the most Minnie’s done is encircle her fingers around Yuqi’s wrist and tug her throughout the mall, making her follow behind.

It’s like she’s a puppy, Minnie commented, almost too casually - and that’s something that’s got you thinking of collars, leashes, Yuqi with her eyes brimming with tears, mouth open and tongue lolling - now that you’ve opened that door, it’s impossible to shut; there’s a dam rushing in, a flash flood - but clearly Minnie’s got other plans, today.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to come here,” she says casually, right before she leads the both of you into a very sparsely manned underwear boutique - there’s a salesgirl at the front who doesn’t even look up from her phone - and it doesn’t take a genius to know Minnie’s got an agenda.

You can tell how impatient Yuqi’s getting, that’s the thing: any normal day and she’d be snapping and losing it by now. She doesn’t like to be the one kept waiting. You’re pretty sure she hates that all three of you keep bouncing from store to store and Minnie won’t just yank her into a dressing room and fuck her, won’t pull you in and get you to join, won’t just put her out of her fucking misery-

But there’s the other thing, which is that Yuqi’s just so game.

“I’m kind of impressed,” you say to Yuqi, as you’re both waiting for Minnie to emerge from a dressing room. “You’re so well-behaved.”

And Yuqi - a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a lamb where a lion used to be - turns to you, tiny smile on and lashes batting, says, “Aren’t I always?”

She rarely goes for these angles - cute and coquettish, ditzy and charming as if by accident - but then there’s her big eyes, her adorably dainty features; it’s working perfectly. The pigtails, the pout; her outfit would ruin it, ordinarily, but she’s drowning in Minnie’s jacket and it somehow serves to make her look even more endearing.

“No,” you say, enamored nonetheless. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Yuqi’s eyes narrow, but she winds one of her pigtails around a finger, laying it on thick. She’s ridiculous - but it’s so working for her. “What,” she says, “you need me to convince you that I’m a good girl?”

“Dear God.”

She’s smiling again, brows raising. “I’ll do anything,” she tells you, saturated in innuendo. It would be something out of some cheesy porn, not even an attempt at subtlety - but she’s just too hot, and she’s having too much fun with it. It gets you somewhere between exasperated and aroused and impressed with her audacity. Yuqi says, “I could take a page out of Miyeon’s book. I could call you sir.”

“What?” Okay, that snaps the moment somewhat. “Does Miyeon call her boyfriend sir?” You pause, perturbed. “Her boyfriend that used to be her teacher? That feels - questionable. How do you even know that?”

“How do you think Miyeon knows that Minnie likes to get fucked in the ass?” says Yuqi, and the crudeness is way more her than the character she’s trying to play. She’s cute enough to pull it off, too. “None of us are capable of being quiet.”

“Um. I’d assume Miyeon would know that because she and Minnie used to regularly hook up.”

“My point still stands.” Yuqi stops, back to considering possibilities, varying nicknames. Tries, experimentally, “Daddy?”

There’s a short silence. “It’s not my favorite,” you confess.

“Fair enough. Not mine, either.”

“Mommy?” you offer.

It takes a second, Yuqi’s gaze sliding up to the ceiling like she’s imagining all the scenarios she could get out of it. “I could get behind that,” she agrees. “It’s hot.”

The curtain to the dressing room slides open, and - “Speaking of which,” you say.

Because Minnie’s standing there in an absolutely indecent pair of lingerie - and now Yuqi’s the one who’s speechless.

Just the sight of her forces a silence, conjures suggestion - her eyelashes flutter and the world blinks out, leaves her and no one else. Straps delicate and tied up in bows, bra scooping low and panties cut high; intricate vine-like lace decorating her hips, her chest. Running her fingers through her hair, turning from side to side like she’s already posing for photographs. You’ve seen her naked countless times and somehow there’s something so alluring about her in lingerie like this, barely covering her cunt, so sheer you can see her nipples through the fabric, midriff drool-worthy and ass on display. If it were any other day, if you were permitted to shove her to the ground and fuck her senseless-

“I hope you’re buying that,” you say, fighting through fantasies. “I don’t think you’re supposed to just, like, try it on by itself. That seems unsanitary.”

Minnie simply smiles, serenely, and raises an eyebrow at Yuqi.

It’s futile. Yuqi’s just gawking, any sort of response clinging to the roof of her mouth and refusing to release. Gaze scouring Minnie from head to toe - ah, if looks could kill, if a stare could strip down to skin and bone - you’re certain Yuqi’s seconds from saying fuck it to the plan and just pouncing, then and there-

“Yuqi,” prompts Minnie, like she knows it’s all it’ll take to destroy her.

You’re reminded of weeks earlier, Yuqi fucking the life out of Minnie for wearing a pair of shorts - you can’t believe she’s keeping her cool - but then you see the way her throat bobs, swallowing down her own instincts, and you realize that she’s not, really; not even close.

Yuqi wraps her arms around her body, defense mechanisms obvious. “Um,” she says, and runs her tongue across her bottom lip unconsciously.

“Baby,” says Minnie, bordering a laugh, then crooks a finger. “Come here.”

She takes different strategies than Yuqi does; doesn’t bottle up rage just to let it boil over. The torture’s in the tease, the sweetness: getting Yuqi close to her as if magnetizing, as if skimpy lingerie and a wicked smirk are all it takes to channel gravity. Yuqi can’t disobey, not that she’d want to. She stops in front of Minnie, too close to be casual, too far to be imposing.

“You can touch me, you know,” says Minnie, eventually, sugary amusement underlining her tone. “You’re allowed.”

It’s less a concession and more an assertion of superiority - you’re only here because I’m letting you, that’s what Minnie’s really saying; darling, you’re only looking at me because I’m giving you permission. It doesn’t go unnoticed, or unheeded. Yuqi steps forward further, and takes a breath.

“So,” says Minnie, as Yuqi’s hands trace her sides, fingernails grazing the thin lace, skimming the curve of her ass - she’s touching Minnie like she’s breakable, which you’ve never seen her do; cautious around her like you would be with a wild animal, waiting for them to coil and strike. “What do you think?” Minnie’s eyes track her face. Tacks on, like it needs clarification: “Of the lingerie.”

“It’s - it’s nice.” Yuqi’s voice unravels, stretched thin and hoarse.

See, Minnie’s good, tapping into all her weaknesses; the one thing Yuqi can’t handle is seeing everything she wants when she can’t have it. Forbidden fruit, temptation personified. Minnie in black lingerie, something straight off a particularly erotic movie screen - you’re thinking of what constitutes a femme fatale, so hot you could call it villainy.

“Nice, huh?” And now Minnie’s the one touching Yuqi, tangling her grip in one of her pigtails, threatening to tug. You’ve seen glimpses of this side of her - the sharp edge of a smirk one day, nail digging in like claws another, eyes like supernovas, collapsing - but they’ve never truly done her justice. “Any other adjectives you want to try?”

“Minnie,” says Yuqi, voice breathy, and then Minnie does yank on her hair - and the whimper it gets from Yuqi is depraved.

“That’s a noun,” says Minnie, and you actually snort out a laugh. “Try again.”

“I can’t,” says Yuqi, almost furiously; her temper and her libido go hand in hand, but she takes note of the tilt of Minnie’s mouth, modulates, lets herself be pulled at, pulled in. “You’re so - hot.”

“Aw.” Distinctly pleasant, voice bearing arrogance. “No, see, you got there.”

Her fingers deftly fall from the strap of Yuqi’s top to her hips, to her thighs. Yuqi can’t stop staring at her, ravenous and starved, knuckles bloodless from how she’s clutching her hands into fists. Minnie just laughs airily - “Oh,” she coos, “you’re adorable when you’re desperate” - and continues her path underneath Yuqi’s skirt, doesn’t inch higher than the hem.

Yuqi’s chest heaves; it’s like she can’t manage another word. Minnie tuts like she’s chiding her.

“You’re so greedy,” she notes, a purposeful reprise of a weeks-old comment. “You just take what you want all the time, huh? You think you deserve it?” Clicks her tongue, expression measuring up to condescending sympathy. “Because you just can’t control yourself when you’re horny.” Laugh ringing out again, light and breathy. “Like a fucking animal in heat. No manners at all.”

Yuqi’s mouth falls open.

Look, Minnie doesn’t take the same war plans; doesn’t go for the jugular as much as a knife to the back, sneaky and sly, seduction as a battle tactic. Not even a lick of temper. Not getting mad so much as getting even. Minnie could handle Yuqi in the same way you do, matching her blow for blow, taking out fists and firearms - but it wouldn’t undo her like this does. Body wrapped in ribbons. Smile amicable and intact.

“Let’s try this.” And suddenly Minnie’s yanking up the hem of Yuqi’s skirt, exposing her dripping cunt. You’re in public - the changing area’s barely closed off, anyone could walk in, anyone could see and say something-

But Minnie doesn’t even seem fazed. “How about” - an indulgent twist of her eyebrow, relentlessly composed - “you ask me very nicely for whatever it is you want.” Takes in Yuqi’s glistening pussy and spit-slick lips like it’s a daily occurrence, mildly comical and not much more. “Maybe even throw a please in there for once and I’ll think about giving it to you.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter. Minnie’s grin widens a fraction, feral.

Yuqi’s visibly caught off-guard, off-kilter - it’s obvious that whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this - she squirms in place, thighs clenching - it’s obvious it’s making her so fucking wet.

“Minnie,” she says, tremulous.

“That’s my name,” says Minnie, patiently.

All the time you’ve spent with Yuqi - all her brutality and mercilessness and domineering sadism, all that insurmountable ego, all the power plays and viperous poison; heroes and their hubris - and it all crashes in an instant, here and now.

“I - I just-” Yuqi stops, stammers, as if shellshocked by the sound of her own voice, the pathetic neediness in it: “I want you to fuck me. Please. Minnie.” Her name like a plea, like a prayer. “I’m so - so wet, and you - and I - I just want to get fucked.”

They’re so close together; another step and Minnie could slap Yuqi across the face, could wring her neck, could wrap her hand in the front of her shirt and tug her in for a kiss, put her out of her misery - but she only smiles, instead.

