yodatzutzu

[yodatzutzu]

The House Of Us.

Synopsis: You chased music, she chased stability—but under chipped blue walls and behind broken doors, you both unknowingly built a life out of sacrifice, silence, and stubborn love.

Word Count: 7,324

Karina X M!Reader

tags: angst, fluff, comfort.

a/n: holy was this lengthy 😭 (also sorry if some scenes are so phased rapidly and quick!)

It starts gloomy.

The morning sun doesn’t even try today. The sky outside is a dull sheet of gray, the kind that makes everything feel heavier before the day even begins. There’s no alarm clock, no birds chirping, just the soft clinking of a spoon stirring coffee from across the room—steady, tired, familiar.

You’re not even fully awake, but you know it’s her.

Karina’s always up before you now.

She doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t even check if you’re still breathing half the time. But the rhythm of her mornings has become muscle memory. Three circles clockwise. A tap on the rim of her mug. And then the silence of her scrolling through her phone, waiting for the leftovers to heat.

You groan softly as you sit up from the couch, rubbing your eyes. Your neck protests, stiff from sleeping wrong. Again. The couch cushion has lost its bounce, and the blanket only covers half your legs no matter how you position it. The TV is still on, stuck on some late-night channel that stopped mattering hours ago.

The apartment is dim. Curtains barely drawn, a faint drizzle casting ripples against the windowpane. Manila rain again. Quiet but persistent, like it’s always been part of the background noise in your life together. The faucet drips every ten seconds. You stopped fixing things a while ago.

You stand, stretching out the dull ache in your back, when her voice cuts the quiet.

“You didn’t sleep in the bedroom again?”

She doesn’t sound mad. Doesn’t even sound curious. Just tired.

You clear your throat. “You were already asleep. Didn’t want to bother you.”

There’s a beat of silence. She doesn’t press further. Just turns her head slightly, eyes back on the simmering pot on the stove. You brought home sinigang last night—an old lady from the bar you played at insisted. Said you shouldn’t be singing about heartbreak on an empty stomach.

Karina didn’t eat it then. She’s reheating it now. Maybe out of guilt. Maybe hunger. Maybe just habit.

You walk into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. It tastes stale.

She glances at you briefly, then looks away.

“The electric bill’s due this week,” she says, reaching for her mug. “When’s your share coming?”

You lean against the counter, blinking slowly.

“Maybe by Friday. Still waiting on payment from that gig.”

She nods once, not reacting. There’s no tension in her shoulders, no sigh of frustration. Just acceptance. The kind that doesn’t sting anymore because it’s stung too many times before.

“May said she saw your poster at Cubao,” she adds after a moment. “The one from last year. It’s still up.”

You look at her. She doesn’t look back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then, softer: “You looked happy in that photo.”

You swallow. Your voice is caught somewhere between your throat and the space between you. So you don’t reply.

The sinigang bubbles slightly. Too much heat. She moves to turn the stove off, one hand steadying her bag on her shoulder. You notice the way her collar is folded awkwardly.

You step forward without thinking.

“Hey, wait—”

She stops mid-step, turning to face you. Her eyes meet yours, surprised. Not annoyed. Not hopeful. Just caught off guard.

You reach out, fingers gently smoothing down the crooked side of her collar.

“It was sticking out,” you murmur.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Your hand lingers for half a second longer than necessary before you pull it back.

She looks at you like she wants to say something—something real, maybe something soft—but her gaze drops instead. She clears her throat, adjusting the strap of her bag again.

“There’s leftover rice,” she says quietly. “If you want to eat later.”

You nod.

She walks to the door, pulling it open, umbrella in one hand.

“Don’t forget to lock the gate,” she reminds you. “They said someone got robbed near the sari-sari store.”

“I will.”

She hesitates, standing in the doorway. The rain greets her instantly—gentle but relentless. The kind that soaks you slowly, without warning.

Then, just as she’s about to step out, she says it.

Soft. Almost automatic. But still real.

“Be safe, love.”

Your head snaps up. But by then she’s already gone.

The door clicks shut behind her. And the apartment is quiet again—except for the slow ticking of the wall clock and the scent of sinigang that still lingers in the air, waiting to be eaten by someone who might not feel hungry anymore

You went back to sleep but was unable to, so you stared at the ceiling as, You remember the night the rain came down so hard, it flooded the street outside and the two of you got stranded under the awning of a closed pharmacy.

Karina’s bangs were dripping, your slippers were nearly floating, and your phone was dead from the humidity. You didn’t have enough for a tricycle, and the last jeep had already passed. It was just the two of you, soaked, shivering, and cursing your luck.

But she looked at you and started laughing.

Not the polite kind. The full, head-tilted, eyes-shut laugh you hadn’t heard in a while.

You stared at her like she was insane. “We’re gonna get sick.”

“Probably,” she said, still laughing. “But it’s kinda funny, diba?”

You looked around—gray sky, water pooling at your ankles, the smell of hot asphalt—and you started laughing too.

By the time you got back to the room, you were both freezing. Clothes clung to your skin, your socks were ruined, and the fan was working at half-power. You stripped off your wet shirts and threw them onto the same chair that held all your clean laundry. Then you sat on the floor, backs against the wall, sharing a single towel.

“I’d kill for bulalo right now,” she said, shivering.

“You’d kill for any food,” you replied, reaching over to rub warmth back into her arms.

She leaned into you, her hair damp against your cheek.

“You think we’ll still be like this in five years?” she asked. “You, me. Still in some room. Still broke.”

“I hope not,” you said honestly.

She looked up.

“But I mean—I hope we’re still us,” you added quickly. “Just not… cold and hungry us.”

She smiled, tired and beautiful.

“That’s fair.”

You kissed her forehead, the same spot you always kissed when you didn’t have the words.

There was also that day at Divisoria, your first real shopping trip together.

You only had 800 pesos between the two of you, and most of it had to go to a water jug and a new rice scoop—but Karina insisted on one decorative pillow.

“Just one,” she said, holding it up like it was a sacred object. “Look, it’s a cloud! A literal cloud. It’s so soft.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We don’t even have a couch.”

“So we’ll hug it while we cry ourselves to sleep. Come on, please? It’s P129. I’ll skip milk tea.”

She bought it anyway.

That night, you saw her curled around it on the mattress, smiling in her sleep.

There was another time—just a random Tuesday—when she tried to cook dinner as a surprise.

She told you not to come home early, said she was “setting something up.” You opened the door to the smell of burnt garlic and overcooked rice.

She stood in the middle of the chaos—flour on her cheek, barefoot, wearing that oversized band shirt you loved on her.

“I tried,” she said sheepishly.

You walked up to her, kissed her forehead, and said: “You almost burned the place down.”

“But did I die?” she grinned.

The adobo was too salty. The egg was rubbery. The rice was scorched at the bottom. And yet, it was the best meal you’d had in weeks.

And every Sunday—back when you still had them—you’d wake up before noon, still tangled in each other’s limbs, and argue over what to eat.

Karina would always want sinigang. You’d always push for instant ramen.

So you’d compromise: rice, ramen, plus one sachet of sinigang mix.

You called it “sina-men.” She hated the name. She still laughed every time.

You remember how proud she was when she finally got her first paycheck. It wasn’t much, just a part-time tutoring job, but she came home with lumpiang shanghai from the carinderia and two red plastic roses.

“These will never die,” she said, sticking them in an old empty bottle beside your guitar case. “Just like us.”

You grinned and said, “Cheesy.”

She kissed you and whispered, “Live with it.”

And for a long time, you did.

You lived with her. You lived with love. You lived with the sound of her brushing her teeth too loudly, with your mismatched slippers, with fighting over what show to binge when the data was running out.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was yours.

You remember the day you moved in together.

The tricycle ride was too small for all your things—just a few boxes, your guitar, her books, some clothes, two throw pillows, and an old rice cooker. Everything else would follow later, you said. Even though there wasn’t anything else.

The landlady gave you the keys and warned you about the weak flush and the neighbor who sang karaoke at 2 a.m.

You both nodded politely, barely listening. You were too excited to care.

The room was smaller than you expected. The mattress was thinner. The walls were beige in the way that looked like they’d never been white. But Karina stepped in first, turned around slowly, and smiled like she was seeing a castle.

“It’s ours,” she whispered, wide-eyed.

You laughed, still out of breath from carrying everything. “You’re acting like we bought a condo.”

“We did,” she said, lifting her arms like she was revealing a masterpiece. “This is a deluxe unit, studio-type, no balcony but great ambiance.”

“You mean great dust.”

She nudged you with her shoulder. “Ambiance nga.”

You both collapsed on the mattress that night, no sheets yet, just the pillow she brought from home and a single towel as a makeshift blanket.

Karina rested her head on your chest, finger drawing little circles over your shirt.

“Someday,” she said softly, “we’ll have a real bed. A kitchen with cabinets. A dog named something stupid like ‘Adobo.’ You’ll be on stage, and I’ll be sitting in the crowd wearing something cute.”

“Something red,” you added. “You look good in red.”

She smiled. “And we won’t have to count coins before buying shampoo.”

You kissed her temple.

“Promise?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Promise.”

The wind blew in through the barely-sealed window. Someone was shouting outside about lost change. A baby cried two units down. But none of it mattered. Not yet.

You had her.

She had you.

And that small, broken-down room felt like it could hold a whole life.

The apartment’s quiet again when she gets home.

You’re in front of your laptop, headphones on, sound-editing a recording from the night before. She doesn’t say hi. Just places her bag by the wall, takes off her shoes, and walks straight to the bathroom.

The fan whirs. The screen glows. You play the chorus one more time—tweak the reverb.

When she comes out, her hair’s wet, and she’s already in her pambahay. She sits on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

You lift your headphones slightly. “How was work?”

“Okay.”

“Did you eat?”

“Mm. At the office.”

You nod. She doesn’t ask about your song.

You stare at her for a moment longer. She looks tired again. Her fingers are still scrolling, but you’re not sure she’s even reading anything. You close your laptop with a soft click.

“I submitted the demo,” you offer.

“Huh?”

“The one for that record label. Yung sinabi ko last week.”

She nods. “Cool.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” you ask.

She looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a big deal, Rin.”

“I said cool.”

You try not to sigh. “It’s not just ‘cool.’ I stayed up two nights for that.”

She sets her phone down. Her voice stays level, but colder.

“And I stayed up three for a report I needed to finish. Didn’t see you clapping for me.”

That stings. But you swallow it.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what do you mean?”

There’s a pause. The kind where you both know what’s underneath but aren’t brave enough to say it.

“You’re not here anymore,” you say finally, quieter now. “Even when you are.”

Her jaw tightens.

“And you think you are?” she snaps back. “You’re always at gigs or buried in headphones. You come home when I’m asleep. You leave before I wake up. Anong gusto mong maramdaman ko?”

“I’m doing this for us—”

“So am I!”

You flinch.

Her voice cracks slightly. She hates when that happens.

“I’m not the same girl who bought pillows shaped like clouds anymore,” she says, eyes wet but defiant. “I have bills to pay. A future to build. And I’m scared all the time, Y/N. I’m scared I’m outgrowing a love that’s supposed to grow with me.”

You don’t say anything. Because what is there to say?

She picks her phone back up. Wipes her eyes quickly, pretending she’s just tired.

You sit there, frozen, hearing everything but saying nothing.

Later that night, you both lie in the same bed, facing opposite walls.

You want to reach out.

She wants you to reach out.

But no one does.

And somewhere between silence and stubbornness, you both fall asleep.

Alone. Together.

You lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling fan, listening to the sound of her breathing from the other side of the bed. She’s asleep—or pretending to be.

And your mind drifts back to the night it all started falling apart.

It was supposed to be a rehearsal.

You’d shown up late again—guitar strapped, lungs burning from running, fingers still sore from a solo you’d been working on. The room smelled like sweat and stale chips. Jay was packing up his pedals. Renz had already unplugged the mic. Nobody was looking at you.

You dropped your bag, heart racing. “Guys, come on. Don’t pack up.”

Jay didn’t even flinch. “There’s no point, Y/N.”

“What are you talking about?” you said. “We have the gig at Commonwealth next week.”

Renz scoffed. “You think that gig’s gonna save us?”

“It might.”

“No, it won’t,” Jay cut in sharply. “You’re late every time. You don’t listen. You don’t even pitch in for the van. I have mouths to feed, man. My son’s drinking powdered coffee for dinner.”

You stepped forward, voice tight. “Just a little bit more. One more amazing gig and we’ll have a future. Don’t you want that?”

Renz laughed bitterly. “You’re still saying that shit? We’ve been saying ‘one more gig’ for four years. My wife’s waiting for me to quit this band so we can move provinces and start over. I told her I’d give it one more month. That month was two months ago.”

“So what?” your voice rose. “What am I gonna tell Karina then? That I gave up? That I quit before it got good?”

Jay turned around slowly, his face tired in a way you hadn’t noticed before.

“That’s not how it works, Y/N,” he said. “It’s not about chasing dreams anymore. It’s about surviving.”

You felt something break in your chest. Maybe pride. Maybe fear. Maybe both.

“So you’re just gonna leave us like that?” you snapped. “Just like that? After everything?”

Jay’s eyes flickered. He didn’t shout. He didn’t flinch.

“I have mouths to feed, Y/N. Please understand. My son can’t eat properly. I can’t keep playing gigs for exposure and beer.”

Your hands were shaking now. “So that’s it?”

He nodded. “That’s it.”

You looked at Renz. He avoided your gaze. Picked up his amp. Turned away.

Your throat burned. Your palms clenched.

“Fuck it,” you muttered. “FUCK THIS. FUCK YOU. I CAN DO THIS ALL ALONE ANYWAY.”

No one responded.

Jay walked out.

Renz followed.

And just like that, your band was gone.

You blink up at the ceiling.

Karina turns in her sleep, facing away.

Your chest feels heavy again—not just from the memory, but from the weight of everything you’re trying to carry alone.

You thought chasing the dream was the hard part.

Turns out, trying to keep it alive is even harder

You don’t remember much from the night before.

Only fragments. A crowd. A bottle. Something about the sound guy pissing you off. A chair flying. The crack of something shattering.

Then— Light.

Bright and burning through your skull.

You open your eyes and you’re not home. You’re lying on the gutter outside a bar on E. Rodriguez, head resting against a trash bag, the cement wet from last night’s rain.

And standing above you—face pale, eyes swollen, still in her wrinkled blouse—is Karina.

She’s shaking.

Not with anger.

With exhaustion.

You can barely lift your head. But you see the waiters in the background, watching her with narrowed eyes.

“Ma’am,” one says, arms crossed. “Your boyfriend destroyed our chairs. The stovetop. The overhead lights. Are you paying for it or what?”

She doesn’t say anything.

She just pulls her wallet out and hands over the last bills she has.

You try to say something. You really do. But all that comes out is a croak.

She bends down beside you, voice low, furious.

“I told you I had my exam today.”

You blink, slow.

“I told you—you promised—you’d stay home.”

She grabs your arm, struggling to lift your limp, drunken body. You’re heavy. You’re dead weight. Her shoulder almost gives out.

She tries again.

And again.

You hear her breathing break.

You feel her hands tremble as she holds your face.

“I can still make it. Maybe I can still—”

But your body collapses again, and so does her hope.

She looks at her watch.

And then she looks at you.

And for a moment, she actually considers leaving. Just walking away. Letting you rot on the sidewalk.

But she doesn’t.

Because she loves you.

Because she always chooses you.

So she misses the exam.

It’s a few nights later. Her birthday.

You cleaned up. You made sinigang. You even lit one of the cheap tealight candles she used to like.

She walks in, late, silent, tired. Her eyes scan the table. The food. The vinyl sleeve on the couch.

You grin nervously. “Happy birthday, love.”

She doesn’t say anything. You pick up the vinyl and show it to her, proudly.

“It’s your song. I named it ‘Track 01.’ I wanted to give you something real. Something—”

“You wanted to give me something real?”

Her voice slices through yours.

She stares at you. Unmoving. Unblinking. Expressionless.

“You wanted to give me something real after I pulled you out of the street covered in vomit on my exam day?”

Your face drops.

“Karina—”

“I chose you.”

Her voice starts shaking. “I had every reason to leave you there. I was already late. I studied for months. That was my chance. But I chose you.”

You move toward her. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never do.”

She picks up the vinyl.

“You know what this is to me?”

She throws it.

The record crashes against the wall.

Plastic cracks.

Silence.

She’s breathing hard now.

“You can always spend for music. Always. We can be broke. We can have no food. No soap. No rice. But for music?”

She steps closer.

“There’s always fucking money for that.”

You just stand there.

Small.

“I’m done.”

She whispers it. Dead cold.

“I’m tired of losing while you dream.”

And this time, she walks straight into the bedroom.

You hear the drawer open. You hear the zip of her bag.

And you don’t stop her.

Because you know this time…

She really means it

You follow her into the bedroom.

She’s grabbing clothes blindly—folding some, stuffing others. Her bag’s open on the mattress, already half-full.

“Karina, please—”

She doesn’t look at you.

You step closer, voice breaking. “Please, Rin. Don’t go. I have a gig next month—it’s in QC, at that new rooftop joint. People from the label will be there. It could be my big shot to be recognized, I swear. Just… just wait a little longer.”

She slams the drawer shut.

“It’s always that fucking passion that drives you crazy, Y/N! You know that?”

You flinch.

She finally turns, her eyes glassy but burning.

“You gamble everything on hope. You always say ‘just one more’—one more song, one more set, one more chance. And while you’re chasing dreams, I’m out here working double shifts, taking side jobs, buying our damn soap while you make beats at 2 a.m.!”

“I’m doing it for us!” you shout.

“No, you’re doing it for you.”

The words hit harder than anything she’s ever said.

“You think you’re fighting for this relationship just because you’re chasing success. But I’m the one fighting to survive it. I’m the one who’s been holding it together. Remind me—who’s idea was it to live together?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because it was yours.

“You said we’d make it work. That we’d figure it out. That love was enough.”

She lets out a dry laugh. “Well guess what? Love doesn’t pay Meralco. Love doesn’t refill shampoo. Love doesn’t put rice on the fucking table.”

You take a step forward. “Please just believe in me. One last time, Karina.”

She’s shaking her head before you finish.

“No. No, I can’t. I won’t. Because believing in you meant losing myself. It meant carrying your weight while pretending I was still okay. And I’m not, Y/N. I’m not.”

She zips up the bag.

“Your passion can’t feed us. It can’t fix this. It can’t fix me.”

The silence after that feels endless.

She grips her bag tighter, like if she lets go now, she’ll fall apart too.

You try to reach for her hand.

“Please.”

She pulls away.

“I already gave you everything I had, Y/N. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

And then she walks past you.

This time, you don’t try to stop her.

You just stand there.

Surrounded by her perfume, the echo of your own dreams, and a broken vinyl on the floor.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the scent of her perfume still lingering on the pillow.

The door’s barely stopped swinging from when she left.

And suddenly…

You’re back there again. Just last week.

Out on a tiny makeshift stage beside a carinderia in Marikina. Your set started at 10 p.m., ended at 12:30. The crowd was half-drunk, half-asleep.

You played through a busted amp. The mic cut out twice. Someone asked for ��Eraserheads” then talked through your entire original song.

Afterward, the guy handed you a wrinkled ₱100 bill.

“Sorry pare, we only give this to acoustic solo sets. House rule.”

You smiled. Shook his hand. Took it anyway.

You told yourself it was enough to buy sinangag and 2 eggs in the morning. Maybe a sachet of coffee. Maybe you could surprise Karina with a small breakfast, maybe she’d smile again.

You walked home that night, tired but proud.

You were trying.

Trying to be a provider. A partner.

Trying to hold onto your dream without letting it kill you—or kill what’s left of your relationship.

But it wasn’t enough.

You look at your wallet now.

₱80. Crumpled. Still there from tonight’s gig. You didn’t even get to give it to her.

You clutch it in your hand like it might still mean something. Like you could hand it to her tomorrow with a smile and make her believe in you again.

But she’s gone.

And suddenly it hits you—no matter how honest your work is, how much your heart is in it…

It won’t matter to someone who’s already given everything and gotten nothing back.

You bury your face into your palms.

The silence feels permanent.

And for the first time since this all started—

You’re afraid your dream might not be enough to bring her home.

It’s been a week.

The house still smells like her.

Half her clothes are gone. The other half you can’t bring yourself to fold.

There’s a note taped to the fridge, short and simple:

“Don’t forget to unplug the rice cooker. You always do.”

—K

You read it every morning. You still forget to unplug it.

The sink’s empty. No one leaves hair in the bathroom anymore. The pillows are fluffier on one side—hers. You haven’t slept on the bed since she left. You use the couch again now.

The vinyl is still cracked. Still on the floor. You haven’t touched it.

You try to make music again.

You sit down, open the software. Try to loop something. Record a verse. Hum a chorus. But everything sounds hollow.

Like a shell.

Like a voice calling into an empty room and getting no answer.

You play the last song you wrote for her.

She never got to listen to it.

Maybe she didn’t want to.

You check your phone.

No messages.

You scroll up to your last conversation—

Her last text: “I’ll be staying at my mom’s. Please don’t come looking for me. Not yet.”

You type a reply.

Delete it.

Type it again.

Delete again.

You go outside and sit by the gate. She used to wait there when you got home late. Hug you before you even stepped inside. You wonder if she’s doing okay. If she passed the exam. If her mom’s treating her well. If she misses you.

You wonder if she still believes in you—even just a little.

But you don’t ask.

Because this time, you don’t get to ask.

And for the first time in years—

You wonder what it’s like to stop chasing.

To let go of something…

Before it destroys the rest of you.

She always said she’d come back.

When she’d visit home. When she’d get mad. When she’d walk out after a fight.

“Babalik ako, promise.”

But this time?

She didn’t say it.

And that silence tells you everything.

6 Months Later.

The door creaks open around 3:15 in the afternoon.

You don’t hear it at first. You’re in the kitchen, rinsing rice. You still rinse it three times, like she used to nag you to. Some habits stayed.

When you look up, she’s standing in the living room.

Karina.

Hair longer. Skin a little paler. She’s wearing slacks now, a work badge slung around her neck, and her old gray hoodie—the one you used to steal during storms.

She looks around. Not at you.

Just the walls. The couch. The space.

“Hey.”

You wipe your hands on your shirt. Your heart’s doing that weird thing again.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t cry.

She just nods.

“I’m not here to stay.”

You nod too. Of course.

She walks further in, glances at the cracked vinyl still sitting under the shelf. You didn’t have the heart to throw it out.

“The house…” she says, voice level. “I’m selling it.”

The moment she brings it up, something in you tightens.

“I’m selling the house.”

You pause. Mid-stir, rice cooker humming behind you.

“What?”

“It’s the fastest way to get enough for my brother’s operation. I’ve already spoken to an agent. They said if we stage it well, it’ll go in under two months.”

You dry your hands slowly.

“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t come here if I wasn’t.”

You laugh—but it’s dry. Lifeless.

“You’re really going to sell our house just like that?”

She crosses her arms. Stays firm.

“Y/N, I don’t have a choice.”

You step forward.

“There’s always a choice, Karina. This house—it’s the last thing I have left of you. Of us.”

She doesn’t soften.

That part of her is gone.

“And my brother’s losing his eyesight. He’s sixteen. He hasn’t even been to the beach.”

You lower your voice.

“Then take the speakers. Take my guitar. Take the damn vinyl. But don’t take this house.”

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then don’t take what’s not just yours.”

You snap it a little too hard.

She winces, just a bit.

But she exhales, steadies herself.

“It’s in both our names. We agreed on that before we even moved in.”

“Because we thought we’d be forever.”

She stays quiet.

And then—

“We’re not.”

Her voice is gentle. That’s what hurts more.

“I don’t wake up in this house anymore, Y/N. I don’t eat here. I don’t laugh here. You think this place holds memories? To me, it’s just a collection of broken things.”

Your chest sinks.

“But I kept it alive. I watered the cactus. I fixed the curtain rod. I didn’t change a single frame on the wall.”

“Exactly.”

She looks at you now. Eyes tired.

“You didn’t move on. You froze time.”

Silence.

You rub your thumb along the edge of the table.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready.”

She steps closer. Not to argue. Just to level.

“I understand.”

Then she looks away.

“But I can’t keep living in something we already buried.”

You bite your tongue.

“Do you have buyers?”

Your voice is steady, but quiet—like you already know the answer.

Karina sighs.

“Not yet. I’m kinda… struggling.”

You nod once, not looking at her.

You rinse the rice slowly, precisely, like how she taught you.

Then she says it.

“I’ll be staying here for renovations. I don’t want you tainting the reputation of this house so it can sell.”

That gets a small smile out of you. You don’t show it.

“Suit yourself then.”

You return to the sink.

Behind you, silence.

Then—

“You ate yet?”

“No—” she answers, caught off guard.

“I’m making sinigang.”

You glance at her.

“Missed it. After all these years.”

She watches you.

Really watches.

Noticing the fresh kangkong leaves already on the counter, the neatly sliced labanos, the tomatoes glistening under clean kitchen light.

No shabby, dying gulay. No crumpled seasoning packets half-used.

Not the kind of meal you’d scrape together from leftovers and desperation.

The floor’s swept. Curtains washed. Cactus still sits by the window—dead, but upright.

You’re not doing so bad.

You don’t look like a mess anymore.

And that, somehow, makes something in her ache.

She leans against the wall, arms folded.

“You kept the place nice.”

“It’s still home.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She nods once. Doesn’t reply.

Instead, she walks into the living room. Runs her hand along the edge of the couch.

The same couch where you two fell asleep watching reruns.

The one where you first said I love you, after one too many beers.

You stir the pot gently.

The scent of tamarind and slow-boiled pork starts to fill the air.

And in that moment—just for a second—it almost feels like nothing’s changed.

Almost.

She’s staying you muttered, she’s back, your heart did some lil jumpy jumps but you fought the creeping smile your face tries to and label it as the reaction you get when you cook sinigang.

The day after, You start brewing two mugs of coffee again.

Karina walks into the kitchen without saying anything, her hair still damp from the shower. She sees the mug, pauses.

“You remembered.”

You shrug, sliding it toward her.

“Still no sugar, right?”

She lifts it, takes a sip, then hums softly.

“Still bitter.”

“So are you,” you mutter, sipping yours.

She shoots you a look over the rim of her mug, but there’s no bite in it. Just something half-smiling. Almost.

She’s vacuuming the rug with her earbuds in when you come sliding across the floor in socks like a kid on caffeine.

“Y/N!”

“It’s clean now. You’re welcome.”

You crash into the couch with a dumb grin. She rolls her eyes, pauses the music, and jabs your thigh with her foot.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to love one.”

She stares at you for a beat too long before walking away. No comeback.

The house smells like pork adobo later that night. She leans on the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching as you stir the pot.

“You always hum when you cook?”

You glance over your shoulder.

“Only when I’m not burning things.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “You still like boiled eggs in this, right?”

She stiffens.

“You remember that?”

You don’t answer. You just drop one in.

She lingers a second longer, then slips away.

The first couple that visits the house is young—bright-eyed, hopeful. You lead them around, pointing out the small things. The window she fixed. The shelf you built. You let them imagine a life that isn’t yours.

Then, in the kitchen:

“Oh, and don’t mind the crying at 3 a.m.”

The woman blinks. “I’m sorry?”

You nod solemnly. “Ghost. Former tenant. Always sings Hanggang Kailan off-key.”

They leave ten minutes later.

Karina hits your arm as soon as the gate shuts.

“Seriously?”

“They weren’t gonna love the house the right way anyway.”

She tries not to smile. Fails. “You’re impossible.”

“Still got a good arm, though.” You rub yours dramatically.

At the sari-sari store, your fingers brush reaching for the same noodle pack. You both freeze.

“Sweet and spicy?” she asks, almost laughing.

“Still your favorite.”

She draws her hand back. “We’re not—”

“—even together,” you finish.

Silence.

Then:

“Get both.

She nods.

Laundry day. You sweep while she folds. It’s quiet—too quiet—until she finds your old shirt. The one she used to hate. She pauses, rubs the faded print between her fingers, presses it lightly to her face.

She doesn’t know you’re watching.

When she tosses it into the drawer, her hands linger a little too long.

You say nothing.

It starts raining just as you step out of the tindahan. You pop open the umbrella. She steps under it without asking. Your arms brush.

She doesn’t pull away.

You don’t say anything.

But in your head, you whisper please stay.

Later that night, the rain tapping gently on the roof, you sit on the floor with your guitar. It’s old, slightly out of tune. Your fingers remember anyway. You hum under your breath—soft, unsure.

Her favorite song.

You don’t look up, but you know she’s there—leaning on the doorway, arms folded, half-hidden in shadow.

“Still not done?” she asks softly.

You smile to yourself.

“It’s getting there.”

A beat. Then you start singing, barely above a whisper.

“You used to hum this in your sleep,

When we still fit on one side of the bed…

When dreams were cheaper than rice,

And your hand never slipped from mine…”

Your voice trembles at the end.

You stop She sits down beside you without a word, knees brushing yours.

“Sing it again?”

Her voice cracks just a little.

You nod.

Strum once.

And this time, when you sing—

She hums along.

Not like a stranger.

Not like a lover.

Just someone who, despite everything, still remembers the words.

A Week Later.

The café hums with chatter and the clink of iced coffee glasses. Karina stirs hers slowly, the ice nearly melted. Her friends—Jo and Elle—sit across from her, half-lounging in mismatched chairs, legs tucked up like they always did in college.

Jo nudges her.

“So… how’s house renovations with the ex going?”

A sly grin. “Any spontaneous back hugs?”

Karina groans. “Please.”

Elle scoffs, sipping her matcha.

“I still don’t know why you’re even letting him stay there.”

“Because he still lives there,” Karina mutters.

Jo raises a brow. “And maybe because some part of you still likes hearing him sing.”

Karina glares. “He hurt me. I’m not stupid.”

“You’re not,” Jo says. “But love doesn’t always make you smart.”

A beat. Then softer—

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. But presence? Presence puts the heart in danger.”

Elle cuts in, more blunt.

“He left you crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, Rina. Don’t romanticize it just because he’s being decent now.”

Karina doesn’t answer.

She stares into her watered-down coffee.

It’s raining again the night you plan it—because of course it is.

You save what you can. A few candles. Her favorite dishes, all warm and spread out on the table like a memory made real. No records this time. No vinyl. No starving for a dream.

Just rice. Kare-kare. Tuyo and itlog na maalat. Simple things.

And a cake, kind of crooked. But real.

You wait.

She comes home, umbrella dripping, brows furrowed. She opens the door and stops.

Her eyes scan the table. The lights dimmed. The food. The silence.

You step out from the kitchen, a guitar slung low across your chest.

She blinks, stunned.

“What is this…?”

You clear your throat, suddenly nervous.

“Happy birthday, Rina.”

Then, softly—your voice a little hoarse—you sing.

That unfinished song. The one she hummed in her sleep.

She stares at you.

Then closes her eyes.

You finish.

You put the guitar down. Step closer.

She doesn’t move. Her breathing’s uneven.

“I didn’t get you a record this time,” you whisper.

“I noticed.”

“I thought you deserved more than music.”

You reach forward.

Fingers graze hers.

Then—

You kiss her.

Soft. Careful. Tender

The sensation of her soft lips, makes you heat up.

She lets you.

Just for a second.

Then pulls back.

And bolts out the door.

The rain drenches her instantly, but she doesn’t stop.

You chase after her, barefoot, heart pounding harder than the thunder.

“Rina—please! What’s wrong?!”

She spins around in the middle of the street, soaked, fists clenched, voice cracking like the sky above you.

“Why? Why again? Why do you keep making me fall in love with you?”

She chokes out a laugh—sharp, bitter, broken.

“Is it because you know how to hold me just right? Because you know what to say, what to sing, what to cook?”

Her hand presses hard against her chest.

“You don’t love me, Y/N. You know me. And that’s why it’s so fucking easy for you to undo me.”

You’re frozen, your breath caught in your throat.

“I’m smart,” she whispers. “In every part of my life, I know what I’m doing. But when it comes to you—”

Her voice catches.

“I become so, so fucking stupid.”

You take a step forward, cautious.

“Rina… I never meant to hurt you. I was trying—”

She cuts you off.

“You were trying?!”

She laughs again, but there’s nothing amused in it.

“I gave up everything. I worked overtime, skipped meals, shelved my dreams just to keep us afloat—while you were ‘trying.’”

You swallow hard. The rain sticks your shirt to your skin, heavy like your guilt.

“I thought love would be enough.”

She stares at you, eyes wild with pain.

“Well, it wasn’t. And it sure as hell isn’t now.”

“Then let me make it enough.”

Your voice is desperate now, trembling.

“Not with songs. Not with promises. With me. I want to be enough for you. Not for the stage. Not for a crowd. Just you.”

The storm quiets for a second. All that’s left is her shallow breathing, the sound of her heart breaking all over again.

“Why now?” she says, barely audible.

“Why not when I needed you the most?”

You pause. Then, simply:

“Because now, I know what it feels like to wake up and not hear your voice. To eat alone. To sing into silence.”

You look her in the eye.

“Because I know now what I lost. And I’d rather fail a thousand times than lose you one more fucking time.”

And just like that—

She shatters.

Not in rage.

In grief.

Because she still loves you.

Even after everything.

Especially after everything.

After some moments.

You both sit at the edge of the street, rainwater pooling around your shoes, the world around you muted like it’s giving you space.

She hugs her knees, shivering.

You don’t touch her. You just sit beside her, breathing with her, waiting until she’s ready to speak.

Minutes pass.

Then softly—

“You never said anything.”

You glance at her.

“About what?”

“The pipe under the sink. The roof. The groceries that just… showed up when I thought we had nothing left.”

She swallows. “I used to think it was luck. That maybe the universe pitied me.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“I wish it was luck.”

She turns to you. Her voice is small now. Tired.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at the sky, raindrops still falling light and steady.

“Because I thought I was supposed to fix it without making it your problem. Because every time I looked at you, you already looked so tired.”

You pause.

“I didn’t want to add more weight.”

She’s quiet.

You go on, your voice low, a little hoarse.

“I played every night. Slept at terminals. Took the early gigs, the unpaid ones, just for a hot meal. Borrowed tools from neighbors. Spent hours watching YouTube videos just to fix the goddamn roof because you cried the night it leaked on your desk.”

You bite your lip.

“And I know it doesn’t make up for how I failed you emotionally. I know showing up with eggs and canned tuna isn’t the same as being there.”

She doesn’t interrupt. Her breath catches, once.

“But I never sat around doing nothing, Rina. I wasn’t just chasing a dream. I was surviving. For both of us. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

The rain slows to a drizzle.

You finally turn to her, cheeks soaked not just by the rain.

“You were hurting. I was too. But I never stopped trying.”

She nods, once. Eyes glassy again.

“I know.”

She pauses. “I just… needed to hear it.”

You don’t ask her to come back.

You don’t kiss her again.

You just sit there with her on the curb, two people who once built a life, watching the rain wash the street clean.

And for the first time in a long while—

You both finally feel light

You both walk home in silence, the rain finally tapering off, leaving behind only the chill in your soaked clothes and the stillness of early dawn.

The front door creaks like it always has. The scent of leftover adobo still lingers faintly in the air. She kicks off her shoes, still shivering, while you disappear into the room for a second.

When you return, you’re holding something—an old, slightly creased envelope.

You place it gently on the table beside her.

“Here,” you say softly. “For your brother.”

She blinks.

“What?”

“For Chico’s treatment.”

She stares at it, then at you.

“Huh? How did you…?”

You don’t say anything at first. Just smile.

Then, casually, you give her a soft pat on the head.

“I sold my vinyl collection.”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it doesn’t sting.

“Turns out nostalgia’s worth something to people. Who knew?”

Her mouth opens, but no words come.

“But you loved those,” she finally whispers.

“You’ve been collecting them since you were sixteen.”

You nod.

“I did.”

You look at her, eyes warm.

“But I love you more.”

She covers her mouth, overwhelmed, breath caught halfway between a sob and a smile.

You step closer, voice softening further.

“So… can we not sell the house?”

You gesture around—at the mismatched paint, the worn-out floorboards, the crooked frames.

“I know it’s falling apart. Cheap. Tired.”

Then your hand lands on the wall—light blue, chipped, familiar.

“But every broken tile, every hole in the roof… they’re memories. You and me, trying. Failing. Loving. Crying. Laughing.”

Your eyes meet hers.

“It’s not just a house, Rina. It’s us. It’s where we learned how to love, even when we didn’t know how.”

You take a deep breath.

“So let’s keep it. Let’s fix it. Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s ours.”

And that’s when she finally breaks—collapsing into your arms, laughing and crying all at once, holding you like she never wants to let go again.

And you hold her back.

No stage.

No spotlight.

Just her.

Just home.

[yodatzutzu]

“Loving You feels like winning~”

Synopsis: You’re a pro basketball player who sucks at volleyball—but you try anyway, just to impress your girlfriend, Winter. All you want is for her to watch, laugh, maybe play a little too… because loving her feels like winning, even when you keep hitting the net.

Word Count: 1,072

tags: fluff!

Kim Minjeong X Male Reader

The ball arcs perfectly—too perfectly. You leap for it, arms stretched, the perfect imaginary spike forming in your mind… until your foot catches the sand awkwardly and your momentum carries you right into the net.

You hit it chest-first with a loud fwump, taking half the damn thing down with you.

“Bro, you okay?”

One of the guys winces as you roll over, groaning.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you mutter, brushing sand off your face, trying to salvage an ounce of dignity.

You sit up, glance around casually—then beam.

There she is.

Winter.

Crossing the edge of the park in a hoodie, her hair tied up in a way that makes your heart stutter. She’s holding an iced coffee, watching you like someone trying very hard not to laugh.

You jump to your feet like nothing happened, chest puffed out, elbowing your teammate.

“Told you she’s real.”

He raises a brow. “You face-planted into the net.”

You glare at him.

“Yeah, but I looked cool before that.”

Winter approaches, stopping just outside the court’s chalk line.

“So this is volleyball now?” she says, voice teasing. “Didn’t you just learn the rules on YouTube this morning?”

You grin, walking over.

“I don’t need to know the rules. I just need to impress you.”

She snorts, shaking her head.

“Well, you’re halfway there. You’re impressively bad.”

You pretend to clutch your chest, wounded.

“Ouch.”

She takes a sip of her coffee. “But you do look kinda cute trying.”

You lean in, eyes twinkling.

“So you admit you’re impressed?”

She sighs—dramatic, over-the-top—and taps the tip of your nose with her straw.

“Fine. A little. But don’t break your nose trying to spike a volleyball again. Please.”

You raise a hand like a scout’s oath.

“Only for you.”

After some miserable bump and spike attempts-

“Okay, plant your feet—no, wider than that.”

You shuffle awkwardly in the sand, trying to mimic the stance she’s showing you. She’s standing across from you in leggings and her old team hoodie, sleeves pushed up, looking all serious and coach-like. You? You look like a very tall duck trying to do yoga.

“Like this?”

“No.” She sighs, walks over, and places both hands on your hips.

You freeze.

“W-What’s happening?”

“I’m fixing your center of gravity. Calm down.”

You bite your lip to hide the grin crawling across your face. “I don’t know, Coach… kinda hard to stay calm when you’re touching me like that.”

She steps back immediately, rolling her eyes so hard they almost detach.

“Focus. This is volleyball, not date night.”

“You mean it’s not both?”

She gives you a look but you catch the way she’s holding back a laugh.

She walks over to the ball, tosses it up casually, and spikes it with clean form that makes your jaw drop. The ball slams into the sand at your feet.

You blink.

“Jesus.”

She dusts her hands, smug. “That’s how it’s done.”

You stare at her like she just transformed into a superhero.

“Okay, marry me.”

“Learn how to receive first.”

You groan dramatically as she jogs over, grabbing another ball.

“Come on, Love, I believe in you.”

“Even after I tackled a net?”

She throws the ball at your chest. You catch it.

“Especially after that.”

Then softer, “You’re trying. That’s enough.”

And suddenly you’re not just sweating from the sun anymore.

She gets into position again.

“Let’s go. Show me that pro athlete footwork, ‘basketball boy.’”

As the sun begins to dip when you and Winter walk side by side down the sidewalk, the court behind you, your shirt clinging to your back from all the sand, sweat, and ego bruises.

She’s sipping the last of her coffee, and you’re holding the ball under your arm like it’s some kind of trophy.

“Volleyball’s hard,” you grumble, swinging your arm a little.

“Like… really hard. But at least I have you.”

She snorts, eyes straight ahead.

“Your receive form still looks like a T-Rex trying to catch a frisbee.”

“Rude. I was improving!”

“You tripped on your own foot.”

You glance at her with a grin.

“And yet… I still scored.”

She raises a brow.

You nudge her lightly with your shoulder.

“See the girls back there? They were looking at you.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“They were probably wondering why a volleyball goddess was hanging out with a guy who serves like he’s throwing a pizza box.”

You laugh, bumping her again.

“They were looking at you like you were some celebrity.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks tinting just a bit.

“Well, they’re not wrong.”

You pretend to swoon.

“Exactly. I just want the world to see how lucky I am.”

She shakes her head, biting back a grin.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” you add with zero shame.

She gives you a light punch on the arm.

“If you want kisses, next time try actually hitting the ball over the net.”

“Deal. But you have to promise to catch me when I fall.”

She looks at you, smile soft now.

“I always do.”

And under the fading sky, tired but content, you keep walking—hand brushing hers, heart feeling like you just won the only game that mattered.

You’re almost at the front gate when you glance at her again—eyes twinkling, smile lazy, your voice a little softer this time.

“Hey.”

She looks up. “Hm?”

You shift the ball under your arm, still a little out of breath, still riding the high of just being near her.

“Next time… come play with me for real.”

She raises a brow. “You sure you can handle me on the court?”

“Probably not.”

You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck.

“But I just wanna say I got to play with the prettiest girl on the team.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile breaks through.

As she unlocks the gate, she glances over her shoulder and smirks.

“Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two about basketball, too.”

You laugh, following her inside.

“Deal—just don’t dunk on me. I have pride to protect.”

“Sure, But if I win I get to marry you”

“okay” as she leans for a kiss.

And with that, the gate closes behind you, the day ending with the easiest kind of love. The kind that teases, stays, and shows up—even when you’re terrible at volleyball.

[yodatzutzu]

goddess of death karina x god of love (male reader )

WHERE DEATH TAKES HER TIME

goddess!Karina x god!male reader

tags: goddess x god, divine seduction, possessiveness, teasing, hot smut, overstimulation, domination (Karina leaning), altar sex

The halls of the divine realm never echoed like this.

Not until she entered.

Karina—the Goddess of Death—walked with a silence that demanded attention. Her bare feet made no sound against obsidian marble, her silver crown glinting under a sky perpetually painted in eclipse hues. She didn’t come here often. The Palace of Passion wasn’t her domain. It belonged to you.

The God of Love.

You sensed her presence before she said anything. The air grew cold, like she dragged the underworld behind her cloak.

“Unexpected of you to visit my temple, Karina,” you said without turning, seated lazily on your throne of rose-gold and velvet, chalice in hand. “Shouldn’t you be busy reaping souls or weaving sorrow?”

Her voice was a velvet dagger. “They can wait. I’m in the mood to feel something different tonight.”

You turned, finally. And your breath caught—not that a god needed to breathe. But you still felt it.

Karina wore a black gown that dripped like ink, sheer in places where it shouldn’t be. Her pale skin glowed like bone beneath moonlight, and her eyes—icy, bottomless—landed on yours with intent.

“I should warn you,” you said, stepping down the steps of your throne slowly, “playing with me comes with… side effects.”

She tilted her head, a cruel smirk dancing across her lips. “I’m Death, Love. Do you think I fear consequence?”

She stopped inches away from you.

And dragged one black-painted nail down your chest.

“I’ve come to claim something,” she whispered.

Your eyes narrowed. “A soul?”

“No.” She leaned closer, her breath like frost against your neck. “You.”

Your back hit the altar of your temple. Gilded with ivory and surrounded by floating petals, it was a place meant for union—offerings to you were usually gentle, sweet, romantic.