“I don’t know if I’m convinced,” says Minnie, expression never leaving agreeable. “Maybe get on your knees this time.”

It’s the perfect move - a punch, a pin pulled, a call for checkmate. There’s a beat, then two, three, then-

It’s a testament to Yuqi’s commitment to the character - okay, it’s more likely she isn’t even thinking about anything but getting railed right now, but who’s really keeping count - how she sinks to the floor, blinking fast and pupils blown, publicly in her place. Hands clasped firmly in her lap like she’s scared of what’ll happen if she doesn’t keep track of them. Chin tilted upwards like she’s praying to a god.

And then she just breaks.

“Minnie,” Yuqi says, a whine trapped in her throat, and everyone knows she’s about to start begging. “I really need it, I really need to get fucked, I need - your fingers, your tongue, fucking anything, I’ll do anything, I just - I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry I was greedy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m so selfish, I just want to get fucked and you’re so hot and my pussy’s so wet and no one makes me cum like you do - please fuck me, I don’t care if that makes me desperate, please, please, please-”

It’s babbling, it’s nonsense, it’s her brain cutting off at the stem and seeping out. It’s embarrassing, it’s fucking hot. You can’t take your eyes off her, can’t even think of a way to make her stop - not that you’d want to, not that the look on Minnie’s face would even allow you to, but-

“Uh,” says the salesgirl, suddenly behind Yuqi. “Hey.”

-well, that’s certainly a way to shut Yuqi up.

Yuqi immediately moves to stand, but - almost coolly, gracefully - Minnie reaches out a hand and pushes at her shoulder, hard. It throws Yuqi entirely, sending her sprawling back to the ground, jerking a tiny, flightless gasp from her lungs, forced firmly to her knees. Skirt hiked up, cheeks flushing madly, unable to hold eye contact with anyone in the room - and you’ve never seen her so effectively humiliated.

“Hi,” says Minnie to the salesgirl, seemingly unfazed.

“Please don’t have sex in here,” says the salesgirl. “I mean, I’m all for exhibitionism, but we’re severely understaffed. I don’t really want to clean that up.” Pauses thoughtfully, then says, “If you’re looking for a place to fuck, no one uses the bathroom on the second floor by the jewelry store. One-person. It’s pretty clean.”

“Oh, nice,” says Minnie. “We’ll check it out.”

“Cool,” says the salesgirl. “That lingerie looks awesome on you. Also, if you don’t buy it, we’ll have to toss it because you’re not really supposed to just put it on like that. But no big deal.” Then, apropos of nothing: “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Yuqi chokes on her own saliva. It’s only then that you realize the salesgirl looks vaguely familiar.

“Thanks,” says Minnie. “I’ll buy it. Hey, you’re coming to my party later, right?”

“Yeah, Lisa told me about it.” Without even hesitating, like it’s totally normal, the salesgirl continues, “Okay, have fun,” and then turns on her heel and abruptly leaves the dressing room area.

There’s no chance to even let the silence sit. Minnie stands there in her indecent lingerie, features perfectly placid, beautifully untouchable, composure stitched together and tight. Like she’d meant to have an audience all along, planned for you all to be caught. It’s a stunningly sharp contrast to-

“What,” says Yuqi, on the floor and trembling, “the fuck, Minnie-”

“Excuse me?” says Minnie, demure as she glances down at Yuqi, power dynamic firmly in place: Yuqi’s beneath her, in every sense of the word. “Thirty seconds ago, you seemed pretty adamant about wanting to get fucked. Needing me to make you cum.” She hums, juts out her bottom lip. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Fuck,” Yuqi mutters, under her breath, because she knows she can’t go toe to toe with Minnie and win - she’s too far gone for that. Too disarmed, too helpless; cheeks flushed and skirt yanked up and cunt bare and drooling.

“Was it?” Minnie asks, brows sinking in feigned confusion, a gesture that indicates that the answer better be no. Voice taking on an edge. Stare like a cocking gun.

“No,” exhales Yuqi, still shuddering, still shamed and furious and so turned on. “No. It wasn’t.”

Finally - a smile. “I didn’t think so,” says Minnie, then reaches out her hand. “Get up, gorgeous.” White flags waving; you all know that’s only half the battle. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Minnie changes back into her clothes, and purchases the lingerie, obviously. Says she’ll save it for a later date with a wink, a sly grin; well, that’s the thing about fantasies, with the three of you. You always find a way to make them true.

“No one makes you cum like Minnie does?” you mutter on the way.

“Look, I don’t think you get it,” Yuqi hisses back. “I’m so fucking horny and pissed off right now - I will literally say anything to get that manipulative evil whore to fuck me-”

“Sorry?” Minnie’s voice lilts from ahead of you.

“I didn’t say anything,” replies Yuqi, just as sweetly.

Minnie lets it go, but her lips twitch, fighting off her usual breathless, raucous laughter. Oh, it’s fun to turn tables, but you all know the truth, in the end - she likes Yuqi mean and bitchy and temperamental; she wouldn’t change a thing.

“You seemed to take your entire pussy being out in front of that salesgirl pretty well,” you tell Yuqi, impressed with her current self-possession.

“I realized I know her,” says Yuqi, tugging down the hem of her ultra-short skirt. “Kim Jisoo - she’s Lisa’s friend. And she does not give a fuck about anything, that girl. A meteor could demolish the entire mall and she wouldn’t bat an eye. She probably won’t even remember this happened later.”

“If a meteor demolished the entire mall, she wouldn’t be alive to bat an eye,” says Minnie, forgetting that she’s supposed to be pretending she can’t hear your conversation.

“You’re so right,” says Yuqi. “Wow, you’re so smart. Like, Mensa-caliber.”

“Who’s Mensa Caliber?” Minnie comes to a stop in front of the bathroom, holds the door open for both of you. “Is she hot?”

“Scalding,” deadpans Yuqi. “Let’s get back in the game before I lose more brain cells.”

A game, she says, reminding you all of the parameters - Minnie blinks and she’s back in it, places her hand to the base of Yuqi’s neck before she can pass through the doorway; Yuqi sucks air in through her teeth, freezes, lets Minnie’s thumb search for her pulse, proof of life like she’s aiming to carve it out. “Sorry,” Yuqi gets out immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Aw, honey,” says Minnie, merciful at the best of times. “It’s okay. Plus,” she adds, like it’s an afterthought and not the point, “I already know no one makes you cum like I do.”

She shoots you a smile, like she’s just daring you to try and argue - but even you know better by now.

Jisoo’s right about the bathroom - empty, decently clean, one-person, perfect to lock up and fuck in if you’re so inclined. Not that the quality of it really matters; you can tell by the look on Yuqi’s face that she’s largely forgotten all of her surroundings, like the shock of getting caught’s desensitized her somewhat. For a second you have to wonder if this was a deliberate strategy on Minnie’s part, but-

“Alright, pretty girl,” purrs Minnie, and oh, that’s something you’re learning today, how perfectly endearments fit in her mouth: “get on your knees.”

-so, it’s not like you all got here by accident.

Yuqi slips to the floor without question, follows the drop of Minnie’s chin, hands going for your pants. Sure, desensitized probably wasn’t the most accurate assessment: she’s kind of losing it, kind of out of her mind. Muscle ticking in her jaw. Tongue skimming her bottom lip, each breath like it’s a second from shattering. Voice unmoored and trembling, like it doesn’t even belong to her.

Then, leaning against the bathroom counter, Minnie says, “Remember the first time you two met?”

It’s a story you’ve both recounted for her before, too. A night in a cramped employee bathroom. The circumstances not so dissimilar to this, if you really think about it. Pushing boundaries until they crack, testing limits that were meant to bend and break; from that first day up to now, and maybe some things never change - that very first day: you, threatening to shove Yuqi to the ground, threatening to cum all over her face and make her walk out of there debauched and humiliated-

“Come on,” says Minnie, and smiles like she’s changing the subject, even when you know she’s not. “I want to see you suck his cock.”

Yuqi doesn’t fight back, but it’s not like she’d even try.

It’s only after she’s halfway there - Yuqi’s lips wrapped around the head of your cock, you shuddering against the teasing lap of her tongue; you’re attempting to match Minnie’s inhuman poise and barely keeping up - when Minnie spots the way your fingers twitch and says, “Hmm.”

It’s barely a prompt, but you glance at her just in time to see her mouth dart up at a corner, like she knew it’d get your attention anyway.

“How about this,” Minnie says, spreading one hand wide, a barbaric business proposition. “Don’t do anything. Let her work for it.”

It’s only then that you realize she’s got her phone out, recording you.

“What?” says Minnie, coyly, luxuriating in the eyes on her; doesn’t bother to reroute once she’s caught, doesn’t even try to act it off. Head put to the side and lens ready like a rifle. “I thought you two liked being on camera.”

Yuqi gazes dazedly right into the lens, mouth slack and wet. Blinks balefully. Considers herself on show, perverse performance art, the subject, the muse - then turns and fills her throat with your cock all over again.

Your vision swims, spots, narrows to points. “Fucking Christ-”

You’ve rarely had your cock in Yuqi’s mouth in a way that wasn’t definitively aggressive - railing her throat, hearing her choke and sob and slobber, a way to punish her that she’ll just volley back in a matter of seconds - never been able to get her on her knees without pounding her mouth like it’s your right, your property, her fuming and features murderous-

A blithe laugh from Minnie. “Aw, look at her.”

But that’s nothing like this.

See, Yuqi’s almost careful, methodical - working her hands, her mouth, her tongue. It’s so spellbindingly smooth that it hits you how much practice she must’ve had, before she discovered she liked getting throatfucked better than giving actual blowjobs - and that’s a train of thought you’ll let run away with you. You’ve never seen her look so obedient, so subservient, so submissive; gorgeous eyes glimmering with effort, head bobbing, pigtails curled prettily-

“She’s such a good girl when she tries, isn’t she?” says Minnie, low, sultry. “Really makes you think, right?” Strokes a hand over Yuqi’s hair, like she’s praising a pet. “Maybe all she needed was someone to bring it out of her.”

The implications are there: you’re the vessel, the weapon. The means, not the motive. Minnie’s putting you in your place just as much as Yuqi; maybe, she’s saying, eyes darkly derisive, all she needed was me.