But Karina made it something else entirely.

You groaned as she straddled you, her thighs squeezing your hips as she pinned you down. Her lips crashed onto yours—ravenous, devouring—and your hands instinctively gripped her waist. You could feel the cold aura of her realm radiating from her skin, but she was burning with want.

“You pretend to resist,” she purred, grinding her hips into your clothed cock, “but this—” she rolled again, slower this time, “—has been waiting for me.”

You groaned into her mouth as she bit your lower lip. “You’re not what I’m used to.”

“Good,” she hissed, unfastening her gown and letting it slide down her shoulders. Her breasts were perfect—full, pale, tipped with dusky pink nipples already hardened. She grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“God of Love, reduced to prey?” she teased.

You arched into her. “Only for you.”

Karina laughed darkly—then slid down, lips dragging over your neck, chest, stomach, until she met the waistband of your pants. “I want to see how loud a god can beg,” she murmured, undoing the clasp with agonizing slowness.

And when she finally freed you, her eyes lit up.

“So beautiful…” she whispered, wrapping her cold fingers around your cock, slowly stroking. “So full of life.”

“Karina—” you gasped, “don’t tease—”

“Shhh…” She licked the head, soft and slow, swirling her tongue around it before taking you in fully. The contrast of her cold lips and hot mouth had you gasping, hips bucking helplessly.

Her eyes locked onto yours as she bobbed her head, letting drool drip onto your length. Her pace was slow. Cruel. She wanted you to suffer.

You tried to move your hands, but she grinned around your cock. “Still mine,” she said, voice muffled, tightening her grip.

You couldn’t hold back.

“K-Karina—I’m gonna—!”

But she pulled off with a pop, lips shiny and wicked.

“Not yet,” she smirked, crawling back up to straddle you again. “The God of Love doesn’t get to cum without Death’s permission.”

You were panting now, shaking under her as she lined herself up and sank down on your cock in one slow, devastating motion. Your hands were finally freed, and they flew to her hips, digging in as she ground against you, tight and pulsing around you.

“Fuck—you’re tight,” you groaned.

“I’ve waited eons to feel you,” Karina moaned, leaning back to ride you deeper. “You were mine the moment you touched my altar with that rose.”

“You left that in my realm.”

“I always get what I want.”

Her hips slammed into yours, over and over, until the sound of skin against skin echoed through your temple. You could feel the heat building in your core, your vision blurred by how hard she fucked you. Her hands slid into your hair, gripping tight, riding you with godlike rhythm.

Karina leaned down, breathless, her lips brushing your ear. “Cum for me,” she whispered. “Fill Death. Mark me.”

You didn’t stand a chance.

Your orgasm hit you like divine thunder, cock twitching inside her as you spilled deep, your moan nearly a growl. Karina clenched, gasping, hips jerking as she milked every last drop from you.

But she didn’t stop.

“Oh, we’re far from finished,” she purred, rolling her hips again, even as your body trembled. “I’m immortal, my love. Let’s see how much of me you can take.”

Your vision blurred as Karina moved again, your cock still buried inside her tight, wet heat. Every thrust made your body jolt—overstimulated, hypersensitive, but utterly helpless to resist her.

“Fuck, Karina—” you groaned, jaw slack. “I just came—”

“And you’ll do it again,” she whispered, rolling her hips slowly in a deep grind that had your eyes fluttering. “You’re a god, aren’t you? Act like it.”

Your hands gripped her thighs as she rode you—slower now, more deliberate. She took you to the hilt each time, grinding down and making you feel every pulsing inch of her. Her body moved like death itself: graceful, inevitable, inescapable.

You tried to keep eye contact, but her eyes burned into yours with such intensity it felt like she could strip your soul bare.

“You love this, don’t you?” she asked, dragging her nails down your chest. “Being fucked dumb by Death. Look at you…”

She leaned down and kissed you again, lips soft, tongue possessive. When she pulled back, a strand of spit clung between you. She grinned as she started to bounce harder.

Your head fell back against the altar. “Shit—Karina—I can’t—”

“You can,” she hissed, tightening around you with each slam of her hips. “You will. Cum again. Fill me until you’re shaking.”

Her hands pushed your arms down beside your head, her pace turning brutal. The divine marble beneath your back shook with every thrust, her wetness clinging to your cock, slick and obscene. Her moans grew louder, more ragged—pure need dripping from her voice as she rode you harder, faster, relentlessly.

“I want you to fucking ruin me,” she growled in your ear. “Make me drip with you. Mark Death so no one else touches her.”

You barely managed a groan. She was devouring you—your stamina, your will, your control. Your cock was throbbing inside her, ready to explode again, but she suddenly slowed… and stopped.

“What—” you gasped.

She smirked and leaned back, sliding off your cock with a sinful, wet sound. Your body twitched from the loss of contact, cock flushed and twitching with need.

Then she dropped to her knees before you.

“I’m not done,” she said, stroking your length slowly with one cold, slick hand. “You’re going to cum again. And this time…”

She stuck her tongue out.

“…you’ll do it on my face.”

That alone nearly made you explode. She tilted her head, stroking faster, twisting her wrist just right. Her other hand cradled your balls, fingers teasing them gently as her icy breath hit your tip.

“Let go for me,” Karina whispered. “Cover Death. Give me all of it.”

You barely had time to warn her. With a loud groan, you came hard—ropes of hot cum streaking across her cheeks, nose, and lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she took it, painting her divine features in white. Some dripped onto her chest. You twitched with every pulse, her hand milking every drop until you collapsed back against the altar, gasping for air.

Karina slowly opened her eyes.

And smiled.

Using two fingers, she gathered the cum dripping from her cheek and licked them clean. Then another finger. Then her palm.

“Mm…” she purred, eyes locked with yours. “You taste like devotion.”

She dragged one finger across her bottom lip—still coated in your cum—and sucked on it slowly, deliberately, like it was dessert.

Later, the altar was a mess of gold, blood-red petals, and stained silk. You lay there, panting, staring at the ceiling.

Karina sat beside you, licking her fingers with a satisfied sigh.

“You’re mine now,” she said.

You turned to her, dazed and grinning. “I was always yours.”

She leaned in and kissed you—this time, slow. Deep.

Like the grave.

[yodatzutzu]

[+18] "The Melody Of Touch" (COMMISSIONED)

ft. TWICE's Minatozaki Sana (x Male Reader & other TWICE members)

TYPE: Fluff, Smut

WORD COUNT: 7286

COMMISSION REQUEST BY: @vl-45

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui DESCRIPTION: Y/N, a blind TWICE fan whose world is shaped by sound and emotion, not sight. After a heartfelt encounter at a fan sign, Y/N forms a rare and deeply personal connection with all nine members... especially Sana. As love, loyalty, and fame intertwine, both Y/N and TWICE learn that the truest way to be seen… is to be understood beyond appearances.

You have never seen the colors the world raved about, but you’ve heard them.

The world had always spoken in vibrations. The buzz of the city’s heartbeat underfoot, the hush of falling rain like a whispered secret, the softness in someone’s breath when they were about to cry. To you, who had been blind since birth, sound was sight, and feeling was everything.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, felt the way TWICE’s music did.

Each song painted landscapes in your mind.

“Feel Special” shimmered like sunlight on warm skin. Each note from Jihyo’s voice a golden beam that made you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper. “Cheer Up” was summer fireworks bursting behind their ribs, chaotic and wild, but joyfully alive. And then there was “One in a Million”, a lullaby dipped in longing. The kind of song that made the world go quiet inside them, reminding you what it meant to feel wanted.

Music was more than entertainment. It was identity. And TWICE, unknowingly, had been a lifeline.

When you got the rare chance to attend a TWICE fan sign, your chest felt too small to hold all the emotion. The event was loud, frantic, filled with fans holding placards and phones. But you weren't there to see. You were there to hear.

With a friend gently guiding you through the crowd and to the table, you clutched an audio recorder instead of a camera, your thumb brushing over the smooth metal like a talisman. It hummed quietly, in rhythm to the heartbeat in your palm. The closer you get to the members, the louder the world seemed to roar, but none of it mattered.

Then came the moment.

“Hello!” a bright voice chirped. “What’s your name?”

It was Dahyun. Her voice sparkled, full of energy and kindness. You introduced yourself, speaking clearly despite the nerves buzzing through you.

One by one, you met each member and they became gentler on conversing with you to sympathise on the fact that you can’t be able to see. Sana’s voice was warm and bubbly, like a fizzy drink tickling the soul. Chaeyoung spoke slowly and curiously, asking you how they found their way through music. Tzuyu was quieter, but her laughter had an elegance that lingered.

Then… Jihyo.

Her voice was different, not louder, not softer… but grounded. Like a lighthouse during a storm.

“You don’t watch our performances?” she asked gently. There wasn’t judgment in her tone, just curiosity.

You smiled slightly. “I feel them instead. The rhythm. The energy. The way your voices rise and fall. That’s how I see you all.”

The air around them seemed to pause.

Jihyo didn’t speak immediately. You could sense her leaning in, as though trying to see you not with her eyes, but with her heart.

“That’s… beautiful,” she finally said, voice thick with something unspoken. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

You nodded. “It’s just how I live. TWICE is color to me. Even if I don’t know what red or blue is.”

A long moment passed, quiet but full. Jihyo reached for something on the table. Paper, maybe. Then a light brush of contact,  her fingers grazing yours as she placed something in your palm.

“This is… my number. I don’t usually do this, but—” Her voice lowered into a whisper. “Message me. I mean it.”

Your breath caught, unexpected that the idol herself initiated to keep in contact with a fan she just met today. “A-are you sure?”

“I am,” she said, firm but kind. “There’s so much more I want to ask you. So much I want to understand.”

The security guard gently nudged the line forward. Jihyo gave your hand one final squeeze before letting go.

Later that night, in the still of your bedroom, you ran your fingers over the paper. A small Braille sticker had been added on the back by your friend: Jihyo. You smiled, unsure whether the butterflies in your chest were from excitement or disbelief.

You messaged her.

“Hi, this is Y/N. From the fan sign. I don’t even know if this is real, but… thank you. For today.”

They expected silence.

Instead, a voice note came through.

You listened.

“It’s me,” Jihyo said softly. “I’m glad you messaged. I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said. About how you ‘see’ us. It made me wonder if I’ve ever really listened to our music the way you do.”

There was a pause. A soft breath. You can’t believe this is happening, you’re talking privately with a member of the group you stan.

“Would you mind if I… asked more sometime? Or even shared new songs with you before they release? I’d love to hear what you feel.”

You clutched the recorder again. For the first time in a long time, they felt seen.

Without needing to be looked at.

In the days that followed, voice notes became routine. Jihyo’s messages arrived in the mornings, sometimes rambling, sometimes thoughtful. She described her days in detail — not just what she did, but how it felt to do them.

“I was in the practice room today. The floor was cold under my knees. Momo made us rehearse this part like 30 times until my thighs were burning. But it felt good. Like we were sculpting something invisible.”

You replied honestly, openly. You shared how you mapped spaces through echoes, how you knew someone was smiling by the lift in their voice, how music felt different depending on where it hit their body.

“Sometimes a bass line is like thunder in my ribcage,” You explained once. “But your voice in Feel Special? That hits me behind the eyes. Like it’s rewiring something.”

Jihyo didn’t just listen, she responded with wonder.

“That’s incredible. You make it sound like music is a sixth sense.”

What you didn’t expect was for the rest of TWICE to slowly reach out.

First was Dahyun, who sent chaotic voice notes filled with laughter, silly impressions, and random rap freestyles she was practicing. Then Mina, calm and dreamy, who sent recordings of quiet piano melodies and stories she made up to help herself fall asleep. Chaeyoung asked to describe her paintings, what colors felt like emotionally. Jeongyeon sent dorm gossip, giggling through stories that painted hilarious scenes in Y/N’s head.

One by one, they came.

And yet, Jihyo remained the anchor. The quiet tether to all of them.

One night, she sent a note that you played over and over.

“You know, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. I’ve had people say they love me thousands of times. But you… you make me feel like someone is finally listening for the right reasons.”

You sat on the floor for hours after that, the recorder warm in their hand.

The world was still dark. But it was no longer lonely.

You never thought your world would expand beyond sound and touch. But it did through voices that carried warmth, through conversations that didn’t treat blindness as a limitation, but as a different kind of lens.

It began slowly, like petals unfolding.

Jihyo kept her promise. After that first week of exchanging voice notes, she invited you into her world.

“We’re working on something new,” she said one night. “Still rough, but… I want you to hear it before anyone else. Can I send it?”

She didn’t ask if you could handle it, or if they’d understand it. She just trusted.

You listened, sitting in the dark like always, letting the layers wash over you. The demo wasn’t polished as expected, raw vocals, a sparse piano track, the ghost of a beat that hadn’t been finalized. But even in its unfinished state, it moved.

The second chorus dipped unexpectedly, the melody softer than the first, like the singer was folding into herself.

You recorded their thoughts.

“That part where the chords shift and your voice trails off… it sounds like a person pulling back just before they cry. I don’t know if that’s what you meant, but that’s what I felt.”

A few hours later, Jihyo responded, voice low and a little shaken.

“That’s exactly what I meant. You caught it. I didn’t even tell the producer that’s what I was going for.”

From there, something shifted.

The voice messages became longer. More vulnerable. Jihyo began sharing things not just about work, but about herself. Her fears of disappointing fans. Her exhaustion. The loneliness of being a leader in the spotlight.

You listened. Not because you felt obligated, but because you understood. Because the absence of sight had sharpened your ability to hear emotion like a heartbeat under a floorboard.

And Jihyo… she had so much heart.

Words of you reached the rest of TWICE quickly. Not through gossip, but through affection.

“She listens like no one else,” Jihyo told them during practice one day. “She hears more than some people see.”

It was Dahyun who made the first move.

She popped into your inbox with a 40-second voice message that started mid-laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’ve been told you like sound, so I’m officially letting you in on my secret freestyle raps. Don’t judge. No beat. Just chaos.”

You grinned the entire time. Dahyun’s energy was contagious as always, bubbly and wild, like an unshaken soda can ready to burst. Every word she rapped ended with a laugh or an apology.

Then came Mina. Soft, deliberate, as if she were building a safe space with every syllable.

“I don’t sleep well unless I tell myself stories. Sometimes I imagine I’m on a boat, drifting through a foggy lake. No sounds except the water and maybe… a cello playing somewhere in the distance. Do you want me to send those sometimes?”

You did. And she did.

Momo, ever the perfectionist, reached out next. Not to talk, but to ask.

“Can I send you a clip from our rehearsal? It’s just the beat and my footwork. I want to know if it feels balanced. You might notice things I can’t.”

The audio came with the low thump of feet on a polished floor, and the sharp huff of breath in perfect intervals. You sat still, eyes closed, counting the beats. It was slightly off, the pause between the fourth and fifth beat just a hair too long.

“You’re hesitating there,” you replied. “Right before the spin. Maybe you’re second-guessing it?”

Momo sent back a gasp. “I knew something felt off!”

Even Jeongyeon, reserved and guarded, joined in. Her messages were casual, always starting with:

“You’ll never believe what happened in the dorm today.”

She told stories about Sana refusing to share snacks, Chaeyoung sleep-talking about spaghetti, Nayeon trying to get Tzuyu to wear glittery heels. Through her voice, you could feel the camaraderie, the laughter, and the tiredness beneath it. The weight of being “on” all the time.

Tzuyu’s approach was different. Quieter. Thoughtful.

“You’re blind, but you notice emotional shifts. That’s… kind of like psychology. Have you ever thought about how your perception works?”

They had deep conversations about empathy, about social cues, about the mind. You found Tzuyu’s voice steadying, the kind that asked deep questions not to test, but to learn.

And then… there was Sana.

Nayeon didn’t just send messages. She performed them.

“Right now, I’m wearing a pale yellow blouse with little pearly buttons. And my nails are this soft lavender shade. Do you like purple? I feel like it would be your color.”

She described the world like a poet. The way light hit a leaf. The exact motion of her smile. How Sana’s hair bounced when she laughed.

You felt like you were falling into a painting they couldn’t see, but could feel.

Nayeon often ended her messages with “I wish I could show you everything.” and you would respond with “You already are.”

But it was Sana who unraveled them.

Her voice notes weren’t flashy or poetic. They were intimate. Precise.

“Do you know what vocal layering is? In ‘Alcohol-Free,’ my harmony comes in under Jihyo’s in the second verse. You probably feel it more than hear it.”

She explained things like breath control, resonance, how she shaped vowels differently depending on emotion.

One night, you asked something bold.

“Can you sing just your layer from ‘Feel Special’? I want to isolate it in my head.”

A few hours later, a recording came through.

Sana’s voice. Alone. Raw. Just her line, stripped of production.

“You make me feel special…”

It cracked a little at the end. She hadn’t edited it.

You cried quietly as it played again. And again.

The next day, Sana sent a single message:

“It’s scary being heard like that. But with you, it feels safe.”

Jihyo noticed the shift before anyone said anything.

During a late call, she asked gently, “You and Sana… are you okay?”

You hesitated. “We’re… close. I don’t know what it means yet.”

Jihyo didn’t sound hurt. Only thoughtful.

“She’s hard to read sometimes. But if she’s showing you that part of herself, it’s real.”

That night, Jihyo sent a final voice note.

“We all feel safe with you, Y/N. I know it’s unusual. This bond. But I’ve never seen the girls open up like this. Especially not to someone who expects nothing from us but honesty.”

You replied with something simple.

“You’ve given me more than you know.”

And you meant it.

Because for the first time, You weren’t the person people pitied or romanticized as “inspirational.” You were simply known. Heard. Valued.

And TWICE who are idols loved by millions, had found something too:

A way to be themselves with someone who could see them, without ever looking.

At first, no one outside of TWICE knew about you.

You were just a voice on the other end of the line. A presence in private group chats. A pair of unseen ears that made each member feel heard fully and deeply. But you can only orbit stars for so long before someone notices the gravity.

It began with a blurry photo.

A fan had taken a picture of Sana laughing in a café, leaning toward someone who wasn’t visible. The caption simply read:

“Who is she with? Not staff. Not a member. Look how she’s smiling.”

The fandom’s corners lit up overnight. Speculation swirled: a mystery friend, a secret girlfriend, a stylist, an ex. No one could prove anything, but the whispers grew teeth.

TWICE didn’t say a word publicly.

But inside the group chat, tension rippled.

Sana: “It’s nothing. It’s just a rumor.” Sana: “But you know how fast these spread.” Jeongyeon: “Should we say something?” Jihyo: “We can’t. Not yet.”

You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t want to make it harder. But it gnawed at you, the feeling that your presence and your invisibility had made things worse.

A few days later, someone doxxed you.

An anonymous post revealed your full name, photos from old public profiles, even a rumor that you were “using your disability to get close to TWICE.”

“Blind fan manipulates idols with sympathy.”“TWICE’s soft-hearted members are being targeted.”

The comments were nothing short but cruel.

“Of course he feels safe, he can’t even see who he’s hurting.”“TWICE deserves better.”

It escalated fast. DMs flooded in. Some threatening, some mocking. A box showed up at your apartment.Your friend told you that inside of it were shredded photocopies of fan letters you’ve sent to TWICE in the past, torn and defaced with red marker.

"STAY AWAY."

You sat still for a long time.

You weren’’t scared, not exactly. You were used to being unseen. But this… this made you feel exposed.

And worse: guilty.

You didn’t reply to any of TWICE’s messages for two days.

Jihyo was the first to call.

Her voice trembled slightly as she left the voicemail.

“I know what happened. I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. Please don’t disappear on us.”

Then Dahyun.

“They’re just scared of what they don’t understand. But we know you. We love you.”

Chaeyoung sent a shaky voice note.

“You matter. Not because of your story or your condition or whatever people are twisting it into, but because you see us. And we’re not letting you go.”

But it was Sana who said what no one else did.

She didn’t send a voice note.

She showed up.

You heard the knock, slow and deliberate.

When you opened the door, the air shifted. The scent of vanilla and light citrus wafted in are familiar, from one of Sana’s favorite lotions. Then came the soft click of her boots on the hardwood. Hesitant. Controlled.

“I used the address you gave Jihyo in case of emergencies,” she said quietly. “I figured… this was one.”

Your throat tightened.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t be alone.”

She crossed the room without asking, placing something into your hand. A necklace. The pendant was small, warm from her skin.

“I’ve been wearing this on stage for weeks,” she said. “I wanted you to have it now.”

Your fingers ran over the charm. A tiny, textured sun. Braille had been etched into the back.

“You’re light.”

“I don’t want to be a reason TWICE gets dragged,” You said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

“You didn’t hurt us, YN. You healed us,” Sana whispered.

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hollow.

Then Sana stepped closer, so close you could feel the shift in air when she spoke.

“You said my voice feels like it lands behind your eyes. So what does it feel like when I do this?”

She leaned in. Her lips pressed gently to your forehead, featherlight. A kiss without pressure but full of intent.

Your breath stilled.

“That… felt like being seen,” you whispered.

Sana exhaled shakily, forehead resting against yours

“I think I’m falling for you,” she said. “And I don’t care if the world can’t make sense of it.”

That night, Sana stayed.

They didn’t kiss again. There was no need. They simply lay together, You curled close as Sana whispered stories about her childhood, her fears, her dreams. She described the stars, not what they looked like, but what they meant to her.

“When I was little, I used to wish on the brightest one. I didn’t always know what to wish for. Now I think… it was you.”

You teared up. Not from sadness, but from the ache of being cherished.

But the peace didn’t last. A few days later, a video leaked. Footage of Sana entering your building, her face visible, her hair unmistakable. Fan forums exploded.

“So it’s true.” “They’re in love with a fan?” “What even is this? Pity? PR?” “Blind or not, this is crossing the line.”

Sasaeng fans dug deeper. Someone claimed a member of TWICE was also romantically involved with you. Rumors spiraled:  first Jeongyeon, then Sana, then Jihyo. Edited photos surfaced. Lies disguised as "concern."

And It was chaotic. You began receiving hate at an alarming rate. Threats. Stalkers. Someone threw a drink on them outside a café, yelling, “Stay away from TWICE, freak.”

You didn’t flinch. But inside, something broke. Not because you were hurt, but because the people you loved were being torn apart for simply loving back.

When JYP Entertainment released a vague, rehearsed statement about “unfounded rumors,” it only fanned the flames.

So TWICE made their own move. They went live. All nine. Jihyo sat front and center, voice steady as she spoke.

“We’ve seen the things being said about someone very close to us, someone who’s given us more comfort and understanding than many of you can imagine.”

Jeongyeon leaned in. “We’re not confirming or denying relationships. That’s not the point.”

Nayeontook Sana’s hand. “The point is: love takes many forms. And we’re allowed to find peace outside the stage.”

Sana didn’t say much. But she looked directly into the camera, voice unwavering.

“We know who’s real in our lives. And we won’t apologize for choosing them.”

The fandom split that night. Some fans left angry and betrayed, proving themselves to be not true supporters as they seem to be.

But many stayed. And even more… began to listen.

Later, Sana texted you.

“You’re not our secret anymore. Now I don’t want you to hide. Not from this. Not from me, okay?.”

You recorded a reply, voice soft but sure.

“I never needed to see you to love you, Sana. I know the world sees us now.  And I won’t hide either.” The next day, you woke up to stillness.

No barrage of notifications, no new threats or rumors. Just the hush of early morning pressing like cool cloth against fevered skin. The fallout of TWICE’s livestream had changed the conversation overnight. The nastiest voices had scurried back into shadow, and the ones who remained were- if not entirely accepting- at least quieter, tentative, curious.

It felt like stepping into fragile sunlight after weeks underground.

But bruises didn’t fade with gossip. Your jaw was still tender from the thrown drink, and your cane-sweeping arm ached from an elbow caught in a fleeing crowd. The worst hurt, though, was internal: the way you still flinched at sudden footsteps, the way voices outside your door made your pulse sprint.

So when Jihyo texted “We’re coming over. Don’t argue,” you almost did. Pride and fear jostled inside their ribs. But then came a second message, softer:

“If you don’t let us in, we’ll sit in the hallway all night and sing off-key. You really want that?”

You laughed, tension breaking like thin glass, and typed a single word: “Fine.”

They arrived in shifts to avoid paparazzi. Mina and Dahyun first, slipping inside with grocery bags that clinked: ramyeon packets, honey-citron tea, soft rolls of gauze and cooling gel pads Mina had insisted on. Chaeyoung followed, carrying a sketchbook and something that smelled of fresh paint. Jeongyeon and Tzuyu came next, shoulders squared as if daring anyone to step between them and the apartment door.

Last were Sana, Jihyo, and Sana, bundled in oversized hoodies, masks tugged down only after the lock clicked shut.

You stood still in the center of the living room, listening: nine distinct patterns of breathing, nine heartbeats shifting the air. For a moment the room felt too small to hold that much life, and then Sana’s arms were around yours, warm and trembling.

“We’re here,” she whispered, brushing fingers down your spine in slow, grounding lines.

No one rushed. They made space for silence, for shaking exhalations, for the soft thud of Dahyun setting groceries down. Only after Y/N’s shoulders loosened did conversation begin, gentle and ordinary: “Would you like tea?”, “Did you sleep?”,  “Have you eaten?”

Normalcy as first aid.

Over steaming mugs, Mina proposed an idea. “I want to record something for you,” she said, voice like still water. “A…sound journal. All of us, day to day. So when you’re anxious you can press play and remember we’re close.”

Chaeyoung flipped her sketchbook so you could feel the raised lines of freshly applied puffy paint. “And I’ll draw tactile pieces,” she added. “You can trace them. Art you don’t need sight for.”

Jeongyeon nudged Tzuyu, who cleared her throat. “We also contacted a therapist experienced with trauma and disability,” she murmured. “Online sessions at your pace.”

Your throat thickened. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already did, Y/N.” Jihyo said. “By letting us in.”

That evening, they rearranged the apartment. Jihyo orchestrated like a gentle general: clearing clutter from walkway corners, labeling pantry shelves in Braille stickers Nayeon slapped on with proud little squeaks, installing a soft chime on the front door so Y/N always knew when it opened.

It wasn’t pity. It was partnership by matching your world instead of forcing you into another shape. Each adjustment whispered “You belong. You’re safe now.”.

Night stretched on, lids of tea tins clinking, laughter popping like sparkles, but inevitably quiet settled. One by one members drifted to the couch, the rug, against bookshelves. Some dozed. Tzuyu read in a low murmur beside a weary you, her voice a smooth river. Mina hummed chords under her breath, recording them on her phone for later layers.

Only two people remained fully awake: you and Sana, perched on the floor by the balcony door. Moonlight spilled silver across them. Through the glass, city sounds pulsed faintly: distant sirens, a scooter whine, the hush-rush of cars like tides.

You traced the ridged sun pendant now hanging at your neck. “You know… I keep thinking this is a dream. Any moment I’ll wake up and still be that lonely fan writing letters in the dark.”

Sana’s fingers curled over your. “You were never just a fan, Y/N. You changed how we hear ourselves.”

Wind rattled the railing. Their joined hands stayed still, but energy shimmered between skin, a humming wire.

“I want to kiss you,” Sana said as she faced your side-profile in a breathless honesty. “But only if you feel ready.”

Your pulse skipped. “I am. But maybe…slow?”

“Then we’re doing it slow,” she promised.

She guided your hand to her cheek first, letting you memorize the curve, the faint heat, and its plumpness. Nose, lips, a small freckle near the corner of her mouth she’d once joked about covering with glitter on stage. Only when exploration turned into certainty did she lean forward, lips brushing softly. No rush, no heat yet, just greeting.

You sighed into it, tension uncoiling. A second kiss followed, deeper, a question that you answered with parted lips. Their world filled with her taste: sweet tea, a hint of citrus balm. A quiet whimper escaped Sana, vibrating against your mouth, and need crackled like static.

But footsteps shuffled in the hallway, Jeongyeon checking windows, and they pulled apart, laughing hushed. Boundaries respected, desire banked like glowing coals.

“Soon,” Sana whispered. “When it’s just us.” And you nodded.

During the next week, routines knitted themselves.

At morning: A group chat audio round-robin where each member sent thirty seconds of “What I’m doing” so that you pay attention to a chorus of mundane intimacy. Dahyun brushing teeth while rapping, Momo counting sit-ups, Mina playing scales.

At afternoon: Physical therapy with Jeongyeon, who insisted stretching eased the cane-arm ache. She narrated each movement, praising every centimeter of progress until your cheeks burned.

At evening: Psychology talks with Tzuyu via voice call. They dismantled anxiety triggers, built coping strategies, and did breathing rhythms that matched to your favorite BPMs of TWICE songs.

Some nights someone stayed over; other nights all nine departed quietly, letting you reclaim solitary space. Boundaries became braided cords: flexible, strong.

The fandom, surprisingly, began shifting too. After the livestream, a wave of supportive hashtags trended. For every hateful comment, five gentle ones surfaced, fans sharing stories of their own disabilities, mental struggles, queer identities. You listened, amazed, as community bloomed in cracks left by cruelty.

Then another storm rolled in.

Dispatch posted alleged “exclusive photos” of Sana entering a boutique hotel with a “mystery partner.” The partner’s face was blurred, body swathed in black, and easy for headlines to claim it was you. A follow-up article insinuated a “polyamorous entanglement among members and one fan,” dripping with scandalized language.

The internet howled again.

Sana was shattered. She called you, voice thin as rice paper. “It wasn’t you,” she kept repeating. “It was my cousin from Osaka, she missed her flight home and I booked a room. I swear…”

You soothed her, though anger simmered in your gut. After the call, they hit record and spoke. A message for TWICE, but also themselves:

“I refuse to be apologetic for loving and being loved. Let’s answer lies with truth, not secrecy.”

They suggested a controlled interview: honest, protective, boundary-setting. Jihyo took the idea to management; surprisingly, JYP agreed, desperate to steer narrative back to music before comeback promotions.

A week later, you sat beside Jihyo and Sana in a small studio, lights dimmed. The journalist, a respected woman known for sensitivity, asked frank questions.

“Did any member of TWICE enter a romantic relationship with Y/N?”

Sana’s fingers slid into yours. Microphones captured the faint hitch of breath.

“Yes,” Sana said. You looked at her “I did.” She paused, voice firm. “And anything beyond that is private and consensual.”

“Are other members involved romantically as well?”

Jihyo shook her head slightly. “We all love him deeply. Each bond is unique. Some friendship, some family, one romance. But we stand together.”

The journalist turned to you. “How do you navigate public scrutiny?”

You inhaled. “I do it by remembering that blindness doesn’t make me fragile, and their fame doesn’t make them untouchable. We meet in the middle, where human hearts beat.”

When the segment aired, there was backlash of course, but also overwhelming admiration. The calm transparency disarmed many skeptics. Sales spiked for TWICE’s upcoming album preview. Hashtags trended again, this time mostly celebratory.

A month from the first fan sign, TWICE planned a quiet anniversary dinner at the dorm, but Mina secretly booked a small studio instead: empty, acoustically rich, floor lined with plush mats and scattered pillows.

When you arrived, guided by Momo’s hand, you heard it first: the heartbeats of anticipation and the hush of bodies waiting. Then music: the demo Jihyo had once shared, now fully produced. It swelled through speakers, but the girls didn’t sing along. Instead they moved around you, brushing fingertips over arms, shoulders, hair as they mapping gratitude in touch.

Mina knelt, pressing a wireless headphone set into your  palms. “Isolate the layers,” she murmured. “See what you feel.”

You slipped them on. Vocals peeled apart: Dahyun’s airy ad-libs glittering like distant bells; Chaeyoung’s low harmony hugging the root note; Sana’s ribbon-bright refrain; Jihyo’s steady mezzo holding everything upright.

Tears gathered in your eyes. “It feels like…home.”

Nayeon slipped behind, wrapping arms gently around your waist. Her lips near your ear: “And you are our home too, Y/N.

Later, when laughter faded and others drifted off to clean up, Sana stayed. She rested her head on your lap, humming fragments of old ballads. Fingertips danced idly along your thigh. Innocent, yet promise-laden.

“Come back with me tonight?” she asked.

Heat coiled low in your belly. Images flickered with silk sheets, whispered names, skin against skin. Still, you spoke steady: “Yes. But we set our pace together.”

Sana smiled against their jeans. “Our pace. Our rules.”

Their palms met, heartbeat to heartbeat, the night vibrating with anticipation. Smolder, not yet blaze. But the spark had been struck, bright enough to light every shadow.

Before leaving the studio, Jihyo pressed a small recorder into your han. Its edges cushioned in velvet so they’d know by touch it was special.

“Record your voice sometimes,” she urged. “Tell us how you feel. We want to listen, too.”

You clutched it, moved beyond measure. “Deal.”

Outside, Seoul’s night wind carried muffled city noise with mix of car horns, distant chatter, neon buzzing. But beneath it, you heard something else: nine distinct heartbeats woven with their own, a living chord neither fame nor rumor could unmake.

You smiled into the dark, ready for whatever came next. When the night had fully wrapped the city by the time you followed Sana into her apartment that is quiet, warm, scented faintly with vanilla and citrus. No cameras, no noise, no shadows trailing them. Just two people and the echo of something long building between them.

Sana didn’t flick the lights on. She didn’t need to.

“Do you want anything?” she asked softly. “Water? Food?”

You shook their head. “Just you.”

It was the most honest thing you have ever said.

She took your hand- slow and intentional - and led you into her bedroom. Fabric rustled. The bed creaked gently. Sana closed the door behind them, sealing the moment.

You didn’t know what to expect. You only knew what you felt.

A heartbeat. A breath. A presence coming closer.

Then lips, feather-light at first, were brushing over yours  like a whispered yes.

Sana didn’t rush. She let her fingers speak before anything else. Tracing your  jawline, she murmured, “Tell me what feels good. What you want.”

You swallowed hard. “Let me… touch you first. Learn you.”

Sana guided your hands gently over her collarbone, down her sides, along her ribcage. Her skin was soft and fleshy, warmed by anticipation. Every breath she took told you something new: when she leaned into a palm, when she shivered slightly at the graze of fingertips over her stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

She chuckled, low and flushed. “You haven’t even seen me.”

“I don’t have to.”

Their hands found the hem of her shirt. Sana helped them lift it over her head, then pressed her forehead to theirs.

“You make me feel seen,” she breathed. “More than any stage ever has.”

She kissed you again, deeper now, hunger threaded through it. Her lips were plush, movements fluid, but there was nothing careless. Every shift was a question, every sigh an answer.

You leaned back on the mattress, pulling her gently with them.

The air grew heavier, thick with need but still lined with reverence. Sana straddled you, guiding your hands to her hips, her thighs, then up again as she let you explore slowly, mapping her with care.

“Is this okay?” she asked when fingers brushed the underside of her bra.

You nodded. “Yes. You?”

“More than okay.”

She unclasped it herself, guiding it away, then pressed your palms to her bare handful pair of breasts. You memorized the softness, the heat, the stillness of her nipples. The way she trembled just slightly beneath their touch made something inside them ache with tenderness.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Sana whispered.

“Warm,” you said honestly as you squeezed their softness, feeling her skin sink through the gaps on your fingers.  “Like your heartbeat’s under my hands. Like I could stay here forever.” “Then stay, and never let go. You can have me whenever you want, baby.” Sana tugged your head deeper into her chest, your face pressed on her cleavage. “Would you like to give them a taste? I want to feel your mouth on them too, baby.” You nodded in response before ducking in and capturing her nipple into your mouth, sucking it gently. Sana gasped and bit her lips as she whimpered at the gentle pulling of her skin through your moist lips. You coated them with your spit before proceeding to another, in which Sana making sure to guide you around her tits while brushing your hair slowly. It’s like she’s nursing a baby in her arms for a breastfeed.

“You’ve done a good job, my Y/N, but now I want more of you.” She lifted you away from her delicious mounds and kissed the corner of your mouth, then began tugging at your clothes in return. Bit by bit, you allowed it from your shirt to your pants as your skin revealed in increments, matched by kisses and murmured reassurances.

When you lay fully exposed beneath her, you felt held, not vulnerable.

Sana ran her mouth down to your chest, kissing the sensitive space over your sternum, dragging her tongue lightly to test your reactions. You gasped when she grazed a nipple with her teeth, nothing harsh, just enough to ignite.

“You’re so responsive,” she said softly. “I love that.”

You arched slightly beneath her, fingers sinking into her hair. “I love you.”

She paused.

The words hovered in the air, weighty, tender, and full of permission.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I’m yours. All of me.”

Then her mouth was back on yours, lips and tongue mapping a new geography. She took her time, sliding lower, her breath hot along your stomach, her fingers never far from theirs.

When she reached the center of their desire, she hesitated just long enough to ask, “Do you want me to?”

You whispered, “Please.”

She removed your underwear, releasing your erect cock into the air for the first time to her full sight. Sana hummed seductively as she smelled its fragrant smell, hovering it all over her face and peppered your length with smooches. If only you can see how dangerously sexy Sana has been staring at you with your throbbing cock in her hand, slowly pumping it with all ease while wobbling your balls using the other. Sana moved with practiced grace, but her intention wasn’t to perform, it was to connect. Her mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses and licks between your thighs, then deeper until she reaches your balls and underside of your shaft, tasting you slowly as you responded with every twitch and moan.

Your world narrowed to pure sensation: her tongue were now swirling at the tip then goes for a push to take you more in her mouth, the pressure of her fingers circling gently as she bobs her head to your cock, the hum of her approval when you gasped and bucked beneath her.

She didn’t stop until your climax crested and crashed like a wave, you cried out, fingers clenching in the sheets and onto her hair, body arching as you release lots of cum on her warm mouth.

When it passed, Sana emptied every drop and swallowed them obediently before returning to you, kissing you and cleaned the residue in your tip through the aftershocks. She then went curling beside you and stroked your hair.

“You taste incredible,” she murmured.

You, still catching your breath, turned to press a kiss to her cheek. “Your turn.”

She laughed. “Only if you’re ready.”

“I want to learn you,” you said. “Show me how.”

With gentle instruction, Sana guided you, from what pressure to use, what pace she liked, where her moans deepened into whimpers. You paid attention to everything: how her thighs trembled, how she gasped when your mouth found the right spot, how her fingers tangled in the sheets and grip your head when she was close.

When she came, she cried out your name, voice cracking with pleasure and surrender as she squirted her love juices onto your mouth, with some staining your face wet.

You and her together lay tangled afterward, bare skin pressed to bare skin, sweat cooling in the quiet room.

No one spoke for a long time until both decided to go for some few rounds. As per Sana’s request, she wanted you to sent her into various positions she wanted to try: whether in missionary, on fours, cowgirl, and straddling you in sitting position around the bed, in which you did your best to give her the best experience possible with you. Your intimate session ended with Sana having the biggest smile of satisfaction in her face, laid beside you who is covered with sweat as well from the alternating changes of pace you both had went to on the rhythm of your bodies joint together. She shifted her leg below your abdomen, and slowly succumb together on exhaustion.

The morning after, you woke to Sana tracing letters on your back.

“Guess what I’m writing.”

You smiled, groggy. “No idea.”

“L-O-V-E,” she said, giving it also a slight tone like how it was sang in Talk That Talk. “It’s cheesy but I don’t care.”

You turned, pulling her closer. “Neither do I.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple, lips lingering. “You still feel safe with me?”

“Always.”

You stayed wrapped in each other a little longer. Before breakfast, Sana has given you a quick blowjob as she saw your morninghood in full effect, triggering her hormones to help it relax. After you filled her mouth with the protein of your warm cum, both of you are now downstairs as you watch Sana hum while making eggs. You leaned against the counter, smiling at her off-key tune.

It wasn’t a performance. It was real life. Messy, quiet, and beautiful.

TWICE’s next public event was a fan showcase for their new album before they kickoff their world tour. They low-key, invited you who is sitting in the front row, guided by Jeongyeon and Dahyun, a quiet badge pinned to your shirt: “Guest of Honor.”

No scandal. No whispers. Just love.

When Sana performed her solo stage, her final note lingered longer than written, and she looked directly at you as she sang it. The crowd noticed. There were soft sighs, a few happy cheers, but no outrage.

Thankfully, the fandom had grown in acceptance for you.

Backstage, later, Sana tucked herself into your side. “They see us now.”, she whispered.

You held her hand. “Thank you for that, Sana. But what’s more special about you is that, like the girls, you’ve always seen me… only is it that yours had you charmed by the nature of me.”

And in the quiet that followed, it was true. Sight didn’t matter. Sound did. Touch did. So did the heartbeat. It was simply a melody combined that all followed to this moment. 

And the love that is messy, blazing, and soft…  was always something you will always feel. - EPILOGUE -

The room was quiet, heavy with anticipation and something unspoken. All nine members of TWICE stood in a loose semicircle in front of you. Sana stood closest, her hand entwined with yours, squeezing gently, grounding, and steady. On the table in front of them sat a sleek, black case.

You tilted their head. “What’s going on?”

Jihyo cleared her throat, voice warm. “This was Sana’s idea… but it became something all of us wanted to do.”

“You gave us a different kind of strength,” Dahyun said. “You reminded us our voices mean more than stage lights.”

“You heard us,” said Jeongyeon softly, “even when we weren’t singing.”

“And you never needed eyes to truly see us,” Chaeyoung added, her voice trembling.

Sana guided your hand to the case. “We thought… maybe now, we could help you see the world that made everybody saw us because of you. It’s a signature of gratitude for having you entering our lives, Y/N.

“It’s called a sensory-vision assist device,” Mina said. “It uses audio feedback and environmental mapping to simulate sight.”

“It’s not perfect vision,” Tzuyu added gently, “but it’s a step.”

With shaking fingers, you opened the case. Sleek glasses rested inside. “Try them,” Nayeon whispered. “We’re right here.”

You slid them on.

The world flickered, there were blurred shapes became outlines, motion gained light. And then, Sana’s face: soft, glowing, shimmering… now all in bright colors.

“Oh my God, I can… I can see you,” Y/N breathed. You then turned to the rest, they were just simply breathtaking as well indeed. “I can see all of you.”

Sana touched your cheek, eyes shining both in joy and emotions that is rising. 

“Now you see us, like we’ve always seen you.”

You reached up to touch her cheek, and let out a soft laugh full of tears. “Wow. Y-you’re even more beautiful to look at, more than I could ever imagine.” “I know.” Sana smirked. The girls didn’t acted like they’re disgusted. For once, they let their friend run her joke which is undeniably true anyway, as well as to preserve the wholesome view in front of them. The room burst into applause and gentle laughter. “Now you can get to have this visual of mine anytime you like, it’s also to make sure you’ll never found anybody better than me.” She boastfully pointed herself. “You don’t know how much I just became even more loyal to you, Sana.” You pinched her cheeks and kissed her forehead before she giggled as she invited you to hug which was joined afterwards with the other members as well.

[yodatzutzu]

“Multo”

Synopsis: She didn’t die—she just left. But you still feel her everywhere, like a ghost you created with your silence.

Word Count: 1,160

Kim Minjeong X M!Reader

a/n: I forgot to reply to the request huhu but hope you find it anon!

The night she left wasn’t stormy-

It should’ve been. That’s what your brain told you—there should’ve been thunder, an argument, shattered glass on the kitchen floor. Something dramatic. Something loud. But all you got was the soft click of her suitcase zipper and the way she stood by the door, hesitating.

“This doesn’t feel like home anymore,” she had said.

Not angry. Not hurt. Just… tired.

Tired in the way people get after trying too long to make someone notice them.

You didn’t say anything.

You should’ve.

But your throat had closed up, and your pride locked it shut. You stared at her—no, past her—as if looking directly might make it real. As if saying something would make it worse.

She didn’t slam the door.

She didn’t cry.

She just left.

You tell yourself it’s temporary.

You leave her mug in the dish rack. You still buy the kind of instant noodles she liked, even though you hated the flavor. Her shoes are still by the door, and you catch yourself talking to her in your head like she’ll walk out of the bathroom with wet hair and a sarcastic comment.

She’s not gone, you keep telling yourself. She’s just… not here right now.

But even you know that’s a lie

“Multo.”

The word loops in your head like an echo.

Ghost.