“See, I always knew she was a whore.” It’s almost conversational, the tilt of Minnie’s lips very nearly nonchalant. “But I didn’t realize she was so good at it.”

You’ve done your part to degrade Yuqi so many times before - fought with her while fucking, tugged her hair and swore at her, called her every disparaging name in the book - but there’s something viciously sexy about the calm with which Minnie does it, the constraint. Never tightens her grip. Never raises her voice; never even needs to. Lets her tone be enough, lets her intense eyes set the scene, decide the mood - lets the camera lens of her phone center in like a sniper, the suggestion of threat and no more - and, truly, that’s all it takes.

Yuqi makes an unholy sound around your cock, shuddering under Minnie’s palm on the back of her head. You watch her thick thighs squeeze together, trembling - there’s no way her cunt’s not dripping. Minnie makes her wet and worked up on a regular day; her with this sort of power is fucking lethal-

Minnie pulls at one of Yuqi’s pigtails, dragging her mouth straight off your dick. “Uh-uh,” she says, chastising, phone steady in her other hand, pointed right at your throbbing cock: “On her face.”

There’s a pivotal pause, and it’s just enough time for it all to click.

“Minnie,” you’re in the middle of saying, incredulous - because she can’t really be planning what you’re thinking, can’t imagine she’d ever make Yuqi go that far, but - “Oh, fuck-”

Yuqi’s too far gone to see signs and storm warnings, throwing all caution to the wind. Too wrapped up in the motions and the way she spits on her palm, starts jerking your already saliva-slick cock. Too goddamn tempting with her eyebrows knit in concentration and her bottom lip tucked into her mouth right before she starts in on a filthy diatribe:

“Please cum for me,” she’s whimpering, “cum all over my face, I was such a good girl for you, I deserve it, I need it-” A subtle, sudden switch, a gleam in her eye: “I know you wanna see my face covered in your fucking load-”

Your breath catches hard and violent in your throat. It’s all there: Minnie with the camera, watching like an ill-intentioned voyeur, like she’s planning to cut and distribute this, eyes bewitchingly predatory. I know you wanna make your mark on me, Yuqi means; I know you want picture proof that I’m yours.

Well, no one’s gonna blame you for promptly forgetting how to form words.

When you cum, it miraculously goes everywhere it’s supposed to - coating Yuqi’s face, her cheeks and her chin, her open mouth - her eyes shutter closed and she accepts it like the good girl she’s playacting as, today, without even a second thought - and that’s half the appeal, the way she just sits there like it’s your god-given right to do whatever you want with her, like you could use her hair as a cumrag, rub your cock through the cum staining her jaw, smack her across the face and make her take it-

“Alright,” says Minnie, amused, like she can somehow sense the violent impulse rushing underneath your skin, barely contained. She’s seen it firsthand; she’s taken enough hits to recognize it. “That’ll work just fine.”

She shifts to press a kiss to your throat, open-mouthed and gentle, breath hot enough to inspire some sort of sensory overload - but she moves away again and it’s gone. For the best, really; you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to.

Namely: Yuqi’s crumpled, tiny form on the bathroom floor underneath you; her tongue darting to the corner of her mouth, licking away a creamy glob of cum. She looks pathetic. She looks perfect. She looks up at Minnie like she’s seconds from bursting into tears, just giving it all up to fall apart, too worked up to really put it into words. Er, okay, any words except-

“Minnie,” says Yuqi, “I really, really need to cum.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Minnie fixes her with a pitying look, hand through her hair like she’s aiming to console - like she doesn’t know the threat of tugging on Yuqi’s hair is just going to make her wetter. “You can wait a little longer, can’t you? You’ve been so good for me already.”

“Minnie.” It comes insistent, desperate.

And it’s fucking intoxicating: Yuqi, who you’ve never once known to beg, to admit when she’s smaller, when she’s needy, when her cunt’s soaking wet and desperate; Yuqi, your cum staining her face and her eyes wide and watery, lips pink and swollen; Yuqi, who hates to accept when she’s lost and is somehow doing it anyway. Wanting to be fucked and filled so badly she’s willing to do anything-

Minnie’s mouth curls, calculating. Anything - that’s it, that’s the opening she’s been waiting for.

“Well,” she says. “How about we make a deal?”

She kneels so she’s face to face with Yuqi, mollifying and demeaning and elegant, all at once. “I can make you cum right now,” she says, kindly, and Yuqi still looks like she’s seconds from tears, “but you have to walk out of here with his cum all over your face.”

There’s a long, stifling silence.

The writing’s been on the wall since the moment Minnie brought up the night you and Yuqi first met - but Yuqi’s been too busy with her efforts to please to remember her defenses and guards. Too drained to recall who she’s dealing with - Minnie, torturously beautiful, Yuqi’s chin between her fingers, the picture of polite tolerance; the devil herself isn't really about rage, that’s what you all forget; oh, it’s all about the long game - and so when you look at Yuqi, she’s genuinely shocked.

“Minnie,” you say, again, conscious of boundaries.

You’re playing back the night in question, the employee bathroom at the club, Yuqi’s visible panic when you’d brought it up. There’s no way, you’re thinking; even Yuqi has her limits. She’s too proud. It’s too public. The lingerie store with Jisoo was one thing, but that’s an isolated incident, that’s a baby step, that’s-

“Shh,” says Minnie to you, mildly, and nods pointedly at Yuqi’s expression.

Eyes blown so wide, pupils swallowing her irises. A dreamy sort of slackness, half-dazed and somehow still completely devoted. Like she might just float away - like you and Minnie are the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

“Oh,” you say, stunned.

The look on her face - not that you’ve broken her, but like she’s turned herself over to the two of you, regardless. Handing over her own body; this is your property, do what you want with it. Bruise it, hit it. Take a marker to it and label me every nasty thing possible. Cum all over my face and make everyone who sees me stare.

“It’s up to you,” Minnie tells Yuqi, courteously, but she knows just as much as you what the answer’s going to be.

It’s not even a question, really. It barely takes any time at all for Minnie to press her back against the sink, get a finger inside her, get three - she swipes her fingertips across Yuqi’s glistening cheekbone, grins as she lowers her hand, fucks your cum deep into her cunt, slow and purposeful. It’s so vulgar - so foul - so hot-

“You know,” says Minnie, gaze never leaving Yuqi’s face, sewn into lewd satisfaction, “for someone who talks a lot of shit about breeding kinks, you seem to really like me fucking his cum into your pussy right now.”

It’s not like Yuqi can even speak over her own moans, but that’s neither here nor there - her eyes are barely open, pressure everywhere at once, putty in Minnie’s hands - mold me, she begs, make me whatever you want - and Minnie smiles, goes back in for more, cum-stained fingers leaving a slick streak across Yuqi’s chin. Retracing steps as she fucks her, works her wrist, lets her other hand hook around Yuqi’s hip, keeping her firmly in place. “If memory serves, actually,” she says, and blinks over at you, commiserating, “I seem to recall we have a lot of videos of you getting your cunt fucked raw and filled with cum, Yuqi.”

“I think we do,” you agree, breathless.

“You know what I think? I think he was right. It is about power.” Each consonant gaining back their edges - fit to strip skin off the bone - Minnie’s fingers only get more cruel, but you’ve all gone too far to go back now. “And I think you secretly like it when you don’t have any.”

Yuqi struggles against Minnie’s free hand on her hip, nails digging in, air vacating her lungs in a squeak. Aching for a killing blow. Begging to be put out of her misery, or she would be, if she could manage words - Minnie’s smile screaming you asked for this - playing mind games with the best of them like she’s the one making all the rules-

“You like someone else owning your body, huh?” It’s more than sex, but it always is - a mind-fuck, a manipulation. Yuqi’s cunt clenching around Minnie’s fingers the more she speaks like she’s drunk on every word, like she’s speaking in tongues - she can’t call it losing control when it’s getting fucked out of her with force-

“Doing whatever they want with it,” Minnie’s saying, the idea of it alone intoxicating enough. “Fucking it. Breeding it. You like being used like an object.” Her thumb on Yuqi’s clit, making her points and punctuating with a rasp: “You love that this cunt doesn’t even fucking belong to you.”

When you look back, all you’ll remember are the raw details. Yuqi’s painfully wrecked moans; the lewd, wet sound of Minnie’s fingers buried in her cunt, curling; the way Minnie’s irises glitter, voice like its own siren song. The cum still splattered across Yuqi’s face, right before she dips her mouth to Minnie’s neck-

She’s not filming this part, but it’s not like you’ll ever fucking forget it.

The one crack you’ve seen in Minnie’s composure all day, the tiny yelp she makes when Yuqi sinks her teeth into her skin - and then louder and strangled, as Yuqi bites down - and then-

It all crumbles in an instant, hairline fractures, fissures, earthquakes; Yuqi cums and it racks her whole body, sends her melting into Minnie’s arms. You’re there in a split second without even thinking about it, steadying her shoulder; Minnie reaches for you, lets your clasped hands link over the back of Yuqi’s neck. Keeping her upright. Keeping her together.

“Good girl,” Minnie murmurs, carefully soothing; she knows the right way to wrap it all up. “There you go.”

There’s blood beading on Minnie’s neck. She kisses Yuqi’s hair anyway. You don’t need to see her expression to know she’s smiling, but you tap your thumb to her chin, turn her face out just to see it - just to watch it grow. Minnie’s eyes connect with yours, irresistibly warm, unwinding rope, unbinding cords. Cutting you both loose just to watch you stay right where you are.

“You’ve got a fucked up little mind,” you tell her, mesmerized.

All Minnie does is laugh. “Hey,” she says, running her fingers down Yuqi’s spine, “don’t we all?”

“You’re insatiable,” adds Minnie to Yuqi, as you’re putting each other back together, pressing a damp paper towel to the wound on her neck, somehow managing to make it sound fond anyway. “You know the point of hickeys is to suck, right? Not literally draw blood.”

“I think it’s a kink,” you say. “Like, it turns her on to see the bite marks. And the blood, I guess.”

“A blood kink? I’m pretty sure that’s just called being a vampire.”