She once told you what it meant while the two of you were watching some horror movie on your old couch. Your head was on her lap, her fingers threading lazily through your hair.

“In Tagalog, it means ghost. Not the scary kind, not always,” she’d said softly.

“Sometimes it’s just… someone who’s gone. But you still feel them around.”

You laughed then. You didn’t get it.

You made some joke about The Sixth Sense. She smiled anyway. That was the kind of person she was—kind, even when you missed the point.

You get it now.

It’s been weeks, and Multo plays on shuffle again. Track seven.

The guitar comes in soft. Her voice—the real one, the one you’d memorized—whispers in your memory. Not the song, but her. That hum she always did when she folded laundry. You never commented on it. Not once.

Now you’d give anything to hear it in real life again.

You stare at the screen.

Now playing: “Multo – Cup of Joe.”

“minumulto na ‘ko-“

The lyrics feel like a dare.

You sit there, unmoving.

The walls feel thinner. Colder.

Everything smells faintly of dust and lemon and her favorite shampoo.

You try to recreate the smell of her hair with a candle you bought off a TikTok recommendation. It’s not even close.

Your phone lights up.

It’s not her.

Of course it’s not her.

You know why she left.

It wasn’t because of some big fight or betrayal.

It was the quiet forgetting. The passive neglect. The way you always said “Later” when she asked to talk.

The way you pulled away when she leaned in.

The way you left her alone in the room without ever really leaving.

It didn’t happen overnight.

It was slow. A dissolving, not a collapse.

You remember once she asked, “Do you even notice when I’m sad?”

You looked up from your laptop and gave her a half-smile.

“You? You’re too strong for sadness.”

That was the cruelest thing you ever said without meaning to be cruel.

Because she was sad.

She was lonely.

She was with you, and she was invisible.

Sometimes you think back to the first time you met her.

She was laughing at something someone else said. Her laugh stood out—not because it was loud, but because it was full. Like she wasn’t holding anything back.

You made her laugh like that once. Maybe twice.

Now, you wonder who’s making her laugh like that.

If anyone is.

Or worse—if no one is, and she’s forgotten how.

You don’t sleep in the bed anymore.

You crash on the couch with the TV humming something you’re not watching.

You think maybe this is what she felt—being beside someone who isn’t really there.

You think about texting her.

You draft a message. Backspace. Try again.

“Hope you’re okay.”

Too dry.

“I miss you.”

Too heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Too late.

You delete it.

One afternoon, you pass by the ramen place she loved. You stand outside for a long time, watching the steam fog up the windows.

She once said it reminded her of home—“Not because it tastes the same. But because I feel warm here. Safe.”

You realize you never gave her that feeling. Not consistently.

You walk past it. You don’t go in. You can’t.

She lingers.

In the pillow that still smells like her.

In the playlist that still haunts your nights.

In the mirror, where you look at yourself and wonder who she fell out of love with.

You think about Multo again.

Not a ghost with chains and blood and screams.

A soft one.

The kind you carry around. The kind you beg to stay.

The kind you didn’t realize you had until they were already fading from your fingertips.

You thought ghosts were the ones who couldn’t move on.

But now you know—you’re the one stuck.

You’re the one rewinding moments that no longer belong to you.

You visit the beach where you once took her on a whim. She wore that oversized hoodie and cursed the sand for getting in her shoes. You teased her for being dramatic. She called you dense but cute.

Back then, her hand found yours automatically.

Now, your fingers just feel cold.

You sit on the same bench where she watched the sunset with you.

Your chest tightens as you realize you barely remember what she said that night.

All you remember is that she was there. And now, she isn’t.

You whisper into the wind.

“Come back.”

But the wind doesn’t carry prayers. It just keeps moving forward.

Only the music answers.

“Minumulto na ‘ko ng damdamin ko”

And you realize

She didn’t become the ghost.

You did.

You’re the one haunting her memory.

You’re the voice she’s trying to forget.

You’re the weight she had to let go of to breathe again.

You’re the presence that lingers in places she used to smile in.

You walk back to the apartment—empty, still, unchanged.

The light in the hallway flickers.

You stand by the door a little too long before unlocking it.

Inside, nothing’s moved.

Except you.

And even then, only just.

You used to think heartbreak was loud.

But no.

It’s quiet.

It’s in the seat across from you at breakfast.

It’s in the faint smell of mango shampoo on a hoodie you still haven’t washed.

It’s in a name you don’t say out loud anymore.

And it’s in a song—just one song—that plays when you’re too tired to skip it

“Multo,” she said, “is someone you feel even when they’re no longer there.”

Now you know exactly what she meant.

And it’s unbearable.

[yodatzutzu]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[yodatzutzu]

Office Desire (Eunbi)

Synopsis: You are a 21 year old working as Junior Writer at some Digital Agency. Three women, Ms. Saerom from marketing, Ms. Eunbi from sales, and Seoyeon as new Junior Strategist, keep pulling you out of your bubble. They bring teasing, tension, and feelings you're not sure you're ready to deal with.

Lee Saerom / Kwon Eunbi / Yoon Seoyeon

Warning: Mommy kink's involved through the story 9.5k+

It's Friday evening, and the office is finally quiet as the workday wraps up. You're exhausted, ready to crash for the weekend to recharge for another grueling week has become your unchanging routine since starting this job.

You sling your bag over your shoulder, head to the parking lot, and breathe in the cool evening air, already mentally checking out.

As you walk to your car, you spot Eunbi near a sleek SUV, her usual confident stride softened as she kneels beside a small girl, her daughter, no older than four, with pigtails and a bright pink backpack.

Eunbi's in a fitted blouse and skirt, still radiating that youthful, vibrant energy that makes her seem younger than her age, the kind of "hot young mom" vibe that's secretly been a naughty fantasy of yours. Her playful flirting in the office always stirred something in you, but seeing her now, in mom mode, adds a new image, warm, human, and oddly more alluring.

You hesitate but decide to say hi, not wanting to seem rude. As you approach, Eunbi looks up, her face lighting up with that familiar teasing smile.

"Hey, darling," she says, standing and brushing her hair back, "Heading off to enjoy your weekend?"

"Yes... just ready to rest, Ms. Eunbi" you reply, offering a small smile, your eyes flickering to the little girl clinging to her leg.

Eunbi notices and grins, bending down to scoop the girl up into her arms.

"This is Nabi," she says, bouncing her daughter gently.

"Nabi, say hi to mom's friend from work," the girl peeks at you shyly, her big eyes curious but cautious, and mumbles a soft, "Hi."

You give her a small wave, feeling a bit awkward, "Nice to meet you, Nabi," you say, keeping your tone light.

"She's cute," you add, glancing at Eunbi, who beams proudly.

"Thanks," Eunbi says, setting Nabi down and holding her hand.

"She's my little troublemaker, but I love her so much," her voice is warm, and for a moment, the flirty office Eunbi takes a backseat to this softer, maternal side.

Her eyes flick to you, "You're good with kids. Bet you'd make a great dad someday," she teases, her tone just suggestive enough to make your face heat up.

You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck, "Uh, maybe one day," you mumble, not sure how to respond.

Eunbi's grin widens, like she's enjoying your discomfort, but she doesn't push further.

"Well, get some rest, darling," she says, opening her car door to help Nabi into her booster seat, "You'll need it to keep up for brace the next week." She adds.

"Yeah, might need it, get home safe, Ms. Eunbi," you wave goodbye, your mind spinning as you walk away.

"See you on Monday, darling," she closes the door, start the engine and you can hear the car starting move.

That night, Eunbi is at home, the house quiet except for the soft hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand.

Nabi is fast asleep in her room, tucked in with her favorite stuffed bunny.

Eunbi slips into bed beside her husband, who's already under the covers, scrolling on his phone. He's a kind man, steady, a good father, but the spark in their marriage has dulled over the years, worn down by routines and responsibilities. Eunbi, still glowing with her youthful energy, feels a restless ache she tries to ignore.

Minho sets his phone down, turning to her with a gentle smile, "Long day?" he asks, his hand finding hers under the sheets. She nods, leaning in to kiss him, hoping to feel something more tonight.

They start slow, his lips soft but familiar, his hands roaming her body as she straddles him.

Eunbi's in a silky nightgown, her curves barely contained, and her husband's groans softly, clearly turned on by her.

But as they move together, clothes shed, she feels the familiar disappointment settling in.

His cock is small, barely stretching her, and though he tries, thrusting eagerly, his hands gripping her hips, it's not enough.

Eunbi moves with him, rocking her hips, trying to chase any spark of pleasure, but it's fleeting. Her body craves more, something deeper, harder. She closes her eyes, letting her mind wander to keep herself in the moment, but it's no use.

Her husband finishes quickly, a soft grunt escaping him as he comes, leaving her unsatisfied, her pussy barely tingling.

She rolls off, lying beside him, staring at the ceiling as he catches his breath, "Love you," he murmurs, kissing her forehead before turning over, already half asleep.

"Love you too," she replies, her voice automatic, but her body is restless. She sighs, pulling the covers up, knowing her husband tries his best but can't fill the void she feels.

The next morning, Saturday, Eunbi wakes up. She's still thinking about last night, her husband's effort, his small cock leaving her unsatisfied.

Over breakfast, she suggests a weekend getaway to her husband, something light, a trip to a nearby park or beach where Nabi can play.

"It'd be fun," she says, smiling at him and Nabi, who's munching on cereal, "We could all use a break," she adds

Her husband sighs, rubbing his eyes. "I'm beat, Eunbi. This week's been brutal at work. I just need to crash this weekend." He gives her an apologetic look, and though she nods, understanding, a pang of disappointment hits her.

She loves him, but his constant exhaustion leaves her carrying the weight of their family's spark alone.

As her husband heads to the couch with his coffee, Eunbi's mind wanders to you. She pictures your shy smile, the way you blushed when she teased you, and an idea forms.

Maybe you'd be up for joining her and Nabi for a day out. It'd be innocent, just a fun trip to keep Nabi entertained, but the thought of spending time with you, outside the office, sends a thrill through her.

She grabs her phone, hesitating only a moment before dialing your number.

You're awake by your phone buzzing on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Eunbi's name.

It's barely 9 AM, still need recovering from the workweek. You answer, voice rough, "Hello?"

"Hey, darling," Eunbi's voice is bright.

"Did I wake you up? Sorry, but I've got a plan. Nabi and I are going to the park today, maybe hit the beach after. Wanna come with us? It'll be fun, and Nabi likes you." Her tone is warm, persuasive, but there’s that familiar flirty edge that makes your heart skip.

You hesitate, rubbing sleep from your eyes. A day out with Eunbi and her daughter sounds nice, but the idea of being around her, knowing your own confused feelings, makes you wary, not sure if you should be diving deeper into Eunbi's orbit.

But she sounds so genuine, and you don't want to seem rude. "Uh... I don't know, Ms. Eunbi. I was gonna rest for today," you say.

"Come on," she please, her voice softening.

"It's just a fun day, taking Nabi play with. You'll be doing me a huge favor. My husband too tired, and I could use the company."

There's a hint of something more in her tone, not quite pleading, but enough to make you feel bad saying no.

You sigh, already knowing you're caving. "Okay, fine. I'll come," you say, sitting up in bed, "What time?"

"Sweet!" Eunbi’s excitement is clear, and you can almost see her smile through the phone.

"I'll pick you up in an hour. Dress comfy, it's gonna be a warm day. See you soon, darling," she hangs up before you can second-guess yourself.

You drag yourself out of bed, a mix of nerves and curiosity bubbling in your chest. You shower quickly, throw on a t-shirt and shorts, and pack a small bag with a water bottle and powerbank, trying to keep it casual.

A sleek black SUV pulls up in front of your place, and you spot Eunbi in the driver's seat, her sunglasses perched on her nose, her bob hair framing her perfectly.

She looks effortlessly stunning, her fitted tank top and shorts showing off her youthful figure, the kind of 'hot young mom' vibe that's been your fantasy for longer than you'd admit.

The reality hits, though, she's married, with a kid, and this isn't some sugar mommy scenario, even if your mind thinking the thought. You shake it off, grab your bag, and head to the car.

Eunbi rolls down the window, flashing that playful smile, "Hop in, darling," she says, her voice warm. You nod and slide into the passenger seat. The car smells like her perfume, light and floral, and you try to act natural.

In the back, Nabi's strapped into her booster seat, clutching a stuffed bunny, her eyes bright, "Hi, Uncle!" she chirps, her small voice full of excitement. The nickname catches you off guard, and you glance at Eunbi, who laughs softly.

"She started calling you that after yesterday," Eunbi explains, glancing at you with a grin. "Guess you made an impression." You smile awkwardly, turning to Nabi.

"Hey, Nabi," you say, keeping your tone light. "What's your bunny's name?"

"Bouncy!" she shouts proudly, holding up her doll.

She launches into a chatter about Bouncy's adventures, her words tumbling out in that endless, joyful way kids talk.

You nod along, asking little questions, and she giggles, clearly loving the attention. You're surprised how easy it feels, chatting with her, and it distracts you from the nervous energy of being so close to Eunbi.

Eunbi drives, her focus on the road, but she chimes in occasionally, teasing you, "You're good with kids, darling. You gonna steal Nabi from me," she says, her tone playful but enough to make your cheeks warm.

As you head toward the park, Nabi keeps talking, asking you everything from your favorite color to whether you like ice cream.

Eunbi steals glances at you, her smile soft but with that familiar spark, like she's enjoying watching you bond with her daughter.

Arrived at the park, a sprawling green space with a playground buzzing with kids and picnic tables scattered under shady trees.

Eunbi parks the SUV, and you hop out, helping Nabi unbuckle from her booster seat.

She grabs your hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around yours, and starts tugging you toward the swings.

"Uncle, come push me!" she shouts, her excitement shared. You laugh, letting her lead the way, her stuffed bunny Bouncy tucked under her arm.

Eunbi follows behind, carrying a tote bag with snacks and a blanket, her sunglasses perched on her head. You glance back, catching her smile, warm, almost tender, as she watches you and Nabi chatter away.

"You two are cute," she calls out, her voice light but with that teasing edge that makes your cheeks blush.

You focus on Nabi, pushing her gently on the swing as she giggles, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest from Eunbi's attention.

After an hour of running around, Nabi dragging you from the swings to the slide, then to a game of tag, you're all ready for the next stop, the beach.

Eunbi drives a short distance to a nearby shore, the salty air hitting you as you step out.

You head to a changing area, swapping your t-shirt and shorts for a white tank top and loose swim boxers.

When you walk back, you freeze. Eunbi's changed into a bikini, bright blue, clinging to her curves, her big breasts barely contained, her hips and toned stomach on full display. She looks like she stepped out of a fantasy, her youthful glow making your cock twitch instantly in your boxers. You force your eyes away, heart pounding, trying not to stare.

Nabi, in a cute blue swimsuit with little fish patterns, runs up to you, "Uncle, let's build a sandcastle!" she says, grabbing a bucket from Eunbi's bag.

Eunbi adjusts her bikini top, catching your glance, and smirks, clearly aware of the effect she's having, "Darling, keep an eye on Nabi, will you?" she says, her voice smooth, that familiar playful tone making your face heat up.

She stretches out on a towel, sunglasses back on, looking like she’s ready to soak up the sun. "I'll be right here if you need me," she adds, before lying back.

You nod, swallowing hard, and focus on Nabi, who's already digging in the sand.

You kneel beside her, helping her scoop sand into the bucket, but your eyes keep drifting to Eunbi, her curves, the way her bikini rides up slightly as she shifts, her skin glistening under the sun. Your cock stirs again, and you adjust your boxers, praying it's not obvious.

Nabi babbles happily about her castle, and you smile, trying to stay present, but Eunbi's presence is like a magnet, pulling at your thoughts.

You play with Nabi, building towers and digging sand, but every so often, Eunbi calls out, "You're doing great, darling!" or "Nabi, show Uncle your best castle!"

The day at the beach unfolds smoothly, with no awkward moments to throw you off balance. It’s just a normal, sunny day, filled with Nabi's giggles and Eunbi's warm presence.

You manage to keep your focus on Nabi, pushing aside the sight of Eunbi's bikini-clad curves, your earlier fantasies fading into the background as the day stays wholesome.

Nabi runs to the water's edge, splashing in the shallow waves, and you follow, keeping an eye on her as she squeals with delight.

"Uncle, look! Fishies!" she shouts, pointing at nothing in particular. You laugh, splashing a little water back.

Eunbi joins you for a bit, holding Nabi's hand as they dip their toes in the waves, and you catch her smiling at you, not the flirty smirk from the office, but something softer, like she's genuinely happy you're here.

As the sun starts to dip, you all pack up, sandy and tired.

"Let's grab some food," Eunbi suggests, brushing sand off her legs, "I know a good spot nearby."

You pile into her SUV, Nabi chattering in the back about her sandcastle, still clutching Bouncy. You're more relaxed now, the day feeling like a break from the week chaos.

You end up at a cozy beachside diner, the kind with checkered tablecloths and a kid's menu with crayons.

Nabi's thrilled, coloring a picture of a crab while you and Eunbi order burgers and milkshakes.

Eunbi sits across from you, her sunglasses pushed up, her face glowing from the sun.

She chats easily, about Nabis preschool, her love for spicy fries, random office gossip, but there's no heavy flirting, no suggestive winks. It's just... nice.

You realize, as you watch her cut Nabi's burger into smaller pieces, that Eunbi feels more like an older sister today, someone warm and familiar, not the bold, seductive woman from work. It's a stark contrast to Saerom, whose intensity always left you on edge. Eunbi is lighter, more grounded, even with her playful side.

"Thanks for coming today," she says, catching your eye as Nabi scribbles happily.

"It means a lot to Nabi... and to me," her smile is genuine, no hidden agenda, and you feel a warmth relief.

"No problem," you say, smiling back.

"It was fun," simple, easy, a day that feels like a reset. You're not sure where this connection with her is going, but for now, it feels good, like a bond that's growing in its own quiet way.

Eunbi pulls up in front of your apartment building, the streetlights casting a soft glow inside the car.

You carefully try to shift Nabi off you, but she whines in her sleep, her little arms clinging to your sleeve, refusing to let go.

You freeze, not wanting to wake her, and look at Eunbi, unsure what to do. Eunbi chuckles softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"She's had a big day, huh," she leans back, thinking for a moment, then says, "I don't want to wake her either. Mind if we come up for a bit? Just to let her rest a little before I drive home?"

You hesitate, your heart picking up speed. Having Eunbi in your apartment feels like a step into new territory, even if it's just for Nabi.

But you can't say no, not with Nabi sleeping so peacefully, and Eunbi's request so practical. "Uh, sure, yeah," you say, keeping your voice low, "Come on up."

Carefully, you unbuckle your seatbelt and ease out of the car, cradling Nabi in your arms. She stirs slightly but stays asleep, her head nestled against your shoulder.

Eunbi grabs her tote bag and Nabi's backpack, locking the car before following you into the building.

The elevator ride is quiet, the hum of it almost loud in the silence, and you're hyper-aware of Eunbi standing close, her perfume faint but familiar.

You unlock your apartment door, stepping into the small, tidy space, nothing fancy, just a couch, a TV, and a few bookshelves with your work stuff.

You gesture to the couch, "I will lay her here," you whisper, and Eunbi nods, grabbing a throw blanket from her bag to drape over Nabi as you gently set her down. Nabi curls up, still clutching Bouncy, and stays asleep.

Eunbi straightens up, looking around your place with a small smile. "Nice spot, darling," she says, her voice soft to avoid waking Nabi.

"Very... you," her tone is playful but not as flirty as usual, more like she's genuinely curious about your space.

"Want some water or something?" you offer, heading to the kitchen to keep your hands busy.

"Water's enough, darling," she says, following you to the small kitchen counter, leaning against it as you fill two glasses.

You hand her one glass, and she sips, her eyes meeting yours over the rim, "Thanks for today," she says quietly, "Nabi had a blast. I haven't seen her this happy in a while."

"No worries," you reply, sipping your water, feeling that warmth from her words, "She's sweet."

Eunbi nods, setting her glass down, her gaze softening, "She is good with you. It's... nice to see," she pauses, like she wants to say more, but glances at Nabi, still sleeping soundly.

You're both tired from the long day, and as the conversation slows, you sit on the edge of the couch near Nabi, your body sinking into the cushions.

Eunbi settles into an armchair across from you, sipping her water, her bare legs crossed, still in those shorts that show off her curves.

You try not to stare, you push the thought away, focusing on Nabi’s peaceful face, but your eyelids grow heavy.

Without realizing it, you passed out, your head resting against the back of the couch, the day's exhaustion finally winning, you're out cold, unaware of time passing,

Faint sensation pulls you from sleep. It's subtle at first, a warmth, a gentle pressure down there. Your eyes flutter open, and you glance down.

Eunbi, she's kneeling in front of you, her hands on your thighs, your shorts tugged down just enough to free your cock, which is already half-hard.

"Ms. E-Eunbi..." your voice shaky, "what are you-?" your heart races, surprised by her sudden action, her fingers working you, spreading the pre-cum already leaking from your tip.

"Shhh... you gonna wake her up, darling" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

You glance at Nabi, still sleeping soundly a few feet away, and panic mixes with arousal.

Eunbi smirks, "I've been thinking about this all day."

Before you can protest, her lips part, and she takes you into her mouth, her tongue swirling over the head, slow and teasing. Her lips slide slowly down your cock, her warm, wet mouth taking you deeper as her tongue swirls against the sensitive underside.

You're gripping the couch, trying to stay silent as Nabi sleeps just a few feet away.

Her mouth sucks with quiet, her eyes flick up to meet yours, sparkling with something hungrier, like she's wanting this long ago.

You stifle a groan, gripping the couch, your body tensing as she sucks gently, her hand stroking what her mouth doesn't cover.

She pulls off with a soft, wet pop, her hand still stroking your slick length, keeping you hard. Her voice is barely a whisper, low and sultry.

She leans closer, "God, darling, your cock is so big," she murmurs, her lips brushing the tip as she speaks, sending a shiver through you.

"So thick... feels so good in my mouth," her words are blunt, dripping with lust, and your face burns, your cock twitching in her grip.

She glances at Nabi, ensuring she's still asleep, then looks back at you, "You know," she whispers, her hand slowing but never stopping, "My husband tries, he really does. But his cock..." She pauses, a faint smirk but disappointed on her lips.

"It's tiny. So small, barely anything. I hardly feel it when we were making love," her voice carries a frustration like a secret she's held too long. "It's nothing like this," she adds, giving your cock a gentle squeeze.

Your breath catches, image of Eunbi with her husband, unsatisfied, her body craving more, makes your cock ache even harder, "Ms. Eunbi..." you whisper, your voice shaky, unsure if you're protesting or urging her on.

She just smiles, wicked and confident, and leans back down, her tongue flicking over the head of your cock, lapping up the pre-cum leaking steadily now, "Shh, let me enjoy this," her lips wrapping around you again, sucking harder this time.

Her hand pumps the base, her mouth working the rest, and the wet, sloppy sounds are loud in your quiet apartment.

You bite your lip, stifling a groan, your hips twitching up instinctively as she takes you deeper, her throat tightening around you. She's relentless, clearly turn on by your cock's size, her moans vibrating against your it like she's getting off on it as much as you are.

Your body tenses, pleasure building fast, and you whisper, "Ms. Eunbi... I'm gonna..."

She pulls off, a string of spit trailing from her mouth to your tip.

"Not yet, not here," she whispers, she glances at Nabi, still sleeping soundly, then back at you, her hand still gently stroking your slick, throbbing cock to keep you hard.

"Got a nice bed for us?" she ask, tracing your cock already wet mix of her saliva and your pre-cum.

"Uhh... my room, maybe...?" you nod at your room, where's your bed at.

She's standing, tugging you up by your wrist. She leads you quickly, guiding you to your bedroom.

Once inside, she shuts the door carefully, locking it with a soft click. She turns to face you, her tank top clinging to her body, her eyes burning with intent.

"Let's continue, darling," she says, her voice hushed but raw, stepping closer. "I need you inside me. Your big cock, I want to feel it," her words are blunt, desperate, and they hit you like a spark, your cock twitching hard at the thought.

She pulls off her tank top in one smooth motion, revealing her full breasts, her nipples already hard.

Her shorts follow, leaving her naked, every curve begging to be touched. She steps up to you, her hands tugging at your shirt, pulling it off, then yanking your shorts down completely.

Your cock stands fully erect, slick from her mouth, and she bites her lip, staring at it like it's everything she's been wanting.

She climbs onto your bed and lying back, spreading her legs wide. "Put in me, darling," she whispers, her pussy is glistening, wet with need, and she reaches down, parting her folds with her fingers, inviting you in. "Give me what I need."

You're frozen for a second, your mind racing with the reality, she's married, Nabi's in the other room, this is insane, but your body's already moving.

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her thighs, your cock brushing against her wet entrance.

She moans softly, her hands grabbing your shoulders, pulling you closer, "Don't make me wait," she breathes, her voice trembling with want.

You push in slowly, feeling her tight, warm pussy stretch around your cock, gripping you like nothing you've felt before.

She gasps, her head tilting back, her nails digging into your skin, "Oh fuck.... so big," her voice shaky with pleasure.

You start thrusting, slow at first, then harder as she urges you on, her hips rocking up to meet you. The bed creaks softly, but you're too lost in her, the way her pussy clenches around you, the way her moans stay hushed but desperate, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"Harder," she pants, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you deeper.

"More harder," you obey, slamming into her, your cock filling her completely, the wet slap of your bodies echoing.

She's loud now, her moans barely contained, and you pray Nabi doesn't wake up. Eunbi's pussy is so tight, so perfect, drives you harder, your cock throbbing as you push her closer to the edge.

You can feel her pussy clenching harder around your cock, signaling she's close, "Darling... fuck, I'm gonna..." she gasps, her voice breaking, her hips bucking up to meet your thrusts.

You keep going, slamming into her, your cock hitting deep, pushing her over the edge.

Suddenly, "Fuck~!" she cries out, a loud, "Ahhh~!" and her body convulses, her pussy squeezing your cock so tight it’s almost too much.

She comes hard, her juices gushing out, squirting in hot, messy streams that soak your cock and the sheets beneath her. Her eyes roll back, her mouth open in a silent scream, her face twisted, she's losing herself completely.

You pull out, giving her a moment to ride the high. Her juices keep flowing, dripping down her thighs, and she moans louder, her voice raw and unrestrained, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh, god... oh, fuck...” she whimpers, her hands clutching the sheets, her eyes fluttering as if she's in heaven. Her chest heaves, her breasts rising and falling as she gasps for air, still trembling from the release.

She is calming now, means ready again. You line up your cock, sliding it along her folds before pushing in deep.

She gasps, her head tilting back, her tongue still out, "Fuck, yes..." she moans, her voice louder now, less controlled, her hands grabbing your shoulders, nails digging in.

You start thrusting, slamming into her with more force, your cock plunging deep, the wet slap of your bodies echoing in the small bedroom.

Her pussy clenches around you, hot and slick from her first orgasm, making every thrust feel electric. Her moans turn into cries, her tongue still out, her face twisted in pleasure, completely undone. "Oh god, darling... so big... fuck me!" she gasps, her legs wrapping tighter around you, pulling you deeper.

Your hands grip her hips, then slide up to her breasts, squeezing them as you pound into her, your cock hitting her deepest spots. She's loud now, too lost to care about Nabi in the other room, "Please... don't stop..." she whimpers, her hands clutching your back, her body arching into you.

You keep going, fucking her harder, her pussy tightens again, her second orgasm closing in fast. "I'm... I'm gonna..." she gasps, her voice breaking, her eyes rolling back.

You feel her body tense, her pussy clamping down hard on your cock as she comes, another gush of juices soaking you, her body shaking violently.

"Ahhh~! Fuck~!" she cries out, her tongue out, her hands clawing at you as she rides the wave. You slow down, letting her catch her breath.

"Turn over," you say, your voice low and commanding, surprising even yourself.

Her eyes widen slightly, despite her exhaustion. She obeys, rolling onto her stomach, then pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, her ass raised invitingly. Her back arches, her pussy glistening, still dripping, and you can't resist the urge to take her again.

You position yourself behind her, grabbing her hips as you line up your cock with her slick entrance. You slide in easily, her pussy so wet it takes you in without resistance, gripping you tightly as you fill her.

She moans, her head dropping forward, her hair falling over her face, "Fuck, darling... yes," she gasps, pushing back against you, already eager for more.

You start thrusting, your hips slamming against her ass. She feels incredible, her pussy clenching around your cock with every deep thrust, and you pick up the pace.

You reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair, yanking it gently but firmly, pulling her head back. She gasps, her moan louder, her body responding, "Harder..." she begs, "fuck me harder." You pound her hard, your cock hitting deep, making her ass jiggle with each thrust.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp smack, the sound echoing as her skin reddens slightly. She cries out, her pussy tightening around you, clearly loving it, "Again," she moans, her tongue slipping out again, her eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the pleasure. You spank her again, harder this time, and she whimpers, her body shaking, her pussy so wet it’s dripping onto the sheets.

You keep going, yanking her hair to keep her arched, spanking her ass as you fuck her relentlessly. Her moans turn into cries, loud and unrestrained, her hands clutching the sheets as she pushes back against you, matching your rhythm. "Fuck... I'm gonna... again..." she gasps, her voice breaking, her body trembling violently.

You feel her pussy clamp down hard, her third orgasm hitting like a wave. She comes, loud moan, "Fuckkk~!" her juices gushing again, squirting onto your cock and the bed, her body convulsing as her eyes roll back, her tongue hanging out.

Her body shaking as she rides out the high, her ass red from your spanks, her hair messy from your grip. You slow down, letting her catch her breath, but you’re still hard inside her, your own release close but held back.

She shifts, she pushes you gently onto your back, "I want to ride this big cock..."

You lie back, your cock still rock-hard, slick with her wetness.

She climbs over you, straddling your hips, her big breasts hang heavy, her nipples hard, and she looks down at you, "My husband never filled me like you," she whispers, her voice raw, as she grips your cock, lining it up with her soaked pussy.

She sinks down slowly, moaning loudly as your cock stretches her, filling her completely. "Fuck... so big," she gasps, her head tilting back, her tongue slipping out again as she starts to move, her hips moving back and forth.

Her pussy grips you tightly, wet and hot, and the sight of her riding you, her breasts bouncing, her face twisted in pleasure, drives you wild. She grinds down hard, her hands on your chest for balance, her moans growing louder with every roll of her hips. "God, darling... you're so deep," she whimpers, chasing her next high.

You grip her hips, guiding her, thrusting up to meet her movements. She's relentless, riding you faster, her moans turning into desperate cries, her tongue still out, her eyes rolling back as she loses herself.

"Fuck… I'm gonna come again," she gasps, her body trembling, her pussy tightening even more.

You feel her hit her fourth orgasm, her body shaking violently, another gush of juices soaking your cock and thighs as she screams, "Ohhh~! Ahhh~!"

You can't hold on any longer. The pleasure's too intense, her tight, wet pussy and her wild moans pushing you to the edge, "Ms. Eunbi... I'm..." you groan, your cock throbbing.

In a sudden surge, you flip her over, pinning her back down. She gasps, her legs spreading wide, her pussy still dripping as you pound into her harder than before, your thrusts deep and desperate.

Her breasts bounce with each slam, "Yes... darling, pound me harder~" her moans loud, her hands clutching your shoulders as you fuck her.

The pressure snaps, and you pull out just in time, your cock pulsing as you come hard, "Fuck!" ropes of hot cum shooting across her face and big breasts.

Eunbi moans, her tongue darting out to catch some, her eyes half lidded, looking like she's in high as your cum paints her skin, "Yes... darling..." her voice weak, her chest heaving as she lies there, covered in cum, her pussy still twitching from her fourth orgasm.

You collapse beside her, both of you panting, your body spent and buzzing. The room is quiet now, just your heavy breaths and the faint creak of the bed.

She turns her head, her face flushed, cum still glistening on her lips and breasts, and gives you a tired, wicked smile, "That was... everything I need," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

You're too exhausted to reply, your mind reeling from the intensity, Nabi in the next room forgotten in the haze of pleasure.

She wipes a bit of your cum from her cheek with her finger, licking it casually, and chuckles softly, "God, darling, you're so good," she says, her tone teasing.

"Where'd you learn that?" she trails off, raising an eyebrow, genuinely curious, "Have you done this a lot? Had a girlfriend? Or... someone else?"

Your face heats up, embarrassment creeping in as you realize she's asking about your experience. The memory of Saerom, flashes in your mind, but you hesitate. You're not sure you want to spill that, not with Eunbi lying here, her eyes searching yours. It feels too complicated, too risky to admit you've been with another coworker, especially someone like Saerom.

So, you brace yourself, deciding to dodge the truth.

"I... uh..." you stammer, rubbing the back of your neck, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I haven't really... done this much. I mean, no girlfriend or anything," you pause, feeling your cheeks burn.

"I... watch a lot of porn." you blurt out.

Her eyes widen, and then she bursts into laughter, soft but genuine, covering her mouth to keep it quiet so Nabi doesn't wake, "Porn?" she repeats, her voice teasing, her smile widenin, "Oh, darling, that's adorable," she leans closer, her sticky breasts brushing your arm, clearly amused.

"So you're telling me all that, this..." she gestures waving to the soaked sheets and her cum streaked body "...came from watching videos? You're a fast learner, then."

You nod, relieved she's not pressing further, "Yeah, I guess..." you mumble, avoiding her gaze, your face still hot, "Just... figured it out."

She chuckles again, her hand resting on your chest, her touch light but warm. "Well, you're a natural, my husband could take notes."

She smirks, "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, darling."

You clear your throat, your voice hesitant. "Ms. Eunbi... why me?" you ask, glancing at her, "I mean... today was great, and I've always thought you were... you know, amazing. But I'm starting to see you like... I don't know, an older sister. So why... this? Why me?"

Her hand pauses on your chest, and she shifts slightly, propping herself up to meet your gaze. Her eyes are serious now, no trace of her usual teasing smirk. She wipes a bit of cum from her cheek, thoughtful, then sighs, her voice soft but honest.

"It's complicated, darling," she says, her tone carrying a weight you haven't heard from her before. "I love my husband. I really do. We've been married eight years, and he's a good man, a great dad to Nabi. But..." she trails off, looking away for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She takes a deep breath and continues. "His... well, you heard me before. His pepe's small, and it's not just that. He barely lasts, and even when we try, it's like he's not... enough. I've only ever come with him a handful of times, and even then, it was nothing like this." she gestures vaguely to the soaked sheets, her body, you.

"And his sperm... it's weak. We tried for years to have kids. Nabi's our miracle, but most of his sperm doesn't even reach my eggs. Doctors confirmed it. We're lucky we got her."

Her voice softens, and she looks back at you, her eyes searching yours. "I've been faithful, mostly. But I'm human too, darling. I need pleasure too. I need to feel wanted, to feel my body come alive. My husband tries, but he can't give me that. But you…" she pauses, her hand sliding down to rest on your thigh, her touch gentle but electric.

"You're young, you're sweet, and... god, you're big. You make me feel things I've been missing for years."

You swallow hard, "So... you just need me for... this?" you ask, your voice quiet, unsure if you're hurt or just trying to understand.

She shakes her head quickly, her hand squeezing your thigh, "No, it's not just that. Today, seeing you with Nabi, how kind you were, how easy it felt... it wasn't just about sex. You're special to me, darling. I feel something with you, something I don't want to let go of," she leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I love my husband, but I need this too. And I want it with you."

Your heart races as you lie there, her words about her marriage and her need for pleasure. Her vulnerability, her warmth, and the way she's made you feel so wanted stir something deep inside you, a mix of desire and a strange, almost childish need for closeness.

You've always had this quiet kink, this fantasy of calling someone "mommy," someone nurturing yet commanding, and Eunbi, with her caring yet sensual energy, feels like she fits that role perfectly. But saying it out loud feels risky, embarrassing, and your face burns just thinking about it.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper, unsure but unable to hold back, "Ms. Eunbi... can... can I call you mommy?" the words tumble out, and you brace yourself to embarrassed yourself again.

She pauses, her hand still resting on your thigh, and for a moment, you think you've gone too far. Then she chuckles, a soft, warm sound that eases your nerves. Her eyes showing something maybe an amusement.

"Mommy, huh?" she says, her voice teasing but not mocking, "Sure, darling... you can call me mommy."

She leans closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "And what does mommy do?"

Before you can answer, she shifts, crawling over your body, her naked curves hovering above you, her cum-streaked breasts swaying slightly, "She makes her darling feel pleasured," she purrs, her hand sliding down to grip your cock.

Her fingers wrap around your cock , jerking you slowly, her touch firm but teasing, coaxing you back to hardness.

You gasp, your hips twitching up into her hand, the word "mommy" on the tip of your tongue feeling so right yet so forbidden.

"M-mommy..." you mumble, your voice shaky, your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

Her slow strokes make your cock throb, pre-cum already beading at the tip as she spreads it with her thumb, her grip slick and deliberate.

"That's right, darling," she whispers, her voice low and sultry, her lips grazing your neck.

"Mommy's gonna take care of you." She pumps you faster, her hand tight, her eyes locked on yours, watching every twitch of your face, every hitch in your breath.

"M-mommy..." you whisper, your voice trembling, "Can I... can I milk you?"

The words feel weird, almost too much, but the image of drinking from her, of her giving you that kind of intimacy, makes your cock throb harder in her grip.

Her eyes widen for a split second, then soften with a mix of surprise and delight. She chuckles, low and teasing, her hand never stopping its slow, slick strokes on your cock. "Oh, darling," she purrs.

She leaning closer, her lips brushing your cheek, "You want mommy's milk? Such a needy boy," her tone is both indulgent and playful, and she shifts, sitting up slightly to position herself better, her breasts hovering near your face.

She cups one of her breasts, "Go ahead, darling. Drink from mommy," guiding it toward your mouth, her nipple already hard and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, heart pounding, but you latch onto her nipple, your lips closing around it, and suck gently at first, your tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

A soft moan escapes her, her hand tightening on your cock, stroking faster as you start to suck harder.

Milk, there's a milk from her body, sweetness, it sends a surge of pleasure through you. You suck greedily, your hands reaching up to hold her breast, squeezing gently as you drink, lost in the fantasy.

Her moans grow louder, her hips shifting slightly as she watches you, clearly turned on by your neediness, "That's it, darling," she murmurs, her voice shaky, "Such a good boy for mommy... drinking so well."

Her hand works your cock faster, slick with pre cum, her fingers twisting slightly with each stroke, pushing you closer to the edge. The combination of her breast in your mouth, her nipple under your tongue, and her hand jerking you off is overwhelming.

You moan against her skin, the vibration making her gasp, her free hand tangling in your hair to hold you closer to her chest. "Keep going, sweetheart," she whispers, her voice thick with arousal. "Mommy loves this."

Your hips buck up into her hand, your cock throbbing, the pleasure building to a breaking point. You suck harder, your tongue swirling, your hands kneading her breast.

Her strokes damn good, her thumb brushing over your tip, sending jolts through you. "Come for mommy," she murmurs, her voice urgent, her own arousal clear in her tightening grip. "Be a good boy and come."

You can't hold back anymore. With a muffled moan against her breast, you come hard, your cock pulsing in her hand as ropes of cum shoot out, spilling over her fingers and onto your stomach.

She keeps jerking you, milking every drop, her moans soft and encouraging as you shudder through the orgasm, still latched onto her nipple, drinking greedily like it's all you need.

Finally, you pull back, gasping for air, your body spent and trembling. Her hand slows, her touch gentle now, and she leans down, kissing your forehead softly. "Such a good boy," she whispers, her voice warm, her cum-covered hand resting on your thigh.

She sits you up gently, her hands on your shoulders. Before you can breathe, she kisses you deeply, her lips pressing hard against yours.

Her tongue meets yours, and the kiss is wet and messy, making you feel excited again even though you're tired. She pulls you close, her arms around your neck, her soft, sticky breasts against your chest. The kiss is wild, full of moans, and you're lost in her.

She pulls back, breathing hard, her lips wet, her tongue slightly out. Her eyes are full of desire, and she's so beautiful, "Darling..." she says softly, her hands still holding you.

You push her back onto the bed. She gasps, her legs opening as she lies under you, her body still wet from before, shining in the light. "Fuck me again, darling," she says, her voice needy, reaching for you. "I need you."

Your cock already getting hard again, you slide between her thighs, your body brushing against her wetness, and push inside. She feels tight and warm, and she moans loudly, her head tilting back, her hands grabbing your arms as you move. "Yes... so big," she gasps, her body tightening around you with every thrust.

You move fast, your bodies slapping together, the sound filling the room. Her moans are loud and needy, her breasts bouncing, her eyes rolling back as she gives in to the pleasure. "Harder... please, darling," she begs, her face showing pure joy. You thrust harder, the bed shaking, forgetting about Nabi waking up as you chase the feeling.

Her body shakes, and you know she's close. "Come for me, mommy," you say, and it pushes her over the edge. She cries out, her pussy tightening hard, her climax rushing through her, her moans loud and shaky. But she grabs you, her voice desperate. "Inside... come inside me, darling," she says, her eyes locked on yours. "I want it... please."

Her words break you. You thrust deep one last time, your climax hitting hard. You groan, releasing inside her, filling her as she moans, her body taking everything. You keep moving until you're done, then collapse onto her, both of you breathing heavily, tangled together.

She shifts, her fingers tracing your back, and sighs. "I don't want this to end," she says quietly, almost hesitant. "But... I should go home. My husband probably wondering where I am, and Nabi needs her own bed." She looks at you, her eyes soft but a little sad, torn between staying and returning to her life.

You nod, understanding, but part of you doesn't want to let her go. There's something you've been wanting to try, something sparked by the closeness you've shared tonight.

You swallow, your face warm as you gather the courage to ask. "Mommy..." you say, the word still exciting to say, "before you go... can I... can I taste your pussy? I'm curious what you taste like."

Her eyes widen, then a slow, happy smile spreads across her face. "Oh, darling," she says, her voice full of warmth and teasing desire. "You want to taste mommy? That's sweet." She leans up, kissing you softly, her tongue brushing yours, letting you taste a hint of your cum from earlier. "Of course, baby. One last treat for my good boy."

She slides out from under you, lying back on the bed and spreading her legs wide, her pussy glistening, still wet with your cum and her juices.

The sight makes your cock twitch, even though you're too tired to get hard again. "Come here," she whispers, patting her thigh, her eyes locked on yours, inviting you closer.

You move between her legs, your heart racing, your mouth watering as you lower yourself. Her scent hits you first, musky, sweet, and strong. You pause for a moment, then lean in, your tongue flicking out to taste her.

The first lick is thrilling, her juices tangy and rich, mixed with a slight saltiness from your cum. Eunbi moans softly, her hand finding your hair, guiding you gently. "That's it, darling... lick mommy's pussy," she murmurs, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You dive in, your tongue exploring her folds, lapping up her wetness, enjoying every bit. She tastes amazing, and you lose yourself in it, sucking gently on her clit, swirling your tongue, eager to make her feel good.

Her moans get louder, her hips moving slightly, pressing herself against your mouth. "Fuck... so good, baby," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Eat me... just like that."

You keep going, your tongue going deeper, tasting her fully, your lips closing around her clit as you suck harder. Her thighs shake, closing around your head, and you know she's close. "Darling... I'm gonna..." she moans, her voice breaking.

You don't stop, licking and sucking harder, wanting to give her one last climax. She comes with a sharp cry, her pussy pulsing against your tongue, a fresh wave of juices flooding your mouth as she shakes, her body arching off the bed.

You pull back, breathing hard, your lips and chin wet with her, your heart pounding from the thrill of making her come like that. Eunbi looks at you, her face red, her eyes glowing with happiness.

"God, darling... you're too perfect," she whispers, pulling you up to kiss you, tasting herself on your lips. "I'll miss this."

She sits up, slowly grabbing her clothes from the floor. You watch as she dresses, moving like she's trying to delay leaving. Once she's ready, she turns to you, her expression soft but serious. "This... us... it's not over, okay?" she says quietly. "But I need to figure things out. Just... don't forget about mommy."