“I already do enough sucking, anyway,” says Yuqi, inexplicably finding the energy for a smirk.

You flick her hip, pretending not to love it and failing. “Okay,” you say, “why are you allowed to make puns, but the second I make them you tell me to kill myself?”

“I’m a hypocrite,” says Yuqi, unapologetically. “You’re just gonna have to make your peace with that.”

“Please,” you say. “If I were looking for peace, I would’ve lost your number months ago.”

Minnie’s the one who starts laughing first; she almost always is. It takes a second and you’re falling all over each other, in hysterics - Yuqi with Minnie’s leather jacket draped around her shoulders, you with an arm around Minnie’s waist, pulling them both in close. Everything’s funny, when you’re together, everything’s hot and humorous and carefree. Like every other pressing matter’s packed up and let you all be, for the moment.

“I still might,” you warn, trying your hand at snark and partially pulling it off, judging by Minnie doubling over in giggles, Yuqi’s gasp, swatting at your chest and scandalized. “No - I really could, I absolutely could-”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

(It’s a flashback on loop, the perfect moment to hit. All those days of nights you stayed, of mornings you laughed through, of times you didn’t have to be there but you were anyway, and it meant something.)

Fine - you weren’t looking for peace, but inexplicably, you think you kind of found it anyway.

It becomes almost immediately obvious that there’s been some sort of boundary broken, because as you drag Yuqi out of the bathroom, she, unbelievably, doesn’t even seem to mind.

It’s like you’ve pushed her so far nothing can faze her. Walks right on out of the mall with cum on her cheeks and no panties on, her skirt so short she could absolutely get dragged in on a public indecency charge. Makes eye contact with an older woman staring near the entrance and says, unconvincingly, “Ugh, ice cream, am I right?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you say once you’re outside, obsessed with her nerve.

“You’re the one who came on my face,” says Yuqi, somehow managing self-righteousness even with her pigtails fucked up, features glazed sloppily. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” She catches Minnie’s eye, her pointed look; switches tone, bats her lashes, inexplicably pulls off innocence. “Not that you’re stupid, Minnie. I’d never say that.”

“But I am?” you ask.

“It’s not your fucking birthday,” says Yuqi - so, looks like obedience didn’t last long. “I don’t have to answer to you, dipshit. I was doing it as a courtesy before.”

“Watch it,” says Minnie, and presses her fingertips warningly into Yuqi’s side.

She’s obviously biting back laughter, but an order’s an order. “Sorry,” says Yuqi, and smiles like she means it.

“I thought you were a good girl,” teases Minnie. “Isn’t that what you said when you were begging him to cum on your face?”

“Yes,” says Yuqi, immediately, unwilling to refuse any prompt from her. “Totally.”

Minnie laughs out loud, and then - to both your shock and Yuqi’s - smacks Yuqi’s ass, hard.

“Then fucking act like it,” she says, and leaves Yuqi spluttering for air.

You take it back to Minnie’s place, and that’s what provokes it: all your best scenes get resumed.

There’s Yuqi, costumed and choreographed - her skirt pushed up around her waist as Minnie fucks her with her fingers, and then discarded entirely - lets herself get shoved onto all fours, back arched and ass rapidly turning red under Minnie’s hands - and Minnie says to you, “Come on, babe, I wanna see this little whore get facefucked,” and there’s no better way to make use of her pigtails. Your fingers in her hair, making her choke on your cock - there’s the fantasy you were looking for, Yuqi’s eyes watering and woeful, brows knit together in perfect, concerted effort. Minnie in control of the strap-on for once, buried in Yuqi’s cunt, making her cum until she’s the one who’s moaning, breathless, panting fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-

“You’re so cute when you beg,” Minnie tells her, and the smirk she throws you is knifelike: “we should make you do it more often.”

“What do you think of that, sweetheart?” you ask Yuqi, but she’s whimpering too much to answer.

It’ll be amplified under lighting and lenses, high fidelity - to you it’s all color without form, detached and unintelligible; to Yuqi it’s probably worse, fucked to to the point of losing recognition, distinguishing senses - or better, rather; you see the way she’s fucking cumming - and when you play it all back, all focus and film, you’ll realize Minnie’s better with a camera than both you and Yuqi combined, realize the definition of defilement when she’s panting in front of a camera, realize exactly what you’ve got in your hands. It’s earth-shattering sex. It’s some of the best you’ve ever had. Minnie will look back through the footage later and say this one’ll go in the hall of fame, ranking your sex tape like a sports commentator, and Yuqi will laugh so hard she’ll almost tumble off the bed, but you’ll catch her around the waist before she falls - and that’s the point of it all, wrapped up in a moment. Sex and safety and fun. It’s the theme of the day, but it always is.

But for now Minnie’s on her knees on the soaked sheets, analyzing Yuqi, mouth wavering like she’s seconds from bursting into giggles. Yuqi’s choking trying to catch her breath, thighs trembling, one arm thrown over her eyes. You’re filming it; it’s the thing to do.

“I’m gonna be honest,” says Minnie, “I can’t think of anything good to call her.”

“Did you ever actually see what she wrote on you that one time?” you point out. “It was just fuckdoll. It wasn’t, like, that creative.”

“Insidious bitch,” offers Minnie, spitballing, twirling the eyeliner pencil between her fingers. “Malicious hoe.”

“All too true,” you agree, sagely.

But Minnie smiles like she’s just remembered a secret, dips forward, and scrawls something across Yuqi’s stomach. Gently, despite everything, or because of it. You lean forward and laugh out loud when you read it.

ours <3

“Oh, wow,” you say, enthralled. “That’s - surprisingly romantic.”

“It’s my birthday,” says Minnie, unashamed, heart on her sleeve, on skin. “I’m feeling sentimental.”

“What did you write?” Yuqi peeks past her arm at the two of you, dark irises dazed and twinkling. “Did you propose?” A silence, considering. “That’s kind of hot, actually. I’ll do it, dude. I’ll marry you for the eternal sexual benefits.”

“Who?” says Minnie. “Me or him?”

Yuqi’s grin tugs sleepily wide. “Why not both?”

You’re not even dating, technically. It’s ridiculous that any of this is even happening at all. Minnie huffs out a breath, and then promptly buries her face in your chest, falling right into your arms, exhausted laughter hitting her all at once. Yuqi, inexplicably, starts snickering along, caught up in the infectiousness of the sound. She’s so right, you think to yourself, laughing with them and half-delirious, why not, why not-

“You really are greedy,” Minnie says to Yuqi, eyes curved gorgeously, luminous half-moons. “Can’t be satisfied with just one, huh?”

“As if any of us ever could be,” Yuqi mumbles, and when you look at her, she’s beaming, hair pouring, too pale for gold but measuring up to something more valuable, somehow - like sunlight, like stars.

Why not, indeed, you muse, kissing the top of Minnie’s head, and you let the scene come to a close.

Oh, you’re creatures of habit, after all. You just can’t let each other go.

“Happy birthday,” murmurs Yuqi when you’ve cleaned each other up, eyelids falling shut, trapped between you and Minnie; she’s smaller than you both and for once she’s showing it. “Did you like your present?”

“Sorry we couldn’t get you anything designer,” you say, kidding. “Not exactly in our budget. Some of us actually aren’t descended from royalty, you know.”

“It’s okay,” says Minnie, smiling softly. She presses a kiss to your cheek, strokes her fingers through Yuqi’s hair. “I already have everything I want.”

Later that night, you all follow through on your plans, and throw her a party.

Yuqi skips the first half or so because she can barely function after the fucking, but promises to join the fun eventually - do not let her out of your sight looking like that, she says, casting a vaguely hungry, territorial look over at Minnie, and then promptly falls asleep in Minnie’s bed, curled up in one of Minnie’s oversized t-shirts and her duvet. She’s earned it, hair towel-dried and fanning out on Minnie’s silk pillowcases, the sweet scent of her conditioner oddly soothing.

“You heard her,” you say to Minnie, grinning. “Don’t leave my line of sight, okay?”

“Who says I’d even want to?” says Minnie, head tucked in the crook of your neck.

It’s codependent, it’s possessive, it’s fun. Well, with Yuqi out of commission, you’ve gotta be hostile and protective enough for the both of you. Today’s a day for switching sides, after all.

It devolves almost immediately. Fit for the occasion, Minnie gets spectacularly drunk.

Even as she gets dragged away in conversation throughout the night, you still end up staring at Minnie across the room, but mostly because Yuqi was right about the way she looks: she’s sporting a sash and a plastic tiara, but she’s also in a production of a dress, tight and hot pink and clinging to her hips, riding high on her thighs, tapering around her waist - she’s a vision, laughing and radiant, smile blown wide. She’s with this girl you sort of recognize - a brunette who must be smaller than she seems right now, heels noticeably tall, adorably sweet-faced and with a certain tilt to her head, not looking at Minnie at all.

“The girl on the right?” Minnie’s saying, when you approach the two of them. She’s gesturing not-so-subtly towards the living room at Miyeon’s friends that you’ve come to be familiar with - Yunjin, with her ever-present sunglasses: the tall, graceful girl who’s always joined at the hip with her. “That’s Kazuha. Yeah, she’s so hot, but, like, so unavailable - she’s been dating her boyfriend for like five years, or something crazy. Which, I think - that’s true love. I mean, right? It has to be. When you meet that young, and you actually stay together-”

“Hmm,” the girl beside Minnie says mildly, watching Kazuha and Yunjin laughing over something. “That’s cute. And - the chick with the sunglasses-”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Minnie - and this is where you realize how intoxicated she actually is, because she’s rambling without reason, offering up nonsensical details; well, she does this sober, but it’s somehow even more extreme when she’s not. “That’s Yunjin. She and Kazuha are best, best friends. Um, Yunjin works at that one coffee shop - you’ve been there, you know, the one by campus…”

“Right,” says the girl, and nothing else, like she’s purposely making room for Minnie to go on.

“I love Yunjin,” Minnie’s bubbling over drunkenly, switching from topic to topic less than seamlessly. “And - oh, wow, Kazuha’s shirt is so cute. Her abs, oh my God. Her boyfriend seems really nice, so that’s good. I mean, it’d suck if she was dating an asshole, because she’s so sweet. An angel, seriously. No, because, literally-”

She’d probably continue on until the party filtered out, until the stars outside the window wrapped it up and left - but that’s right when she spots you, and promptly drops whatever train of thought she was on before she saw your face.