You nod, your throat tight. "I won't," you say, meaning it. She kisses you one last time, soft and lingering.

She heads to the living room to gently wake Nabi. You follow, helping her gather Nabi's things, the little girl sleepy but happy in her mother's arms.

Eunbi gives you a final smile at the door, Nabi waving lazily, and then they're gone, leaving you alone in your quiet apartment.

It's Monday morning, and you're back at the office, the usual routine kicking in. The place is alive with chatter and the smell of coffee. Your weekend with Eunbi and Nabi, especially that intense, secret night with Eunbi, still plays in your mind.

You walk to your desk, half-expecting things to feel different after everything that happened.

As you pass the marketing area, you notice Saerom watching you. She's leaning on her desk, arms crossed, holding a file, with a small, knowing smirk. Your body reacts slightly, and you nod awkwardly, hurrying past to avoid her gaze, the memory of her lingering in your head.

Before you can sit down, Eunbi walks up, her heels clicking softly, holding a paper cup with a warm, playful smile. She's wearing a fitted blouse and pencil skirt, her figure clear but professional, her hair swept to one side.

"Morning, darling," she says smoothly, teasingly, handing you the coffee. "Did you rest enough yesterday?" Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and you know she's thinking of Saturday night, her calling you "darling," her body wet with you, her taste still fresh in your mind.

"M-morning, Ms. Eunbi," you mumble, taking the coffee, your face getting warm as you scratch your neck.

"Yeah... I, uh, got some rest." It sounds weak, but she just laughs softly, her hand brushing your arm for a moment, enough to make you feel a stir in your pants.

"Good," she says, leaning closer, her voice quiet just for you. "You'll need the energy for this week." She winks, then walks back to her desk, her hips swaying in a way you can't ignore.

You grip the coffee, trying to focus as you sit, your mind caught between Saerom's subtle look and Eunbi's bold flirting.

It's 11 AM. and the office is in busy, phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and faint meeting chatter drifting from a conference room.

You're sent to the photocopy room to copy some client files, a boring task that gives you a break from your computer.

Holding the papers, you open the door to the small room, the copier's hum filling the air.

But you stop dead when you see Eunbi there, standing by the machine with her own stack of documents. She's in her tight blouse and pencil skirt, her curves standing out, her hair loose around her face.

She looks up, her lips forming that playful smile. "Morning again, darling," she says, her voice low and teasing, you grip the files tighter, unsure whether to stay or leave knowing this is a bad idea, being alone with her now.

Before you can choose, Eunbi moves toward the door, her heels clicking, and locks it with a soft click. Your heart races, the sound loud in the small room.

"Ms. Eunbi… what-" you start, but she’s already close, her eyes sharp with desire, her smile turning naughty.

"Shhhh" she whispers, putting her files down and grabbing your wrist, pulling you to her, "We've got a few minutes, darling. Let's make it quick." Her voice is full of need.

Before you can argue, she lifts her skirt, showing her smooth thighs and black lace panties.

She pulls the panties aside, revealing her pussy, already wet and shiny. Your cock hardens fast, your breath catching.

"Eunbi… here? What if--" you mutter, glancing at the locked door, the office noise just outside. Getting caught would be disastrous, someone could knock or even have a key, but her hand's already undoing your belt, pulling it opens easily.

"No one's coming," she says softly, tugging your pants down just enough to free your hard cock. "I need you, darling. Fill me." She turns, leaning on the copier, her ass out, her pussy ready.

You're torn, fear of getting caught battling the intense desire running through you. But her scent, her wetness, and the way she looks back at you, tongue slightly out, begging without words, pushes you over.

You grab her hips, line up your cock, and push inside her in one smooth motion. She gasps, her pussy hot and tight, gripping you hard, and you both try to stay quiet.

You thrust fast and hard, the copier shaking a bit under her. Her juices make your cock slick, the wet sounds barely covered by the machine's hum.

"Fuck... so big," she whispers, her voice trembling, her head tilting back as she moves with you. You grab her hair lightly, pulling just enough to make her moan quietly, her pussy squeezing tighter.

It's quick and frantic, your cock pounding into her, her ass bouncing, her panties pushed aside, her skirt hiked up. You're both trying to be silent, but her soft moans and your heavy breathing fill the room.

"I need this," she whispers, her voice dirty, and your cock pulses, the forbidden thrill driving you closer to the edge.

You're almost there, and you feel her pussy tightening, her body shaking. "Ms. Eunbi... I'm gonna..." you whisper, but she shakes her head, pushing back harder.

"Inside, darling," she gasps. "Give mommy your cum." Her words break you, and with one last thrust, you come, your cock throbbing as you fill her, hot and thick.

She gasps, her pussy gripping you, coming too, her juices mixing with yours, dripping down her thighs as she trembles against the copier.

You pull out, breathing hard, your cock wet, her pussy leaking your cum as she fixes her panties and skirt, turning to you with a smug grin. "Good boy," she whispers, kissing you fast, her lips soft but eager.

She unlocks the door, grabs her files like nothing happened, and says, "See you later," with a wink, slipping out. You’re left stunned, heart pounding, the copier still humming as you try to wrap your head around the risky thrill of what just happened.

You're trying to pull yourself together, grabbing your files from the copier, when the door creaks open again. Your stomach drops as Seoyeon steps in, her tablet under one arm, a few papers in hand.

Seoyeon's presence is so different from Eunbi's bold vibe, quiet, shy, her long hair tucked behind her ear, her eyes meeting yours with a soft, hesitant smile that warms your chest.

"Oh, hi," she says gently, heading to the copier. "Just need a few copies for the pitch." She sets her things down, not noticing anything at first, but then her nose wrinkles, and she pauses, sniffing the air.

Your face heats up, panic hitting hard. The room smells of sex, Eunbi's juices, your cum, the raw heat of what just happened. You're sure Seoyeon can tell, and the idea of her realizing you just fucked Eunbi here makes you want to vanish.

"Uh, yeah, just… finishing up," you mumble, gripping your files tightly, your voice sounding forced. You shift awkwardly, hoping she doesn't figure it out.

Seoyeon looks at you, her brow creasing for a moment, but then she laughs softly to herself. "Weird smell in here," she mutters, almost like she's talking to herself, before turning to the copier, her fingers tapping the screen.

You let out a quiet breath, relief mixing with shame, your cock stirring slightly at the memory of Eunbi's pussy even as you stand here with Seoyeon, your crush, who has no clue about what just happened.

You want to say something, maybe chat to make things feel normal, but your mind's empty, caught between Eunbi's wild moans and Seoyeon's gentle presence. "Need help with that?" you ask weakly, pointing at the copier, trying to act casual.

She smiles, shaking her head. "I'm good, thanks." Her voice is soft, her eyes kind, and you feel a twinge of guilt, like you're betraying her just by being here after what you did. You nod, muttering a quick, "See you, then."

The next few weeks are wild, your life caught in a loop of secret hookups and sneaky moments that keep you on edge.

Eunbi doesn't stop. She finds any reason to get you alone, another quickie in the photocopy room, a fast fuck in the storage closet, her skirt up, panties pushed aside, your cock deep in her wet pussy as she whispers, "Mommy needs this, darling."

Every time, she comes hard, her juices soaking you, begging you to cum inside her, and you can't resist, your cock pulsing as you fill her again and again.

In the office, her teasing is quieter now, a coffee here, a light touch there, but her eyes always hint at more, and you're hooked, even though getting caught feels closer every day.

[yodatzutzu]

When the Light Comes Back

Synopsis: You spend your final days chasing the girl who left you without goodbye—only to learn— (read the story ☺️🙏🏻)

Word Count: 1,098

Wonyoung X Male!Reader

angst! hehe

The hospital lights flickered too much at night. The nurses didn’t notice, but you did. You always did. You used to be the kind of person who hated hospitals. Now you lived in one.

Stage four. Two months, they said. Maybe less. Maybe more, if you were lucky.

But you didn’t feel lucky.

You were twenty-five and already dying. And before your body broke down, there was one name you couldn’t get out of your chest.

Wonyoung.

She left when you were sixteen. No explanation. No warning. One day, she was kissing you behind the school building, tracing your knuckles with her fingertips like you were the only thing she wanted—and the next, she was gone.

You called her over and over again. You showed up at her house, but her family said they’d moved. No forwarding address. No details. Just “she transferred out.”

You waited. Days, then weeks. Then a year. But time didn’t bring answers—only resentment. And longing. You convinced yourself she got bored. That she outgrew you. That she didn’t love you enough to stay.

And yet, you never loved anyone else quite the same.

Not when you were eighteen. Not twenty. Not now

DAY 1

You called her old number again. It was disconnected.

You googled her name like a madman. Found old class photos. An archived science fair award. Her Tumblr—last updated in 2015.

Nothing new.

You messaged her old best friend, Yujin. She read it but never replied.

You weren’t surprised. You’d burned too many bridges trying to forget.

DAY 9

You sat in your old school parking lot in your hospital gown, IV still fresh from morning chemo.

You stared at the brick walls where she once laughed, leaned against lockers, fell asleep on your shoulder during assembly.

The school janitor almost called security before he recognized you.

You asked about student records. He said he couldn’t help you. You thanked him anyway.

You threw up in the parking lot and passed out in your car for four hours.

DAY 17

You posted in a local Facebook group.

“Looking for a girl named Wonyoung. Lived here around 2015. Tall. Long black hair. Smart. Beautiful. Disappeared suddenly. Just want to know if she’s okay.”

No one answered.

Except for one anonymous DM.

“She died.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Who are you?” you replied.

No answer.

Just that word.

Died.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of pain, but because if that was true… you didn’t know how to keep going.

DAY 20

Your mother found you in the hospital hallway, leaning against the wall like gravity had stopped working right.

She didn’t say anything. Just held out a small wooden box.

“She left this with us years ago,” your mom said quietly. “She made us promise not to give it to you unless…unless... you needed it.”

You stared at the box. Your hands shook before you even touched it.

Inside: a photo. You and Wonyoung, arms wrapped around each other at some cheap boardwalk booth. You’re mid-laugh. She’s looking at you like she already knew she wouldn’t get to again.

Underneath it: a letter and a USB drive.

That night, you plugged it into your laptop, heart pounding louder than the machines monitoring your breath.

And there she was.

Wonyoung. Sixteen. Pale. Hair in a bun. Her voice slightly hoarse.

“Hi, Y/N.”

She laughed softly, nervously. Blinked a few times.

“If you’re watching this… I guess you’re not okay either.”

She paused. Her eyes glassed over but didn’t fall.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I loved you too much to let you watch me die.”

“I had a heart condition. Rare. Incurable. They gave me less than a year. I didn’t want you to live every day afraid of losing me. I didn’t want to see you cry beside my hospital bed. I couldn’t bear the thought of you at my funeral.”

Your lungs tightened.

“So I asked my parents to move. Changed schools. Told them I needed to do it without you. And they did. They helped me disappear.”

She bites her lip.

“I hoped you’d hate me. That maybe you’d move on quicker if you thought I didn’t care.”

“But I never stopped loving you, Y/N. Not for a second.”

Her hand trembled as she held up the photo you now held in your lap.

“This was the best day of my life. You bought me cotton candy and said you’d marry me someday. I laughed because I knew I wouldn’t live long enough for it to happen.”

She wipes her cheek.

“But if you’re dying now too… maybe we’ll get another shot. Somewhere else. Wherever people like us go.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

She smiles. That same crooked, stupidly beautiful smile that haunted every year you spent trying to forget her.

“I love you.”

The screen fades to black.

And you fall apart.

It was quiet in your room. The nurses did their rounds. Your IV bag’s half full. Your breathing’s shallow.

You don’t care anymore.

The photo sits on your chest. The letter under your pillow. You don’t read it again—you’ve memorized every line.

You close your eyes.

And you dream.

You’re sixteen again. Standing in the school hallway just after seventh period. Sunlight filters through the windows like syrup. Everything smells like spring.

And then she’s there.

Wonyoung.

Same long hair. Same soft eyes. Same hoodie she stole from your closet.

She’s standing by your old locker like no time has passed at all.

You stare at her, your voice cracking.

“Is it really you?”

She grins.

“I waited.”

You rush into her arms. She’s warm. She’s solid. You hold her like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

She pulls back and cups your face.

“You came back to me.”

“You left me.”

She nods. Her eyes don’t run this time.

“And I’m sorry. I just wanted you to live without grief. But… you didn’t, did you?”

“No,” you whisper. “I looked for you until I broke.”

She presses her forehead to yours.

“You found me anyway.”

You nod. Breath shaking. Heart full.

“Am I dead?”

She shrugs with a sad smile.

“Is this it? Where we go?”

She kisses your cheek.

“No. This is just for you. For now.”

“And after?”

“Then we’ll go. Together.”

The morning sun rises.

The nurse knocks gently on the door.

No response.

She enters quietly.

You’re lying on the bed, face peaceful. Fingers curled around an old photo. Still. Breathless.

But smiling.

And above your head, just outside the window, the sun rises—bright and forgiving.

[yodatzutzu]

Office Desire (Saerom)

Synopsis: You are a 21 year old working as Junior Writer at some Digital Agency. Three women, Ms. Saerom from marketing, Ms. Eunbi from sales, and Seoyeon as new Junior Strategist, keep pulling you out of your bubble. They bring teasing, tension, and feelings you're not sure you're ready to deal with.

Lee Saerom / Kwon Eunbi / Yoon Seoyeon

9.4k+

It's Thursday afternoon, and the office is loud and busy as you working on a client's tagline at your desk.

An email from Saerom pops up: "Files Needed ASAP."

She writes, "Hey, cutie. Got those files? Bring them to me. Don't be late." Her tone makes you blush. Saerom's always teasing you, winking, touching your arm in meetings, making you nervous with her charm.

You copy the files onto a flash drive and walk to her desk. Saerom's area is neat but has her style, coffee mugs with lipstick marks, fashion magazines, and a photo of her looking glamorous. She's typing, looking sharp in a tight blazer, her hair perfectly smooth.

"Here's the files," you say quietly, handing her the drive.

She smiles, taking it, her fingers touching yours a bit too long. "So quick," she teases, leaning back, her skirt sliding up slightly, "Hold up. I wanna check them."

You nod, stand awkwardly as she opens the files, her eyes flicking to you playfully.

Suddenly, she pulls you closer by your waist. "Don't be shy," she says, her voice soft.

You freeze as her hand moves lower, brushing against your pants where your cock already half hard from her teasing.

"What's this?" she whispers, smirking, her fingers tracing you slowly. You're embarrassed, unable to speak, your face turns hot.

"Ms. Saerom-" you start, but she laughs.

"Ms.? Just call me Saerom, with noona would be better," she says, her touch bolder, making you tense, "Relax, no ones looking."

Her perfume surrounds you, and your torn part of you wants to run, but part of you likes it. The office is busy, and no one notices, but the risk makes it intense.

Then, Eunbi from sales walks up, confident and smiling. "Saerom, are you stealing our writer again?" she teases, noticing Saerom's hand near your pants.

Saerom doesn't move, saying, "Just checking his... work."

Eunbi laughs, stepping closer, "Are you okay, darling?" she says to you, her hand brushing your arm.

"I'm fine," you mumble, stepping back.

Saerom lets go slowly, winking. "Good job, cutie." she says.

Eunbi smiles as you hurry back to your desk, still flustered, heart pounding.

At your desk, you try to calm down, don't know if you can handle this forever.

The day is finally over, and you're at your desk, shoving your laptop and papers into your bag, ready to head home and crash.

You're exhausted from the day, trying to keep up with work. All you want is to relax and forget the office chaos.

As you zip up your bag, Saerom walks over, her heels clicking softly.

She's still in her tight blazer, her hair a little messy but sexy, and that teasing smile is back on her face. She leans against your desk, close enough that you catch her strong perfume, and it makes your stomach flip.

"Hey, cutie," she says, her voice low and playful, like she's up to something, "Got plans tonight? I need your favor to help me move some boxes at my place. It won't take long." She tilts her head, her eyes locked on yours, making you more nervous.

You pause, gripping your bag, "Uh, I just gonna go home," you say quietly, avoiding her gaze. You're tired, and the idea of more work sounds like too much. Plus, Saerom's flirty always leaves you flustered, and you're not sure if you can handle being alone with her.

She pouts, stepping closer, her hand brushing your arm lightly. "Please?" she says, her voice softer now, almost begging.

"I'll make it worth it. I'll cook you dinner, something really good, like pasta or steak. And I'll give you some cash for the help. Come on, don't make me beg too hard." She giggles, biting her lip, and her fingers linger on your sleeve, sending a little tension through you.

Your face heats up, and you feel your cock twitch in your pants, stirred by her closeness and that flirty tone. You know she's trouble, her teasing in the office already messes with your head, but the thought of being at her place, eating her food, maybe seeing more of her game, pulls you in.

You glance at her, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief, like she knows exactly what she's doing to you. "Huft... okay," you mumble, barely audible, your heart pounding. "I'll help."

Saerom's grin lights up, and she claps her hands together, "Yes! You're the best," she says, her voice excited.

"Meet me at my car in ten minutes, okay? Don't keep me waiting," she winks, her hips swaying as she walks away, leaving you staring after her, your mind racing.

You sit back down for a second, trying to calm the heat in your cheeks and the growing hardness in your pants. You're nervous, excited, and a little scared, wondering what's waiting at her place and if you're ready for whatever she has planned.

You don't know much about her, just bits and pieces from office chatter. She's young, maybe in her early thirties, but already a widow.

Her husband passed away a couple of years ago, leaving her alone, and you've heard she's been on her own since. It makes her flirty, confident vibe feel a little heavier, like there's a story behind her teasing smiles.

You grab your bag and head to the parking lot, spotting Saerom's sleek black car. She's already inside, her window rolled down, "Hop in, cutie," she calls.

You nod, feeling a bit shy, and slide into the passenger seat. The car smells like her perfume, and your heart beats faster, but you try to stay cool.

Saerom focuses on driving, her hands steady on the wheel, eyes on the road. She doesn't tease or flirt, just hums softly to the radio, which is a relief.

The ride is quick and quiet, no weird moments, and you're glad for that. You can calm down, stare out of the window, enjoy the scenes of lights night city.

In no time, you pull up to her apartment building, a modern, tall place with glass windows. She parks and turns to you, smiling. "Thanks for coming," she says.

"Let’s head up." You grab your bag and follow her, feeling nervous but curious, wondering what's next in her world.

You follow Saerom into her apartment, and the door clicks shut behind you. Her place is nice, spacious, with modern furniture, big windows showing the city lights, and a cozy vibe.

"I'm gonna change real quick," Saerom says, pointing to the couch, "Sit, make yourself at home." She disappears down a hallway, leaving you alone.

You set your bag down and wander a bit, looking around. The apartment feels personal, there's a shelf with books, some plants, and a few framed photos.

One catches your eye: a picture of a man, maybe in his late twenties, smiling brightly. It must be her late husband. You remember what you heard at the office, that she's a young widow, her husband gone too soon.

Your chest tightens, feeling sorry for her loss. She's so lively at work, but this must weigh on her.

As you're staring at the photo, Saerom's voice startles you, right behind your ear, "He looks a lot like you."

You jump, turning to find her standing close, her breath warm on your neck. Your heart skips. "A-a lot?” you stammer, caught off guard.

She nods, her eyes soft but with a bitter smile. "Mhm. He was younger than me, cute, quiet, worked hard. But fate took him first." Her voice is steady, but there’s pain there.

You don't know what to say, feeling awkward. "I-I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile warming a little. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

She steps closer, and you finally notice what she's wearing a black lingerie robe, thick but sheer enough to show her bra and panties underneath.

Your eyes widen, and your face burns. Your cock twitches in your pants, and you try to focus on her face, but it’s hard.

"Ms. Saerom..." you start, voice shaky, "a-are you sure about... that outfit?" you gesture vaguely, embarrassed.

She laughs, amused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What? Don't like it? Is it ugly?" she teases, stepping even closer, her robe brushing your arm.

"Or... want me to wear nothing?” Her voice is bold now, daring, and your cock hardens more, making you shift uncomfortably.

"N-no, no!" you blurt, waving your hands.

"Keep it on! I mean, it's fine. Better than... nothing." Your words tumble out.

Saerom grins, "Alright, since my cutie want me to cover this," she listens to you and grabs a thicker robe, tying it tightly so it covers her body better.

You feel a bit relieved, your heart still racing from her teasing, but now you can focus.

"Let's get the work," she leads you to a small storage room in her apartment.

She points out boxes and items that need moving and organizing. "Just put these in there, stack them neatly," she says, her tone more practical now, though her playful smile lingers.

You get to work, carrying boxes and bags to the storage room. The stuff isn't heavy, mostly old books, clothes, and some random decor, but there's a lot of it, and it takes effort to move and arrange everything. You're sweating a bit, your arms tired as you stack boxes on shelves and push bags into corners.

Saerom follows you, giving directions like, "That one goes on the top shelf," or "Put those in the back, please." She’s close, watching you work, her presence still making you a little nervous.

After tidying up the storage room, you're sweaty and tired.

Saerom claps her hands with a grin, "You've more than earned that dinner I promised," she says, her voice light.

"Give me some minutes to cook something for you." She heads to the kitchen, and soon the apartment fills with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and cream.

You sit at her small, cozy dining table, watching her move confidently around the kitchen. She’s still in her thicker robe, her hair loose now, and you try to shake off the lingering tension from earlier.

In about 10 minutes, she brings over two plates of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, the pasta glossy with sauce, and two tall glasses of iced tea with lemon slices, "Hope you're hungry," she says, sitting across from you, her smile warm and inviting.

You dig in, and the pasta is delicious, rich and perfectly cooked, the iced tea refreshing after all the work.

As you eat, Saerom starts talking about her late husband, "He was a lot like you, you know," she says softly, twirling her fork in her pasta.

"Quiet, kind of shy, but so dedicated. He'd work late, always trying to make things better for us. We had dreams, traveling, maybe starting a little business. But then he got sick... and he was gone before we could do any of it." Her voice stays steady, but her eyes sharing old pain.

You listen closely, nodding, feeling her loss in the quiet pauses. "That sounds really tough," you say gently, wanting to comfort her but unsure how.

She gives you a small, bittersweet smile, "It was. But life goes on, right?"

You finish eating, and the meal leaves you full and content. Saerom stands, stacking the empty plates. "Let me grab that money I owe you," she says, heading to her room, "Stay there."

You lean back in the chair, sipping the last of your iced tea, thinking about her story, how she's so strong, carrying that grief yet still teasing at work. It makes you see her differently, like there's more to her than the flirty office games.

A moment later, she's back, holding a few crisp bills. "Here you go," she says, handing them to you with a smile.

You take the money, mumbling, "Thanks, Ms. Saerom." But before you can pocket it, she steps closer, her fingers tugging at the tie of her robe.

In one smooth motion, she pulls it open and lets it drop to the floor, revealing she's completely naked underneath, no black lingerie she had wear it before.

Her skin glows under the soft apartment lights, every curve exposed, and your jaw drops. Your cock surges to life, instantly hard, straining painfully against your pants.

"This is what you were hoping for, right?" she asks, her voice low and teasing, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.

You're speechless, face burning, heart hammering in your chest. Your eyes can't help but trace her body, and your cock throbs.

"I-I... uh," you stammer, brain scrambled, torn between shock and raw desire.

Saerom stands confidently, unbothered by her nudity, clearly enjoying how flustered you are.

She grabs your wrist, her grip firm but not rough. "Come," she says, her voice low and commanding.

Before you can process, she's pulling you toward her bedroom, her naked body moving ahead of you. Your heart pounds, your cock throbbing so hard it's almost painful, and you're half-dazed, unsure if you're scared or just too turned on to think straight.

She leads you into her room, dimly lit, with a big bed covered in soft sheets, and yanks you toward it, pushing you down onto the mattress with a playful but dominant shove.

You land on your back, staring up at her, your breath shaky. She's standing over you, completely bare naked, her eyes intense and hungry.

You're nervous about her boldness, her control. "Ms. Saerom…" you start, voice trembling, trying to find words.

She cuts you off, leaning down, her face close to yours. "Don't 'Ms.' me," she says, her tone sharp but teasing.

"Call me noona if you want this to keep going," her hands move to her body, one cupping her breast, squeezing it slowly, the other sliding down to her pussy, her fingers brushing herself like she's putting on a show.

The sight makes your cock twitch, straining against your pants, and you can't hold back anymore.

"Noona... S-Saerom-noona!" you blurt out, the words spilling from you instinctively.

Her eyes light up, and she smirks, pleased. "Good boy," she purrs, climbing onto the bed.

She straddles you, her bare skin warm against your clothed body, and leans down, kissing you deeply.

Her lips are soft, her tongue pushing into your mouth, and you melt under her, kissing her back as your hands hover, unsure where to touch.

She presses herself closer, her weight pinning you down, until you both lying on the bed, her body on top of yours, her kiss pulling you deeper into the heat of the moment. Your cock pulses beneath her, and you're lost, caught in her control, not sure where this is going but too far gone to care.

Her hands move to your jeans. Still straddling you, she deftly unbuckles your belt, the metal clinking softly, and pops open the button with ease.

Her fingers tug down your zipper, all while her tongue dances with yours, keeping you dizzy with sensation. You're pinned beneath her on the bed, heart racing, your cock so hard it's almost painful.

She breaks the kiss just enough to glance down, her hand slipping into your open jeans. With a quick tug, she pulls them down slightly, freeing your fully erect cock.

It springs out, throbbing, and she wraps her fingers around it, stroking slowly. Her touch is warm and deliberate, sending a jolt through your body.

You gasp against her lips, and she smirks into the kiss, clearly enjoying your reaction. Her thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the slick pre-cum that's already leaking out, making her strokes smoother, teasingly slow.

"Relax, cutie, you're not going anywhere, aren't you?" she whispers against your mouth, her voice low and sultry, before kissing you again, deeper this time.

Her lips move against yours, her kiss fierce and consuming, while her hand keeps stroking your cock, slow and teasing, spreading the pre-cum over your length.

Your breaths come out shaky, every touch making your body tense with need.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark, and she shifts lower, her bare skin brushing against you as she moves.

"Look at you, so hard for noona," she murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her grip tightens slightly, pumping your cock a little faster now, her fingers slick with your pre-cum.

You groan softly, hips twitching up into her hand, unable to help yourself. She chuckles, low and sultry, clearly loving how much control she has over you.

She leans down, her breath hot against your neck as she whispers, "You're so cute when you're like this."

Her lips graze your skin, kissing along your jaw, then lower, while her hand never stops its steady rhythm.

Your cock throbs harder, the heat of her touch and her closeness driving you to the edge. You're still fully clothed except for your open jeans, and the contrast of her naked body against you makes everything feel even more intense.

"Saerom-noona..." you manage to gasp, your voice weak.

She smirks, slowing her strokes again, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge, "Shh, just let me take care of you," she says, her free hand sliding up your chest, pushing your shirt up to expose your skin.

Her fingers trail over your stomach, and you shiver under her touch, your cock pulsing in her grip. You're completely at her control, heart pounding, not sure how much more you can take.

Her hand keeps stroking your cock, her fingers slick with your pre-cum, moving in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your whole body tense with need.

Her lips trail from your neck back to your mouth, kissing you deeply, her tongue swirling against yours, pulling soft moans from you. You're still pinned under her on the bed, your jeans pushed down just enough to free your throbbing cock, your shirt bunched up from her roaming hands.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes dark with hunger, a wicked smile curling her lips. "You're such a good boy for noona," she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

Her hand slows on your cock, and you whimper, hips bucking slightly, desperate for more. She chuckles, clearly enjoying how much she's unraveling you. "Patience," she whispers, shifting her body lower, her breasts brushing against your chest as she moves down.

Your heart races as you realize where she's going. Saerom settles between your legs, her hands tugging your jeans down further to give her more access.

Your cock stands fully hard, glistening with pre-cum from her earlier teasing. She looks up at you, locking eyes, and the intensity in her gaze makes your breath catch.

Without breaking eye contact, she leans forward, her tongue flicking out to lick the tip of your cock, tasting the slickness there. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, the sensation sharp and electric.

“Fuck, Saerom-noona...” you mumble, voice shaky. She smirks, clearly pleased, and wraps her lips around the head of your cock, sucking gently at first.

Her tongue swirls over the tip, warm and wet, and your hips twitch up instinctively. She hums against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body, and takes you deeper into her mouth, her lips sliding down your length. Her hand grips the base of your cock, stroking what her mouth doesn't cover, while her tongue works you with slow, deliberate licks.

She's good, too good. Her mouth is hot and tight, and she bobs her head slowly, sucking harder each time she pulls back. Your cock is soaked now, slick with her spit and your pre-cum, and the wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your uneven breaths.

You grip the sheets, trying to stay grounded, but it's overwhelming, her lips, her tongue, the way she moans softly around you like she's enjoying it as much as you are. Your cock throbs in her mouth, and you're already so close, the heat building fast.

Saerom senses it and pulls off with a soft pop, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "Not yet," she teases, licking her lips as she crawls back up your body.

"I'm not done with you," her voice is sultry, and your eyes widen as she straddles you again, positioning herself right over your slick, aching cock.

You can feel the heat of her pussy hovering just above you, and it’s driving you crazy, "Saerom-noona..." you start, but she shushes you with a finger to your lips.

"Shushh, silence," she says, gripping your cock with one hand, lining it up with her entrance.

She's wet, dripping, you can tell, and the sight of her above you, naked and confident, makes your head spin.

Slowly, she lowers herself, the head of your cock slipping into her tight, warm pussy. You both gasp, she's so hot and slick, gripping you perfectly as she sinks down, taking you inch by inch until you're fully inside her.

"Oh, fuck," you groan, your hands instinctively grabbing her hips, feeling the softness of her skin.

She moans softly, her head tilting back as she adjusts to your size, her pussy clenching around you, making your cock pulse inside her.

"So good," she murmurs, starting to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, grinding down on you. The sensation is intense, her tight walls squeezing you, and you're already fighting to hold on.

Saerom leans forward, her hands on your chest, pushing your shirt up further as she rides you, her movements picking up speed.

Her breasts bounce slightly, and you can't stop staring at her, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way she looks like she's lost in this as much as you are.

"You like this, don't you?" she whispers, her voice teasing but breathy, her pussy tightening around your cock as she moves faster.

You nod, barely able to speak, your hands gripping her hips tighter, urging her on.

Your cock is buried deep in her now, every thrust of her hips sending waves of pleasure through you, the sound of her moans and the wet slap of her skin against yours filling your ears.

You're close, too close, and she knows it, her eyes locking on yours as she rides you harder, daring you to lose control.

"Saerom-noona... I-I can't..." you stammer, your cock throbbing inside her, the pressure building fast.

"Not yet, good boy," she says, leaning down to kiss you again, her lips crashing against yours as her pussy squeezes you even tighter. .

"Saerom-noona..." you gasp, your voice desperate as your hands gripping her hips tighter, trying to hold on.

She smirks, slowing her movements just enough to keep you teetering on the brink, her pussy clenching around you like she's enjoyed every second of this.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she whispers, leaning down, her lips brushing your ear. Her breath is hot, and her words send a shiver through you.

"You're doing so well for noona." She straightens up again, her hands sliding down to brace on your stomach as she picks up the pace, her hips slamming down harder now.

Your cock is so hard it hurts, slick with her juices, and you can feel the pressure building, your whole body tensing.

She notices, her eyes glinting with that playtful spark, "Don't you dare come yet," she says, her voice firm but playful, "I want to enjoy you a little longer."

She grinds down slowly now, letting you feel every inch of her tight walls as she drags herself up and down your length.

You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, your hands clutching her hips like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

It's torture, the way she’s controlling the pace, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you tip over.

She leans forward again, her breasts brushing your chest as she kisses you, her tongue dive into your mouth. You kiss her back, your hips bucking up into her instinctively.

She pulls back, gasping softly, a string of spit connecting your lips. "So eager," she teases, her hand reaching down to grip the base of your cock, giving it a quick squeeze before she starts riding you again, faster this time.

Your cock pulses inside her, the heat and tightness overwhelming. "Noona... please..." you beg, your voice barely a whisper, your body trembling under her.

You're so close, every thrust pushing you further, the slick heat of her pussy driving you insane.

She smirks, clearly loving how desperate you are, and shifts her hips, angling herself so your cock hits deeper, making her moan louder.

"Okay, good boy," she murmurs, her voice breathy now, like she's getting close too, "Let's see how much you can take."

She rides you harder, her pussy clamping down on your cock, and you can't hold back anymore.

Your hips jerk up, your cock throbbing as the pressure snaps, "I'm cumming-!" and you come hard, "Erghh..." a low groan escaping you as you spill inside her, wave after wave of release flooding through you.

Saerom moans, feeling you fill her, and she keeps moving, riding you through your orgasm, her hips slowing but never stopping, "Good boy," she whispers, leaning down to kiss you softly, her lips gentle now.

Your cock twitches inside her, still sensitive, as she finally stills, her body warm and heavy on top of you. She stays there for a moment, catching her breath, her pussy still gripping you tightly, before sliding off slowly, leaving you empty and dazed.

She lies next to you, her hand resting on your chest, a satisfied smile on her face. "You did good," she says softly, her teasing edge gone, replaced by something warmer.

You're still catching your breath, your mind spinning, your cock softening but still tingling from the intensity.

You gasp awake, your vision blurry, body heavy against the soft sheets.

As your eyes adjust to the dim light, the reality hits you like a shockwave, you had sex with Saerom.

Your heart starts pounding again, and you turn your head to see her sitting beside you on the bed, naked, her body barely covered by the same thin sheet draped over you.

Her hair is messy, her skin glowing faintly in the low light, and she’s looking at you with a soft, amused smile.

"Ms. Saerom...?" you mumble, voice hoarse, your mind scrambling to piece it together.

"What...? did I...?" You’re dazed, still processing the intensity of what happened, your cock twitching faintly at the memory of her riding you, her tight pussy gripping you.

Saerom chuckles, leaning closer, and playfully flicks your nose with her finger, "Yes, you did," she says, her voice teasing but warm.

"You fucked me, cutie boy. Don't act so surprised," her words are blunt, and your face burns, a feel of embarrassment swirling in your chest.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, revealing more of her skin, and you can’t help but glance at her curves before looking away, flustered.

You sit up slowly, the sheet falling to your lap, exposing your bare chest, "I-I... didn't expect..." you stammer, rubbing your face, trying to make sense of it.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile softening. "You are definitely expected this, aren't you?" she says, her hand resting on your arm, her touch gentle now.

"You were great. No need to overthink it." She pulls the sheet tighter around herself, but her eyes stay locked on yours, still carrying that playful glint.

"Want some water? Or... round two?" she teases, raising an eyebrow, and you feel your cock twitch again, your body betraying how much you’re still drawn to her.

She slips out of bed, the sheet still wrapped loosely around her, and pads to the kitchen, "Stay there," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light.

You sit on her bed, still half-dazed, your jeans awkwardly pulled back up but unbuttoned, your shirt crumpled. Your mind replays the night, her body on yours, her moans, the way she called you "good boy"

She returns with a glass of water and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours, "Drink," she says, sitting beside you, the sheet slipping slightly to reveal her shoulder and a hint of her chest.

You take the glass, sipping slowly, the cool water calming your dry throat. You're shy, avoiding her gaze, staring at the glass.

Saerom leans back, propping herself on one hand, watching you with a small, knowing smile, "You’re so quiet now," she teases, her tone gentle.

"Was I too much for you?" she laughs softly, and you shake your head, cheeks burning, taking another sip to avoid answering.

She starts chatting casually, like you didn't just fuck her senseless. "You did good with those boxes earlier," she says.

"Stronger than you look." Her voice is warm, almost normal, but the way she's sitting there, barely covered, keeps you on edge.

Then she shifts closer, her tone changing, more curious. "So... I've seen you at work, you know. The way you look at Seoyeon," she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Got a little crush on her, don't you? Those sneaky glances when she's sketching at her tablet, the way you smile when you two chat in the pantry..."

Your stomach flips, caught off guard. You nearly choke on your water, setting the glass down on the nightstand. "W-what? Seoyeon? I-I don't..." you stammer, face hot, but Saerom just grins, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

"Oh, don't lie," she says, nudging your arm with her elbow.

"It's cute. She's sweet, right? Quiet like you, but I bet she's got a wild side too," she winks, and you're not sure if she's teasing or fishing for something.

Your mind races, Seoyeon's kind smile, her soft voice, the way your heart skips when she talks to you. You do like her, but admitting it to Saerom, after what just happened, feels like stepping into a trap.

"I... I mean, she's nice," you mumble, looking down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "We just talk sometimes."

Saerom laughs, leaning closer, her bare shoulder brushing yours, "Uh-huh, 'nice', sure," she pauses, her voice softening, "You know, it's okay if you like her. But..." she trails off, her hand resting on your thigh, her touch light but enough to make your cock stir again.

"You're here with me now, so maybe I'm a little jealous," her tone is playful, make you shy.

She catches your flustered expression, her playful smile turning into something hungrier. "You're cute when you're shy," she says, her voice dropping low, "but I think you've got more for noona, don't you?"

Before you can respond, she leans in, kissing you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours, reigniting the heat from earlier. You melt into it, your hands finding her waist, the sheet slipping off her completely, leaving her naked again.

She pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and slides off the bed, standing at the edge, "Come here," she says, her tone commanding but teasing.

She turns, bending over the bed, her hands bracing on the mattress, her ass up and inviting. The sight of her like this, curves exposed, pussy glistening from earlier, makes your cock fully hard again, throbbing with need.

"Fuck me like this," she says, glancing back at you, her voice daring, a smirk on her lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but you're too turned on to hesitate long. You kick off your jeans completely, your shirt tossed aside, and move behind her, your hands shaking slightly as you grip her hips.

Her skin is warm, soft, and she arches her back, pushing her ass toward you, making it clear she wants you now, "Don't be shy, be a good boy," she murmurs, wiggling her hips slightly, her pussy slick and ready.

You line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and you groan at the contact. She's so warm, so inviting, and you can't hold back.

You push into her slowly, feeling her tight pussy stretch around you, gripping you as you slide deeper. She moans, low and needy, her head dropping forward as you fill her, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her voice shaking with pleasure. "Yeah, like that."

You start moving, thrusting into her, your hands gripping her hips tighter to steady yourself. Her pussy feels incredible, hot and wet, clenching around your cock with every thrust.

Sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her moans and your heavy breaths. Your cock throbs inside her, the pleasure building fast.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, turning her head to look back at you. Her eyes are dark, urging you on.

"Fuck me harder," you obey, picking up the pace, slamming into her with more force, your fingers digging into her hips.

She gasps, then moans louder, her hands clutching the sheets as she pushes back against you, meeting your thrusts, "Good boy... like that," she pants, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You're lost in it now, your cock buried deep in her pussy, the wet, tight heat. You reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair gently, pulling just enough to make her moan louder.

She loves it, her pussy tightening around you, and you feel yourself getting close again, the pressure building in your balls.

"Ms. Saerom... I'm..." you start, your voice strained, but she cuts you off, "Not yet," she gasps, pushing back harder.

"Make me come first," her words are a challenge, and you focus, thrusting deeper, faster, angling your cock to hit her just right.

Her moans turn into cries, her body trembling under you, and you can tell she's close.

Your hand slides around to her front, finding her clit, rubbing it in quick circles as you fuck her.

"Fuck yeah... so good," that pushes her over the edge,

"Ahh~!" she screams, her pussy clamping down on your cock as she comes, her whole body shaking.

You thrust a few more times, before your cock pulses hard, and pleasure snapped, you come, spilling deep inside her, "Ms. Saerom!" you groaning as the pleasure washes over you.

Saerom moans softly, riding out her orgasm as you fill her, her hips still moving slightly until you’re both spent.

You pull out slowly, your cock slick and softening, and collapse onto the bed beside her, breathing hard.

Saerom lowers herself onto the mattress, turning to face you, a satisfied smile on her face. The sheet is somewhere on the floor now, and she doesn't bother covering up, her sweaty, flushed body pressed close to yours.

She shifts closer, her lips brushing your ear. "You're not done yet, are you, good boy?" she whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, unsure if you can keep up, but her hand slides down your stomach, brushing dangerously close to your cock, and you feel it twitch, already stirring again. "Ms. Saerom..." you mumble, half-exhausted, half-turned on, but she just chuckles, nipping at your earlobe.

"I'm noona for now" she coaxes, rolling onto her side, her back facing you, her ass pressing lightly against your hips.

"One more for noona," she glances over her shoulder, her eyes daring you, and wiggles her hips, the curve of her body inviting you in. You can't resist her, your cock hardens fully again, pressing against her ass.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her tight against your chest, your lips brushing her neck as you position yourself. Your cock nudges between her thighs, finding her pussy, still wet and slick from your last round, your cum mixed with her juices.

"Fuck me now," she murmurs, her voice soft but needy, pushing back slightly to guide you in.

Slide into her slowly, you spoon her, your cock slipping easily into her tight, warm pussy.

She moans softly, her head tilting back against your shoulder as you fill her, the angle making her feel impossibly tighy, "Oh, yes..." she breathes, her hand reaching back to grip your hip, urging you deeper.

You start moving, thrusting gently at first, your cock gliding in and out of her, the wet heat gripping you with every stroke, your bodies pressed so close, your arm wrapped around her, one hand cupping her breast as you fuck her.

"Harder," she says, her voice a little sharper now, her ass pushing back against you.

You pick up the pace, thrusting deeper, your cock hitting spots that make her gasp, her pussy clenching around you.

Your hand squeezes her breast, your fingers teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling against yours. You kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she tilts her head to give you more access, her hand tightening on your hip.

"Good boy..." she pants, her voice shaky with pleasure.

Your cock throbs inside her, the slow build of pleasure growing faster now, her pussy so tight and perfect it's driving you wild.

You slide your hand down from her breast to her stomach, then lower, finding her clit. You rub it in small, firm circles, and she cries out, her body arching against you, her pussy squeezing your cock even tighter.

"Fuck, Saerom-noona..." you groan, your thrusts getting harder, more desperate. She's moaning louder now, her body shaking as you fuck her, your fingers working her clit in time with your cock.

"I'm close," she gasps, her voice raw, her hand clutching your arm. You keep going, pounding into her, your cock pulsing, the pleasure overwhelming.

She comes first, her pussy clamping down hard on your cock as she moans your name, her body shuddering in your arms.

You thrust deep, groaning as you come, your cock spurting inside her, filling her again.

Keep moving, you ride out the waves of pleasure, your bodies locked together, until you're both spent, your breaths heavy and uneven.

Saerom relaxes against you, her body soft and warm in your arms, your cock still inside her, softening slowly. She turns her head slightly, kissing your jaw, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips.

She shifts slightly, turning in your arms to face you, her lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes, still heavy with lust, sparkle with that familiar teasing glint. "Ready for next?” she murmurs, her voice husky, a playful challenge in her tone.

Shake your head, your heart racing again, your cock already stirring at her words despite how spent you feel. "Saerom-noona..." you start, voice weak, but she just smiles, kissing you again, deeper this time, her tongue flicking against yours.

She pulls back, sliding out of your arms and lying on her back, she spreads her legs wide, her thighs parting slowly, giving you a clear view of her pussy, still slick with your cum and her juices, pink and inviting.

She reaches down with one hand, her fingers gently parting her folds, showing you how wet she is, her entrance glistening. "Come on, good boy," she says, her voice low and seductive, her eyes locked on yours. "Fuck me like this. I want to see your face."

Your cock hardens fully at the sight, throbbing with renewed need in your body. You move, positioning yourself between her legs, your hands trembling slightly as you brace them on either side of her.

She's so open, so confident, and the way she's looking at you, like she's daring you to please her, makes your pulse race.

Lean down, you kissing her softly, and she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you closer, her lips hungry against yours.

Line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and she moans softly, her hips tilting up to meet you. "Don't make noona wait," she whispers, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

Push in slowly, you feel her pussy stretch around you, so tight and warm, still dripping from before. She gasps as you fill her, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her head tilting back, her eyes fluttering shut.

You start thrusting, your cock sliding in and out of her with slow, deep strokes at first. Her pussy grips you tightly, every movement sending sparks of pleasure through you. Her moans are soft but needy, her hands roaming your back, nails grazing your skin.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, urging you on. You pick up the pace, slamming into her, your hips meeting hers with a wet slap that fills the room. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and she opens her eyes, locking them on yours, her gaze intense and raw.

"God, you're so good," she moans, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even deeper. Her pussy clenches around your cock, making you groan, your thrusts growing more desperate.

Lean down, you kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she arches into you, her moans louder now. Your hand finds her breast, squeezing it, your thumb teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you.

You can feel the pressure building again, your cock throbbing inside her, the slick heat of her pussy driving you closer to the edge. "Saerom-noona... I'm..." your voice strained, but she cuts you off, her hands cupping your face, pulling you into another deep kiss.

"Come for me," she whispers against your lips, her pussy tightening around you, pushing you over.

You thrust hard, one last time, and come, groaning loudly as you spill inside her, your cock pulsing with every wave.

"Yes... ahh~!" she moans, her legs tightening around you as she feels you fill her, her own orgasm hitting as her pussy clenches hard, her body shaking under you. You keep moving, riding out the pleasure, until you're both panting, spent, and tangled together.

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow, her lips curling into that familiar, wicked smirk. "Last one for noona?" she murmurs, her voice soft but dripping with intent.

You're about to protest, your body pushed to its limit, but before you can speak, Saerom's hand slides down your stomach, brushing over your soft cock.

Her touch is gentle, coaxing, and even though you're drained, you feel a twitch, your body responding to her. "Saerom-noona" you mumble, half-dazed, but she shushes you with a quick kiss, her lips soft and teasing.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, sliding down the bed, her hair trailing over your skin as she moves. She settles between your legs, her hands spreading your thighs slightly.

Your cock is half-hard now, stirred by her closeness and the anticipation of what's coming. She looks up at you, eyes glinting, and runs her tongue slowly over her lips. "Just relax, good boy."

She leans in, her breath hot against your cock before she kisses the tip, soft and deliberate. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently.

Her tongue flicks over the sensitive head, tasting the mix of your cum and her juices from earlier, and your cock hardens fully in her mouth, throbbing under her touch. She hums, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base.

Her mouth is warm and wet, her tongue swirling around you with slow, practiced skill. She bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you, the wet sounds filling the room.

Your hands grip the sheets, pleasure building fast despite how many times you’ve come tonight. "Fuck, noona..." you gasp, your hips twitching up instinctively, but she presses a hand on your thigh, keeping you in place, fully in control.

She pulls back slightly, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "You taste so good," she murmurs, her voice sultry, before diving back in, taking you even deeper.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and she sucks hard, her hand pumping you in rhythm with her mouth. You're overwhelmed, the pleasure sharp and relentless, your cock throbbing as she pushes you closer to the edge.

"Saerom-noona... I'm gonna..." you manage, your voice strained, your body tensing.

She doesn't slow down, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, urging you on. Her mouth works faster, her lips tight around you, her hand twisting slightly as she strokes.

It's too much, the heat, the suction, the way she's so focused on making you lose it.

You groan loudly, your hips bucking, and you come, hard, your cock pulsing as you shoot into her mouth.

Saerom moans softly, taking every drop, her lips staying locked around you as you spill, her tongue milking you through the orgasm.

You're shaking, the pleasure so intense it leaves you breathless, your vision blurring for a moment.

She swallows, her throat working, and slowly pulls off, licking her lips clean with a satisfied smile. A bit of your cum glistens at the corner of her mouth, and she swipes it with her finger, popping it back in with a playful wink.

"Good boy," she says, crawling up to lie beside you, her body warm against yours. You're completely spent, your cock soft and sensitive, your body heavy with exhaustion.

You're too tired to respond, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief, still processing this night, fucking Saerom over and over, ending with her sucking you dry. You feel her heartbeat against you, her warmth grounding you as you drift, unsure what this all means but too worn out to care.

You stumble out of the bathroom, freshly showered, your body clean but still heavy with exhaustion from the wild night.

Your hair is damp, and you're back in your jeans and crumpled shirt, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief as you replay everything in your head. You grab your bag, ready to head home, your mind still spinning.

She is waiting for you in the living room, now dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied up messily. She looks softer, less intense than before, but her eyes still have that warm, knowing glint.

She's leaning against the couch, arms crossed, a small smile on her lips as you walk in. "Feeling better?" she asks, her voice light but genuine.

You nod, a bit shy again, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, thanks... for everything," you mumble, not sure what else to say.

Saerom steps closer, her smile softening. "No, thank you," she says, her tone sincere.

"For helping with the boxes... and, well, for tonight," she pauses, looking down for a moment, then back at you, her eyes searching yours.

"It's been a long time since I've felt like this… since I've fucked like that," her words are blunt, and you blush, but her honesty makes your chest tighten.

She reaches out, touching your arm gently. "You’re special, you know that?" she says, her voice quieter now.

"I mean it. Don't ever change, okay? Stay this sweet, shy guy who's so good to me." her fingers linger, and her expression turns serious.

"And don't turn away from me, no matter what. Promise me that."

You're caught off guard, her words heavy with meaning you don't fully understand, "I... I won't," you say softly, nodding, though you're not sure what you're promising. Her smile returns, small but warm, and she pulls you into a quick hug, her body soft against yours for a moment before she steps back.

"Get home safe, cutie," she says, her teasing tone creeping back in, though her eyes are still soft. You nod again, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and head for the door, your mind a mess of emotions.

You wake up the next morning, your body still tingling with the memory of last night at Saerom's apartment. You're exhausted but buzzing, barely able to focus as you get ready for work.

You step into the office, the usual hum of chatter and keyboards greeting you.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the marketing corner, where Saerom’s desk sits. She's already there, typing away, looking sharp in a fitted blazer and skirt, her hair swept to one side. As if sensing you, she glances up, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smirk.

It's subtle, just for you, but it hits like a spark, making your face heat up and your cock twitch faintly in your pants. You quickly look away, heart pounding, and hurry to your desk, trying to act normal.

You settle in, pulling out your laptop, but your minds elsewhere. Saerom's smirk lingers in your thoughts, a reminder of her naked body, her moans, her whispered promises.

You steal another glance at her, and she's still watching you, her eyes glinting with mischief before she turns back to her screen, biting her lip.

2PM, you're burned out, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop screen.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples, craving a break. Your gaze drifts to Saerom's desk in the marketing corner, almost instinctively.

She's typing, but as if she feels your stare, she glances up, her eyes locking on yours.

Her lips curl into that familiar playful smirk, and she tilts her head slightly, giving you a subtle nod, a silent invitation to come over.

Your heart skips, a mix of hesitation and curiosity swirling in your chest. You glance around the office, it's busy, no one's paying attention.

Against your better judgment, you stand and walk toward her desk, your pulse quickening.

As you approach, Saerom leans back in her chair, her movements deliberate, "Hi cutie," she shrugs off her blazer, letting it slide down her shoulders, revealing a tight, white blouse that hugs her curves, the top buttons straining slightly against her chest.

The sight makes your mouth dry, your cock start stirring in your pants.

She smirks, noticing your reaction, and pats the space behind her chair, "I'm so tense," she says, her voice low, just for you.

"Be a good boy and massage my shoulders, will you? I need to relax."

You hesitate, glancing around again, but the office hums along, oblivious. You step behind her, your hands hovering before settling on her shoulders.

Her skin is warm through, and you start kneading gently, your fingers working into the tight muscles. She sighs, tilting her head back, her eyes half-closed.

"Mmm, that's nice," she murmurs, her voice soft and sultry.

"Lower, though... here." She guides your hands down, dangerously close to her chest, her blouse dipping slightly to show a hint of cleavage, your fingers brush the tops of her breasts.

She moans quietly, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but it’s enough to make your face burn, "Keep going,” she whispers, arching slightly into your touch.

Your hands tremble, massaging her chest now, feeling the soft give of her breasts under your fingers. She's clearly enjoying it, her breathing heavier, but suddenly she shifts, standing up.

"Sit," she says, her tone firm but teasing, pointing to her chair. You're confused, heart racing, but her commanding gaze leaves no room for argument.

You obey, sinking into her chair, the warm seat still carrying her scent.

She glances around briefly, then drops to her knees, crawling under the desk in one smooth motion.

Your eyes widen, panic mixing with arousal, "Ms. S-Saerom, what-" you start, but she shushes you, her hands already on your belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

"Quiet," she whispers, unzipping your jeans and tugging them down just enough to free your cock, already half-hard from the tension, "Let me relax you now."

Before you can protest, her lips wrap around your cock, warm and wet, sucking gently. You gasp, gripping the armrests, your body tensing as her tongue swirls over the tip, tasting the pre-cum already leaking out.

The office noise fades, keyboards, chatter, phones, all drowned out by the wet sounds of her mouth and your ragged breaths. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base, her movements slow but deliberate.

Your cock throbs in her mouth, fully hard now, and you bite your lip to stifle a groan, terrified someone might notice.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours from under the desk, glinting with mischief as she bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and you feel the pleasure building fast, your hips twitching slightly despite your effort to stay still.

"Fuck, Ms..." you whisper, barely audible, your hands knuckling the chair. She hums around your cock, the vibration sending a jolt, you're barely holding back.

Suddenly you hear the sharp click of heels approaching. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, "Darling? Where's Saerom?" she asks, her tone ligh, standing just on the other side of the desk.

You snap your head up, "Ms. Eunbi! ahh... sh-she's... uh... grabbing coffee," you stammer, your voice shaky, trying to sound casual. "I'm... uh... checking her work. Yeah, she asked me to," you force a tight smile, praying Eunbi doesn't notice how flushed your face.

Saerom keeps sucking, her movements slowing slightly but not stopping, her tongue teasing the tip of your cock.

Eunbi raises an eyebrow, her sharp gaze flicking over you, like she's picking up on something off. "Checking her work, huh?" she says, her lips twitching into a knowing smile, her tone carrying that same playful edge she always has. She steps closer, leaning slightly against the desk, her blazer opens just enough to draw your eye to her curves. "You look... tense. Everything okay, darling?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your cock twitching in Saerom's mouth as she takes you deeper, her hand stroking faster now, clearly enjoying the risk, "Y-yeah, fine," you manage, your voice cracking slightly.

"Just... focused." Your heart is racing, torn between the fear of getting caught and the overwhelming pleasure of Saerom's lips and tongue working you under the desk.

Eunbi tilts her head, her smile widening, like she's not entirely buying it. "Hmm. Well, tell Saerom I need her for a quick chat when she's back from her coffee run," she says, her voice dripping with amusement.

She lingers for a moment, her eyes scanning you, then turns to walk away, her heels clicking as she heads back to her side of the office. You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding you.

Saerom doesn't let up, her mouth moving faster now, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the head of your cock. The thrill of almost getting caught pushes you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm cumming...!” you whisper, barely audible, your body tensing as the pressure snaps. You come hard, your cock pulsing as you spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Saerom moans softly, her lips staying locked around you, swallowing every drop as her tongue milks you through the orgasm.

Saerom finally pulls off with a quiet pop, licking her lips as she crawls out from under the desk, her face flushed but smug.

"Good boy," she whispers, wiping the corner of her mouth before standing, smoothing her blouse like nothing happened.

"You handled that well," she teases, her eyes glinting as she sits back in her chair, grabbing her blazer to slip it on.

You're still catching your breath, your cock softening in your open jeans, your mind a mess of panic and pleasure.

"That... that was too close," you mutter, zipping up quickly, your face burning. Saerom just laughs softly, leaning into whisper,

"Good, she doesn't notice it, though, right?" before turning to her computer, leaving you dazed and wondering how you’re supposed to focus on work now.

Over the next few weeks, Saerom's teasing gets intense. She brushes against you in the hallway, her hand lingering too long, and sends flirty emails that make your cock twitch.

In meetings, she'll flash a bit of cleavage or bite her lip, knowing it drives you crazy.

Once, in the pantry, she "drops" something and bends over, her skirt showing lace panties.

You're a mess, barely keeping up with work, torn between wanting her and feeling like you're losing control.

Her texts come late at night "Miss you, cutie" or "Come over?" and if you don't reply fast, she pouts, making you feel guilty, her words from that night about not turning away echoing in your mind, her promise to stay close, and a quiet feeling that this story with her isn't over yet.

[yodatzutzu]

FALLING LIKE SNOW, RETURNING LIKE WAVES, ALWAYS BACK TO YOU. — MINATOZAKI SANA

❝ and now you know why you never texted her back. ❞

synopsis — the air still feels colder, it's been three years already. but, what happens when you come to the place where she is? this time it's snowfall and not the waves, but, you still fall. notice — angst with a happy ending. unrequited love, miscommunication, implied sabotage, idolxnon-idol, written with realism, metaphors, and a slow and painful unravelling love story. pairing — minatozaki sana x reader ! disclaimer ! this is a work of fiction created purely for entertainment purposes. all events are fictional. while this story may feature public figures (e.g., sana from twice), it is not meant to reflect their real thoughts, actions, or relationships. please remember: nothing depicted in this story actually happened. PART 1!

there weren’t any waves tonight.

no crashing surf. no salt in the air. just snow—falling quiet and slow, melting where it touched the balcony railing. the sky above was a pale smear of gray, the city below wrapped in stillness. it wasn’t warm here. not even close.

you wrapped your hands around the mug eunji gave you and didn’t say much. the heat from the tea barely reached your fingers.

eunji stood beside you in her thick knit sweater, elbows tucked on the ledge, her breath fogging into the cold. “it’s weird, right?” she said softly. “i always forget how quiet it gets when it snows.”

you nodded once, eyes fixed on the empty street below.

no gulls. no sandals on pavement. no haze of summer climbing up your arms. just winter settling deep into your coat. and you realized

you missed the waves.

“it’s not like back then,” eunji said, almost smiling. “but… welcome back, anyway.”

you glanced over, finally. she was gazing at you with that look she always used to give you after class, like you were still eighteen and she’d never really let go of that version of you. the one who used to skip lectures to take her to the beach. the one who waited on the porch for someone else, but still smiled when it was her.

you nodded again. “thanks.”

she watched your face for a second longer before looking down at the city—sprawled wide and glittering beneath the snow.

seoul.

you hadn’t planned to come back. not really. it just… happened. a break. a reset. just two weeks, you told yourself. just something different. just long enough to forget the shape of her name when you whispered it to the sea.

but the waves weren’t here.

just snow.

and eunji, still beside you.

----

you were sitting on the guest bed half-dressed, half-scrolling through your phone, when something slipped out from between your clothes. a photo. bent edges, too-bright colors, definitely planted by keoni.

you stared at it for a second. yeah. that trip. the one before everything cracked open. before she left. before you stopped waiting by the ocean and started pretending you were fine.

a knock came at the door. gentle. careful.

“hey,” eunji called, voice muffled. “you wanna eat out tonight? there’s a place i used to love. not too far.”

you set the photo down on the pillow, face down. “sure,” you said, standing slowly. “let me grab my coat.”

by the time you stepped outside, seoul had shifted. it was always moving, never still—lanterns glowing over storefronts, snow clinging to the curbs, steam rising from food carts like smoke from a dream.

eunji took you somewhere small and tucked between older buildings. warm inside. smelled like chili paste and grilled meat and soup still bubbling in clay pots. you sat across from her, half-listening, half-scrolling. it was comfortable.

then the noise hit—laughter too loud from a table near the back. high-pitched. bubbly. a girl’s voice calling out something in a dialect you didn’t catch.

you blinked. “sorry, i need to use the bathroom real quick.”

you made your way past the hostess stand, turned a corner too quick, and bumped into someone going the opposite way. solid hit. shoulder to shoulder.

“sorry,” you said quickly, barely looking up and just leaving not having time because if you looked more you'd probably piss yourself infront of them. “my bad—sorry.”

outside, sana stood still for a breath. her brows drawn together, her hand still slightly raised like she meant to stop you.

“…weird,” she murmured while returning to their table.

“what is?” jihyo asked as sana sat back down.

sana tilted her head, brushing her hair from her cheek. “i think i just ran into someone i used to know.”

“you say that in every city,” nayeon said, rolling her eyes. “maybe it’s just your soul recognizing other famous souls.”

“no,” sana said, quieter. “this one felt… familiar.”

jihyo gave her a long look, but sana just shook her head, waving it off. “nothing. i’m fine. are we ready to go?”

they stood, coats in hand, talk already shifting to something else. but sana glanced once more toward the hallway before following them out.

you came back to your table a few minutes later. the noise had died down. just quiet chatter and plates being cleared. eunji poured you tea like nothing had happened.

you smiled faintly, glancing out the window. the snow was still falling. soft. unbothered. beautiful.

you didn’t know why your chest felt tight.

but you smiled anyway.

-----

you should’ve said no.

you were already halfway to the studio when it hit — the feeling you’d been ignoring all morning. that slow, creeping dread in your chest that had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with how easily you’d said sure, i’ll come help. you thought it was just a favor. you thought eunji needed an extra hand. you thought she’d meant it the way old friends mean it — practical, casual.

the studio smelled like damp wires and instant coffee. someone’s leftover tteokbokki still clung to the air, sharp and sweet and cloying. you lingered near the door, arms folded, head ducked low. just another helping hand, no name, no label. someone asked you to move lighting equipment. another passed you cables. no one knew who you were, right?

you leaned against a wall, pretending not to exist. sleeves rolled up, a box of cables still in your hands because someone asked and you didn’t know how to say no. you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but the knot in your throat had been present since the moment someone said, “eunji’s partner’s here!” and no one corrected them.

you caught her smirk from across the room. just for a second — the way her lip twitched up and then down again, feigned annoyance splashed with something else. something like satisfaction. she raised a brow as if to say, play along, and you did. stupidly. like you always did.

you didn’t even have time to respond before you felt it. arms wrapped tight around your middle. a full hug. not brief, not subtle. not a greeting, not exactly.

you froze. eunji pulled back and laughed against your shoulder like it was an old joke only you two knew. “what? no hug back?”

you smiled. thin. held the tension in your arms. and when she turned to yell something over her shoulder, you slipped your jacket off and folded it in your hands like it was nothing. like the fabric hadn’t just absorbed her perfume.

you didn’t want to smell like her.

“wah, i can see why eunji liked you..” someone said, walking by with a garment bag slung over one shoulder. they gave you a toe-to-head look.

you nodded once. short, tight smile. no words. too scared to embarrass her. too tired to lie. too hopeful that maybe — maybe this didn’t mean anything. eunji didn’t stop the others either. just rolled her eyes, not harshly — more like letting them have their fun. she even laughed when one stylist asked if you were picking her up for a date or just doing free labor out of love.

you wiped your palms on your jeans when no one was looking.

you drove with one hand on the wheel and the other digging faint half-moons into your thigh. the car heater was on low. your jacket sat balled up in the backseat.

hyeri flopped into the back like a sunbeam given legs. “thank you for the ride!” she beamed, fastened her seatbelt with a little grunt, then poked her head between the seats like a curious puppy. “eunji said her friend was coming but i didn’t know you were so cute.”

you blinked. eunji snorted.

“so, how long have you two been together?” hyeri chirped.

your throat dried up. “since college,” you said, quietly. meant since we met. meant just friends. meant not like that.

eunji leaned back, arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors like she was famous. “mm,” she said, clearly enjoying herself.

“that’s so cute,” hyeri squealed. “like, campus sweethearts? ugh, goals.”

you didn’t reply. just kept your eyes on the road, white lines passing like skipped heartbeats. eunji said nothing else. didn’t correct her. didn’t clarify. just sat there, smug in the seat beside you. when you dropped hyeri off, she waved at both of you like you were a matching pair.

eunji leaned her head back, lips curled, not saying anything. and that silence stretched — long and thick — all the way through traffic, through the music humming soft from the radio.

until finally, you said it. “you weren’t gonna tell them they were wrong?”

eunji scoffed lightly, not looking at you. “you’re the one who said since college.”

“i meant—” your voice cracked. you swallowed it down. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then why didn’t you correct her?”

you didn’t answer.

“exactly.”

the rest of the drive was quiet. uncomfortable. your hands gripped the steering wheel too tight. at a red light, you said softly, “i don’t want this. i don’t want to be part of some fake dating rumor.”

“it’s not a rumor,” eunji replied, suddenly cold. “it’s a joke.”

“it’s not funny to me.”

her jaw clenched. she didn’t look at you. “then don’t come next time.”

you blinked. hurt bloomed sharp in your chest. “…sorry,” you muttered.

you bit the inside of your cheek and didn’t say the rest. she was right — you could’ve said something.

meanwhile, back at the studio, the staff were in stitches. sana twirled her drink in one hand, watching the last of the team clean up. laughter still rang from the wardrobe area, one of her members helping and thanking the staff.

“where’s eunji noona?” she asked, light but curious. “and hyeri?”

“her partner picked her up,” someone grinned. “the quiet one? came by to help earlier. kinda cute. real domestic.”

“partner?” nayeon turned. “finally?” even jihyo was laughing now, muttering “about time” as she packed up her water bottle. nayeon made a teasing noise. momo pretended to swoon.

sana smiled with them — wide, amused — but her fingers tapped her cup slowly, rhythm offbeat. “partner, huh?” she repeated. voice soft. a little too soft. “since when?”

“we don’t really know,” someone said. “they looked like they weren’t from here… tan, brownish hair…”

“mm,” sana said, the smile staying but not quite reaching her eyes. “that’s sweet.” she turned back toward the room, slow and thoughtful, eyes a little distant.

supportive. curious. but something tugged behind her ribs. something that didn’t sit right.

-----

the snow doesn't fall like back home. in hawaii, it rains sideways—warm, impatient, sudden. it crashes against the windows with sound. but here, in seoul, the cold is quiet. it sneaks in through your sleeves, clings to your lashes, and whispers in your breath.

you hadn't planned to come this early, but guilt is a heavy thing to carry in silence. you didn’t know why you’d cooked so much. well. maybe you did. maybe you knew exactly why your hands had reached for the pot before you were even fully awake.

you shift the lunch bag in your hands, the weight of kimbap, steaming soup sealed tightly, and lomi salmon still warm under layers of foil. one last thing: a note tucked between the containers, folded awkwardly like you never learned how to apologize out loud.

“sorry for yesterday. hope today’s better.”

you thought about leaving it at the desk. slipping it quietly to a staff member and walking off before anyone asked who it was from. but the bag was warm against your palms. and something about the sky made it hard to leave things half-finished today.

you don’t do half-things anymore. not after that night when you stood with your phone in your hand, your chest caving in, and no one answered.

your boots squeak a little against the polished floors. you glance around. "hey," you ask one of the women near the monitors, "sorry, do you know where i can find eunji?"

she tilts her head. “oh, you’re her—” before she can finish, another voice cuts in. "she’s in the break room, far end." you turn, about to thank the new voice—but the woman freezes slightly, mid-step. dressed casually, no heavy makeup, and still looks like she stepped out of a screen. then someone from behind calls, "jeongyeon! we need you at the monitor again."

you don’t wait to hear the rest.

a half-step of recognition, and a full-body cringe. you force a tight smile, nod quickly, muttering thanks before walking off, fists tightening in your hoodie pocket.

you head to the break room. open the door and—

"ah!" one of the younger staff claps her hands. "eunji-ssi, your partner’s here!" you freeze. but eunji just laughs, startled, maybe a bit flustered. “stop it,” she says with a half-smile. you try to smile, though your hoodie feels too warm now under the weight of everyone’s gaze.

a few staff members were sipping hot drinks, still rubbing sleep from their eyes. and yet—every glance tilted toward you.

eunji rises, brushing past them and meets you near the counter. “you didn’t have to come yourself,” she says softly, eyes flicking to your damp hoodie.

“you’re freezing,” she mutters, stepping closer, brushing snow from your hood. the movement is brief. careful. almost affectionate.

you clear your throat. “i uh… made you food.” her eyes soften. “oh. like… food food?” “kimbap. soup. some stuff from home.” you scratch your cheek. “sorry for snapping at you yesterday.”

“you shouldn't apologize, i was...” she stops. pride catching in her throat. “so dramatic,” you cut in gently, knowing she won’t admit fault, placing the bag down.

"what is this?" someone peeks in. "oh, wow—this smells amazing. is that... soup? and kimbap!" "wait—what’s this? wah! lomi salmon? you’re hawaiian?" you smile faintly. “yeah. born and raised.”

“no wonder,” a woman mutters. “your vibe’s different. warm.” "they really cooked this?" another teases. “wow. is this what it’s like to have a partner?”

eunji groans. “don’t start.”

"no, seriously,” someone says. “they show up early, they cook, and they’re cute. where do you find people like this?”

someone finds the note. reads it aloud. “ugh, i want a partner who apologizes with food.” “look at their hoodie—they're freezing just to bring it over!” you stiffen, ears burning. eunji lifts a hand in warning. “guys, let them breathe.”

you glance at her, surprised. and for once — no teasing in her voice. just that steady calmness she rarely used when others were around.

she looks so much like home — the version of her from college — your heart drops.

you flush, tugging your sleeve. eunji doesn’t say anything, just hands out the extra kimbap. her silence is enough.

you turn to leave, stepping backward. your hoodie up, hands bare, pink with cold. shoulders hunched, your shoes leaving faint, damp prints on the tile — melting snow and whatever came before it.

you turn the corner. don’t glance back.

but sana glances.

her head snaps toward the sound — a soft click, a faint voice saying “thank you for the hawaiian food, eunji’s partner!” — her eyes catch movement across the hallway. her breath falters.

she knows that walk. that build. that way your sleeves hang past your wrists. the curve of your back in the cold. the way you always walked like the world was too loud and you wanted to slip through it unseen.

“what the…” she whispers already stepping forward.

one step. two— “sana,” jihyo’s voice cuts through. “hey. don’t wander. we’re wrapping up.”

sana freezes mid-step. “just a second—” she says. “we’re literally on the last chorus,” jihyo calls.

sana turns, half-dazed. “i thought—” but when she looks back— nothing. just an empty corner.

no hoodie. no footprints. just cold air and silence.

she stares. something inside tightens — not panic, but worse. hope.

“you okay?” jihyo asks. sana swallows. “yeah. i just thought i saw…”

“a sasaeng?” nayeon raises a brow. “no,” sana says quickly. “just… someone i used to know.”

“should i tell the coordi team?” jihyo asks. “no,” sana insists. “it’s fine.” but it’s not fine. her chest is doing that thing again — full and empty all at once.

momo heads back inside. nayeon walks past, grabbing her water. “what was that about?”

“she thought she saw someone,” jihyo says. nayeon leans into sana. “someone you used to date?”

sana doesn’t answer. just laughs. hollow.

because inside, everything is screaming.

because if it was you—why didn’t you say anything?

why does she want to run after you so badly she can barely breathe?

----

the practice room hums with motion.

sana sits on the floor, back against the mirror, her phone tilted low in her lap. across the room, dahyun is spinning in place while jihyo laughs breathlessly, clapping to some beat only they seem to hear. nayeon’s in the corner making tiktoks, and momo’s retying her shoes for the third time. it’s warm, the windows fogged up from the body heat, the air full of sweat and noise and the faint smell of grape vitamin water.

and sana isn’t listening to any of it.

her eyes are fixed on the screen. or rather, what isn’t on it.

no posts. no profile picture. no bio. just your name. just the unchanging emptiness of your instagram.

“twenty minutes,” nayeon calls, peering over sana’s shoulder. “you’ve been staring at that for twenty minutes.”

sana clicks the screen off. “i haven’t.”

“is it one of your old lovers?” nayeon grins. “you saw someone earlier and now you’re sulking like a ghost walked by.”

sana flushes. “they weren’t a lover.”

“oh?” nayeon nudges her foot. “but you wanted them to be?”

“yah,” jihyo warns lightly, “leave her alone.”

but sana is already gone again, in her head. back to that hallway. the brush of cold air when the break room door opened. the way that hoodie slouched just right over familiar shoulders. the slope of a back she hasn’t seen in years — still tall. still quiet. still unreadable.

and then that staff voice echoing down the corridor — thank you for the hawaiian food, eunji’s partner!

sana rubs her chest. it doesn’t help. it aches in that sore, bruised way, like an old song stuck in her bones. the kind of pain that deepens the longer she stares into it.

she turns her screen back on. sighs. still nothing.

"what if you made a new account," she mutters, voice soft, pleading. “what if you moved and didn’t tell anyone? what if you’re hiding on purpose?”

she searches again. again. tries every spelling, every username she thinks you’ll use. flips through mutuals. searches tagged photos. nothing. nothing. nothing.

her brows draw together. she shifts her legs up, hugs her knees to her chest.

“you’re so mean,” she pouts under her breath, the words small and cracked. “do you really not miss anyone? not even a little? not even me?”

the light in eunji’s apartment is low — cold through the window, blue-grey on the counter. your half-finished breakfast sits cooling by the counter near the sink: rice, leftover soup, two limp rolls of kimbap.

you pick one up. hesitate. bite it anyway.

the taste is the same. sesame oil, salt, a little sweetness. but it catches in your throat halfway down. you cough once. then again, harder.

you remember the first time you made something like this — how you folded the rolls with care, how you set them down with a half-smile and an awkward, quiet hope. you remember holding your breath when you offered it, as if the tiniest motion might break whatever fragile thing hung between you. and you remember the silence that followed — heavy, hollow, not rejection exactly, but something colder. something final. she never took it. not then. not ever. she walked away.

the snow outside drifts steady past the window, silent and endless. it paints everything in soft white, too quiet, too clean. it’s so far from hawaii it stings. no crashing waves. no warm sidewalks. just cold that presses deep into your ribs.

you press a palm to your chest. it doesn’t help. you feel stupid.

you set the half-eaten kimbap down, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve, annoyed at the way it still tasted like memory. your phone buzzes once — a weather alert. more snow coming.

you sigh, unlock your phone, and tap keoni’s name without thinking.

he picks up on the second ring. "yo," he says, voice thick with sleep. "you miss me or somethin’? it’s barely nine here.”

“yeah,” you mutter. “needed a reminder why i left.”

“damn,” he snorts, “you call me just to insult me? cute.”

you lean an elbow against the counter, stare out the kitchen window. snow's collecting unevenly on the sill. “nah. just... breakfast didn’t go well.”

“you’re still cooking sad meals?”

“tried to make kimbap. almost died.”

keoni laughs like it's familiar. “classic. what was it this time — too much rice? veggies?”

“no, man. choked.”

“even better. death by nostalgia.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “don’t start.”

but he’s already going. “this about hawaii? you know you're going back like in three days.. or maybe someone from hawaii?”

you don’t answer.

“bro,” keoni says, “you always get like this when winter hits. i remember. you’d come back from the beach and just go full existential. same tone. same tired voice. same ‘i don’t care’ act.”

you flick a speck of rice off your hoodie. “maybe i just miss the weather.”

“nah, you don’t miss the weather. you miss people.”

“what people?”

keoni pauses — too long. then: “you still think about her? not the one from last summer. the one before. the— what was her name... park chaeyoung?”

you exhale sharply. "you’re really digging."

"just checking where your head's at. you had a streak, remember? that tattoo artist in makiki, the girl who worked at the smoothie truck—"

"okay, okay."

"i’m just saying," keoni teases, voice lighter now, "you used to be the heartbreaker, and now you’re choking on your own cooking like some washed-up lead in a breakup drama."

you snort, leaning your forehead against the cabinet. “you’re insufferable.”

“yeah, but you keep calling.”

you go quiet. your fingers drag along the rim of the counter, slow, idle.

keoni softens. “for real, though. you okay?”

you nod even though he can’t see. “yeah.”

“you sure?”

“…not really.”

you hear him shift on the other end, probably sitting up, probably frowning in that overly concerned way he always does when you say something honest.

“you need anything?” he asks.

“nah. just heading out for a bit.”

“wear your coat. you get cold easy.”

“okay, mom.”

“you’re welcome. and hey — you’ll be alright.”

you end the call with a small exhale, but it sticks in your throat on the way out. the apartment is quiet again. still too quiet. the kind that seeps under your skin and just stays.

you drop the phone face-down on the counter. stand there a second. then two. your hand brushes absently over the jacket hook, but you don’t reach for it yet.

your shoulders sag a little.

the soup is cold. the kimbap sits limp and untouched beside the sink. you stare at it too long, eyes blurring slightly before you even realize you're not blinking.

you swallow hard. shift your weight. shake your head once, like it might clear something out.

“this was a mistake,” you whisper. not to anyone. not really even to yourself. just to the silence. “coming here. should’ve just... left it back in the college days.”

you press the heel of your palm into your eye. it burns. when you blink again, your lashes feel wet.

you’re not sure when your chest started hurting — not the physical kind. the other kind. the kind that makes your throat close and your stomach turn and your fingers feel just a little colder than before. like something’s off balance.

you don’t know what’s wrong with you.

seoul isn’t bad. it isn’t. people are kind. the city shines at night. the food is good.

but it all feels... wrong.

you glance at the jacket still hanging. stare at the door. your pulse skips for no reason.

something’s missing.

you don’t know what, but it’s loud. the absence. it rattles in the walls, curls beneath your ribs. it’s in the corners of the room, in the way the heat never quite warms your fingers, in the way the streets feel too full but still lonely.

your hand finally reaches for the coat. you fumble the zipper. breathe in, shaky. tug the sleeves on like muscle memory.

the snow then greets you like it knows everything.

and you don’t even flinch.

----

the evening tastes like metal — like old coins, cold wind, the edge of something unfinished.

you walk seoul like it’s borrowed.

your steps echo too loud on empty sidewalks, too slow to belong here. behind fogged windows, strangers laugh over beer and tteokbokki. the streets pulse warm with life, but none of it touches you. your gloved hands stay tucked in your pockets. scarf pulled high. hood drawn low. not hiding — just… detached. you don’t know what you’re looking for. maybe a memory. maybe peace. maybe nothing.

snow hadn’t been in the forecast. but still, it starts — soft, drifting, clinging to hair and sleeves and streetlamps. your breath clouds the air.

you cross at a blinking light, pass a steaming cart of roasted chestnuts, nod politely at the ahjumma selling candied sweet potatoes. her smile falters when she sees your face — like she almost recognizes something in it. or maybe it’s just your eyes. they’ve been glassy all day.

a song plays from a café behind you. gentle, string-heavy.. It reminds you of beach bonfires back home. 

you don’t let the memory finish.

your boots hit a patch of ice.

someone slams into you.

“oh—” you stagger back. the other body slips — there’s a startled gasp, arms flailing, then the unmistakable thump of a fall.

“shit—are you okay?” you stumble with her, one hand reaching out, the other already pulling your coat off. she lands hard, knees to concrete. the snow’s picking up. you crouch beside her, already draping the coat over her shoulders without thinking.

“sorry, i didn’t see—here, let me—” you say patting your coat onto her shoulders, panic creeping up. “you alright? are you hurt? please don’t be—”

you reach out to steady her.

and then she looks up. your breath lodges in your throat.

the girl doesn’t speak. just stares — stunned, still, blinking flakes off her lashes.

“…why do i keep bumping into people in seoul,” you murmur, trying to laugh, trying to defuse the sudden tightness in your chest.

she doesn’t laugh.

her hand rises slowly to her mask. she pulls it down.

and the world breaks open.

fuck.

you flinch like her name was a slap. your mouth opens, closes. your heartbeat lurches.

you look away first. of course you do.

“you—” your voice caves in on itself. you look away, throat burning, the snow sticking to your lashes now too.

she’s still sitting on the cold pavement, the coat slipping slightly down her arms, her fingers frozen in the air where they nearly reached for you.

sana’s lips part, stunned.

she doesn’t move to stand. doesn’t blink. just stares up at you like the moment itself is unreal — like if she breathes too hard, you’ll disappear again.

“you…” she finally whispers. “you’re really here.”

you force yourself to look at her again. your eyes flicker to her knee, where a small scrape blooms red. guilt spikes in your ribs.

but so does something else. something bitter. something old.

“yeah,” you manage. “guess i am.” your hands curl into fists inside your sleeves.

you want to ask her why. why she never called. why she let everything rot between you.

but you can’t. you don’t get to ask anymore.

you reach forward — stiff, — and help her up without looking at her. she wobbles slightly, then finds her footing. your hand lingers just a moment longer than it should.

and when you try to step back—

she grabs your wrist.

not enough to pull you in. just enough to stop you from walking away.

you freeze but you don’t look at her.

you retract your hand like it's been poisoned. “it’s slippery,” you say, too sharp. “you should be careful.”

she doesn’t move. her voice breaks. “i… i thought—”

a vibration hums from her pocket. her phone. she reaches for it blindly, never taking her eyes off you.

“…unnie?” her voice is raw. “yeah. i’m fine. just… slipped. i’ll be there soon.”

her eyes flick to yours, pleading.

you step back.

you don’t know what to do with the ache pounding behind your ribs.

you glance once at the scrape on her knee, at your own coat still hanging awkwardly over her frame.

then you step back again.

the snow’s falling heavier now. catching in your lashes. numbing your fingers.

“take care, sana,” you say, eyes fixed on the space beside her.

then you turn and walk.

no second glance. no goodbye in your tone. nothing.

just the weight in your chest tightening with every step away.

and behind you, she’s still standing there — clutching the phone, your coat sagging over her shoulders, her lips trembling.

the streetlamp glows soft over her hair. the snow keeps falling.

and she doesn’t chase after you.

she just watches you disappear again.

like the first time.

-----

it had been a few days since that night.

seoul after dark looked like a painting still drying — amber streetlamps dripping across the pavement, shop windows blinking like soft hearts in the cold. your breath fogged in the air, scarf tucked to your chin, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

“next time, it’s your turn,” you said, walking beside eunji.

she grinned. “my turn to what? get eaten alive by mosquitoes while you drink overpriced smoothies?”

you laughed. “yeah. exactly.”

you turned a corner. the crowds thinned, noise fading to stone alleys and old rooftops. paper lanterns swayed above. for a second, it felt like hawaii again — quiet and open. except colder. lonelier.

“it’s nice here,” eunji said, slowing. “different. but nice.”

you nodded. her hand hovered close to yours.

then her phone buzzed.

she glanced at it. sighed. “manager. give me a sec?”

“i’ll wander,” you said.

“sure?”

“won’t get kidnapped. probably.”

she snorted and stepped away, phone already to her ear.

you walked on, through older streets where café windows glowed and the air smelled like grilled fish. couples leaned close inside, but you didn’t stop.

until you heard it.

a voice — soft, panicked.

“…i’m waiting for someone. please.”

you turned.

there she was.

hood slipped, mask crooked, pressed against a wall. two men stood too close. one whispered something near her ear. her eyes searched, fast, desperate.

she didn’t see you.

you exhaled. stepped forward.

“there you are,” you called, loud and sure. “honey, i’ve been looking everywhere.”

sana flinched. the men turned.

you reached her side, arm sliding around her back. she tensed — but didn’t move away. not when you tucked her hair behind her ear, not when you leaned in like this was natural.

“sorry,” you said, loud. “she gets lost easily.”

“who are you?” one asked.

“her partner.”

“she didn’t say anything.”

“she doesn’t need to.”

you tried to guide her away — but one grabbed her wrist.

you didn’t think. your fist met his face. not clean, but hard. he stumbled, hit a bin.

the other shoved you.

you ducked his swing, shoved him back. fists, elbows, cold breath. messy. desperate.

he landed a punch — your lip split. blood on your tongue.

you kneed his stomach. he dropped. then hands pushed you from behind — you hit the ground, everything ringing.

“stop!” sana’s voice, cracked and terrified.

you grabbed an ankle, yanked. he fell. you pinned him, breath ragged.

“try it again,” you spat. “touch her again.”

he swore. the other pulled you back. a tangle of limbs and cursing — knuckles, feet, the sting of winter air.

finally, they fled. bruised. bleeding. spitting.

you didn’t move. not yet.

sana was kneeling beside you, hands hovering.

“you’re bleeding,” she whispered. “why would you—”

“are you okay?” you rasped.

she stared like she’d never seen you before.

“you’re shaking,” she whispered. “can you stand?”

you tried. legs buckled, and she caught you — one hand on your arm, one at your back.

“you’re not going to a hospital?” she asked.

“ just busted lip,” you muttered. “i’ve had worse.”

“when?” her voice cracked. “in what world is that normal?”

you looked away. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

she fixed your coat, fingers trembling. her voice softened.

“come back with me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just for a bit. so i can clean that up.”

you looked at her — jaw tight, legs pressed together like she was still cold.

“…you sure you know how to fix a split lip?”

“no,” she said. “but i can google it.”

you almost laughed.

“you really don’t have to—”

“i still have your coat.”

you blinked.

“i never gave it back.”

“so let me return it,” she said. “at my place.”

the silence stretched.

and you could feel it — how different her voice was. not playful. not teasing. just soft.

eunji.

the thought flickered.

you hadn’t told her where you were.

your hands curled.

sana still waited. still watched you.

you opened your mouth. closed it.

and finally — “...no.”

-----

“shit… sana—”

you groaned, sharp through your teeth. her name came out hoarse. low. too much breath tangled inside it.

your head tipped back against the armrest, shoulders tense, hands clenched into the hem of the coat she made you take off. warm legs straddled your lap, soft weight pressing into your thighs. every movement made you flinch. not from discomfort. not exactly.

her fingers brushed your jaw, tilted your face up again. “stop moving,” she muttered. “you’ll make it worse.”

“you’re making it worse,” you hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “what are you doing—”

“cleaning it,” she snapped, then winced. “sorry. i mean—i’m trying.”

your eyes cracked open.

she was kneeling over you, sleeves shoved up, a wet towel caught between her fingers like she was about to perform minor surgery instead of dabbing at your busted lip. it looked like a scene from a movie. the kind with slow lighting. a girl hovering over a wounded lover, flushed and tender.

you blinked. tried not to laugh. “you ever seen a medical drama?”

sana’s brows pinched. “what?”

“like grey’s anatomy. or literally any film with a medic. you dab. not scrub.”

“i’m not scrubbing!”

“you’re scrubbing, sana.”

“you’re bleeding!”

“i was bleeding.”

she scowled at you, then dipped the towel into the warm bowl of water on the side table again, wrung it out with far too much force.

your breath caught.

her hair brushed your cheek. her thigh shifted just slightly against yours. she smelled like shampoo and something faintly floral — something too gentle for the way your jaw throbbed.

“this is the weirdest thing i’ve ever done,” she mumbled.

“you’re literally on top of me.”

“i didn’t have space!”

“you could’ve just—” you gestured vaguely, “—sat next to me.”

“but then you’d have to lean back and i’d have to, like, hover weirdly and i didn’t want to make it more uncomfortable—”

“this is more uncomfortable.”

she froze. “i didn’t mean—” you sighed, dropped your head against the cushion again. “nevermind.”

she didn’t say anything. just softened her touch, dabbing more carefully at the corner of your mouth. gentler now. almost apologetic.

“…sorry,” she said quietly.

you didn’t answer. not because you were mad — just because something about the way she said it made your chest pull too tight. not playful. not guilty. just… sorry. like she’d wanted to say it for a long time.

her knee brushed yours again, unsure, like she didn’t know whether to stay or get up. finally she climbed off and sat beside you. the towel rested between you now, wet and red.

you could still hear her breathing — a little unsteady. her eyes were soft now, lingering on the cut on your lip, the bruising across your cheekbone. you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything.

her voice came quiet. “how’s hawaii?”

you blinked, slow. “hot,” you said after a beat.

she looked up. “are you adjusting okay to seoul?”

you let out a laugh. flat. “i’m not staying. it’s just a vacation.”

“still,” she murmured, “you like it?”

you hesitated. “…i like the han river.”

she tilted her head. “just that?”

you didn’t answer. didn’t say you hadn’t explored much because eunji’s schedule was always full. didn’t say you were afraid of being alone. you just shifted your gaze, watching the soft yellow light of her apartment spill across the wooden floor.

sana was still holding the towel.

she stared down at it, twisted in her hands. then, suddenly—

“i hated not knowing if you were okay.”

you turned to her, slowly.