“Babe!” she cheers, and practically leaps into your arms.

“Hi,” you say, lips to the top of her head, grinning. “Having a good time?”

“So good.” Her eyes are dreamy, drowsy, half-shut and glittering in low light. “The most good.”

You smooth her hair out of her face. “You’re drunk.”

“The most drunk.”

You laugh when she pushes her face in your neck, mumbles something incomprehensible; she’s a cute drunk, giggly and sweetly optimistic, social like you wouldn’t believe. She’s been flitting from person to person all night, fielding birthday wishes and hugs and celebratory shots - so easy to love, you think of Miyeon saying, smile knowing - star of the show, center of attention, even surrounded by stupid wasted college kids. Speaking of which:

“Hi,” you say, a little belatedly, to the girl she’s been talking to. It’s slightly unwieldy, considering Minnie wriggling and tucked under your elbow, but you make do.

“Hi,” the girl says back. She’s got this friendly, genuine smile, strikingly pretty eyes. “I’m-”

“Hel-lo.”

The cadence of the voice is like tugging on a leash - you and Minnie turn immediately, already caught in an orbit. All it takes is a look, a smile, a second. A single word and you’re both staring.

Because there’s Yuqi, stunningly made-up, shorts denim and crop top tight and white, blonde hair wild and tumbling over her shoulders, one hand on her hip. She’s bruised at the neck, at the wrists - she’s got hickeys openly marring her pale thighs, not even a single attempt made to cover them up - and she looks fucking profane.

“Yuqi!” Minnie slips out of your arms just to bury herself in hers.

Yuqi plants a kiss to the corner of her mouth, wipes away the smudge of gloss, adjusts her dumb plastic tiara gently. “Hey, birthday girl.” Nods over her shoulder. “Why were you talking to that bitch?”

You swivel in alarm just to see that the girl Minnie was talking to is now halfway across the apartment, picking up conversation with Yunjin and Kazuha.

“What’s wrong with her?” says Minnie, eternally ready to see the best in people. She’s clutching at the hem of Yuqi’s shirt with one hand and has the other tangled in your sleeve. The party swims around you guys, suddenly completely inconsequential, particularly rowdy background noise. That’s how it is, when the three of you are together - like everything around you is just static. There are more important things to worry about. Such as:

“She’s evil,” claims Yuqi, like that’s the end-all be-all - well, to her, it probably is.

“What did she do?” you ask, mindlessly reaching out to fuss with her hair.

“Nothing I can prove,” says Yuqi, somewhat venomously. She rolls her neck, gives you space. “But her vibes are so fucked up.”

“You would know,” says Minnie, wisely.

“What?” Yuqi looks flabbergasted; as if she isn’t fully familiar with the attitude, as if she isn’t bruised to hell and back from Minnie’s hands alone. You crack up. It’s always funnier when Minnie’s the one dishing it out. “Nicha, chill-”

“Don’t pull out the government name on my birthday-”

“You know what,” considers Yuqi, managing to backtrack and twist the sentiment all at once; it’s ridiculous, it’s absolutely a talent. “You’re right. I would know, because I’m the smartest. You were actually complimenting me. Thank you.”

“You’re obnoxious,” you tell her, but pull her gently to your side, anyway. Her blonde hair’s unruly, brushing your jaw. You’re captivated by everything she says and it’s blatantly obvious. “And fucking delusional.”

“It’s a gift,” agrees Yuqi, seriously, and Minnie bursts out laughing.

It’s just one of those silver-screen nights, one of those perfect moments. Laughter on loop, boundless, endless, your favorite people and their favorite people - like you’ve had a million times since you’ve met them. You feel it constantly, but there’s a beat where it’ll just hit you, all at once, the two of them in your arms and giggling and gorgeous, happy like they don’t know how not to be. One of those moments that you hope you’ll have for a long time, after this. One of those moments where you think of turning to the two of them and saying I like my life a lot better with you in it, you know.

But it’s a party, and Minnie’s drunk and beaming by your side, and Yuqi’s got the top of her head fit comfortably into the crook of her neck, and it’s not the time, or the place. You rarely get so sentimental. You’ll let it go for now.

It’s alright, anyway. It’s just like you said - like a recording, like a rerun - you’ll come back to moments like this, again, and again, and again.

(“By the way,” Yuqi says to Miyeon, when she sees her. “You are so fucking stupid. Like, I’m convinced you were dropped on your head as a child.”

Miyeon ogles her, more amused than anything - well, she’s always been good at rolling with the punches. “Excuse me?”

It seems self-explanatory, but Yuqi tells her anyway. “You used to have Minnie topping you daily and you gave that up for a geriatric old man?”

“He’s twenty-nine,” says Miyeon, like that’s anywhere near the point. “Since when have you ever let Minnie top you?” Then she lets her stare fall to Yuqi’s clearly ravaged body. “Oh, wait.”

“Birthday present,” says Yuqi, and doesn’t bother to elaborate. “Seriously, you’re fucking dumb, dude. She’s so hot when she gets like that.”

“I’m aware,” says Miyeon.

Yuqi can’t help but stare at her - at her unaffected composure, the entertained glint in her eyes. “Then why would you ever give that up?”

The party’s in full swing around them, the people and the proximity, the hum of chatter, music. Miyeon’s in white, the pale shine of her blonde hair falling gracefully over her shoulders, something right out of a painting, every detail in place. It’s not that Yuqi’s ever felt she has to compete with Miyeon, but - but-

I know how it feels to be with Minnie, Yuqi could tell her; I don’t get how anyone could have her love and let her down, earn her heart and then break it - and she doesn’t say it in so many words, but Miyeon studies her, like she hears it anyway.

“Look at it like this,” says Miyeon. “If I were still fucking her, she never would’ve started fucking you. And you never would’ve gotten the chance to get this far.”

She juts her chin across the room, where Minnie’s got her arms slung around your neck, your heads bent close together. Minnie, clearly talking a mile a minute, outrageously beautiful, plastic tiara askew on her hair; you, smiling like you’ve won a contest just being in the same room as her, content to indulge all her whims at once.

You catch Yuqi’s eye; your grin does nothing but widen, obvious with your adoration, uncaring of who knows. Like no one could take your devotion away, even if they tried.

“Really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it,” says Miyeon, knowingly.

“Fuck off,” says Yuqi, and smiles back at you anyway.

Miyeon huffs out a haughty little sigh, cuter than it should be. “Have some faith in the universe, Yuqi,” she says, and it’s only then that Yuqi realizes that Miyeon’s kind of drunk. Miyeon points up at the ceiling like she’s calling on a higher power - like she’s exactly the angel she pretends to be, like she’s got a direct line to heaven. “She knows what she’s doing. Everything works out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You can’t possibly believe that,” says Yuqi, charmed by the idea nonetheless.

“Why not?” asks Miyeon, mouth crooked at a corner.

And Yuqi knows this about her - she always has. Miyeon’s had a life raised on passionate ideals, on novels and films and poetry; she’s got a man who’d do anything for her, who adores her enough to craft art for her, to create, to invent; she’s got the kind of love that makes her believe in impossible things, that grants her hope. She can’t see things any other way.

But - watching you from across the room, as you tap Minnie’s hip, point her in Yuqi’s direction, as Minnie sees Yuqi’s face and beams like she’s seeing the break of dawn - it’s the first time Yuqi feels like she understands it.

“Don’t let anything happen to her,” says Miyeon abruptly, then lets out a tiny laugh, like she’s recalling a secret. “Alright?”

“Alright,” says Yuqi, so struck by the idea that she can’t even begin to dissect it, can’t find the angle. She searches Miyeon’s expression, like it’ll give her an answer. “I - you know we’d never hurt her, don’t you?”

But Miyeon only smiles, serene and comprehending. Yuqi blinks, thrown.

Oh. That’s when it hits her: there is no angle. No strategy, no tricks, no sussing out motives. Sometimes you love someone and you just need to know they’re loved, too. Sometimes you just need to hear it said out loud.

“Yeah,” says Miyeon, “I know,” and it’s enough.)

Ah, like she’s taken the thought straight from your brain: why not, indeed.

Long after the party wraps up, you get Minnie to bed with all three of you in a giggling fit. Minnie’s the kind of drunk who’s exceedingly bubbly and completely hilarious, eyelids fluttering and laugh loose and happy, cracking up at the drop of a hat - and you and Yuqi are both obsessed with her, so you can’t help but join her.

“Oh my god,” exhales Minnie, bundled up in her sheets, lifting a finger to the ceiling like she’s trying to find patterns in it, inventing constellations. “This is, like - whoa.” Falls into another peal of laughter; Yuqi’s rolling her eyes, stroking Minnie’s bangs off her forehead. “Like, the best birthday ever.”

“You’re drunk,” you say, utterly enamored with her. “But - thanks.”

Minnie lowers her finger just to wag it in your face. “Drunken words are sober thoughts,” she says, sagely, and dissolves into giggles again.

You land a kiss on her forehead before you and Yuqi pile into the bathroom, scrubbing the night from your skin. Yuqi ends up perched on the counter, the two of you in matching, moisturizing sheet masks - self-care is for everyone, she says vehemently, and you’re not about to argue - and she’s playing some game on her phone, humming something under her breath. Breaks her own concentration just to glance over at you and smile.

“What’s up?” you say, softly, and she slides off the counter.

“Just - thanks.” Yuqi’s got a hand under your chin, tipping your face downwards. She’s always smaller than she pretends to be. “For being here.”

“Well,” you say, tipsy and feeling a little philosophical, a little romantic, “where else would I ever want to be?”

You’re getting in the routine of asking rhetorical questions of each other - will you stay, will you hold me, do you understand how much you mean to me - things you already know the answer to. Learning curves you’ve followed before. Inclines you’ve made it past. It’s fun to play your games, as long as you know when to pack them up and take them home.

Yuqi smiles, slots her mouth to yours. A thousand places, she’s telling you, wrapped up in a kiss - you could be anywhere, but you’re here. Kissing you like it means something. Kissing you because you both know it does.