“when you left,” she said, barely above a whisper. “when the messages stopped. i thought about it a lot. i kept checking—just to see something. anything.”

you blinked, face unreadable. “well. you wouldn't know.”

she looked up sharply. “what?”

you swallowed, tasting metal still. “we weren’t in contact.”

her face shifted — not angry, but straining to hold something back.

“i had your instagram.”

you let out a breath of disbelief, jaw tight. “i don’t use it much.”

lie.

you knew her tour dates. her outfit choices. you’d liked exactly zero posts, but you’d seen them all.

you stood slowly, brushing your jeans off. her apartment was small but beautiful — warm light, low furniture, a little bookshelf with soft pink covers and tiny candles shaped like hearts. it was too clean. too curated. it didn’t feel lived in.

it felt like her.

you were biting your lip before you even realized. not from pain — from something else. something restless in your chest.

then your phone buzzed.

eunji.

you stared down at the screen, thumb frozen above it.

sana’s eyes tracked the movement. her expression shifted — not readable at first, then quiet, then tighter. her gaze dropped.

you stepped back toward the couch, reaching for your coat. the other coat, too — the one you gave when you met. it was draped across the armrest, familiar weight in your hands.

you didn’t realize until then how quiet the room had gotten.

you were halfway to the door when her voice stopped you.

“…why didn’t you ever reach out?”

you turned.

she was still seated, her back slouched slightly now, head low. her voice came soft, almost like it wasn’t meant for you.

you stared at her.

your hand gripped the doorframe.

“you were the one,” you said, each word cutting clean, “who didn’t want to stay in touch.”

she flinched — not visibly, but enough.

her mouth opened, breath catching.

“i gave you my nu—”

the door swung open.

“sana?” jihyo’s voice rang out.

“what the hell—” momo froze in the entryway, food bag hitting the floor with a loud, greasy splat.

“uh…” nayeon scanned the room. “sorry. are we interrupting something?”

you froze, coat over one arm, the other half-raised from where you’d been reaching for the door.

your arm dropped. coat draped over it. you bowed stiffly. deep.

no one said anything else.

you stepped past them, through the narrow hallway. cold air met your face.

you didn’t look back.

and sana still didn't follow you.

----

the door shut behind you like the last line of a poem that never resolved.

sana didn’t move.

not even as the silence expanded — thick, suspended, trembling at the edges. it filled the room in your absence. wrapped around the walls. curled beneath the couch.

momo broke it first. her voice cracked like a mismatched chord.

“wait. was that—was that your partner?”

jihyo didn’t answer. she just looked at sana the way you look in a mirror after crying — cautious. careful. like the reflection might flinch.

nayeon bent to pick up the fallen food bag, her usual teasing stripped down to something quieter. “sana… who was that?”

no reply.

her hands were still twisted in the towel, knuckles pale from how tight she was holding on. her coat had slipped off one shoulder, like she’d started to move but forgot how. her face wasn’t blank — just stunned. like someone bracing for a wave and realizing too late they’d already drowned.

no smile. no laugh to deflect. no shrug to send the moment skipping across the surface.

just one breath.

deep. tired. from somewhere inside her she didn’t want anyone to hear.

jihyo stepped closer, a hand gentle on her shoulder. “you should talk to them.”

momo sat beside her, voice quieter now. “they looked like they weren’t coming back.”

sana’s lips parted. her eyes stayed closed.

when she finally spoke, it was soft. stripped down.

“i don’t even know where to start.”

nayeon joined them on the couch, her voice like a lifeline. “start anywhere,” she said. “just don’t wait until it’s too late.”

silence stretched again. waiting.

a buzz.

sana’s phone vibrated against the wooden table. once. like a heartbeat.

she leaned forward.

glanced.

then froze.

jihyo leaned in. “what is it?”

but sana was already moving.

standing so quickly the towel slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a wet sound. it lay there forgotten, red-stained and wrung out like her.

she didn’t answer.

and the weight of something unspoken had finally broken the surface.

---

the cold bit first. not in your skin, but somewhere deeper — tucked just beneath your ribs, where old memories fester. it wasn’t the kind of cold you could dress for. it was the kind that reminded you of things. of quiet heartbreak. of silence stretched too long. the kind that made you ache even in your bones.

the han river looked different at night — less like water, more like glass. unmoving. half-asleep. the wind skimmed its surface like fingers trailing over old scars, soft and unkind. your footsteps slowed without you meaning to, gravel grinding under each step as the snow began to fall in fine, hesitant flakes. it wasn’t quite winter yet, but the season had started whispering at the edges.

you wandered down the path you remembered from your last visit — a small, hidden curve near the water, where the trees leaned low like they were trying to listen. here, the noise of the city faded. the sky opened up wide and quiet. even your thoughts sounded too loud.

you sat down.

no one else was around. just you, the frost, and the city lights across the water flickering like stars someone forgot to wish on. the bench beneath you was damp and cold, and your fingers curled into your sleeves out of instinct. somewhere nearby, a car passed — distant and muffled — then everything was still again.

your phone buzzed.

you didn’t look. another buzz. you didn’t move.

eunji.

you stared at the name glowing faintly in the dark, then finally tapped out something dull, mechanical:

i just got lost. i’ll be back soon.

you left her on read.

your thumb hovered over the camera app for a second. the river. the snow. the faint blur of light. you took a photo without thinking and posted it. no caption. not even a filter.

it looked more like a memory than a real place. something half-dreamt. like you could reach through the screen and touch a version of yourself that didn’t exist anymore.

you exhaled, long and shaky. the air tasted sharp, metallic. like it could cut.

then — footsteps.

slow, deliberate, crunching through snow.

you didn’t turn around right away. your whole body tensed, your heart ticking faster against your ribs.

“if i get murdered right now,” you muttered, voice flat, “at least it’s poetic.”

no one answered.

but you felt it. that shift in the air. the way the cold paused.

you turned and saw her.

sana.

not just standing — but running. or maybe she had been. her hair was wind-tangled, her cheeks flushed deep from the cold. she looked breathless, lashes tipped in snow, like the world had tried to stop her and she hadn’t let it. she didn’t speak. not at first. just stood there like she was trying to believe you were real.

your chest pulled tight.

“how—”

she stepped forward. her voice barely carried. “your story.”

her eyes searched yours. and for a second — a real, whole second — you saw her how she used to look at you. like you were a question worth asking.

the snow fell slow between you, soft and endless, like even time didn’t want to intrude. her breath came out quick, uneven clouds in the air. she looked like something you shouldn’t touch — too fragile, too out of reach.

you swallowed. “did you come all the way out here for that?”

she nodded once. her mouth opened, then closed again, like she didn’t trust her voice. it shook, anyway.

“why…” she tried.

you waited.

then it hit — like something breaking loose all at once. she shouted, “why didn’t you ever contact me?!”

her voice split the cold open.

your heart lurched. you flinched — not visibly, but inside, where everything had been trying to hold steady.

her voice ripped through the cold. it cracked something open. inside you. inside her.

you flinched. not from the sound — from the grief.

“i gave you a picture,” she went on, chest rising too fast. “back in hawaii. i wrote my number on it. i… i waited. i checked. i thought you just didn’t want to—”

her voice broke like glass on pavement.

you stared at her. stunned. the air between you was quiet again, like the river itself had gone still, holding its breath.

“…i never got it,” you said.

sana blinked.

“what?”

you stepped forward slowly. your voice was low, flat, and too calm for how hard your heart was beating.

“i never got a picture. or your number.”

she just stared.

"what do you mean—" sana stepped closer. her boots left small, lonely prints in the snow.

your jaw clenched.

"you didn’t even acknowledge the food i gave you," you said, your voice tight. "i asked eunji to pass it to you. i thought that was your answer. i thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

her brow furrowed, confused and sharp with emotion. “what food?”

"what food?" she said again, louder, desperate now. “what are you talking about?”

you looked at her. saw the confusion. the hurt.

it wasn’t a lie.

a sick weight pulled in your stomach.

“did you give your number to eunji?”

she nodded, slowly. lips pale. “yeah. she said she’d—”

and that was it.

the drop.

that moment just before the fall, where everything hangs still, perfect, poised — and then it shatters.

your body reeled like it had been pushed.

you caught yourself on the edge of the bench.

the snow didn’t stop falling.

it landed on your hands. your shoulders. the back of your neck. it melted there. turned cold to water. turned water to silence.

you laughed once. it sounded like it hurt your throat.

“she never gave it to me,” you said. not looking at her now. “she never gave me anything.”

the silence stretched.

the river rippled, dark and slow.

“i checked,” she said, voice cracking. “i kept checking. your instagram. just to see if you were okay. if you remembered me. i didn’t want to text first. i didn’t want to be stupid—”

"you weren’t," you said. too fast. too bitter.

sana flinched.

“we were both stupid,” you added, softer. “just for different reasons.”

she didn’t speak. just looked down at her hands like they were broken things. like maybe they were the problem.

and the snow kept falling.

light, and relentless, and quiet.

for a second, it felt like hawaii again. that last day. that last look.

but colder.

colder than anything. colder than the wind.

and all that time — all those years — you’d both been waiting.

for each other.

for nothing.

-----

you should’ve walked away.

but instead, your hand moved first. quiet. like instinct, or something older. you stepped forward, took your extra coat, and gently draped it over her frame.

she blinked.

not at the coat — at you.

your hands stayed on her arms a second longer than needed. the fabric was too big for her. it swallowed her up. still, she looked so small inside it. fragile, like something you couldn’t bear to drop again.

you shook your head once, slow. not at her. not at you. just the ache.

then, without a word, you turned toward the street.

she followed.

you didn’t look back, but you heard her behind you — her steps crunching against the snow, her breath hitching in a way that didn’t sound like cold anymore.

the snow kept falling, more tender now, like the sky was softening too. the streets were quieter out here, shining in the pale yellow of old lamps and flickering signs. your footsteps were slow. hers, unsteady. she had to hug the coat tighter to her chest just to believe it was real.

because none of this felt real.

a week ago you were still a ghost. an ache behind her ribs. and now you were here, your shadow stretching long beside hers, your scent faint on the collar she curled into.

you found a convenience store. the kind with flickering lights and soft fluorescent hums. warm. too warm. the bell above the door chimed like a lullaby.

the light inside the convenience store buzzed faintly, humming low like it knew not to speak too loudly. outside, the snow fell slow — quiet little ghosts drifting past the windows. inside, it was warmer, but not by much. just enough to thaw fingers, not hearts.

then the light — cold and artificial, but merciful. she blinked through it, watching as you nodded politely to the cashier and led her to a tiny seating area by the window: just two plastic chairs, a metal table, and a dusty radiator ticking faintly.

“sit,” you said, quiet.

she did. still shivering a little, still glancing over her shoulder, like the spell might break.

you were already at the aisles — grabbing ramen cups, pouring water into a machine, picking out bottled drinks with practiced hands. she watched you like it was a ritual. like you’d done this a thousand times before — maybe alone, maybe with someone else. the latter hurt more than she expected.

you came back with a tray. placed it down gently.

one bowl slid toward her. “it’s hot.”

you sat across from her in the narrow seating area tucked beside the instant noodles aisle. the plastic chairs were flimsy, slightly uneven. one wobbled under sana’s weight every time she shifted, but she didn’t complain. she was wrapped in your extra coat — the one you’d taken from her place earlier, now draped over her shoulders like it had never belonged anywhere else. it dwarfed her frame. swallowed her neck. but she didn’t adjust it. didn’t even try to pull it tighter.

your hands were red from the cold. one held a plastic fork. the other nursed a canned coffee gone lukewarm.

you glanced up when she chuckled softly — just a breath, just enough to be heard over the low whir of the heater overhead.

“ice cream in winter?” she asked, nodding to the half-melted cone near your tray.

you stared at it, then gave a small shrug. “i never really adjusted. not to seoul’s winter.”

your voice came out quieter than you meant. it didn’t sound like a statement. more like an apology to no one.

sana looked at you for a long time.

then, gently, “how long have you been here?”

you hesitated. fiddled with the tab of your drink. “two weeks.”

she blinked. “that long?”

“eunji invited me,” you said. the name caught in your throat, dry and sharp. “i didn’t really plan to stay.”

you didn’t tell her that you hadn’t even unpacked fully. you didn’t say anything more.

and sana didn’t press.

outside, a car passed slowly, headlights skimming across the snow-covered glass. inside, the air felt too still.

her knees brushed against yours under the table. not fully — just the softest graze. like breath against skin. like memory.

neither of you moved.

she turned her face slightly, watching you from beneath her lashes.

“…when are you leaving?”

you exhaled, low. the steam from your cup twisted into the air between you.

“tomorrow.”

a pause.

then a frown bloomed between her brows. not sudden — slow and reluctant, like it hurt to let it show.

she looked down. “that’s soon.”

you nodded once, then broke your gaze to stare out the window again. the world outside felt unreal. just frost and blur and noise you couldn’t name.

she was the one who broke the silence again. quietly. carefully.

“you and eunji…”

her voice trailed.

you turned your head back toward her. she wasn’t looking at you. her fingers were curled around her can of corn tea, knuckles faintly white.

you watched her.

then shook your head once. “no.”

sana blinked. her lashes trembled, catching the light.

“the day at jyp…” she started, voice unsure. “they said—”

“it was an act.” your voice was low, rougher than before. “she didn’t want to look bad in front of staff. so i… i went along with it.”

you paused. frowned deeper. your gaze dropped to your lap. your hands had curled into fists without you noticing.

“honestly,” you said, “i'm disappointed in her.”

sana stayed silent.

you rubbed your thumb against the edge of the table. your eyes didn’t lift. “i wanted to be closer to you before. not… hidden. not kept away like some—”

you didn’t finish the sentence. just let the words hang, fraying.

“i don't like it.”

the heater clicked once. the sound of the soup boiling behind the counter faded. even the workers had gone quiet, leaving the space around you dim and flickering.

then—

“did you… date anyone after i left?” sana asked.

you blinked once. didn’t answer.

your fingers twitched. your shoulders curled in slightly.

then, slowly, you nodded.

“yeah,” you said. voice stripped bare. “fuck, i did date to forget about you.”

the words fell like something you couldn’t catch in time. as soon as they left your mouth, your body recoiled — just slightly — a wince folding your brow, your gaze falling.

“sorry,” you muttered quickly. “i didn’t mean to— sorry for the curses, sana...”

you shifted an inch away, as if trying to put space between your shame and her silence.

but sana didn’t move.

you kept your head down. your voice cracked quieter now. “i tried. i really tried. to forget you. to un-feel it. to fill the space you left. even if you were there for only a week.”

your jaw tensed. “nothing worked.”

a beat passed.

her knee touched yours again, this time firmer. not an accident. and still, she didn’t move away.

your eyes lifted.

she was looking at you like she hadn’t stopped. her cheeks were flushed, but not from the cold. her breath was caught in her throat.

her voice came out like silk rubbed raw. “i didn’t date anyone.”

you stared.

“i was waiting for you,” she said.

and the air left your lungs.

like a door closing inside your chest.

your pulse stuttered. your fingers curled into your palms. the coat slipped slightly off her shoulder, but she didn’t fix it. her eyes were glassy. the corner of her lip trembled.

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

the heater buzzed. your soup had gone cold. her knees were still touching yours. her fingers still clutched the cup, as if anchoring herself in the moment.

neither of you moved.

and outside, the snow kept falling. quiet. steady. like it had never stopped.

the ringtone broke first.

not loud. just a sharp little jingle against the quiet hum of the store. sana blinked, slow — like surfacing from a dream — and fished her phone from the coat pocket you’d lent her.

she glanced at the screen. didn’t hide it.

jihyo unnie~

you didn’t say anything. just lowered your gaze and gently stirred the noodles in your cup, their steam softening the tips of your lashes.

she answered.

“hello?”

her voice was gentle, a little dazed.

and then — jihyo’s voice, from the other end, sharp and unmistakable, even without speaker on. fast, worried, scolding. like a leader who’d paced her apartment three times already. “yah, sana! where did you even go? you didn’t take your coat! what were you thinking—”

you slurped your noodles quietly, trying to stay small in the background. your ears were pink.

“unnie, i’m okay,” sana said, trying to keep her tone light. “really. i’m warm now.”

“don’t lie! did you even eat anything?”

sana glanced at you. her eyes softened. her voice followed.

“…i’m eating now.”

your hand froze for a moment around your fork. your ears burned red geez, why did she look at you and not her food..

but then jihyo’s voice cut again — lower now, more teasing. the kind that pokes just enough to hit the nerve. “okay, okay. just let us know if you and your partner made up already. seriously, you two gave us a heart attack today—”

sana jolted.

you coughed — too hard — and choked on a mouthful of noodles, smacking your chest once, eyes wide.

“what—” you wheezed.

sana scrambled to hang up. “okay love you unnie bye!!” she rushed into the phone, her voice rising three pitches in panic before she jabbed the red button.

silence.

then sana slowly turned her head to you, her eyes round as moons. her cheeks glowed crimson. she tried to stammer something but failed.

you stared at her. still chewing.

then, wordlessly, you checked the time on your phone. you look flustered and slightly tried to hide your phone's wallpaper hoping she won't see. 11:03 pm.

you exhaled. stood up. started gathering the trays.

“…let’s get you home.”

she didn’t argue. just nodded, small. the coat slid down her shoulder again. you reached over without thinking and fixed it for her, brushing her collar gently back into place.

she looked away too fast.

the walk to the curb was quiet. the snow had softened again, sticking in your lashes, whispering into your collar. your hand hovered near her elbow once, just in case she slipped.

you hailed the first taxi that passed. it was old, yellowed, with soft fabric seats that smelled faintly of coffee and dust.

you opened the door for her.

not smoothly — your hand slipped a little on the handle — but you managed it. and still, you kept your eyes averted as she stepped in.

she smiled.

you followed after. sat beside her in the back, not too close, but close enough that her sleeve brushed yours.

the driver glanced back at you through the mirror. “where to?”

sana named her apartment building.

you nodded faintly.

then fished out your wallet. thumbed a few bills nervously, then leaned forward slightly toward the driver.

“…uh. two payments, sir. one for her place, one for me, and… could you wait for me while i take her up? i’ll give extra.”

your voice cracked a little near the end.

the driver blinked.

then smiled.

“such a cute couple,” he said warmly. “of course i’ll wait.”

you made a strangled noise and sat back in your seat like you’d been pushed.

sana pressed a hand over her mouth.

“ugh. cutie,” sana whispered to herself, like she couldn’t help it. the word dropped from her lips like it had been begging to be said.

her ears were red. the kind of red that crept down her neck. her knees knocked gently against yours again as the car rolled forward, but this time, she didn’t flinch or pull away.

you groaned under your breath, hiding your face.

the car moved. outside, the snow turned to lace against the windows. inside, everything was warmer now — from the heater vents, from the nearness, from her smile lingering on you.

you looked away — out the window, anywhere. the city was all smudged lights and wet reflections. your heart pounded too loud for such a quiet ride.

you didn’t speak.

you just sat there.

quiet, hearts loud, knees almost touching.

and for once — her silence didn’t hurt.

—

the taxi rolled to a stop with a gentle lurch. before the wheels had even settled, you were already pushing the door open, stepping out quickly and glancing over your shoulder just to make sure—

“careful,” you muttered under your breath, eye flicking to where sana was stepping down onto the pavement. she wobbled slightly, so you moved closer, as if your presence alone might catch her.

she didn’t fall. but she glanced up and caught you watching.

you looked away, muttering a quiet “sorry,” and turned to face the driver again.

“we’ll just be a minute,” you said, tugging your wallet from your coat pocket.

the driver, older and kind-faced, waved a hand. “it’s alright. i’ll take a smoke break. take your time, young love.”

you flushed. again. nodded quickly. “thank you. really. i won’t be long.”

you turned back to sana, who was already halfway to the door, glancing back at you with a tiny, lopsided smile. you caught up without thinking. you caught up in the lobby, breath shallow, coat still hanging awkwardly off your shoulders as the glass doors hissed shut behind you. she was already pressing the elevator button — hair slightly damp from the snow, fingers twitching from the cold.

your steps slowed beside her. not from hesitation — but from the weight in your chest.

you could feel your pulse under your palm. loud. impatient. like it couldn’t believe this was real.

the elevator pinged.

you shifted slightly, feeling the edge of her coat sleeve brush yours. her arm was warm. or maybe it was you. or maybe it was just the heat between you that wouldn’t stop rising.

she pressed the button to her floor. didn’t speak. neither did you.

but your hand didn’t leave your chest.

your heart wouldn’t let you.

the elevator climbed. you swallowed.

a soft ding.

the elevator opened.

you stepped out with her. the hallway was dimly lit, carpet soft beneath your shoes, the kind of silence that echoed.

when she opened her door, the scent hit you first — faint jasmine and something warmer underneath, something lived-in. the place was tidy but full. plush furniture, warm wood, golden light from standing lamps. not overly fancy. but not cold either.

like her.

warmth.

the apartment greeted you like a memory: mismatched slippers by the door. it was warmer than you remembered. more alive. more hers.

you looked around, slower this time. eyes tracing the edge of her countertops, the curve of the furniture. the spill of light from the kitchen. your coat still hung on her shoulders, loose and oversized, like it belonged there.

“you can keep the coat,” you said, suddenly — before you could think. “i mean. it suits you.”

she raised an eyebrow. “it’s yours.”

“still looks better on you.”

a beat passed — then she looked away, flustered. her cheeks pink again.

you stepped further in. something dark on the floor caught your eye — a towel. stained faintly with blood. your breath hitched, but you bent down quietly, lifting it by the corners like it was fragile. you carried it to the kitchen sink and ran water over it, gently squeezing out the worst of it.

“you didn’t have to,” she said softly behind you.

"it's my mess. and i wanted to."

you turned. she was still standing in the same place, hands in your coat pockets, watching you with a gaze that melted like candlewax. slow, fond. like she was memorizing something.

you cleared your throat.

but she was watching you.

smiling.

you cleared your throat. dropped your gaze. “sorry, i didn’t say this earlier, but… your apartment’s really pretty.”

“mm.” she turned, flicking on a lamp near the window. it bathed her face in warm amber. “it’s big, huh?”

you nodded, still glancing around. your fingers brushed the back of a chair as you passed. “yeah. i didn’t notice these doors before either. they’re—huge.”

“they’re for the future,” she said, casually.

you blinked. turned back. “huh? like… storage?”

she smirked. not even trying to hide it. “no. for when i have a family.”

your breath caught.

you looked at her.

she was still smirking. still smug. eyes sharp with amusement.

“…not a house?” you asked, dumbly.

and her grin widened like the moon. “oh? so you want a house?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. opened it again. your face flushed hot. too fast.

“n-no,” you stammered, looking at the door, the wall, anything that wasn’t her. “i mean yes—i mean—i should go, the taxi guy’s waiting, he probably—”

“ah,” she said, still grinning, still holding back a laugh. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“you didn’t,” you muttered.

you stepped back, nearly tripping over the shoe rack. she laughed again. then — quieter, this time — she said, “will you be online later?”

you paused.

then nodded. “if you want me to text, i will.”

she didn’t answer right away. just nodded slowly, her gaze dipping to the floor. her fingers brushed the edge of your coat sleeve again — once, almost absentminded — before stepping back.

you didn’t look back when you left. couldn’t.

your heart was too full.

you opened the taxi door and stepped in. the car was warm, still humming softly with the radio. the driver looked up in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“she’s a beautiful woman,” he said, pulling gently away from the curb.

you looked down at your hands. they were shaking. you pressed them together.

“…yeah,” you whispered. “overbearing. complicated. loud sometimes.”

you smiled.

“but i like it..”

i like her.

the driver didn’t reply.

but he smiled to himself.

and when the city lights passed by again — golden halos, bright snow falling, seoul glowing like something alive — you finally felt it in your bones.

this place didn’t feel like a memory anymore.

for the first time, it felt like it fit. like it filled something in you.

like it wasn’t just seoul.

it was hers.

and maybe — slowly, finally — it was yours too.

—---

the taxi slowed in front of your building.

you hadn’t said much after that last glance through the window. hadn’t even looked at the driver until now. the soft warmth in your chest was starting to settle, and underneath it — colder, sharper — was the memory of why you left the apartment in the first place.

you nodded, quietly. “thanks.” you gave him the extra money like you promised.

he gave you a knowing smile, then tapped the steering wheel. “take care, kid.”

you stepped out into the dim entry lights. the door buzzed open. your shoes echoed on the tiled floor. each step up the stairwell felt heavier than the last.

and when you opened the door to her apartment — she was already there.

“where the hell were you?”

eunji.

she was standing barefoot in the hallway, sleeves pushed up, eyes frantic and glistening. the moment she saw you, she rushed forward, her arms wrapping tight around your shoulders.

you didn’t move.

“you ran off,” she whispered against your shoulder. “you didn’t answer. i didn’t know where—”

“i saw her.”

you felt her body tense.

you pulled back just enough to look at her.

“i met sana,” you said again, quieter this time. “outside. I helped her with something..”

eunji’s eyes flickered. her arms dropped.

she stepped back. “what did you do?”

the way she said it — not what happened, but what did you do — stung.

your frown deepened. “why does it sound like i’m in the wrong?”

“i didn’t say that,” she muttered.

you stared at her. and then, finally, you said it.

“why did you keep her away from me?”

she flinched.

“i—” her mouth opened, then closed. her eyes darted. “i didn’t.”

you shook your head, once, slowly. “eunji.”

she still didn’t meet your eyes.

“you’ve been lying. you know how i can tell?” your voice cracked slightly. “i know you since college, eunji. i already memorized everything about you.”

a long silence stretched between you.

then, like something broke loose, her voice came out sharp and trembling.

“what was i supposed to do?” she said. “what if she broke you? i thought you’d forget. i thought if i didn’t say anything, you’d finally—” 

she paused. her jaw clenched.

“—you’d finally see me.”

your breath caught.

her hands were curled into fists at her sides.

“do you know what it felt like?” she said, voice lowering. “watching you fall in love over someone who will leave you? and every time you picked yourself up, you never looked at me. not really. even when i stayed. even when i held you through it all first.”

you didn’t know what to say.

your hands dropped uselessly to your sides. your heart was pounding again, for a very different reason now.

“i loved you,” she whispered. “i—i love you. i’ve been here this whole time, and you never even—i just wanted you to see me.”

her voice broke on the last word.

the apartment was so quiet you could hear the low hum of the refrigerator, the soft hiss of the radiator.

you finally looked up at her.

your voice, when it came, was hoarse. tired.

“…i’m sorry.”

her face crumpled.

you stepped forward, slowly. not to hug her — but to be near, to not leave her alone in this.

“i’m sorry, eunji. you didn’t deserve to wait for someone who couldn’t give you what you wanted.” your voice trembled. “but i still love her. i tried to stop. i did.”

you swallowed.

“but i saw her again, and it’s like—nothing ever left. it’s still her.”

she shook her head, tears now slipping past her lashes, silent and fast.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you added, soft. “but lying to me… taking that choice away from me… that wasn’t fair either.”

eunji’s shoulders shook once — a breath, a sob, maybe both.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

just two people, standing in the dim hallway of a too-quiet apartment. one full of regret, the other full of a love that still belonged to someone else.

—-

you zipped your suitcase halfway, then paused.

your arms rested on the edge. your breath hung low in your chest.

the apartment was dim, lit only by the desk lamp in the corner, where its faint yellow glow hit the open drawers, the scattered socks, the half-packed shirts folded too neatly for how tired you were. your shadow shifted as you sat back on your heels, thumb pressed to your ribs like it could slow your heartbeat down.

it had been hours since eunji closed her door behind her.

you didn’t sleep. you couldn’t. not after everything. not with the silence so loud it pressed behind your eyes like a weight.

you had said sorry. over and over. you meant it.

she had cried. she hadn’t yelled, even when she could have. she just listened. and when you finally hugged her goodnight, her fingers trembled against your back. she hadn’t said goodbye. just nodded.

you knew what that meant.

it wouldn’t be the same anymore. and maybe that was fair.

but still, your heart ached.

you stared down at your phone for a long moment. then, finally, you typed.

hey... just wanted to say i talked to eunji tonight.

you hovered. then added:

she told me she liked me. that’s why she never told me about you.

you hesitated — then hit send.

the response came slowly. a full minute passed. then two.

finally, sana replied:

oh...

then:

i didn’t know that. that must’ve been hard for her. and for you.

you pressed your lips together.

then, after another pause, you typed:

i felt sad for her. but i told her she deserves someone who’ll wait for her the way she waited for me. and... i told her i’m sorry. and that i want to learn to love someone else now.

your heart stammered. you stared at the message.

then, softer, you added:

i told her i want to learn to love you.

this time, sana didn’t respond for a while.

meanwhile sana's tired eyes were fluttering open, her breath catching as she sat up, hair mussed, blanket slipping down her shoulder.

your phone vibrated.

you’re serious?

you smiled, fingers warm now.

yeah. if you’re still okay with that.

sana’s reply came faster this time.

are you kidding i’m smiling so hard i look stupid rn

then, a minute later:

let’s start tomorrow pick me up at 10?

you stared at the screen, heart suddenly too full for your chest.

you typed back:

okay. 10. i’ll see you tomorrow.

you didn’t say goodnight. didn’t need to.

the lamp buzzed faintly above you. outside, the city was quiet.

and for the first time since you arrived in seoul — maybe for the first time in years — you finally smiled without doubt.

—-

you knock twice, then once more, softer. the morning's quiet. the hallway still carries a hush from the night. when the door clicks open, it’s like the whole world exhales — and standing there is sana, wearing a long-sleeved blue polo with thin white stripes tucked loosely into light jeans.

you blink. then laugh under your breath.

“you’re kidding,” you say, eyes dragging down her outfit. “we match.”

she stares at you for a second, then bursts into a small laugh — pink already blooming high on her cheeks. “no way.”

you step back a little to show her the full view: same soft denim, same sky-blue shade, sleeves rolled once at the forearm. same understated attempt to look casual. it’s like the universe couldn’t help itself.

“just like hawaii,” you murmur, and it must be the way your voice drops that makes her quiet for a moment, tucking her lip between her teeth before smiling again.

“you ready?” she asks, tilting her head.

you nod, and she grabs her keys. neither of you say it, but the walk is slow. slower than usual. like your feet are afraid of where the sidewalk ends.

the café is quiet this early. just the barista humming, some jazz whispering through ceiling speakers. you order a java chip, and sana asks for an iced americano. the contrast makes you grin.

“haven’t changed at all.”

she sips from her straw with a smirk. “i miss the way you made the americano.."

you find a small table by the window. the street’s bright with summer, the light scattering over her hair, her sleeves, the way she holds her cup with both hands like it anchors her. there’s a silence, but it’s not heavy. it’s careful. a breath between pages.

“i keep thinking,” you start, “that it’s been three years. but this feels like yesterday.”

sana looks up, a little surprised. then: “yeah.”

you stare down at the melted whip of your drink. “like hawaii never ended. like i blinked and suddenly you’re here again.”

“i thought it’d be awkward,” she says quietly. “but it wasn’t. with you, it just… never is.”

you nod, slow. and then, almost as an afterthought, you add, “my flight’s at nine tonight.”

a pause. she doesn’t look at you when she says it.

“i know.”

your gaze lifts. “you know?”

her fingers tighten around her cup. “i mean… nothing. doesn’t matter.”

you don’t press. you want to — your chest twists at the way she shifts her eyes — but something in you says not now. not when the minutes are ticking toward evening. not when this, too, is a kind of goodbye.

after the last sip, you walk her home again. she walks close this time. not quite brushing your arm, but not far.

at her door, she hesitates.

“thanks for today,” she says, and you try not to memorize the way her hair falls into her face.

“yeah,” you smile. “it was perfect.”

you walk away before you can say anything else.

you get home by seven. your suitcase is already by the door. eunji’s waiting with your passport and keys, quiet but steady.

in the taxi, neither of you talk much.

when you reach the airport, she steps out first.

“i’m sorry,” she says again, voice thinner than usual.

you hug her tight, the way you used to when you didn’t know what was coming next.

“you’ll be okay,” you whisper. “you’ll meet someone who waits back.”

“you better text me when you land,” she mutters.

“you better get some sleep.”

you smile. she does too, a small one, then watches you go.

it’s 8:45 pm when you text sana.

i’m here now. airport’s loud. thanks again for earlier. it meant a lot.

there’s no reply. you check again at 8:50. then 8:57.

you sit near your gate, hoodie pulled up, watching people come and go. no notification.

at 9:10, they call final boarding.

you sigh, shoulders heavy, and stand. your feet drag a little.

your phone buzzes once, but it’s a flight update.

you board slowly. last one in line.

someone behind you shouts — a voice, high and clear, feminine.

“wait—!”

you half-turn, but your headphones are in. just another late passenger, probably. you don’t look back.

when the wheels lift, seoul disappears in blue and blur. your phone stays dark.

but your heart — your heart feels full.

just like hawaii.

and this time, you don’t feel like you’re leaving something unfinished.

but even if the timing cracked and shifted — you were lucky enough to find her again.

–-

“i missed you, hawaii, you goddamn—!”

your voice cracks mid-shout as the wind knocks you sideways and the surfboard flies clean out under you. saltwater slams into your face. keoni’s cackling in the distance, the kind of laugh that could peel paint off walls. “yo, language! the ocean hears you!”

you burst up from the water, slick hair clinging to your forehead, arms raised. “i don’t care, keoni! hawaii missed me too!”

keoni rides past with a crooked grin, cutting the waves like he owns them. “hawaii missed you, sure — but not your godawful form.”

you flip him off with both hands, still grinning. your whole body aches from the burn of salt and sun and joy. you haven’t laughed this hard in weeks. your skin is hot, stretched tight across your bones. you're soaked in everything good.

“bite me!” you yelled back, grinning hard, your chest aching with something bright and stupid and real.

you hadn’t laughed like this in weeks.

not since seoul. not since—

you reached the shore, board under your arm, water dripping off your sleeves. and for a moment, as the sun burned high above and the wind kissed your skin, it almost felt like none of it happened. like you imagined her, the airports, the flower, everything.

because the truth was... you never texted sana again.

after the airport. after the flight. you said nothing.

not because you didn’t want to.

and now, with your feet digging into warm sand and your heart still stubborn in your chest, you let it all go — tipped your head back, shouted to the sky:

“i missed you, hawaii!”

and that’s when you heard her laugh.

not in your head.

real.

you turned, squinting into the sun.

and there she was.

barefoot in the sand, wearing a soft white beach dress that clung lightly to her frame. the breeze tugged at the hem. her hair was loose, glowing gold at the ends. she had something behind her back.

and her smile —

oh.

your chest cracked wide open.

she was here.

and now you know why you never texted her back.

because she was already beside you.

you blink water from your lashes. her hair’s longer. cheeks pinked up from the sun. she doesn’t move — not until you’re almost close enough to touch.

“hi, ten out of ten flips earlier by the way.” she says, soft rating your flips when you were surfboarding, as if the day hadn't already shouted it in every way.

you don’t answer at first. you just step forward, dripping and breathless and still stunned, and you hold something out to her — a tiny pink flower, fragile in your fingers.

“come here,” you murmur.

she tilts her head.

you step closer, push back her hair, and gently tuck the flower behind her left ear.

she blinks. her breath catches.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't need to. she turns, just slightly, lifting her phone. sunlight spills over the shoreline. she snaps a photo — just her, the ocean behind, the flower bright against her hair.

then she posts it.

you both sit down after that, side by side in the sand, knees almost touching. keoni’s still out there, flipping over waves like he’s auditioning for a commercial. you whistle once and he throws you a salute.

your phone buzzes.

m.by__sana just posted a photo.

you tap it. you like it. you’re the first one.

sana turns her head slowly. "you liked it?"

"hell yeah, i liked it. first like. i win."

she chuckles, opening her own phone. the screen lights up with chaos.

chaeyoung: UNNIE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING ON A DATE NOT INTERNATIONAL ESCAPE??? nayeon: why is your dress WHITE WHAT ARE WE MISSING jihyo: we let you skip practice for a date WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ANOTHER COUNTRY? jeongyeon: send us the coordinates rn dahyun: marry them or don’t come back. tzuyu: pretty unnie~ mina: just sends a GIF of a slow clap momo: yah, i spat out my ramen when i saw the post..

sana rolls her eyes, locks her phone, and tosses it onto her towel.

“not gonna answer?” you ask.

she shrugs, gaze shifting to the sunset. “maybe later.”

you look at her then. how the orange and pink light reflects in her eyes. how the flower’s still tucked behind her ear. how she hasn’t stopped smiling since she arrived.

she catches you staring. lifts a brow.

“what?”

“nothing,” you murmur. “it’s just—”

you gesture at the sky, the waves, her, all of it.

“it’s beautiful.”

she leans her head on your shoulder, warm and real and solid beside you.

“yeah,” she whispers. “it is.”

and this time, no one was leaving.  no one was late. no one was missing the moment.

because she came.

and this was the ending you both chose.

kino's note — kino will be offline for a while—school begins this week, and the days ahead already feel heavy with numbers and names i haven’t met yet. there’s a mina oneshot/series quietly forming somewhere in the back of my mind. it might take time. thank you for waiting, even when i disappear. 🌙

[yodatzutzu]

Office Desire (Saerom)

Synopsis: You are a 21 year old working as Junior Writer at some Digital Agency. Three women, Ms. Saerom from marketing, Ms. Eunbi from sales, and Seoyeon as new Junior Strategist, keep pulling you out of your bubble. They bring teasing, tension, and feelings you're not sure you're ready to deal with.

Lee Saerom / Kwon Eunbi / Yoon Seoyeon

9.4k+

It's Thursday afternoon, and the office is loud and busy as you working on a client's tagline at your desk.

An email from Saerom pops up: "Files Needed ASAP."

She writes, "Hey, cutie. Got those files? Bring them to me. Don't be late." Her tone makes you blush. Saerom's always teasing you, winking, touching your arm in meetings, making you nervous with her charm.

You copy the files onto a flash drive and walk to her desk. Saerom's area is neat but has her style, coffee mugs with lipstick marks, fashion magazines, and a photo of her looking glamorous. She's typing, looking sharp in a tight blazer, her hair perfectly smooth.

"Here's the files," you say quietly, handing her the drive.

She smiles, taking it, her fingers touching yours a bit too long. "So quick," she teases, leaning back, her skirt sliding up slightly, "Hold up. I wanna check them."

You nod, stand awkwardly as she opens the files, her eyes flicking to you playfully.

Suddenly, she pulls you closer by your waist. "Don't be shy," she says, her voice soft.

You freeze as her hand moves lower, brushing against your pants where your cock already half hard from her teasing.

"What's this?" she whispers, smirking, her fingers tracing you slowly. You're embarrassed, unable to speak, your face turns hot.

"Ms. Saerom-" you start, but she laughs.

"Ms.? Just call me Saerom, with noona would be better," she says, her touch bolder, making you tense, "Relax, no ones looking."

Her perfume surrounds you, and your torn part of you wants to run, but part of you likes it. The office is busy, and no one notices, but the risk makes it intense.

Then, Eunbi from sales walks up, confident and smiling. "Saerom, are you stealing our writer again?" she teases, noticing Saerom's hand near your pants.

Saerom doesn't move, saying, "Just checking his... work."

Eunbi laughs, stepping closer, "Are you okay, darling?" she says to you, her hand brushing your arm.

"I'm fine," you mumble, stepping back.

Saerom lets go slowly, winking. "Good job, cutie." she says.

Eunbi smiles as you hurry back to your desk, still flustered, heart pounding.

At your desk, you try to calm down, don't know if you can handle this forever.

The day is finally over, and you're at your desk, shoving your laptop and papers into your bag, ready to head home and crash.

You're exhausted from the day, trying to keep up with work. All you want is to relax and forget the office chaos.

As you zip up your bag, Saerom walks over, her heels clicking softly.

She's still in her tight blazer, her hair a little messy but sexy, and that teasing smile is back on her face. She leans against your desk, close enough that you catch her strong perfume, and it makes your stomach flip.

"Hey, cutie," she says, her voice low and playful, like she's up to something, "Got plans tonight? I need your favor to help me move some boxes at my place. It won't take long." She tilts her head, her eyes locked on yours, making you more nervous.

You pause, gripping your bag, "Uh, I just gonna go home," you say quietly, avoiding her gaze. You're tired, and the idea of more work sounds like too much. Plus, Saerom's flirty always leaves you flustered, and you're not sure if you can handle being alone with her.

She pouts, stepping closer, her hand brushing your arm lightly. "Please?" she says, her voice softer now, almost begging.

"I'll make it worth it. I'll cook you dinner, something really good, like pasta or steak. And I'll give you some cash for the help. Come on, don't make me beg too hard." She giggles, biting her lip, and her fingers linger on your sleeve, sending a little tension through you.

Your face heats up, and you feel your cock twitch in your pants, stirred by her closeness and that flirty tone. You know she's trouble, her teasing in the office already messes with your head, but the thought of being at her place, eating her food, maybe seeing more of her game, pulls you in.

You glance at her, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief, like she knows exactly what she's doing to you. "Huft... okay," you mumble, barely audible, your heart pounding. "I'll help."

Saerom's grin lights up, and she claps her hands together, "Yes! You're the best," she says, her voice excited.

"Meet me at my car in ten minutes, okay? Don't keep me waiting," she winks, her hips swaying as she walks away, leaving you staring after her, your mind racing.

You sit back down for a second, trying to calm the heat in your cheeks and the growing hardness in your pants. You're nervous, excited, and a little scared, wondering what's waiting at her place and if you're ready for whatever she has planned.

You don't know much about her, just bits and pieces from office chatter. She's young, maybe in her early thirties, but already a widow.

Her husband passed away a couple of years ago, leaving her alone, and you've heard she's been on her own since. It makes her flirty, confident vibe feel a little heavier, like there's a story behind her teasing smiles.

You grab your bag and head to the parking lot, spotting Saerom's sleek black car. She's already inside, her window rolled down, "Hop in, cutie," she calls.

You nod, feeling a bit shy, and slide into the passenger seat. The car smells like her perfume, and your heart beats faster, but you try to stay cool.

Saerom focuses on driving, her hands steady on the wheel, eyes on the road. She doesn't tease or flirt, just hums softly to the radio, which is a relief.

The ride is quick and quiet, no weird moments, and you're glad for that. You can calm down, stare out of the window, enjoy the scenes of lights night city.

In no time, you pull up to her apartment building, a modern, tall place with glass windows. She parks and turns to you, smiling. "Thanks for coming," she says.

"Let’s head up." You grab your bag and follow her, feeling nervous but curious, wondering what's next in her world.

You follow Saerom into her apartment, and the door clicks shut behind you. Her place is nice, spacious, with modern furniture, big windows showing the city lights, and a cozy vibe.

"I'm gonna change real quick," Saerom says, pointing to the couch, "Sit, make yourself at home." She disappears down a hallway, leaving you alone.

You set your bag down and wander a bit, looking around. The apartment feels personal, there's a shelf with books, some plants, and a few framed photos.

One catches your eye: a picture of a man, maybe in his late twenties, smiling brightly. It must be her late husband. You remember what you heard at the office, that she's a young widow, her husband gone too soon.

Your chest tightens, feeling sorry for her loss. She's so lively at work, but this must weigh on her.

As you're staring at the photo, Saerom's voice startles you, right behind your ear, "He looks a lot like you."

You jump, turning to find her standing close, her breath warm on your neck. Your heart skips. "A-a lot?” you stammer, caught off guard.

She nods, her eyes soft but with a bitter smile. "Mhm. He was younger than me, cute, quiet, worked hard. But fate took him first." Her voice is steady, but there’s pain there.

You don't know what to say, feeling awkward. "I-I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile warming a little. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

She steps closer, and you finally notice what she's wearing a black lingerie robe, thick but sheer enough to show her bra and panties underneath.

Your eyes widen, and your face burns. Your cock twitches in your pants, and you try to focus on her face, but it’s hard.

"Ms. Saerom..." you start, voice shaky, "a-are you sure about... that outfit?" you gesture vaguely, embarrassed.

She laughs, amused, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What? Don't like it? Is it ugly?" she teases, stepping even closer, her robe brushing your arm.

"Or... want me to wear nothing?” Her voice is bold now, daring, and your cock hardens more, making you shift uncomfortably.

"N-no, no!" you blurt, waving your hands.

"Keep it on! I mean, it's fine. Better than... nothing." Your words tumble out.

Saerom grins, "Alright, since my cutie want me to cover this," she listens to you and grabs a thicker robe, tying it tightly so it covers her body better.

You feel a bit relieved, your heart still racing from her teasing, but now you can focus.

"Let's get the work," she leads you to a small storage room in her apartment.

She points out boxes and items that need moving and organizing. "Just put these in there, stack them neatly," she says, her tone more practical now, though her playful smile lingers.

You get to work, carrying boxes and bags to the storage room. The stuff isn't heavy, mostly old books, clothes, and some random decor, but there's a lot of it, and it takes effort to move and arrange everything. You're sweating a bit, your arms tired as you stack boxes on shelves and push bags into corners.

Saerom follows you, giving directions like, "That one goes on the top shelf," or "Put those in the back, please." She’s close, watching you work, her presence still making you a little nervous.

After tidying up the storage room, you're sweaty and tired.

Saerom claps her hands with a grin, "You've more than earned that dinner I promised," she says, her voice light.

"Give me some minutes to cook something for you." She heads to the kitchen, and soon the apartment fills with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and cream.

You sit at her small, cozy dining table, watching her move confidently around the kitchen. She’s still in her thicker robe, her hair loose now, and you try to shake off the lingering tension from earlier.

In about 10 minutes, she brings over two plates of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, the pasta glossy with sauce, and two tall glasses of iced tea with lemon slices, "Hope you're hungry," she says, sitting across from you, her smile warm and inviting.

You dig in, and the pasta is delicious, rich and perfectly cooked, the iced tea refreshing after all the work.

As you eat, Saerom starts talking about her late husband, "He was a lot like you, you know," she says softly, twirling her fork in her pasta.

"Quiet, kind of shy, but so dedicated. He'd work late, always trying to make things better for us. We had dreams, traveling, maybe starting a little business. But then he got sick... and he was gone before we could do any of it." Her voice stays steady, but her eyes sharing old pain.

You listen closely, nodding, feeling her loss in the quiet pauses. "That sounds really tough," you say gently, wanting to comfort her but unsure how.

She gives you a small, bittersweet smile, "It was. But life goes on, right?"

You finish eating, and the meal leaves you full and content. Saerom stands, stacking the empty plates. "Let me grab that money I owe you," she says, heading to her room, "Stay there."

You lean back in the chair, sipping the last of your iced tea, thinking about her story, how she's so strong, carrying that grief yet still teasing at work. It makes you see her differently, like there's more to her than the flirty office games.

A moment later, she's back, holding a few crisp bills. "Here you go," she says, handing them to you with a smile.

You take the money, mumbling, "Thanks, Ms. Saerom." But before you can pocket it, she steps closer, her fingers tugging at the tie of her robe.

In one smooth motion, she pulls it open and lets it drop to the floor, revealing she's completely naked underneath, no black lingerie she had wear it before.

Her skin glows under the soft apartment lights, every curve exposed, and your jaw drops. Your cock surges to life, instantly hard, straining painfully against your pants.

"This is what you were hoping for, right?" she asks, her voice low and teasing, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.

You're speechless, face burning, heart hammering in your chest. Your eyes can't help but trace her body, and your cock throbs.

"I-I... uh," you stammer, brain scrambled, torn between shock and raw desire.

Saerom stands confidently, unbothered by her nudity, clearly enjoying how flustered you are.

She grabs your wrist, her grip firm but not rough. "Come," she says, her voice low and commanding.

Before you can process, she's pulling you toward her bedroom, her naked body moving ahead of you. Your heart pounds, your cock throbbing so hard it's almost painful, and you're half-dazed, unsure if you're scared or just too turned on to think straight.

She leads you into her room, dimly lit, with a big bed covered in soft sheets, and yanks you toward it, pushing you down onto the mattress with a playful but dominant shove.

You land on your back, staring up at her, your breath shaky. She's standing over you, completely bare naked, her eyes intense and hungry.

You're nervous about her boldness, her control. "Ms. Saerom…" you start, voice trembling, trying to find words.

She cuts you off, leaning down, her face close to yours. "Don't 'Ms.' me," she says, her tone sharp but teasing.

"Call me noona if you want this to keep going," her hands move to her body, one cupping her breast, squeezing it slowly, the other sliding down to her pussy, her fingers brushing herself like she's putting on a show.

The sight makes your cock twitch, straining against your pants, and you can't hold back anymore.

"Noona... S-Saerom-noona!" you blurt out, the words spilling from you instinctively.

Her eyes light up, and she smirks, pleased. "Good boy," she purrs, climbing onto the bed.

She straddles you, her bare skin warm against your clothed body, and leans down, kissing you deeply.

Her lips are soft, her tongue pushing into your mouth, and you melt under her, kissing her back as your hands hover, unsure where to touch.

She presses herself closer, her weight pinning you down, until you both lying on the bed, her body on top of yours, her kiss pulling you deeper into the heat of the moment. Your cock pulses beneath her, and you're lost, caught in her control, not sure where this is going but too far gone to care.

Her hands move to your jeans. Still straddling you, she deftly unbuckles your belt, the metal clinking softly, and pops open the button with ease.

Her fingers tug down your zipper, all while her tongue dances with yours, keeping you dizzy with sensation. You're pinned beneath her on the bed, heart racing, your cock so hard it's almost painful.

She breaks the kiss just enough to glance down, her hand slipping into your open jeans. With a quick tug, she pulls them down slightly, freeing your fully erect cock.

It springs out, throbbing, and she wraps her fingers around it, stroking slowly. Her touch is warm and deliberate, sending a jolt through your body.

You gasp against her lips, and she smirks into the kiss, clearly enjoying your reaction. Her thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the slick pre-cum that's already leaking out, making her strokes smoother, teasingly slow.

"Relax, cutie, you're not going anywhere, aren't you?" she whispers against your mouth, her voice low and sultry, before kissing you again, deeper this time.

Her lips move against yours, her kiss fierce and consuming, while her hand keeps stroking your cock, slow and teasing, spreading the pre-cum over your length.

Your breaths come out shaky, every touch making your body tense with need.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark, and she shifts lower, her bare skin brushing against you as she moves.

"Look at you, so hard for noona," she murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her grip tightens slightly, pumping your cock a little faster now, her fingers slick with your pre-cum.

You groan softly, hips twitching up into her hand, unable to help yourself. She chuckles, low and sultry, clearly loving how much control she has over you.

She leans down, her breath hot against your neck as she whispers, "You're so cute when you're like this."

Her lips graze your skin, kissing along your jaw, then lower, while her hand never stops its steady rhythm.

Your cock throbs harder, the heat of her touch and her closeness driving you to the edge. You're still fully clothed except for your open jeans, and the contrast of her naked body against you makes everything feel even more intense.

"Saerom-noona..." you manage to gasp, your voice weak.

She smirks, slowing her strokes again, teasing you, keeping you right on the edge, "Shh, just let me take care of you," she says, her free hand sliding up your chest, pushing your shirt up to expose your skin.

Her fingers trail over your stomach, and you shiver under her touch, your cock pulsing in her grip. You're completely at her control, heart pounding, not sure how much more you can take.

Her hand keeps stroking your cock, her fingers slick with your pre-cum, moving in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your whole body tense with need.

Her lips trail from your neck back to your mouth, kissing you deeply, her tongue swirling against yours, pulling soft moans from you. You're still pinned under her on the bed, your jeans pushed down just enough to free your throbbing cock, your shirt bunched up from her roaming hands.

She pulls back from the kiss, her eyes dark with hunger, a wicked smile curling her lips. "You're such a good boy for noona," she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

Her hand slows on your cock, and you whimper, hips bucking slightly, desperate for more. She chuckles, clearly enjoying how much she's unraveling you. "Patience," she whispers, shifting her body lower, her breasts brushing against your chest as she moves down.

Your heart races as you realize where she's going. Saerom settles between your legs, her hands tugging your jeans down further to give her more access.

Your cock stands fully hard, glistening with pre-cum from her earlier teasing. She looks up at you, locking eyes, and the intensity in her gaze makes your breath catch.

Without breaking eye contact, she leans forward, her tongue flicking out to lick the tip of your cock, tasting the slickness there. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, the sensation sharp and electric.

“Fuck, Saerom-noona...” you mumble, voice shaky. She smirks, clearly pleased, and wraps her lips around the head of your cock, sucking gently at first.

Her tongue swirls over the tip, warm and wet, and your hips twitch up instinctively. She hums against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your body, and takes you deeper into her mouth, her lips sliding down your length. Her hand grips the base of your cock, stroking what her mouth doesn't cover, while her tongue works you with slow, deliberate licks.

She's good, too good. Her mouth is hot and tight, and she bobs her head slowly, sucking harder each time she pulls back. Your cock is soaked now, slick with her spit and your pre-cum, and the wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your uneven breaths.

You grip the sheets, trying to stay grounded, but it's overwhelming, her lips, her tongue, the way she moans softly around you like she's enjoying it as much as you are. Your cock throbs in her mouth, and you're already so close, the heat building fast.

Saerom senses it and pulls off with a soft pop, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "Not yet," she teases, licking her lips as she crawls back up your body.

"I'm not done with you," her voice is sultry, and your eyes widen as she straddles you again, positioning herself right over your slick, aching cock.

You can feel the heat of her pussy hovering just above you, and it’s driving you crazy, "Saerom-noona..." you start, but she shushes you with a finger to your lips.

"Shushh, silence," she says, gripping your cock with one hand, lining it up with her entrance.

She's wet, dripping, you can tell, and the sight of her above you, naked and confident, makes your head spin.

Slowly, she lowers herself, the head of your cock slipping into her tight, warm pussy. You both gasp, she's so hot and slick, gripping you perfectly as she sinks down, taking you inch by inch until you're fully inside her.

"Oh, fuck," you groan, your hands instinctively grabbing her hips, feeling the softness of her skin.

She moans softly, her head tilting back as she adjusts to your size, her pussy clenching around you, making your cock pulse inside her.

"So good," she murmurs, starting to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, grinding down on you. The sensation is intense, her tight walls squeezing you, and you're already fighting to hold on.

Saerom leans forward, her hands on your chest, pushing your shirt up further as she rides you, her movements picking up speed.

Her breasts bounce slightly, and you can't stop staring at her, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way she looks like she's lost in this as much as you are.

"You like this, don't you?" she whispers, her voice teasing but breathy, her pussy tightening around your cock as she moves faster.

You nod, barely able to speak, your hands gripping her hips tighter, urging her on.

Your cock is buried deep in her now, every thrust of her hips sending waves of pleasure through you, the sound of her moans and the wet slap of her skin against yours filling your ears.

You're close, too close, and she knows it, her eyes locking on yours as she rides you harder, daring you to lose control.

"Saerom-noona... I-I can't..." you stammer, your cock throbbing inside her, the pressure building fast.

"Not yet, good boy," she says, leaning down to kiss you again, her lips crashing against yours as her pussy squeezes you even tighter. .

"Saerom-noona..." you gasp, your voice desperate as your hands gripping her hips tighter, trying to hold on.

She smirks, slowing her movements just enough to keep you teetering on the brink, her pussy clenching around you like she's enjoyed every second of this.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she whispers, leaning down, her lips brushing your ear. Her breath is hot, and her words send a shiver through you.

"You're doing so well for noona." She straightens up again, her hands sliding down to brace on your stomach as she picks up the pace, her hips slamming down harder now.

Your cock is so hard it hurts, slick with her juices, and you can feel the pressure building, your whole body tensing.

She notices, her eyes glinting with that playtful spark, "Don't you dare come yet," she says, her voice firm but playful, "I want to enjoy you a little longer."

She grinds down slowly now, letting you feel every inch of her tight walls as she drags herself up and down your length.

You groan, your head falling back against the pillow, your hands clutching her hips like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

It's torture, the way she’s controlling the pace, keeping you right on the edge but not letting you tip over.

She leans forward again, her breasts brushing your chest as she kisses you, her tongue dive into your mouth. You kiss her back, your hips bucking up into her instinctively.

She pulls back, gasping softly, a string of spit connecting your lips. "So eager," she teases, her hand reaching down to grip the base of your cock, giving it a quick squeeze before she starts riding you again, faster this time.

Your cock pulses inside her, the heat and tightness overwhelming. "Noona... please..." you beg, your voice barely a whisper, your body trembling under her.

You're so close, every thrust pushing you further, the slick heat of her pussy driving you insane.

She smirks, clearly loving how desperate you are, and shifts her hips, angling herself so your cock hits deeper, making her moan louder.

"Okay, good boy," she murmurs, her voice breathy now, like she's getting close too, "Let's see how much you can take."

She rides you harder, her pussy clamping down on your cock, and you can't hold back anymore.

Your hips jerk up, your cock throbbing as the pressure snaps, "I'm cumming-!" and you come hard, "Erghh..." a low groan escaping you as you spill inside her, wave after wave of release flooding through you.

Saerom moans, feeling you fill her, and she keeps moving, riding you through your orgasm, her hips slowing but never stopping, "Good boy," she whispers, leaning down to kiss you softly, her lips gentle now.

Your cock twitches inside her, still sensitive, as she finally stills, her body warm and heavy on top of you. She stays there for a moment, catching her breath, her pussy still gripping you tightly, before sliding off slowly, leaving you empty and dazed.

She lies next to you, her hand resting on your chest, a satisfied smile on her face. "You did good," she says softly, her teasing edge gone, replaced by something warmer.

You're still catching your breath, your mind spinning, your cock softening but still tingling from the intensity.

You gasp awake, your vision blurry, body heavy against the soft sheets.

As your eyes adjust to the dim light, the reality hits you like a shockwave, you had sex with Saerom.

Your heart starts pounding again, and you turn your head to see her sitting beside you on the bed, naked, her body barely covered by the same thin sheet draped over you.

Her hair is messy, her skin glowing faintly in the low light, and she’s looking at you with a soft, amused smile.

"Ms. Saerom...?" you mumble, voice hoarse, your mind scrambling to piece it together.

"What...? did I...?" You’re dazed, still processing the intensity of what happened, your cock twitching faintly at the memory of her riding you, her tight pussy gripping you.

Saerom chuckles, leaning closer, and playfully flicks your nose with her finger, "Yes, you did," she says, her voice teasing but warm.

"You fucked me, cutie boy. Don't act so surprised," her words are blunt, and your face burns, a feel of embarrassment swirling in your chest.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, revealing more of her skin, and you can’t help but glance at her curves before looking away, flustered.

You sit up slowly, the sheet falling to your lap, exposing your bare chest, "I-I... didn't expect..." you stammer, rubbing your face, trying to make sense of it.

Saerom tilts her head, her smile softening. "You are definitely expected this, aren't you?" she says, her hand resting on your arm, her touch gentle now.

"You were great. No need to overthink it." She pulls the sheet tighter around herself, but her eyes stay locked on yours, still carrying that playful glint.

"Want some water? Or... round two?" she teases, raising an eyebrow, and you feel your cock twitch again, your body betraying how much you’re still drawn to her.

She slips out of bed, the sheet still wrapped loosely around her, and pads to the kitchen, "Stay there," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light.

You sit on her bed, still half-dazed, your jeans awkwardly pulled back up but unbuttoned, your shirt crumpled. Your mind replays the night, her body on yours, her moans, the way she called you "good boy"

She returns with a glass of water and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours, "Drink," she says, sitting beside you, the sheet slipping slightly to reveal her shoulder and a hint of her chest.

You take the glass, sipping slowly, the cool water calming your dry throat. You're shy, avoiding her gaze, staring at the glass.

Saerom leans back, propping herself on one hand, watching you with a small, knowing smile, "You’re so quiet now," she teases, her tone gentle.

"Was I too much for you?" she laughs softly, and you shake your head, cheeks burning, taking another sip to avoid answering.

She starts chatting casually, like you didn't just fuck her senseless. "You did good with those boxes earlier," she says.

"Stronger than you look." Her voice is warm, almost normal, but the way she's sitting there, barely covered, keeps you on edge.

Then she shifts closer, her tone changing, more curious. "So... I've seen you at work, you know. The way you look at Seoyeon," she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Got a little crush on her, don't you? Those sneaky glances when she's sketching at her tablet, the way you smile when you two chat in the pantry..."

Your stomach flips, caught off guard. You nearly choke on your water, setting the glass down on the nightstand. "W-what? Seoyeon? I-I don't..." you stammer, face hot, but Saerom just grins, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

"Oh, don't lie," she says, nudging your arm with her elbow.

"It's cute. She's sweet, right? Quiet like you, but I bet she's got a wild side too," she winks, and you're not sure if she's teasing or fishing for something.

Your mind races, Seoyeon's kind smile, her soft voice, the way your heart skips when she talks to you. You do like her, but admitting it to Saerom, after what just happened, feels like stepping into a trap.

"I... I mean, she's nice," you mumble, looking down, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "We just talk sometimes."

Saerom laughs, leaning closer, her bare shoulder brushing yours, "Uh-huh, 'nice', sure," she pauses, her voice softening, "You know, it's okay if you like her. But..." she trails off, her hand resting on your thigh, her touch light but enough to make your cock stir again.

"You're here with me now, so maybe I'm a little jealous," her tone is playful, make you shy.

She catches your flustered expression, her playful smile turning into something hungrier. "You're cute when you're shy," she says, her voice dropping low, "but I think you've got more for noona, don't you?"

Before you can respond, she leans in, kissing you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours, reigniting the heat from earlier. You melt into it, your hands finding her waist, the sheet slipping off her completely, leaving her naked again.

She pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and slides off the bed, standing at the edge, "Come here," she says, her tone commanding but teasing.

She turns, bending over the bed, her hands bracing on the mattress, her ass up and inviting. The sight of her like this, curves exposed, pussy glistening from earlier, makes your cock fully hard again, throbbing with need.

"Fuck me like this," she says, glancing back at you, her voice daring, a smirk on her lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but you're too turned on to hesitate long. You kick off your jeans completely, your shirt tossed aside, and move behind her, your hands shaking slightly as you grip her hips.

Her skin is warm, soft, and she arches her back, pushing her ass toward you, making it clear she wants you now, "Don't be shy, be a good boy," she murmurs, wiggling her hips slightly, her pussy slick and ready.

You line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and you groan at the contact. She's so warm, so inviting, and you can't hold back.

You push into her slowly, feeling her tight pussy stretch around you, gripping you as you slide deeper. She moans, low and needy, her head dropping forward as you fill her, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her voice shaking with pleasure. "Yeah, like that."

You start moving, thrusting into her, your hands gripping her hips tighter to steady yourself. Her pussy feels incredible, hot and wet, clenching around your cock with every thrust.

Sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her moans and your heavy breaths. Your cock throbs inside her, the pleasure building fast.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, turning her head to look back at you. Her eyes are dark, urging you on.

"Fuck me harder," you obey, picking up the pace, slamming into her with more force, your fingers digging into her hips.

She gasps, then moans louder, her hands clutching the sheets as she pushes back against you, meeting your thrusts, "Good boy... like that," she pants, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You're lost in it now, your cock buried deep in her pussy, the wet, tight heat. You reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair gently, pulling just enough to make her moan louder.

She loves it, her pussy tightening around you, and you feel yourself getting close again, the pressure building in your balls.

"Ms. Saerom... I'm..." you start, your voice strained, but she cuts you off, "Not yet," she gasps, pushing back harder.

"Make me come first," her words are a challenge, and you focus, thrusting deeper, faster, angling your cock to hit her just right.

Her moans turn into cries, her body trembling under you, and you can tell she's close.

Your hand slides around to her front, finding her clit, rubbing it in quick circles as you fuck her.

"Fuck yeah... so good," that pushes her over the edge,

"Ahh~!" she screams, her pussy clamping down on your cock as she comes, her whole body shaking.

You thrust a few more times, before your cock pulses hard, and pleasure snapped, you come, spilling deep inside her, "Ms. Saerom!" you groaning as the pleasure washes over you.

Saerom moans softly, riding out her orgasm as you fill her, her hips still moving slightly until you’re both spent.

You pull out slowly, your cock slick and softening, and collapse onto the bed beside her, breathing hard.

Saerom lowers herself onto the mattress, turning to face you, a satisfied smile on her face. The sheet is somewhere on the floor now, and she doesn't bother covering up, her sweaty, flushed body pressed close to yours.

She shifts closer, her lips brushing your ear. "You're not done yet, are you, good boy?" she whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, unsure if you can keep up, but her hand slides down your stomach, brushing dangerously close to your cock, and you feel it twitch, already stirring again. "Ms. Saerom..." you mumble, half-exhausted, half-turned on, but she just chuckles, nipping at your earlobe.

"I'm noona for now" she coaxes, rolling onto her side, her back facing you, her ass pressing lightly against your hips.

"One more for noona," she glances over her shoulder, her eyes daring you, and wiggles her hips, the curve of her body inviting you in. You can't resist her, your cock hardens fully again, pressing against her ass.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her tight against your chest, your lips brushing her neck as you position yourself. Your cock nudges between her thighs, finding her pussy, still wet and slick from your last round, your cum mixed with her juices.

"Fuck me now," she murmurs, her voice soft but needy, pushing back slightly to guide you in.

Slide into her slowly, you spoon her, your cock slipping easily into her tight, warm pussy.

She moans softly, her head tilting back against your shoulder as you fill her, the angle making her feel impossibly tighy, "Oh, yes..." she breathes, her hand reaching back to grip your hip, urging you deeper.

You start moving, thrusting gently at first, your cock gliding in and out of her, the wet heat gripping you with every stroke, your bodies pressed so close, your arm wrapped around her, one hand cupping her breast as you fuck her.

"Harder," she says, her voice a little sharper now, her ass pushing back against you.

You pick up the pace, thrusting deeper, your cock hitting spots that make her gasp, her pussy clenching around you.

Your hand squeezes her breast, your fingers teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling against yours. You kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she tilts her head to give you more access, her hand tightening on your hip.

"Good boy..." she pants, her voice shaky with pleasure.

Your cock throbs inside her, the slow build of pleasure growing faster now, her pussy so tight and perfect it's driving you wild.

You slide your hand down from her breast to her stomach, then lower, finding her clit. You rub it in small, firm circles, and she cries out, her body arching against you, her pussy squeezing your cock even tighter.

"Fuck, Saerom-noona..." you groan, your thrusts getting harder, more desperate. She's moaning louder now, her body shaking as you fuck her, your fingers working her clit in time with your cock.

"I'm close," she gasps, her voice raw, her hand clutching your arm. You keep going, pounding into her, your cock pulsing, the pleasure overwhelming.

She comes first, her pussy clamping down hard on your cock as she moans your name, her body shuddering in your arms.

You thrust deep, groaning as you come, your cock spurting inside her, filling her again.

Keep moving, you ride out the waves of pleasure, your bodies locked together, until you're both spent, your breaths heavy and uneven.

Saerom relaxes against you, her body soft and warm in your arms, your cock still inside her, softening slowly. She turns her head slightly, kissing your jaw, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips.

She shifts slightly, turning in your arms to face you, her lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes, still heavy with lust, sparkle with that familiar teasing glint. "Ready for next?” she murmurs, her voice husky, a playful challenge in her tone.

Shake your head, your heart racing again, your cock already stirring at her words despite how spent you feel. "Saerom-noona..." you start, voice weak, but she just smiles, kissing you again, deeper this time, her tongue flicking against yours.

She pulls back, sliding out of your arms and lying on her back, she spreads her legs wide, her thighs parting slowly, giving you a clear view of her pussy, still slick with your cum and her juices, pink and inviting.

She reaches down with one hand, her fingers gently parting her folds, showing you how wet she is, her entrance glistening. "Come on, good boy," she says, her voice low and seductive, her eyes locked on yours. "Fuck me like this. I want to see your face."

Your cock hardens fully at the sight, throbbing with renewed need in your body. You move, positioning yourself between her legs, your hands trembling slightly as you brace them on either side of her.

She's so open, so confident, and the way she's looking at you, like she's daring you to please her, makes your pulse race.

Lean down, you kissing her softly, and she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you closer, her lips hungry against yours.

Line up your cock, the tip brushing against her wet folds, and she moans softly, her hips tilting up to meet you. "Don't make noona wait," she whispers, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

Push in slowly, you feel her pussy stretch around you, so tight and warm, still dripping from before. She gasps as you fill her, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper, "Fuck, yes..." she breathes, her head tilting back, her eyes fluttering shut.

You start thrusting, your cock sliding in and out of her with slow, deep strokes at first. Her pussy grips you tightly, every movement sending sparks of pleasure through you. Her moans are soft but needy, her hands roaming your back, nails grazing your skin.

"Harder," she says, her voice sharp, urging you on. You pick up the pace, slamming into her, your hips meeting hers with a wet slap that fills the room. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, and she opens her eyes, locking them on yours, her gaze intense and raw.

"God, you're so good," she moans, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even deeper. Her pussy clenches around your cock, making you groan, your thrusts growing more desperate.

Lean down, you kiss her neck, sucking lightly on her skin, and she arches into you, her moans louder now. Your hand finds her breast, squeezing it, your thumb teasing her nipple, and she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you.

You can feel the pressure building again, your cock throbbing inside her, the slick heat of her pussy driving you closer to the edge. "Saerom-noona... I'm..." your voice strained, but she cuts you off, her hands cupping your face, pulling you into another deep kiss.

"Come for me," she whispers against your lips, her pussy tightening around you, pushing you over.

You thrust hard, one last time, and come, groaning loudly as you spill inside her, your cock pulsing with every wave.

"Yes... ahh~!" she moans, her legs tightening around you as she feels you fill her, her own orgasm hitting as her pussy clenches hard, her body shaking under you. You keep moving, riding out the pleasure, until you're both panting, spent, and tangled together.

She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow, her lips curling into that familiar, wicked smirk. "Last one for noona?" she murmurs, her voice soft but dripping with intent.

You're about to protest, your body pushed to its limit, but before you can speak, Saerom's hand slides down your stomach, brushing over your soft cock.

Her touch is gentle, coaxing, and even though you're drained, you feel a twitch, your body responding to her. "Saerom-noona" you mumble, half-dazed, but she shushes you with a quick kiss, her lips soft and teasing.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, sliding down the bed, her hair trailing over your skin as she moves. She settles between your legs, her hands spreading your thighs slightly.

Your cock is half-hard now, stirred by her closeness and the anticipation of what's coming. She looks up at you, eyes glinting, and runs her tongue slowly over her lips. "Just relax, good boy."

She leans in, her breath hot against your cock before she kisses the tip, soft and deliberate. You groan, your head falling back against the pillow as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently.

Her tongue flicks over the sensitive head, tasting the mix of your cum and her juices from earlier, and your cock hardens fully in her mouth, throbbing under her touch. She hums, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base.

Her mouth is warm and wet, her tongue swirling around you with slow, practiced skill. She bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you, the wet sounds filling the room.

Your hands grip the sheets, pleasure building fast despite how many times you’ve come tonight. "Fuck, noona..." you gasp, your hips twitching up instinctively, but she presses a hand on your thigh, keeping you in place, fully in control.

She pulls back slightly, her lips shiny, a string of spit connecting her mouth to your cock. "You taste so good," she murmurs, her voice sultry, before diving back in, taking you even deeper.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and she sucks hard, her hand pumping you in rhythm with her mouth. You're overwhelmed, the pleasure sharp and relentless, your cock throbbing as she pushes you closer to the edge.

"Saerom-noona... I'm gonna..." you manage, your voice strained, your body tensing.

She doesn't slow down, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, urging you on. Her mouth works faster, her lips tight around you, her hand twisting slightly as she strokes.

It's too much, the heat, the suction, the way she's so focused on making you lose it.

You groan loudly, your hips bucking, and you come, hard, your cock pulsing as you shoot into her mouth.

Saerom moans softly, taking every drop, her lips staying locked around you as you spill, her tongue milking you through the orgasm.

You're shaking, the pleasure so intense it leaves you breathless, your vision blurring for a moment.

She swallows, her throat working, and slowly pulls off, licking her lips clean with a satisfied smile. A bit of your cum glistens at the corner of her mouth, and she swipes it with her finger, popping it back in with a playful wink.

"Good boy," she says, crawling up to lie beside you, her body warm against yours. You're completely spent, your cock soft and sensitive, your body heavy with exhaustion.

You're too tired to respond, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief, still processing this night, fucking Saerom over and over, ending with her sucking you dry. You feel her heartbeat against you, her warmth grounding you as you drift, unsure what this all means but too worn out to care.

You stumble out of the bathroom, freshly showered, your body clean but still heavy with exhaustion from the wild night.

Your hair is damp, and you're back in your jeans and crumpled shirt, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief as you replay everything in your head. You grab your bag, ready to head home, your mind still spinning.

She is waiting for you in the living room, now dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied up messily. She looks softer, less intense than before, but her eyes still have that warm, knowing glint.

She's leaning against the couch, arms crossed, a small smile on her lips as you walk in. "Feeling better?" she asks, her voice light but genuine.

You nod, a bit shy again, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, thanks... for everything," you mumble, not sure what else to say.

Saerom steps closer, her smile softening. "No, thank you," she says, her tone sincere.

"For helping with the boxes... and, well, for tonight," she pauses, looking down for a moment, then back at you, her eyes searching yours.

"It's been a long time since I've felt like this… since I've fucked like that," her words are blunt, and you blush, but her honesty makes your chest tighten.

She reaches out, touching your arm gently. "You’re special, you know that?" she says, her voice quieter now.

"I mean it. Don't ever change, okay? Stay this sweet, shy guy who's so good to me." her fingers linger, and her expression turns serious.

"And don't turn away from me, no matter what. Promise me that."

You're caught off guard, her words heavy with meaning you don't fully understand, "I... I won't," you say softly, nodding, though you're not sure what you're promising. Her smile returns, small but warm, and she pulls you into a quick hug, her body soft against yours for a moment before she steps back.

"Get home safe, cutie," she says, her teasing tone creeping back in, though her eyes are still soft. You nod again, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and head for the door, your mind a mess of emotions.

You wake up the next morning, your body still tingling with the memory of last night at Saerom's apartment. You're exhausted but buzzing, barely able to focus as you get ready for work.

You step into the office, the usual hum of chatter and keyboards greeting you.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the marketing corner, where Saerom’s desk sits. She's already there, typing away, looking sharp in a fitted blazer and skirt, her hair swept to one side. As if sensing you, she glances up, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smirk.

It's subtle, just for you, but it hits like a spark, making your face heat up and your cock twitch faintly in your pants. You quickly look away, heart pounding, and hurry to your desk, trying to act normal.

You settle in, pulling out your laptop, but your minds elsewhere. Saerom's smirk lingers in your thoughts, a reminder of her naked body, her moans, her whispered promises.

You steal another glance at her, and she's still watching you, her eyes glinting with mischief before she turns back to her screen, biting her lip.

2PM, you're burned out, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop screen.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples, craving a break. Your gaze drifts to Saerom's desk in the marketing corner, almost instinctively.

She's typing, but as if she feels your stare, she glances up, her eyes locking on yours.

Her lips curl into that familiar playful smirk, and she tilts her head slightly, giving you a subtle nod, a silent invitation to come over.

Your heart skips, a mix of hesitation and curiosity swirling in your chest. You glance around the office, it's busy, no one's paying attention.

Against your better judgment, you stand and walk toward her desk, your pulse quickening.

As you approach, Saerom leans back in her chair, her movements deliberate, "Hi cutie," she shrugs off her blazer, letting it slide down her shoulders, revealing a tight, white blouse that hugs her curves, the top buttons straining slightly against her chest.

The sight makes your mouth dry, your cock start stirring in your pants.

She smirks, noticing your reaction, and pats the space behind her chair, "I'm so tense," she says, her voice low, just for you.

"Be a good boy and massage my shoulders, will you? I need to relax."

You hesitate, glancing around again, but the office hums along, oblivious. You step behind her, your hands hovering before settling on her shoulders.

Her skin is warm through, and you start kneading gently, your fingers working into the tight muscles. She sighs, tilting her head back, her eyes half-closed.

"Mmm, that's nice," she murmurs, her voice soft and sultry.

"Lower, though... here." She guides your hands down, dangerously close to her chest, her blouse dipping slightly to show a hint of cleavage, your fingers brush the tops of her breasts.

She moans quietly, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but it’s enough to make your face burn, "Keep going,” she whispers, arching slightly into your touch.

Your hands tremble, massaging her chest now, feeling the soft give of her breasts under your fingers. She's clearly enjoying it, her breathing heavier, but suddenly she shifts, standing up.

"Sit," she says, her tone firm but teasing, pointing to her chair. You're confused, heart racing, but her commanding gaze leaves no room for argument.

You obey, sinking into her chair, the warm seat still carrying her scent.

She glances around briefly, then drops to her knees, crawling under the desk in one smooth motion.

Your eyes widen, panic mixing with arousal, "Ms. S-Saerom, what-" you start, but she shushes you, her hands already on your belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

"Quiet," she whispers, unzipping your jeans and tugging them down just enough to free your cock, already half-hard from the tension, "Let me relax you now."

Before you can protest, her lips wrap around your cock, warm and wet, sucking gently. You gasp, gripping the armrests, your body tensing as her tongue swirls over the tip, tasting the pre-cum already leaking out.

The office noise fades, keyboards, chatter, phones, all drowned out by the wet sounds of her mouth and your ragged breaths. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your length, her hand stroking the base, her movements slow but deliberate.

Your cock throbs in her mouth, fully hard now, and you bite your lip to stifle a groan, terrified someone might notice.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours from under the desk, glinting with mischief as she bobs her head, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing.

Her tongue presses against the underside of your cock, and you feel the pleasure building fast, your hips twitching slightly despite your effort to stay still.

"Fuck, Ms..." you whisper, barely audible, your hands knuckling the chair. She hums around your cock, the vibration sending a jolt, you're barely holding back.

Suddenly you hear the sharp click of heels approaching. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, "Darling? Where's Saerom?" she asks, her tone ligh, standing just on the other side of the desk.

You snap your head up, "Ms. Eunbi! ahh... sh-she's... uh... grabbing coffee," you stammer, your voice shaky, trying to sound casual. "I'm... uh... checking her work. Yeah, she asked me to," you force a tight smile, praying Eunbi doesn't notice how flushed your face.

Saerom keeps sucking, her movements slowing slightly but not stopping, her tongue teasing the tip of your cock.

Eunbi raises an eyebrow, her sharp gaze flicking over you, like she's picking up on something off. "Checking her work, huh?" she says, her lips twitching into a knowing smile, her tone carrying that same playful edge she always has. She steps closer, leaning slightly against the desk, her blazer opens just enough to draw your eye to her curves. "You look... tense. Everything okay, darling?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, your cock twitching in Saerom's mouth as she takes you deeper, her hand stroking faster now, clearly enjoying the risk, "Y-yeah, fine," you manage, your voice cracking slightly.

"Just... focused." Your heart is racing, torn between the fear of getting caught and the overwhelming pleasure of Saerom's lips and tongue working you under the desk.

Eunbi tilts her head, her smile widening, like she's not entirely buying it. "Hmm. Well, tell Saerom I need her for a quick chat when she's back from her coffee run," she says, her voice dripping with amusement.

She lingers for a moment, her eyes scanning you, then turns to walk away, her heels clicking as she heads back to her side of the office. You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding you.

Saerom doesn't let up, her mouth moving faster now, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the head of your cock. The thrill of almost getting caught pushes you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm cumming...!” you whisper, barely audible, your body tensing as the pressure snaps. You come hard, your cock pulsing as you spill into her mouth, waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Saerom moans softly, her lips staying locked around you, swallowing every drop as her tongue milks you through the orgasm.

Saerom finally pulls off with a quiet pop, licking her lips as she crawls out from under the desk, her face flushed but smug.

"Good boy," she whispers, wiping the corner of her mouth before standing, smoothing her blouse like nothing happened.

"You handled that well," she teases, her eyes glinting as she sits back in her chair, grabbing her blazer to slip it on.

You're still catching your breath, your cock softening in your open jeans, your mind a mess of panic and pleasure.

"That... that was too close," you mutter, zipping up quickly, your face burning. Saerom just laughs softly, leaning into whisper,

"Good, she doesn't notice it, though, right?" before turning to her computer, leaving you dazed and wondering how you’re supposed to focus on work now.

Over the next few weeks, Saerom's teasing gets intense. She brushes against you in the hallway, her hand lingering too long, and sends flirty emails that make your cock twitch.

In meetings, she'll flash a bit of cleavage or bite her lip, knowing it drives you crazy.

Once, in the pantry, she "drops" something and bends over, her skirt showing lace panties.

You're a mess, barely keeping up with work, torn between wanting her and feeling like you're losing control.

Her texts come late at night "Miss you, cutie" or "Come over?" and if you don't reply fast, she pouts, making you feel guilty, her words from that night about not turning away echoing in your mind, her promise to stay close, and a quiet feeling that this story with her isn't over yet.

[yodatzutzu]

I have been watching Haikyuu lately, so what about a Libero!Male Reader x Karina, and they both coincidentally have the nickname "cat". Much love authornim your stories are goated fr <3

The Cats 🐈‍⬛ 🐈

Synopsis: You’re The Cat—Chosun High’s unstoppable libero. But at a campus tournament, you spot her across the court: Karina Yu, Hanuel High’s own “Black Cat.” Same position. Same instincts. Same nickname. Camp brings you together, but goodbye leaves something unfinished.

Word Count: 2,804

Karina X Male!Reader

a/n: sorry for the delay anon TT, hope you enjoy this piece!. who’s your current favorite character in the series? mines Wakatoshi ^^

You were representing Chosun High, a name that already echoed through the gym long before you even stepped onto the court. Whispers in the stands, coaches murmuring behind clipboards, players from other schools subtly turning their heads to watch your warm-up.

You weren’t just good.

You were the libero.

The one who could read a play before it happened. The one whose shoes barely made noise, whose arms were always under the ball, whose gaze locked like a sniper. The one who made even the nastiest spikes look like lazy tosses.

That’s how you earned the moniker:

“The Cat.”

Fast reflexes. Killer reads.

Sharp movements.

Always landing on your feet.

“Who’s next on the bracket?” one girl asked, biting into her bag of honey butter chips, crumbs dusting her lap.

“Hiemen High vs… Chosun,” her friend replied, already seated, leaning forward with the intensity of someone about to watch a war.

“Chosun High? Wait—is that the school with that hot libero?”

“You mean The Cat?”

“That’s his moniker?” She grinned. “So cute.”

The gym lights buzzed.

The whistle blew.

The match began

First set?

Flawless.

You weren’t just defending. You were controlling the tempo of the game. Hiemen’s strongest spiker barely got a decent angle before you were there—sliding, diving, lifting the ball with a flick of your forearms like it was effortless.

The scoreboard ticked up in your favor, one digit at a time.

25–12.

The crowd had gone from curious to stunned.

“That libero’s no joke…” a student whispered, voice low with disbelief.

“The only time Hiemen scored was when he was out of rotation.”

“Fr? I didn’t even notice the ball hit the floor.”

Somewhere in the stands, an assistant coach scribbled “#7 – Y/N” in a notebook underlined three times

You were back in rotation.

Knees bent.

Eyes laser sharp.

Your body swayed with subtle rhythm, already processing the angles, the posture of the setter, the twitch of the spiker’s elbow.

You could see it all before it happened.

“Tsk. That number 7 again,” one of the Hiemen spikers muttered, sweat dripping down his chin like he’d been in a sauna.

“The libero? He’s a pain in the ass.”

And they were right.

You dove like your life depended on it.

Read feints like you’d choreographed them yourself.

Your fingers grazed the floor more than the ball ever did.

Fast.

Everywhere.

Untouchable

Then it happened—midway through the second set.

A sudden murmur.

Chairs scraped.

Eyes shifted.

Red uniforms entered the stadium.

Hanuel High’s Women’s Varsity Team.

Heads turned instinctively. Not just because they were good, but because everyone knew they were good. Their presence had weight, a gravity to it. The way they walked in, side by side, backs straight, as if they owned the court without even stepping on it.

And at the center of them…

Karina Yu.

Top 1 in the country.

Ace libero.

Unflinching stare, arms always crossed during warm-ups, someone who played like chess on speed—ten steps ahead and always calm.

Nickname?

“Black Cat.”

She shared your nickname.

She shared your instinct.

Your speed.

Your stillness before the storm.

A mirror image of you.

Or maybe you were her mirror.

She didn’t glance at the game. Not right away. But her teammates did.

Some started whispering.

Some pointed.

You finished the second set just like the first.

25–13.

2–0.

Another clean sweep.

No celebration. No fist bumps. Just a quiet walk off the court. You were used to winning by now.

“Hate to match with that. That Cat is terrifying…” someone muttered, still watching you towel off courtside.

“For real. But why’re we talking about her? She’s not even in the boys’ tournament.”

“Huh? The Cat’s not a girl—it’s him.” A student pointed.

“Y/N. Number 7 libero.”

“Wait… I thought The Cat was Karina from Hanuel High?”

“Really? Then I wanna see her match.”

“Let’s go to the other gym. I bet it’ll be a landslide too.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the stadium…

The lights were warmer here. Less crowded—for now.

Hanuel’s girls were stretching, tying their hair, checking shoe grips.

“Rinaa!” a voice called across the court.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Hmm?” Karina muttered, eyes closed as she pulled one leg over the other in a fluid stretch.

“There’s supposedly someone who shares your nickname.”

Karina opened one eye lazily.

“The libero, right? Y/N?”

“Oh—you already knew?” her teammate blinked.

Karina didn’t answer that.

She just gave a small nod, lips pressing into a firm line.

The whistle blew.

And then it was her turn.

First set:

A massacre.

25–11.

You’d think the opposing team had never practiced before. But they had.

They were just outplayed at every level.

Karina glided.

She didn’t scramble. She moved. Like wind. Like shadow. A phantom on the court.

Deflecting spikes with calm poise.

Reading rotations before the ball even crossed the net.

Shutting down attacks that should’ve landed clean.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t flash.

She simply commanded.

Another Cat on the court.

And just like yours

her match never let the ball touch the floor.

The tournament ended early for the day.

Both courts cleared, lights dimmed, and teams scattered to lockers or vending machines. You lingered in the hallway between the girls’ and boys’ gyms, scrolling through your phone, water bottle in hand, replaying your dives in your mind.

Then you heard it.

“Agh—!”

Something hit the floor with a slap. A soft thud followed. Then a groan.

You turned toward the vending machine area.

There she was.

Karina Yu.

Black Cat of Hanuel. The ghost on the court. The ice-eyed monster libero.

Sitting on the ground.

On her butt.

Bag splayed open.

Water bottle rolling away.

Anime-themed keychains glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Your brows raised.

She looked up.

And froze.

Her eyes met yours.

Sharp. Wide. Horrified.

You blinked.

Then tilted your head slightly.

“So… Black Cat trips too, huh?”

Karina scrambled to sit up straighter, pushing her round glasses up her nose. Wait. Glasses?

You didn’t even know she wore any.

“I—I was adjusting my shoelaces.”

“Mmhm.” You crouched down, nudging her runaway water bottle back toward her. “Your shoelaces made you slip on air?”

She glared at you. The same glare she used on spikers before shutting them down with a clean dig.

It was kind of cute in this lighting.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she muttered, shoving a dog-eared playbook full of notes and diagrams back into her bag.

You caught a glimpse—rotation breakdowns, libero shift schemes, opponent spike charts—written in perfect, tiny handwriting.

She was a nerd.

A full-blown, unashamed, volleyball nerd.

And she’d just fallen on her ass in front of you.

You smiled, trying not to let it stretch too wide.

“Didn’t expect you to carry a whole scouting manual.”

“It’s efficient,” she muttered, cheeks slightly pink. “You’d probably read it wrong anyway.”

“Is that trash talk from someone who can’t even stand up without help?”

She huffed.

You offered a hand.

She stared at it for a moment like you were trying to trick her. Then, reluctantly, she grabbed it. Her grip was strong—callused. Familiar.

You pulled her up.

She brushed her skirt off quickly, flustered but trying hard to hide it.