“Can’t wait to see what you do for my birthday,” she says against your mouth, already grinning. “Are you gonna let me peg you or something?”

And there is it - the charming crassness of her, the unyielding defiance - and there’s something else, the prospect of something living far into the future - and you laugh out loud, suddenly feeling like you’re seeing straight through time, at all the repeat performances you’ll have with her and Minnie. Something that lasts. Something that’ll never, ever get old.

“Sure,” you say, and she’s laughing with you, too. “Something like that.”

(You don’t know this yet, but a little bit earlier, towards the end of the party, Miyeon tugs Minnie into her room and drops a gift bag into her hands. It’d be unceremonious, but Miyeon’s smiling almost bashfully, tucking her hands behind her back afterwards.

“Oh,” says Minnie, softly, drunkenly. “Miyeon.” A pause, gentle, fleeting. “Thank you.”

“Open it,” is all Miyeon says in response, nodding towards the bag.

It’s a digital camera. Gorgeous, expensive, sleek and portable, the kind of thing Minnie can instantly see herself bringing everywhere, aiming it to the sky, to the scenery, to the people she surrounds herself with; to every beautiful thing that’s come to define her life, lately. It’s everything. It’s-

“It’s perfect,” Minnie finds herself saying out loud, voice strangely hoarse.

The curve of Miyeon’s mouth is stunningly tender. She’s a little drunk too, or she must be; her shoulders are a little slumped, words a touch slurred. “I know a lot of your camera usage these days is pretty slutty,” she says, not meanly - Minnie breaks into breathy laughter, adoring despite herself- “but - well, you can absolutely use this one for slutty reasons, too. I mean, no judgment. You know that. Like, have your fun, you know?”

“Get to the point,” chides Minnie, gently, cradling the camera between her fingers.

Color sits high in Miyeon’s cheeks, eternally responsive to Minnie’s tone, her impulses, her certain, deliberate looks - I can’t help it, she’d told Minnie once, laughing; you look at me like you can read my fucking mind.

Minnie’s never managed to grow out of it even now, even after everything. She’s not sure she ever will.

“I just thought…” Miyeon shrugs, shy. “I mean - I know how much you love photography. And I thought you could use it for yourself, whatever that-” There’s a break, searching for the right word. “Whatever that… entails.”

“Entails,” mimics Minnie, drunk and affectionate and stuck on the expression on her face.

“Entails is a normal word.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Minnie,” sighs Miyeon, and suddenly she’s pulling her in for a hug.

“Happy birthday,” Miyeon murmurs into her neck. And then, “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

And here’s what no one will know, about Minnie and Miyeon, what no one will understand: love’s just not for them, right now. There’s nothing about them that could ever work out. But they’re inseparable, they’re other halves - they’re each others’ favorite people in the world, anyway. Here and now, that works perfectly.

“I know,” says Minnie, and she does.

“You and me,” says Miyeon, sweetly, distantly, like there’s some grand secret between her and a whole other universe. “Maybe in another life.”

They’re both romantics, in all senses of the word; they’d both die for music, for melodrama, for scenes straight out of movies. See, Miyeon means it - that’s the thing. Means that she can see it so clearly, the two of them, side by side in some other world. Maybe they’re drunk. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe - maybe-

“Maybe,” Minnie agrees, and she smiles.)

The morning after - that’s one cliché you’re readily familiar with. Hey, they’re well-loved for a reason.

“Um,” says Yuqi, in the kitchen the following day, and nothing else.

It’s a gorgeous morning, or at least the kind you all love, sky dark and overcast, rain dripping down the windows. Minnie’s half-asleep on the counter, brilliantly hungover; the only reason she hadn’t fallen asleep in her makeup and her party dress last night is because you and Yuqi had taken painstaking care of her. Yuqi walked you through Minnie’s skincare routine, cleansers, serums; you’re not the fastest learner, but some people are worth the effort. Perks of being the birthday girl, you’d joked, and Yuqi laughed, unusually soft, said, well, we’d do this for her any day, wouldn’t we?

“Yes?” you say, noting her tone. Her attentiveness last night, her affection - the look on her face now. “You need something?”

There’s always a turning point. Yours comes on a day where the sun’s hiding itself behind clouds, miraculously blanketed; giving you space to say what’s needed, granting you grace. Yuqi takes a breath, then says, “I actually have, um - I have a late birthday present.”

You watch her, confused. Yuqi’s usually immune to any sort of awkwardness, has a tendency to bulldoze past stumbling and silences without much care or tact - so this is something of a first. Even Minnie peeks up at her, crease appearing curiously between her eyebrows.

“For me?” asks Minnie, voice half-muffled by the sleeve of her sweater.

“No,” says Yuqi, sarcasm so acidic it might as well be poison: “for him. Yeah, Minnie, last time I checked, it was your birthday yesterday, so-”

“Yuqi,” Minnie says, straightens slowly, smile dawning in a storm. Yuqi only gets this bitchy in the face of vulnerability - when she’s on a cliff, on a precipice, when she feels herself falling. Minnie’s taking the high road, waiting for it. You’re right there with her.

Yuqi huffs, lets her hair fall in front of her face, covering her cheeks, the blood rushing underneath her skin. Blonde on pink on pink - an echo of the night you’d met her, like someone’d seen her and pronounced her perfectly made, put in some effort to get her standing here, get her that gorgeous.

“Fine,” she says, giving up the fight. “Fine. I - okay. Let me get it.”

“Also,” admits Yuqi, reluctantly, prods your arm. “It kind of is for you, too.”

(Because that’s the motif of it all, isn’t it? There wouldn’t be any of this without all three of you together. There’d be something missing. It just wouldn’t be the same.)

“I know,” you say, quietly, without smugness or ego, and there’s another point - Yuqi, in a room with the people who understand her perfectly, and she’s finally willing to give up the truth.

Yuqi gathers you all in the living room, and then she goes to get her guitar.

She’s bossy about it, too, tugging Minnie by the elbow, poking you in the small of your back, herding you both to the couch. That’s the thing about Yuqi: she makes it known what she wants, doesn’t apologize for it. There’s something strangely comforting about it, about being around someone who is so sure of herself, of every move and instinct.

“Okay, it’s-” says Yuqi when she sits, drumming her fingers along her guitar, expression open and filterless. She tucks her bottom lip into her mouth, bites down, lets go. “It’s kind of… rough. I mean, not in a - not in a sexual context. It’s not like that. It’s just - unrefined, right now.”

But now: tripping over her words, ready to pour her soul out, nervous like she’s unsure if you’ll both take it. You and Minnie, sitting in front of her, watching Yuqi’s lashes flicker, the morning painting her almost breathtakingly sincere. Now - the one thing she’s not perfectly sure about. Oh, she must have an idea, you think, exchanging a glance with Minnie, a soft, private smile; Yuqi must know, deep down. She must see the devotion, how it lifts instead of drowns, makes the room weightless; forget the tension, forget pressure. She must know how you and Minnie have never felt lighter.

“Alright,” says Minnie, gently. “That’s fine.”

A concession from the right person: Yuqi takes a breath, a moment. Fiddles with her guitar, plucking idly, tuning it up. And despite it all, despite the fact that you’ve seen a million times that she’s fine performing a stage, in front of strangers, speaking her mind through music, she says: “Don’t laugh.”

Minnie’s lips part a little, surprised. Your voice catches in your throat. Yuqi rarely shows her nerves like this, lets them take hold and become palpable - but when she does, it’s only for the two of you. You lower your chin in a nod, gesture for her to go ahead: of course, you’re saying. It’s you. It’s you. Say anything and we’ll listen.

Minnie murmurs again, carefully, “Yuqi.” Her name in Minnie’s mouth; it’s as mesmerizing as it always is. “We won’t.”

“Okay,” says Yuqi, believing it, and then she begins to play.

Oh, it’s stunning, but of course it is. A revelation in the rasp of her voice, the nearly sensual hum of her guitar. Lyrics about sex and seduction and wanting to make time for someone, reserve a space in your life for them, in your heart, in your home. About waking up in the morning to love and nothing less. It’s not a sad song, by any means - it’s got a rhythm, an optimism, a playful lilt in the chord changes, the melody. It’s suggestive and a little filthy and honest and hopeful. It’s so completely her.

By the time it’s over, you and Minnie are both wonderfully, completely, startlingly speechless.

“Did you-” Yuqi can’t seem to muster up full sentences, working through her blush, her own emotions trapping words in her throat. “Did you guys - like it?”

It’s so entirely sincere, and shy, and spellbinding. A remnant of a conversation from weeks earlier, about love and creation, about Yuqi’s heart in her music, about taking someone’s hand and saying here, I made this for you.

“Yuqi,” says Minnie, grin leaking into her voice.

Yuqi’s laughing, setting her guitar aside sheepishly; she can glean the answer from her tone alone. That’s the thing about love, when you’re in it - it saturates everything you make, everything you say. “What?”

She barely gets a chance to get the word out of her mouth before you’re pulling at her hip, pulling her right into your lap. She squeals and Minnie’s there, throwing her arms around her neck, wrapping her in a crushing hug. The three of you, so entwined it’d take brute force to rip you apart. Well, let them try.

“Baby,” you say, and Yuqi’s flushing pink again. “You’re so fucking adorable.”

“I know,” says Yuqi, fiercely. She’s so good at taking compliments until they get too close to home.

“And we’re obsessed with everything you do,” adds Minnie, helpfully, darting forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Fucking obviously.”

But now she’s beaming like she could stop the pouring rain right in its tracks, burrowing herself further into Minnie’s embrace, tucking her knees up to brush your ribcage. The snark’s never been anything but a love language, truly. You’ve learned every turn of phrase by now.

“It was brilliant,” says Minnie, then, vehemently, “you’re brilliant,” and then she’s laughing, kissing Yuqi’s face, throwing you that look in her eye when she’s too happy to do anything but show it, unable to process it in any way but the physical. Leans in to kiss you too, hand pressed gently to your cheek. “You two,” she says, then can’t even finish her sentence - it’s such a far cry from the character she’d played yesterday, but that’s the point-

“I don’t want to hear it,” Yuqi says, but doesn’t even try to leave your lap. “You two? I’m the one who wrote the song. He didn’t do shit.”

“Did you or did you not just tell me that this song is about me?” you point out.

One hand finds its way into Yuqi’s hair, and she lets it. “That’s slander,” says Yuqi. “I would literally never say that.”

She’s dazzling when she’s blushing, bluffing, lying right to your face. “I really am your muse,” you say, entertained by the prospect. “That’s so sick.”

“Half my muse,” says Yuqi, and pokes Minnie’s ribs until she yelps. “She’s the hot half.”

“Clearly,” you corroborate, as Minnie laughs prettily, proving both your points - that’s a girl who can always take a compliment, any place and any time. Someone that gorgeous; she’s gotten used to it. “So I guess you’re stuck with both of us, huh?”

And here’s the point that should contain the purposeful score, with the camera panning out, with the confession and the slow motion. Oh, it’s not nearly so cheesy - never so theatrical, no tears or tortured secrets being revealed. It’d be a terrible whodunit, between the three of you: everyone already knows exactly how you got here, sees the fingerprints and the paper trails and the unsubtle clues. There’s no need for any grand reveal when you’re just unearthing what’s been there all along; no need for dramatically digging up graves when all you’re doing is opening a window, letting all the light in. It’s all so spectacularly obvious. It’s what you’ve always thought. It’s peace.

“Fuck,” says Yuqi, content in your arms, and she’s not fooling anyone - so it’s a good thing she doesn’t need to. “I guess I am.”

“I’m making an executive decision,” says Minnie. “We should all just date.”

It’s so simple, so straightforward. All of you and your mutual obsession, wrapped up in a label, a ribbon to tie neat and tight. It’s insane that it could end in something so easy - oh, after the sex you’ve had, the rules you’ve broken, the boundaries you’ve thrown right out the window-

“Ugh,” says Yuqi, like she’s not smiling wide enough to split her face. There’s no possible way you’ve earned this happy ending, but somehow you’ve got it anyway. “Yeah, we probably should, shouldn’t we.”

It’s not a question; no room for error. You can read her too well for that, now. Yuqi adds, belatedly: “I mean, just - like, logically.”

“Absolutely,” you agree, infatuated with how she’s gunning for nonchalance and failing horribly. “It’s just like you said.” You pat Minnie’s hip, meet her radiant eyes, forever colluding. “We’re better than nothing.”

It’s a purposeful bait - you’re getting better at those. Hey, it’s all about growth. “Ugh,” grumbles Yuqi again, burrowing further in Minnie’s arms, squirming in your lap, torn between her attitude and her own need for honesty. “No, you guys - you’re like - you’re better than everything.”

(This, hidden between lyrics, entire love letters scrawled in the margins of a screenplay: Do you understand how much you mean to me? Could you possibly?)

“Oh, wow,” you say, breathless, overwhelmed. “That’s so cliché. I thought you were a songwriter, Yuqi.”

“I hate you.” At the sound of Minnie’s laugh, Yuqi swats at her thigh repeatedly, unable to even manage a scowl. “Uh, you too, bitch. You’re not exempt just because you’re a bystander. You let this happen. Realistically, we’re all here because of you.”

“What?”

“If you hadn’t wanted to get your ass fucked so bad that one day-”

“Oh my God.”

“-then he never would’ve caught us. And we never would’ve ended up here.”

“Actually,” you cut in, mimicking. “Realistically, Yuqi, if you hadn’t decided that you just had to fuck me the moment you met me, I never would’ve gone to that first party, and I never would’ve met Minnie, so-”

“Exactly,” says Minnie, smacking Yuqi’s shoulder triumphantly. “This is your fault.”

And there’s not a stitch of regret in it, nothing that constitutes actual blame. You’ve seen this film before. It’s the same every time. Sure, it’s her fault: her fault that you’re all the happiest you’ve ever been, that you’re having the best sex you’ve ever had, that you have somewhere safe to run after a bad day, friends to fill a home, a bed where you never have to be alone. Her fault that you slipped and fell right into a perfect ending, every stray thread wrapped up and stitched masterfully and closed out. A revelation. A kiss. A faultless flourish, and a cut away.

(This, the question underneath it all, asked over and over again, slipped subliminally under each line of dialogue: do you understand how much you mean to me?)

“You know what,” says Yuqi, thoughtfully. “I’ll take it.”

(The answer, the running theme, the credits as they roll: I do, I do, I do.)

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Well, in case you didn’t already know: there’s always going to be room for an epilogue.

Call it a post-credits scene, something included just for kicks. This one centers in on a weekend - but doesn’t it always? - on the rush of a cool autumn night, on a dark club, on chatty strangers. It’s a single scene, bookended by names, labeled professions; there are more important things to worry about than this, but it’s your life. It’s where you’re at. It’s also exactly where you’d started.

“You’re not even working today,” says Bona, perched daintily on a stool, scantily clad and seemingly amused by your presence alone. “You don’t need to be here, you know.”

“I know,” you say, cryptically, settled comfortably beside her. “Just wanted to check out some of the performances.”

It’s obnoxiously vague. “Right,” says Bona, clearly suspicious. “Uh, have fun?”

The band’s got more fans than they give themselves credit for - it’s like every extra’s right where they should be, prepared for any cue. You spot Lisa and Chaeyoung in the corner, laughing loudly with Jisoo and another brunette whose name you can’t place; at one of the tables, there’s Kazuha and Yunjin, who looks to be in a weirdly aggressive conversation with Club Cosmic’s manager; over at the bar, Miyeon’s boyfriend catches your eye and waves, one arm slung around Miyeon’s waist. Around them all, the atmosphere seems to glimmer, velvet and smoke and strategic lighting, placing them all somewhere mythic.

“I will,” you tell Bona, cheerfully, and hop up from your seat.

Yunjin and Kazuha are the first to monopolize your attention, but that’s not especially surprising. Yunjin’s sporting some comically oversized sunglasses and losing her mind over some shocking celebrity breakup - two of her absolute favorite actresses, she tells you balefully, right before she downs her drink. Kazuha’s trying to console her, but also obviously trying not to laugh at her.

“I seriously don’t even believe in love at this point,” Yunjin’s lamenting, head in her hands, phone open to the news article. “Two years. They were together for two years.”

“Hmm,” says Kazuha, suddenly lost in thought. It’s then that you recall she’s been with her boyfriend for twice that long, or something similar. Nineteen and already tied down; but, you muse, stranger things have happened. You’re not gonna question love. Your life has too much of it. You can’t imagine believing in anything else.

“Is that why you were arguing with…” You gesture discreetly towards Club Cosmic’s manager, who’s only a table or two away, making her rounds.

“Sakura’s such a bitch,” says Yunjin, not quietly, and - well, there goes discretion. “She’s like - oh, every celebrity relationship is PR, I don’t even know why you’re upset, it was probably fake anyway - and I was like, for two years? That doesn’t even make sense-”

“I can hear you,” says Sakura, turning abruptly.

“Good,” says Yunjin. “Cunt.”

“I could ban you from this place,” says Sakura, hand on her hip. She’s maddeningly gorgeous just by standing there - the big eyes and the flawless skin and the long, dark hair, swept up out of her face, ears lined with delicate silver jewelry. Every time she mans the floor, she gets just as much attention as the lingerie-clad performers; that’s a talent in itself. “Also, two years isn’t even that long for a serious relationship.” She smiles, tiny and catlike. “Not that you would know.”

“I will key your car,” says Yunjin seriously, then, to you: “It’s fine. Sakura and I go way back.”

“No, we don’t,” says Sakura. “You’re an acquaintance at most. I barely tolerate you.” A pause. “Hi, Zuha.”

“Hi,” says Kazuha, amiably. “Nice to see you.”

“Don’t lie to her,” says Yunjin, emphatically, and flips Sakura off.

They’re largely caught up in their own spectacle, their own stories and lives and loose ends. It’s none of your business; it’s a movie you don’t have a part in. Fine: you’ve got your own plot points to hit. You leave them to it.

Minnie’s not flaking out on band duties for once, so Miyeon’s off the hook tonight, enjoying being in the audience. She’s the band’s biggest fan, she always says - she’ll have to fight you for that title, you return every time. She’s loitering by the bar with her boyfriend, and the second she sees you, she leans in and says, almost nonsensically, “Feels pretty good, huh?”

You lean in too. “Sorry?”

Miyeon smiles. “I heard about Yuqi’s song,” she says. Then, “It’s fucking awesome being someone’s muse, right?”

“Uh,” you say, somewhat startled - but, like, she’s not really wrong. “I mean, yeah, totally.”

Beside her, Miyeon’s boyfriend sighs tolerantly, one arm now around Miyeon’s slender shoulders, one hand sifting carefully through the ends of her hair. See, Miyeon’s exactly what anyone who’s ever read an artsy romance novel would picture as a muse: gorgeous in this elegant, almost demure way, like she’s perennially cosplaying as some sort of princess. Her boyfriend’s older, he’s seen more of the world, he knows what it has to offer; Miyeon’s such a classic counterpart for him, despite the age difference, the mildly sketchy circumstances. You look at the two of them and you get it - why someone like him would make art about someone like her.

“All we have to do is exist and be beautiful and get fucked into oblivion,” says Miyeon, dreamily. “We’ve got it made.”

Right - she’s sort of drunk. Well, you could’ve seen that coming. “Why are you assuming I’m getting fucked and I’m not the one doing the fucking?”

A tilt of her head. “Yuqi doesn’t peg you?”

“Uh - not currently?”

There’s that bright laughter, her best sign of a break in character. Miyeon tucks her face into her boyfriend’s shoulder, only half-successfully stifling her own giggles. He smiles enigmatically over at you, the kind of expression that could mean anything from wow, women, huh? to yeah, yeah: she’s the love of my fucking life.

“Baby,” he says to her instead, gently, hand still half in her hair. Lets out this endeared sort of huff, partly a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Right, you think: love of his life it is, then.

Miyeon turns her face out again, cheeks flushed and lids heavy as she looks at you.

“You know what,” she says, candidly. “Yuqi was right. You are cool.”

“Thanks, man,” you say. Inebriation’s clearly killed her filter a little bit. “You didn’t think I was before?”

“Well, I was originally worried you might be too dumb for Yuqi, but…” She nods sagely, blinks at you slow and serious. “She’s dating you and Minnie. It’s obvious she’s into morons. Like, that’s definitely her type.”

So, that’s-

“What the fuck,” you say, and Miyeon’s boyfriend actually bursts out laughing, which only makes Miyeon start cracking up again - and that’s pretty much your cue to leave. Let them be sort of young and all the way in love. They deserve it, anyway.

“Hey,” says Bona, over the music, when she finally circles back to your side. “Your girls are performing tonight, aren’t they?”

Your girls, she says. Like music, like belonging, like a motion picture with all three of your names billed first, crossing the screen simultaneously. Like the last handful of months laced between the lines, a roll of film stretching out with no end in sight. Like something you could hear them called the rest of your life - your girls - yours.

You swallow back your grin, and say, “How’d you know?”

But suddenly you don’t really need an answer. Bona nods towards the entrance, and that’s when you finally see them.

(Oh - and about their outfits:

Unsurprisingly, Soyeon vetoed Minnie’s sexy cat idea. No, she’d said, or so you’d heard secondhand; Club Cosmic’s a burlesque club, isn’t it? You’ve all seen those old movies, vintage costumes, coiffed curls. We already employ the art of the tease, all that shit; now we’ve got the perfect setting for it. Let’s lean into it. Let’s bring a fantasy to life.)

“God,” says Bona, voice suddenly faint, like just the sight of them together’s forced some sort of physical affliction. “You don’t even know how fucking lucky you are.”

“Actually,” you say, your throat entirely too dry, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

(Let’s bring a fantasy to life, she says, so they do.)

It’s very nearly fatal, the two of them across the room and so gorgeous your heart skips out of time; strings slipping, drums off-tempo, the pianist must’ve ditched and left you hanging. Your brain can’t catch up with itself, can’t reconcile that they’re here and they belong to you - in and out of focus like any possible camera work wouldn’t be nearly enough to capture this - can’t work out the fact that you belong to them-

“Pull yourself together,” says Bona, though she can’t quite seem to pick her jaw up either.

“Dude, I can’t,” you say, hoarsely, and leave it there. They’re speaking for themselves just by standing there, anyway.

There’s Minnie’s bodysuit, that’s the first thing: all scarlet fabric and scandalous cutouts, tucked seamlessly into a pair of tiny, tight shorts. Cords of glittering rhinestones dripping from her waist, dotting the crisscrossing threads of her fishnets. Strappy heels and shimmering jewelry wrapped snugly around her neck, something of a choker, something you’d die to hook your fingers in and tug on. She fits the aesthetic like it was made for her, every part of her perfectly arranged, tailored brilliantly. And Yuqi - all you can comprehend is the latticing detail of her stockings, everything trimmed in tantalizing black lace, the telltale straps of a garter belt. Dolled up in black, sweetheart neckline strategically low, skirt skimpy and primed to tease. Her boots, platform and buckled and beat-up leather, sending the whole look a touch theme-inaccurate, marvelously off-beat. It’s all about the details, the barely tamed wildness of her hair, nails blunt and black lacquer chipping, rough in all the right places. And it’s so completely her.

You’re sure the entire place is staring. The room almost glitters around them, the scenery a perfect backdrop. Forget every single side character, every winding plot - it’s all leading up to the two of them walking in like this, side by side. That’s it. Nothing else matters. Cut it there.

But you can’t - because you spot the exact moment the two of them see you, too.

You see Minnie’s mouth form your name even all the way across the dim club, her smile - lopsided, lovely - stunningly at odds with the allure of her outfit, her sultry sex appeal. Yuqi sees the look on your face and her mouth curls into a brilliantly red smirk, raises her eyebrows, aware of exactly what they’re both doing to you.

It’s hypnotizing, the sight of it. They could have the entire room in the palm of their hand, but they’re only looking at you.

Minnie says something you can’t hear over the music, waves one arm in a broad, indiscernible gesture. “What?” you say back, but then you notice the camera she’s holding - the one Miyeon gave to her for her birthday. Beside her, Yuqi puts a hand on her hip, mimes pouting and posing.

Right. You throw your head back, laugh out loud, and that’s right when Minnie takes the shot.

(She’s been taking them of Yuqi all night, you’ll learn later - while getting ready, in the car on the way here, outside the club. You’ll see it all after this, her blonde hair almost blown out, images soft at the corners. She’ll look inhumanly beautiful, like something magical, ethereal. God, Minnie will tell her, cycling through the photos, you’re so fucking gorgeous - and you’ll agree, slack-jawed and struck dumb.

Maybe, Yuqi will say, but don’t you get it? It’s me through your eyes, your point of view. She’ll take a look at herself on camera and laugh. I look prettiest when you’re the one photographing me. Do you understand? she’ll be asking, wonderingly. Could you possibly?

Oh, and you do. Love and art. Love and creation. Love and how it shapes the way you see the world, bit by bit, until you realize it - take a look around: you live a life full of beautiful things. You’ve got so much to be grateful for.)

You’re barely ready, and it’s surely not flattering, but they’re both grinning at you anyway, so pleased with themselves. You, through their point of view, like the best you’ve ever been. An epilogue - maybe that’s not accurate at all, then. Maybe it’s all just a preview: a marker of everything that’ll come later. Sequel after sequel after sequel.

(In twenty minutes they’ll both be up on that stage. Singing the song Yuqi wrote, the two of them sneaking glances at each other on opposite sides of the stage, catching your eye by the bar, in the crowd. Give them a little longer and they’ll both be running off the stage in record time, right into your arms - Yuqi will be complaining about a chord Minnie flubbed, Minnie will kiss her until she shuts up - and it’ll be a moment you’ll get to replay again, and again, and again. Every concert, every coming birthday, every moment, second, scene. Every night you’re gonna grin, and kiss them, and let them take you home.

You’ve got a love that’ll keep coming back around, in the end. Forget the classics, forget convention - you’d be so repressed having one type and sticking to it. You’d be bored to fucking tears without the two of them by your side.)

But that’s all what’s to come. That, and so much more.

For now, you watch as Minnie and Yuqi walk over to you, both of them trying to talk over each other at once - something about Minnie accidentally burning the side Yuqi’s neck with a curling iron; no, it’s not a fucking hickey, when has she ever tried to hide those - but all you can do is stare.

“Hi,” you say, dumbly, smiling like an idiot.

“You’re such an idiot,” says Yuqi, predictably, her hip bumping Minnie’s.

“Hey,” Minnie says, beaming back, just as predictably, and it’s a start. It’s a step. A photo in a frame, cataloging your future in a single snapshot. The way she moves forward and loops her arms around your neck, and Yuqi wriggles close to her side, unwilling to ever be left out.

“Oh, wow,” says Bona, who you’d honestly forgotten was even standing there. “You guys are nuts.”

And you get exactly what she means. You’re obsessed with each other and you’re not shy about it. You’ll bicker as often as you’ll fuck, in private, in public. You’ll be fielding queries about the logistics for a while - the three of you? people will say, pulling faces. How? When? Wondering how you turned a habit into a home, a safe place to keep your heart.

“Fuck off,” says Yuqi, muffled by Minnie’s hair. “Jealousy is a disease, bitch.”

“I’m serious,” says Bona, but she’s smiling now. “And - Soyeon’s already in the back asking for you guys, by the way. She sent me out here to get you.”

It’s a lead-in, a prompt: wrap it up. Get it all out; you’re in the home stretch. A quip, a grin, a glance. A hard cut to a happy ending. This is the story you’ve got.

“Well?” says Yuqi to you, eyes narrowing. Affection tilts her mouth. She’ll always let sincerity bleed through, when it’s all said and done. “Any last words before we go on?”

She says it like she’s about to kill you; she’s gorgeous enough to get away with it. Minnie’s giggling openly, lacing her fingers through yours. They look like they could get anything they’d ever wanted and then some. Like they’re about to be put on pedestals and surrounded by snapping cameras, nosy paparazzi searching for a way behind the scenes, a glimpse of a masterpiece in the making. Them through your eyes, extraordinary in every light, every angle. That’s the thing about all the greatest movies, all your best narratives, love behind a careful lens: there’s always something new to discover.

Fine: you’ll learn, then. You’ll stick around to see. It’s the story you’ve got - oh, and isn’t it a wonderful one.

“Break a leg,” you tell them, laughing, and let it all fade to black.

happy very very late bday to minnie! also one of these days i will write a smut that is not actually a love story in disguise but today is not that day <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop fanfiction #idol x male reader #idol x reader #reader insert #male reader #idol x idol #minnie smut #yuqi smut #gidle smut

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1kook · 3 years

Text

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming.

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education).

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way.

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms.

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries.

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable.

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows.

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.”

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum.

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close.

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed.

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin.

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone.

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress.

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt.

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite.

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up.

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks.

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.

It’s your turn to mope.

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand.

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses.

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh.

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels.

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad.

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down.

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome.

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities.

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about.

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest.

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover.

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.”

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee.

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite.

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now.

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.”

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold.

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes.

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon.

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her.

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown.

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead.

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear.

It’s the hardest thing about parenting.

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is.

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show.

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years.

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight.

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now.

A second later, “lemme join.”

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick.

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.”

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions.

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit.

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky.

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home.

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts.

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now.

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back.

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice.

Then, and apparently, now.

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck.

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together.

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper.

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt.

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time.

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips.

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you.

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long.

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body.

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him.

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line.

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could.

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you.

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist.

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore?

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?”

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it.

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you.

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat.

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt.

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time.

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully.

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole.

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything.

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure.

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time.

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone.

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped.

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas.

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever.

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling.

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence.

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out.

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach.

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys.

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever.

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.”

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer.

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off.

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again.

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific.

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position.

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds.

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him.

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt.

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip.

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh.

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you.

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace.

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out.

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you.

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones.

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year.

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace.

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car.

“What’s up?” you ask.

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—”

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well.

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway.

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy.

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news.

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you.

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

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