“You tell anyone about this,” she said, voice low, “and I’ll make sure you never receive another spike clean again.”

You chuckled.

“Relax. Your secret’s safe. I like my mythologies intact.”

“Mythologies?”

You gave a shrug.

“You. Me. The Cats. We’re legends now, remember?”

Karina blinked, then rolled her eyes.

But there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she turned away.

And for the first time—you saw it.

The quiet, clumsy, hyperfocused version of her that existed only when the crowds were gone.

The real Karina.

And damn—she was kind of adorable.

The announcement came a week later.

National Mixed Training Camp.

Top athletes from boys’ and girls’ divisions. Joint drills, cross-scrims, shared dorms.

It was meant to build chemistry for future co-ed exhibition teams.

You scanned the list, eyes skimming past names until—

Karina Yu. Hanuel High. Libero.

And one name below:

Y/N. Chosun High. Libero.

Same team.

The universe had jokes.

Day One of the camp was brutal.

Sun. Sweat.

No break between court drills and strength circuits. Even the coaches looked like they hated being there.

You’d just finished setting up cones for a footwork drill when you spotted her again.

Karina.

Same red jersey. Hair tied up in a messy half-bun. Round glasses in place. Bag still heavy with notes and playbooks. She was muttering to herself, arms crossed, eyes locked on a clipboard.

Still the Black Cat.

Still composed… until—

“Ah—!”

Her clipboard slipped. She bent to grab it, overcompensated, and knocked her water bottle over. Again.

You watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, amused.

“Should I start keeping a tally?”

She froze. Then slowly turned to look at you.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You’re giving me too much material.”

You walked over, grabbed the bottle, handed it back with a smug look.

She squinted at you.

Then her glasses fogged.

Like—actually fogged.

“…You good?”

She groaned under her breath and tugged them off quickly, wiping the lenses with the hem of her shirt.

“They always do this. I hate it.”

“Wait. You actually need those?”

She looked up at you, eyes a little less sharp now, lashes fluttering.

“You thought they were fake?”

“Well…” you rubbed the back of your neck. “I thought they were part of the Black Cat aesthetic.”

She made a strangled sound between a laugh and a scoff.

“Yeah. Nothing screams intimidation like foggy lenses and tripping over your own clipboard.”

“…You really are a nerd.”

She smacked your arm lightly with the clipboard.

“And you’re still cocky.”

The coach blew a whistle.

“Cats! You’re paired for dig/cover drills! Let’s go!”

You both paused.

“Cats?” you echoed, raising a brow.

“Cats? really?” Karina muttered, face in her hands.

“Guess they’re hoping we purr together.”

She shot you the coldest glare imaginable—but the blush on her cheeks ruined the effect.

The drill started.

Ball after ball, spike after spike.

And something weird happened.

You didn’t compete.

You flowed.

Karina moved to cover your gaps before you even called. You dove for receives while she reset in perfect sync. It was like the universe aligned just right.

Two cats.

One rhythm.

After a particularly nasty back-row spike, she lunged to save it, and you pivoted, knees grazing floorboards, sending it back over in a clean, low pass.

Point.

Everyone clapped.

“You two look like one person,” someone muttered.

Karina turned to you, cheeks flushed but eyes sparkling.

“…That felt kinda insane.”

You grinned, breathing hard.

“Wanna admit we’re the same species now?”

She rolled her eyes.

But this time?

She didn’t deny it

Camp had structure—morning drills, afternoon scrims, evening film.

But the best parts? They happened in the in-betweens. The spaces where coaches weren’t watching, where shoes were off, where walls came down and little truths slipped out like stray sets.

That’s where Karina became something else.

Still precise. Still cold when she wanted to be.

But also…

Kinda weird.

Kinda clumsy.

Kinda cute.

It started with the choco milk.

You caught her behind the gym after lunch, straw in mouth, eyes darting like she was drinking something illegal.

“Thought Black Cats only drank protein shakes.”

She jumped like she’d been caught mid-crime.

“It’s for brain recovery,” she muttered.

“For volleyball?”

“For my Haikyuu rewatch.”

That got a laugh out of you. One she clearly didn’t expect.

“I’ve got a tablet with better speakers. If you’re serious.”

She blinked.

Then again.

Then: “You’d… lend me that?”

“Only because you read that cross-spike yesterday before I did.”

She sipped her milk like she wasn’t smiling into the straw.

Later that afternoon, everyone was sprawled on the court, sweat sticking jerseys to backs, legs too tired to move. You nudged her with your knee, both of you catching your breath on the cool hardwood.

“Alright,” you whispered, smirking. “Who’s the camp ace?”

She didn’t even look at you.

“Define ace.”

“Someone we’d both hate to face in a match.”

She shrugged.

“…You, probably.”

You stopped mid-sip.

“Wait—what?”

She threw her towel over her face like she hadn’t just casually dropped that.

“Shut up. You’re annoying. You’re everywhere. I hate it.”

You couldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the break.

The next night, you found her playbook on the bench.

Out of curiosity, you flipped through it.

It was intense. Obsessive. Pages of strategies, charts, court zones, team data.

But in the corners?

Doodles.

Tiny cats with round ears.

One wearing your jersey number.

One with glasses.

One… tripping over a volleyball.

“Why are you touching my things?”

You turned.

She looked pale. Like she’d just remembered she left her diary in a public park.

“This little cat looks just like me,” you teased, pointing at the messiest one drawn mid-dive.

“Give it—!”

“So I’m smug to you?”

“You are smug!”

You held it up just out of reach.

“I’ll trade you for one of those milk pouches in your bag.”

She looked like she’d rather die.

But she still reached into her bag.

On the fourth day, you sat beside her on the bus ride back to the dorms. She didn’t say a word, just pulled out her phone and her earbuds.

Paused.

Then offered you one.

No words, no side-eyes.

Just the soft beat of some lo-fi playlist she had queued up—something with dreamy guitars and mellow drums. And for twenty minutes, you said nothing. Just leaned into the lull of music and movement.

When the bus turned a sharp corner, her shoulder brushed yours. She tensed—but didn’t move away.

She didn’t take the earbud back either.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Neither could she, apparently.

You caught her at the vending machines. Glasses on, hoodie zipped up, digging through her coins like it was a matter of life and death.

“Midnight craving?”

She didn’t even flinch this time.

“My brain won’t shut up. I think I rewrote my entire serve-receive formation in my head just now.”

You passed her a pouch of strawberry milk before she even chose.

She took it without a word, opened it, then looked up at you.

Soft eyes. Less guarded.

“…We don’t talk like this when we’re not on the court.”

“We could.”

She blinked again. You were starting to love that delay—like her brain had to reboot every time you said something that touched the nerves under her armor.

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t say no.

By the time the last day of camp came, everyone had stopped calling you “The Cat” separately.

It was just “The Cats.”

Two sides of the same coin.

Two liberos, always where they needed to be.

But off the court?

It was different now.

You talked more. Sat beside each other during film. Shared snacks. Argued over which anime protagonist had the worst plot armor.

And when you got called for one last rotation drill—side by side—you didn’t need to speak.

She stood beside you, tugging down her sleeves.

“Ready, nerd?” you whispered.

She shot you a look.

But her cheeks were already red.

“Only if you don’t trip over my clipboard again.”

The last whistle had blown, and the bags were packed. Camp was over.

The courts were empty now, the energy gone, replaced by echoing footsteps and the dull hum of vending machines that no one was raiding anymore. You stood at the bus terminal outside the dorm, duffel slung over your shoulder, team hoodie tugged up against the breeze.

Karina hadn’t come out yet.

Not that you were waiting.

…Okay, you were.

You scuffed your shoe on the concrete, watching other players board their rides back to cities and provinces, back to school gyms and wooden floors that felt colder now.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to her.

What this had all meant.

What those shared earbuds and stolen milk cartons added up to.

Then the door creaked open behind you.

Karina stepped out, glasses on, hair tied up sloppily—not camp-Black-Cat mode, just Karina. Real Karina. Hoodie too big, clipboard wedged between her arm and her ribs. She looked around once, then spotted you.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t frown.

Just walked straight over.

“Leaving early?” she asked, voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Bus leaves in five.”

She nodded, then stood beside you without another word.

The silence wasn’t awkward this time.

It was… heavy.

Like something unspoken was sitting between your sneakers, waiting for one of you to finally kick it forward.

You glanced at her, about to say something—

“Y/N.”

She said your name too softly. Like maybe she’d said it to herself a few times before this moment, testing it out.

You looked at her.

She reached into her hoodie pocket, then shoved something into your duffel’s side pouch

“Don’t open it until you get home.”

You blinked. “What is it?”

She shrugged, eyes avoiding yours now. “Just… something dumb.”

Your bus honked.

She stepped back, one hand holding her clipboard like a shield.

“Bye, Cat.”

You hesitated.

Then turned toward the bus, heart knocking hard against your ribs.

a/n: 150 likes, I’ll make an epilogue 🫶

[yodatzutzu]

The Gentle Ember, ft. fromis_9 Saerom

length: 6k

author's note: This one is rather aimless, honestly—and yes, I'm getting addicted to writing in third person.

---

Saerom watches Hyeonjun from across the kitchen island, a gentle smile playing on her lips. He is absorbed in carefully slicing strawberries for their morning oat, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. The early morning light filters through the window, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow that catches the faint dust motes dancing in the air. She sips her lukewarm coffee, the ceramic mug warm against her fingers, a small comfort in the quiet hum of their usually busy home.

A familiar ease settles over her as she observes him. There's a subtle rhythm to their mornings now, a comfortable dance perfected over years of shared space and silent understanding. They don't always need words; sometimes, it’s the quiet presence of the other that speaks volumes. Lately, however, a new kind of quiet has crept in—not bad, not unsettling, just… different. A little less spark, a little more routine, like a well-worn bridge that's still sturdy but perhaps less exciting to traverse.

Hyeonjun, sensing her gaze, looks up, catching her eye. His lips curve into a relaxed smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he gestures with the knife towards the bowl of fruit. "More berries, baby?" he asks, his voice soft, a hint of sleep still lingering in its depths. Saerom shakes her head, a quiet affirmation of contentment. No, no more berries, but perhaps more of this, this gentle connection that feels like a forgotten melody humming back to life.

Pushing off the counter, Saerom makes her way around the island. As she approaches, Hyeonjun sets the knife down, his hands instinctively reaching for hers. Their fingers intertwine, a simple touch that sends a surprising, tender warmth through her. It’s just a morning, just a quiet moment in their kitchen, but in the familiar press of his palm against hers, Saerom feels a tiny, fragile bloom of something new, or perhaps, something wonderfully old and rediscovered.

Hyeonjun presses a tender peck to her knuckles, his lips softly grazing the ring on her finger. “We haven’t had time to talk much, have we?” he mutters, his tone heavy with regret, his wish for more time together lying beneath the question. “We haven’t,” she echoes, her tender gaze staying locked with his. Her heart is filled with warmth at his recognition of their trajectory, his understanding that they haven’t spent much time with each other.

“And to think that we used to do so much together…” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence, a sense of guilt pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry, my heart.” Saerom shakes her head. Not denying his apology but rather telling him that it’s not his fault. None of this is anyone’s fault. “No, please don’t,” she murmurs, her hand squeezing his harder, her eyes turning glassy at his words. “It’s just how life is, love.”

Hyeonjun's thumb strokes the back of her hand, a silent conversation passing between them. He nods slowly, accepting her quiet absolution, but his gaze remains weighted with the unspoken. "Still," he continues, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze distant. "It feels like we've been running on autopilot." Saerom's eyes soften, a mirror of his own understanding. She leans in closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder, the familiar scent of him ‒ coffee and something uniquely Hyeonjun – filling her senses. It's a comfortable silence, different from the recent "quiet," this one filled with the soft promise of shared realization.

“If you want, though, we can go to that ramen shop tonight,” she offers. “Maybe a bowl of spicy ramen could help us unwind.” Hyeonjun smiles at the mention of the special restaurant, his mind replaying the evenings they shared with warm bowls of ramen, but that smile is quick to falter. “But you’re going to work overtime tonight, no? Because of the audit and all?” Saerom sighs; his reminder lands with a soft thud, a well-meaning truth that still feels burdensome. “You’re right…” she mumbles, the small spark of excitement dimming, replaced by the reality of her professional responsibilities.

Hyeonjun's hand, still cradling hers, tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn't press the point; he never does. Instead, he simply brings their joined hands up, pressing a soft kiss on her palm. "It's alright, my heart," he murmurs, his voice a balm. "We can always do it another time," he adds, a new thought brightening his expression, "Besides, maybe a quiet night in is exactly what we need. I can whip up some pasta for dinner, and we can finally watch that series about that nuclear reactor meltdown."

A small smile takes root on Saerom’s face, a warmth spreading through her at his easy willingness to adapt, his endless patience always touching her. She accepts his idea with a peck to his cheek, resting her head on his shoulder after. “I love you. For everything that you are,” she utters, her voice shaking from the rise of emotions within. Slowly, her fingers trace lines on his arm, her nails digging oh-so-slightly into his skin.

Hyeonjun's arm slides around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. He rests his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, a comforting anchor in their often-hectic lives. "I love you too, my Saerom," he murmurs against her hair, his voice deep and warm. It’s a quiet moment, the kind that used to be plentiful and effortless, and now feels like a precious rediscovery. The sun has risen higher, painting the kitchen in brighter hues, but inside their embrace, the warmth feels deeper, more profound than any light.

“Go take a shower, baby. I’ll clean up here,” he says, a loving nudge to get her moving. Saerom nods, a fond smile gracing her lips. She frees herself from his embrace and heads off, smiling all the way to the bathroom. As the sound of the shower starts, Hyeonjun turns his attention back to the kitchen. The familiar task of wiping down counters and putting away dishes feels less like a chore and more like an extension of their shared morning. The air still hums with the recent tenderness, reminding them kindly that even in their usual routine, new sparks can ignite, transforming the mundane into something quietly profound.

With a satisfied sigh, Hyeonjun puts away the last of the breakfast dishes. He glances towards the bathroom, a soft smile on his face as the shower continues to run. “Maybe I can join her in the shower,” he considers, looking to kick off the day with a bit of intimacy. He pads over to the bathroom, knocking on the door softly. "My love?" he calls, raising his voice slightly against the rush of running water. “Can I join you, please?”

The shower cuts off, and a momentary silence stretches before Saerom opens the door for him. “Did you say something?” she asks. Hyeonjun’s eyes roam her body; water clings to her hair and skin, the light bouncing off making for quite the spectacle. Not wanting to get caught up in his own thoughts, however, he shifts his gaze to meet hers. “Can I join you, please?” he repeats, looking for her permission. A smile, brimming with understanding, blooms on her face. “Of course, dear.” As the door widens, Saerom extends a hand, inviting him to join her in the second-most sacred place in the house.

Hyeonjun steps inside, the warm, steamy air immediately embracing him. Saerom's fingers, cool and soft from the water, close around his, guiding him past the threshold. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing them into their own private world of steam and soft light. As the water begins to spray again, warm rivulets tracing paths down their skin, he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her head fits perfectly beneath his chin, and the quiet comfort of their joined bodies, enveloped by the cleansing steam, feels like a forgotten luxury, now rediscovered and deeply cherished.

“Saerom-ah,” he whispers, his fingers gently running on her belly. “Do you remember the first time we showered together?” Saerom turns, her adoring smile meeting his eyes as a fond memory replays. “We showered together after our first time,” she completes his thoughts, guiding his hand towards her private part, as if looking to recreate that moment. “There was so much blood, and you were so… nervous,” she adds.

Hyeonjun plants a soft peck on her nape, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as his initial cluelessness resurfaces. “I mean, I had never known anything about sex,” he reasons. Saerom giggles, her hand sneaking around to find his manhood. As she touches him, her mind takes her on a quick trip to the past; the sight of him coated in her blood—a testament to her lost innocence—is such a precious memory. “Yet, you somehow managed to take me to cloud nine,” she reflects.

Hyeonjun's own hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers as the warm water streams over them. "You were so brave," he whispers, his voice thick with a renewed admiration, his lips brushing her wet hair. He remembers the mix of fear and tenderness, the overwhelming desire to be gentle and kind. "And you were so kind to me," she ponders, remembering how bare and exposed she felt, and how his gentle touches were so soothing.

He pulls her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly in the small, steamy enclosure. This shared history, this raw, unfiltered memory, isn't something to hide from; it's a foundation, a deep root that makes their love, and this rekindled spark, feel even more profound. “Thank you, Jeon Hyeonjun. For everything that you are. For everything that you’ve done for us.” His eyes turn wet, not because of the water washing over them, but because of her affirmation, her recognition of his efforts to make her feel loved and cherished. “Thank you, Lee Saerom,” he echoes, his heart warm at her assertion. “It’s you and only you, my heart.”

The water continues to fall around them, a soft, steady rhythm accompanying the beating of their hearts. They stand there for a long moment, simply holding each other, allowing the warmth and the weight of their shared history to settle deep within them. The world outside the shower fades away, leaving only the two of them, rediscovered and irrevocably bound. Slowly, reluctantly, Saerom reaches for the faucet, turning the water off with a soft click, drawing out the precious intimacy for as long as possible before the practicalities of the day call to them.

“I want to give you a little present. Something to remember me by during the day,” Saerom says. “Oh?” His eyebrow rises with intrigue, wondering what she has in store for him. “And that would be…?” Hyeonjun keeps his eyes fixed on her, as she slowly sinks onto her knees, a teasing smirk playing on her features. “Oh, yes, please…” he murmurs, his fists balling up in eagerness, fully aware of where this is headed.

Saerom's fingers, still cool from the shower, wrap around him, a gentle yet firm touch that steals the breath from Hyeonjun's lungs. His eyes flutter for a moment, savoring the feeling, the renewed intimacy that fills the steamy bathroom. Her lips ghost along his skin, a soft whisper against him, and he lets his head fall back against the tiled wall, completely at her mercy.

Hyeonjun gasps, his body shuddering in pleasure, as she takes him so far down. “That’s… that’s illegal, Lee Saerom.” He can only chuckle when she repeats the movement, not heeding his warning, if it can be even called that. Placing his hand on her head and stroking her tenderly, he looks on with a satisfied expression as Saerom continues her ministrations. “Just… take everything you need from me, my love,” he adds, happy to let her do her thing.

Saerom feels the subtle tremor that runs through his body, a silent testament to her effectiveness. The warmth radiating from him, the soft pressure of his hand on her head, fuels her own desire to please, to give him this moment of pure, unburdened pleasure. She continues, her gaze fixed on his closed eyes, seeing not just the man she loves, but the history they share, the quiet promise of their future. This isn’t just a physical act; it is a reaffirmation, a tangible rekindling of the profound connection that has always been there, waiting to be rediscovered.

He trembles violently, and Saerom closes her eyes, his warmth still filling her mouth. Eventually, he comes undone, flooding her warm mouth with his virile seed. “Mmph…” Her moan is muffled by his intruding fullness, her eyes fluttering like his. Eagerly—perhaps also greedily—she swallows his release, not letting any bit leak out. “Oh, God, you’re amazing,” she hears him say. Wiping her lips, she pulls away, smiling in pride at her undeniable success in making him finish. “I will surely remember you during the day.” Saerom chuckles, rising to her feet, and plants a peck on his cheek. “If you can stay awake during the show tonight, I’ll reward you even more,” she promises.

Hyeonjun's arms come around her, pulling her into a slow, post-intimacy hug. He rests his chin on her head, inhaling deeply, still a little breathless, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Your love is stronger than any coffee, baby," he murmurs, his voice warm with affection. The steam in the bathroom slowly begins to dissipate, but the warmth between them lingers, a pleasant hum of shared pleasure and profound connection. It's a sweet, silent agreement that this newly ignited spark will continue to warm their everyday routines.

He unwraps his arms, though his gaze lingers on hers, full of peaceful, reawakened adoration. "Time to face the world, I suppose," he says, his voice still soft, a gentle tease in his eyes. Saerom smiles, a genuine, radiating smile that feels like a new dawn breaking. She reaches up, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his lips, a silent promise of more to come. They step out of the shower, the cool air of the bathroom a stark contrast to the heat they just shared, but the warmth in their hearts is more than enough to carry them through the day.

-

Hours later, as dusk settled over the city, casting long shadows across the streets, the memory of the morning's intimate surprise was still a soft hum beneath Saerom's skin. She steps into their apartment, shedding her work bag by the door with a sigh of relief. The apartment is quiet, but a warm, inviting aroma already drifts from the kitchen. Hyeonjun is there, just as he promised, stirring a pot on the stove, the soft glow of the range hood light illuminating his concentrated profile. A profound sense of belonging settles over her, like coming home to exactly where she's meant to be.

Not bothering to remove her coat, Saerom crashes into him from behind. “Oppaaaa,” she whines, tapping into the cutesy side. “Yes, baby. What is it?” he murmurs, his free hand instinctively coming up to stroke her arm, ready to hear whatever she has to say. She presses her face into his back, filling her system with the familiar scent of his perfume. “I love you,” she mumbles. “Aw, I love you more.”

"Rough day?" Hyeonjun asks, his voice soft, his hands gently covering hers where they're wrapped around his waist. He shifts slightly, making them both more comfortable in the embrace. Saerom sighs, nodding into his back. "Just long—like, very long," she admits, the weight of the day pressing down but already feeling lighter now that she's home.

Hyeonjun chuckles softly, carefully turning down the stove with his free hand. He leans back into her embrace, content in her warmth, feeling the day's stresses melt away with her presence. "Dinner's almost ready," he says, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Just needs a minute or two more." He turns in her arms, pulling her gently until she faces him, his eyes sparkling with the same tenderness that had filled their morning. “Let’s unwind with some creamy carbonara, baby.”

Hyeonjun taps the back of her hand, a soft signal for her to release, but her grip only tightens, clinging to him. His heart aches: Saerom is clingy, but something bigger, likely also heavier, is causing her to be extra clingy. “What’s wrong, my Saerom?” he asks, genuine concern carried in his voice. “Nothing; it just feels so safe to be with you,” she answers. Sighing, he asks once more. Not because her answer doesn’t satisfy him; he’s simply sympathetic. “Love, please. What’s wrong?”

Saerom's grip tightens again, a small tremor running through her. She buries her face deeper into his back, and her voice comes out muffled, thinner than before. "It's just... the audit. It's more complicated than I thought, and my boss is really pushing for impossible deadlines." She sighs, a tired, defeated sound. "I just want it to be over. I just want to relax."

Freeing himself from her clenching grip just enough, Hyeonjun turns, pulling her flush against his body. “Baby…” he mutters, his voice hushed by her hair. “With hardship comes ease—we’ve proven that many times over.” He strokes her back tenderly, his hand running softly along her spine. “I’m proud of you, and I will always root for you, because I know you always bust your bum-bum for everything," he adds, giving her lower back a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

He holds her tighter, feeling the lingering tension in her shoulders. His gaze softens, filled with a desire to protect her from the pressures of the world. " My poor baby. Let's not talk about work anymore," Hyeonjun decides, his voice firm but gentle. "Tonight, you just focus on unwinding. Let me take care of dinner, and then we'll just... be." He pulls back slightly, tilting her chin up so their eyes meet, but Saerom just breaks down in his embrace. She just lets everything be bare before him, the only one who can comfort her.

“Oh, Saerom, no…”

Hyeonjun's heart clenches at the sight, his strong arms tightening around her, holding her fast. He says nothing, offering only the solid warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. His hand rises to stroke her hair, a soft, soothing motion. He lets her cry, letting the tears wash away the day's pressure, knowing that sometimes, all a person needs is a safe harbor, a place where they can truly fall apart without judgment. The only sound in the kitchen is the soft murmur of her sobs and faint bubble of the idling carbonara pasta.

He continues to hold her, patiently waiting for the storm to pass. After what feels like an eternity, Saerom's sobs soften, becoming quiet sniffles. Hyeonjun gently pulls back enough to look at her, his thumbs tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Better?" he murmurs, his voice filled with gentle inquiry. She nods, and then, seeking further comfort, presses her cheek into his chest. “Thank you, oppa. I-I know I shouldn’t have cried, but… I felt like there was no other choice.”

"Never apologize for feeling," Hyeonjun says, his voice a soft, soothing balm, as he wraps his arms around her again. “After all, feelings are what make us humans.” He rocks her gently, letting her find her grounding in his embrace. He understands that sometimes, the strongest people need to release the pressure, and he is her chosen release valve, a role he accepts without question.

Slowly, carefully, Hyeonjun unwraps her arms from around his body, their fingers tangling between them. “Can I feed you, baby?” he offers, thinking only about making her feel better. Saerom nods, so he gently guides her to sit at the dining table before returning to the kitchen to prepare a full plate of creamy, warm, and slightly spicy pasta for her.

He returns to the dining table, a fork already laden with creamy pasta. Saerom watches him, a soft, weary gratitude in her eyes. He lifts the fork, gently blowing on the steaming strands before guiding it to her lips. She opens her mouth, accepting the bite, the warmth and familiar taste a welcome comfort. Each slow, deliberate movement from him is a quiet act of devotion, a testament of his promise to be her anchor.

As more and more pasta fills her tummy, the color begins to return to her face, a faint, contented hum replacing the lingering tension. “Love, I want to do something.” Saerom takes the fork from him, directing his free hand to wrap around her instead. “I can eat, and you can, I don’t know, pet me or something.” Giggling mirthfully, Hyeonjun does as she asks, his hand softly tracing paths on her back, sometimes also on the back of her head, pouring his heart into the light actions. “Like this?”

Saerom hums softly, the combined comfort of the warm food and Hyeonjun's gentle touch melting away the last remnants of the day's strain. She leans back against his hand, eyes half-closed in bliss. "Perfect," she murmurs, her voice thick with contentment. The rhythm of his fingers on her skin, the soft clink of the fork against the plate, and the quiet presence of the man beside her, all combine into a symphony of peace. She sighs in relief, no trace of stress in the sound at all. “Absolutely perfect…”

Hyeonjun smiles, a soft warmth spreading through him as he feels her complete relaxation. He lifts his hand from her back, a reluctant farewell to the comforting contact, then gently helps her rise from the table. "Shall we take that peace to the living room?" he murmurs, already envisioning them curled up on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp creating their own little haven.

Letting the empty plate sit forgotten in the sink, Hyeonjun takes his wife to the sofa, but only after shedding the outer layers of her clothes do they curl up on it. “Oppa, thank you, seriously,” she says, punctuating it with a tender kiss to his knuckles. “I know you’re tired, but you’re always so patient with me.” A peck lands on the back of her head, him accepting her gratitude with a warm heart. “What I wouldn’t give for you, Saerom-ah…”

Saerom snuggles deeper into his side, feeling completely at ease, all traces of the day's stress finally gone. Hyeonjun reaches for the remote, his movements slow and unhurried. He finds the streaming service, navigating to the series discussed this morning, the one about the nuclear reactor. The screen flickers to life, casting a soft glow over their faces. He drapes a soft, worn blanket over them, his arm tightening around her, content in the quiet hum of the television and the steady beat of her heart against his.

As the dramatic opening credits roll, Saerom glances up at Hyeonjun, finding his gaze already on her. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Rest, my love," he whispers, his voice a gentle caress. Saerom sighs contentedly, closing her eyes for a moment before turning back to the screen, already feeling the pull of the story. More importantly, however, she feels the profound, unwavering warmth of his presence beside her. “Don’t worry about falling asleep. We can always watch it again some other time,” he adds, inviting her to relax. Something that she yearns for.

Hyeonjun fights to keep his eyes open, taking in as much detail as he can so they can talk about it tomorrow. However, against all his good intentions, his eyes grow heavy, Saerom’s subtle snores adding to the allure of rest. “3.6 roentgen is 400 chest x-rays, huh?” he wonders silently.

His silent thought echoes in the quiet room, unheard by her, who remains peacefully asleep against his side. Hyeonjun's gaze drifts from the screen to Saerom, her reflection illuminated softly by the flickering light. He presses a soft kiss to her hair, then gently adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. Just as his own eyes threaten to close for good, Saerom stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“Shh, easy, baby. Just relax and…” he trails off, his speech interrupted by a yawn he can’t stifle. She snuggles closer, her hand finding his, and their fingers intertwine in the darkness, an invitation to join her in the peace. “I know, I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll turn off the TV now, and we can move to the bedroom.”

-

A subtle shift in the mattress stirs Hyeonjun from a deep sleep. His eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, signaling the start of a new day. Beside him, Saerom stretches languidly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. He watches her for a moment, a wave of tenderness washing over him in the calmness of the morning. The events of their day, the earlier intimacy, feel like a warm ember glowing softly beneath the surface of their sleep.

“Hi,” Hyeonjun whispers, his voice rough from the sleep. Saerom sighs contentedly, whispering back, “Hi.” She scoots over, closing the gap that was created at some point in the night, pressing her body into him. “I don’t want to go to work, oppa,” she complains, already getting a headache at the thought of facing those auditors. “I mean, you can call in sick,” he offers an escape route.

Saerom sighs, the idea of calling in sick a tempting idea for her weary spirit, but the weight of her responsibilities presses down. "I can't," she murmurs into his chest, her voice muffled and tinged with frustration. "It's too important. A key account’s request." Hyeonjun's arm tightens around her, a comforting anchor. He understands, of course, but a part of him aches to shield her from all stress. "Just lie with me for a bit then,” he suggests, his hand gently tracing a path along her spine. “Even a short break can make a difference.”

A small, grateful smile touches Saerom's lips, unseen by Hyeonjun. She closes her eyes, relishing the soft pressure of his hand on her back, the comfortable weight of his arm around her.

“Don’t let me fall asleep again, though.”

“I’ll try, baby.”

The silence then stretches, broken only by their breathing and the distant sounds of the city beginning to stir. They lie there, two bodies perfectly intertwined, finding a profound stillness in the heart of a burgeoning day. It's a stolen moment, a precious fragment of peace, before the responsibilities that await them pull them inevitably apart.

The tranquility holds them captive for a few more minutes, a tiny rebellion against the world outside. Saerom feels the gentle quickening of Hyeonjun's breath, a subtle sign that his mind is already turning towards the day's tasks. She tightens her grip on his hand, not wanting to let go, not yet. He squeezes back, a silent understanding passing between them. The peace, though profound, is fragile and fleeting, already beginning to fray at the edges as the sun climbs higher.

“Oppa,” Saerom calls to him, her whispered voice barely audible. “I want to take a leave after this. Can you also take a leave?” Hyeonjun hums quietly, counting how many days of paid leave he has left. A slow smile touches his lips. “Actually, the company owes me five days of leave,” he murmurs, a hint of surprise in his voice. She sighs in relief, satisfied with the small revelation. “Great. We can stay at home for a whole week,” she says.

A wave of quiet excitement washes over them both, chasing away the last vestiges of morning grogginess. "A whole week," he repeats, the words a soft promise, a luxurious thought. He imagines lazy mornings, slow cooking, perhaps even staying in their pajamas all day. The stress of the audit still looms for today, but the prospect of a full week of uninterrupted togetherness feels like a balm already settling over their hearts.

-

Three days into their leave, the apartment feels transformed—not by some grand renovations, but by the simple luxury of unhurried time. Saerom finds herself waking up naturally, without the blaring intrusion of alarms, her body slowly surfacing from dreams to the soft morning light filtering through their bedroom curtains. Beside her, Hyeonjun sleeps peacefully, his face relaxed in a way she hasn't seen in months. The harsh lines of workplace stress have melted away, replaced by the gentle vulnerability of true rest.

Placing a hand on Hyeonjun’s bare chest, Saerom watches, feeling his heartbeat pulse gently against her fingertips. “My love…” she murmurs, not exactly calling to him, but rather expressing her admiration. “We deserve this, don’t we?” she asks her sleeping husband.

Hyeonjun stirs slightly at her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips, but his eyes remain closed. His hand finds hers instinctively, fingers intertwining over his heart as if even in sleep he seeks that connection. Saerom marvels at this unconscious gesture—how many times had they fallen asleep holding hands in their early days together, only to wake up on opposite sides of the bed in recent months? Now, even his sleeping self seems determined not to let her drift away.

She traces lazy circles on his chest with her free hand, mapping the familiar landscape of his body as if seeing it for the first time in ages. He finally wakes, his hand gripping hers more firmly as his consciousness returns. “Good morning, my heart,” he mutters, his rough voice thick with calmness rather than the usual grogginess of rushed mornings.

Moving with languid grace, Saerom climbs onto him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Mm, someone’s eager,” she quips, noticing his morning wood pressing against her abdomen. Hyeonjun laughs softly, his manhood growing even more at her tease. “I mean, last night, we fell asleep before… you know…” he trails off, but the unspoken words are clear to her.

Saerom lifts her head to meet his gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We have all the time in the world now," she whispers, her voice carrying a promise that makes his breath catch. There's no rush, no clock ticking in the background, no mental countdown to when they need to shower, dress, and scatter to their separate worlds. Instead, there's only this—the weight of her body against his, the morning light dancing across her skin, and the luxury of desire without urgency.

Their gazes hold, deep and searching, as if each waiting for the other to voice what they both already know. Eventually, Saerom straightens her body, her hair catching golden highlights in the morning sun. “Okay, I concede; I want you, oppa. Right now.” Hyeonjun’s fingers dig deeper into her waist, her whispered admission sending heat through him. “Tell me how much you want this, baby,” he teases, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, ready to pull them down swiftly.

A soft blush spreads across Saerom's cheeks at his playful challenge, but her eyes never leave his. "I want this so much it aches," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with raw honesty. "I want to feel us again, the way we used to be." Her admission carries more weight than simple desire; it's about reclaiming something precious they'd nearly let slip away in the chaos of their busy lives. She lifts herself slightly, allowing him to slide the delicate fabric down her thighs, the simple act feeling both familiar and thrillingly new after their recent distance.

The morning air kisses her newly exposed skin, but Hyeonjun's warm hands quickly follow, tracing paths he knows by heart. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion that goes far beyond physical attraction. It's appreciation, gratitude, love—all wrapped into those simple words. His thumbs trace gentle circles on her hips as she settles back against him, both of them savoring the unhurried intimacy they'd forgotten was possible.

"No rushing," Saerom whispers, though whether she's reminding him or herself isn't entirely clear. Her hands find his chest again, palms flat against his heart, feeling its steady rhythm quicken beneath her touch. “Yes, no rushing,” he repeats.

Saerom lifts her hips before slowly sinking back down, savoring the gentle intimacy of their connection. “Oh, God…” she breathes, still maintaining the relaxed tempo. “I’ve missed this… I’ve missed us, baby,” he murmurs, his hands guiding her movements. She nods, her eyes clouding briefly with the memory of too many nights when exhaustion won. “Me too, my love…”

Saerom leans into his touch, her body swaying with languid grace as she continues to set their pace. The morning light paints shifting patterns across their skin, illuminating every curve, every shadow. The world outside the bedroom feels distant, irrelevant. There's only the exquisite friction, the soft sounds of their breaths intertwining, and the overwhelming sensation of two souls reconnecting on the most fundamental level. This wasn't just intimacy; it was a conversation, a healing. A profound reaffirmation of their unwavering love.

Minutes blur into each other, unmarked by any urgency or countdown. Saerom's movements become more fluid, more instinctive, as if her body remembers exactly how they used to dance together in their early days. "Look at me, my heart," Hyeonjun whispers, his hands cupping her face gently, thumbs brushing away tears she didn't even realize had fallen. When their eyes meet, there's something raw and vulnerable in his gaze—not just desire, but a kind of desperate gratitude, as if he's afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn't hold onto it tightly enough.

"I'm here," Saerom whispers back, understanding instinctively what he needs to hear. "I'm right here with you." Her words seem to unlock something in him, and she feels his body respond beneath hers, his breathing becoming more ragged, more urgent despite their commitment to taking their time. She increases her pace slightly, still maintaining that leisurely pace, but with more intention now, more focus on the building sensation between them. The morning light has shifted again, casting longer shadows across the rumpled sheets, but neither of them notices anything beyond the space they're creating together.

“Give it to me, my love,” she urges, looking to cross the finish line together. “Just let go and give me everything.” With a deep, guttural groan, Hyeonjun explodes, a rush of heat blooming deep within her. Saerom’s eyes flutter close, satisfied and sated, basking in the sensation of intimacy.

Saerom collapses onto him, their heartbeat matching as they ride the last waves of pleasure. Hyeonjun holds her close, pressing his lips onto her temple, his heart swelling with affection and gratitude. “Perfect,” he mutters. “You’re perfect, baby.” Saerom hums in agreement, her body heavy and relaxed against his. The thought of getting out of bed holds no appeal; instead, they simply lie intertwined, letting the warmth of their connection and the quiet joy of their leisure-filled week wash over them.

Saerom lifts her head slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss to the warm skin of his collarbone. She can feel his steady breath against her hair, the rhythmic beat of his heart against her ear. "Mm," she murmurs, a sound of utter satisfaction. Hyeonjun tightens his embrace, not wanting this moment to end. They lie there, connected in the most intimate way possible, two souls mending into one.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

This is the true luxury of their week. Not just time away from work, but time fully devoted to the rediscovery and nurturing of each other. The lingering stress of the audit will eventually fade, replaced by these precious memories. They will carry this feeling, this profound, unwavering warmth, with them, transforming ordinary days into something extraordinary, always finding their way back to this quiet, tender peace, together.

[yodatzutzu]

Can you please make a Karina x male reader where they are each other's first gf/bf and are taking it slow, then during a date or something they finally share their first kiss.

First Love.

Synopsis: You’re the shy new student, nervous about fitting in. Then Karina—smart, clumsy, and kind—sees the real you. Together, you navigate first love’s awkward moments: hesitant texts, missed plans, and late-night talks. Slowly, your friendship deepens into something more, until one spring evening in a quiet park, you share your first, tender kiss—nervous, sweet, and unforgettable.

Word Count: 1,368

Karina X Male Reader

You still remember the first day you saw her.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything—just another classroom, another start, another attempt to blend into the background like you always had. You were the new kid again, shoulders tense, eyes down, voice barely a whisper as you introduced yourself. You were never good at this part. Never good at making friends, or saying the right thing, or feeling like you belonged anywhere at all.

But someone giggled when you spoke.

You looked up. Just once.

And there she was—Karina.

Sitting by the window where the morning light hit her just right, her long hair glowing like ink soaked in sunlight. She had a band-aid on her elbow and a pen behind her ear. And she was smiling at you.

That was the first time she saw you.

You didn’t know it then, but that single glance would become the first sentence in the quietest, most beautiful chapter of your life.

Karina was brilliant—top of the class, the kind of girl who could give the right answer without even thinking. But she was also clumsy in a way that never felt embarrassing. It made her real. She tripped over desks, knocked over drinks, and always laughed at herself afterward. Somehow, even in her messiness, she made you feel okay for being a little lost yourself.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain, she kept talking to you. Smiling your way. Laughing at your shy jokes. She saw something in you you couldn’t see in yourself.

Eventually, you began to walk home together. Talk after school. Text late into the night. You remember one particular call, lying in bed in the dark, pillow hugged to your chest, her voice soft in your ear.

“Do you think people know when they’re falling in love?” she asked.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell her that you thought about her when you saw bunny-shaped clouds or whenever you heard a song about warm hands and soft hearts. But all you said was, “Maybe. If they’re lucky.”

She didn’t press. She just stayed on the line until you both fell asleep.

When you asked her out, your thumbs trembled above your phone screen. Your message was awkward and full of ellipses. But she replied within seconds:

“Yes!! I mean… yes. Calm yes. Totally normal yes.”

And then she added:

“Also I just spilled milk jumping around, so I’m changing shirts.”

Your first date was quiet and awkward in all the best ways. You offered to lead, trying to seem confident even though your nerves made you chew the inside of your cheek the whole time.

“Where do you wanna eat?” you asked, voice cracking just slightly.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, the way she always did. “You choose.”

You ended up at a ramen place. You knocked over the soy sauce. She dropped her chopsticks.

And still—somehow—it felt perfect.

That night, you gave her a gift: a pink bunny pen wrapped in a bent cardboard box, with two arcade chocolates tucked inside. It wasn’t much, but she looked at it like it was treasure.

“You remembered I like pink,” she said.

You nodded, swallowing back the lump in your throat. She didn’t even mention the dented box.

After dinner, you took a walk to the park together. The night was cool. The sky was quiet. The two of you sat on a bench, just talking, the kind of wandering conversation that only happens between people who trust each other.

You remember her hand resting beside yours. Unmoving. Close.

It was just sitting there—waiting, maybe.

Your heart was loud in your ears. Your brain screamed a thousand things at once: too soon, too much, what if she pulls away?

But somehow, you reached out anyway.

And touched her hand.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move at all.

And then—just as softly—she laced her fingers through yours.

“I was wondering when you’d do that,” she said, almost smiling.

You didn’t know what to say. You were too busy memorizing the feeling—her skin, the quiet, the pulse running between your palms.

First Love isn’t always fairytales, Sometimes, when Karina didn’t reply to your messages right away, your mind started racing.

Why isn’t she texting back? Did I say something wrong? You stared at your phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, you sent a timid:

“Hey, did I do something to upset you?”

Her reply came a while later:

“No, I was just caught up with homework. Sorry if I worried you.”

You exhaled in relief but couldn’t stop the small ache in your chest.

One afternoon, you decided to write her a love letter—your first ever. You practiced reading it out loud before handing it to her.

“I—I wrote this for you,” you said, voice cracking as your hands shook. You held out the folded paper.

Karina took it gently, eyes soft.

“This is so sweet,” she smiled, tucking the letter carefully into her bag. “You’re really brave.”

You wished you could stop feeling so nervous, but the warmth of her smile eased some of your embarrassment.

Then there was the time she forgot your plans. You waited alone at the café, glancing at the door every few minutes.

When she finally rushed in, cheeks flushed and breathless, she said:

“I’m so sorry! My project deadline totally slipped my mind.”

You wanted to be upset but instead managed a small smile.

“It’s okay. I was just worried.”

Her eyes softened.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Later that night, on a call, the silence between you stretched too long. You fidgeted with your phone and finally asked:

“Are you mad at me?”

Karina’s voice was quiet.

“No, just tired. But I don’t want to talk when I’m like this.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Okay. I just want you to know I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

She let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

You remembered it like the back of your hands, It was a cool spring evening, and you and Karina had decided to meet at the small park near your school. The cherry blossoms were just starting to bloom, soft pink petals drifting down like delicate confetti around you. The two of you sat close on the wooden bench, the world feeling quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves.

You’d been talking and laughing, the usual easy rhythm between you, but now there was a new, electric tension lingering in the air. You could feel your heart pounding as you stole glances at her—her eyes sparkling in the moonlight, cheeks flushed from the chilly breeze.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.

“Karina... can I tell you something?”

She tilted her head, curious.

“Anything.”

You reached out, nervously brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Your fingers lingered against her skin, warm and soft.

“I think I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

Her breath hitched, eyes widening just a little.

You leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, she closed the small distance between you.

Your lips met softly—tentative, shy, but full of all the feelings you’d both been too scared to say out loud. Time seemed to slow; the world outside the park disappeared.

You both stay frozen for a moment, foreheads still pressed together, the warmth from your lips lingering. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure she can hear it too.

Karina’s cheeks are flushed deeper now, and she bites her lip nervously.

“Uh… wow,” she mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh softly, a little breathless.

“Yeah, wow,” you reply, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “That was… something.”

She giggles, brushing her fingers shyly over her own lips like she’s checking if the kiss really happened.

“I thought you were going to freeze or run away,” she teases gently, eyes sparkling.

You shake your head, trying to act cool but feeling like a complete mess inside.

“I wasn’t going anywhere. Just… took me a second to realize I actually did it,” you say, smiling shyly.

There’s a pause, then she reaches out and takes your hand, fingers intertwining with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

[yodatzutzu]

A Little Teaser......

This is my latest Series, Hope It's Enjoyable.

You awaken to a city carved into five kingdoms of blood and ice, each ruled by a queen whose beauty masks a blade. In the frozen sprawl of Northern Seoul’s Frosthaven, you once believed your heart was dead—until Winter’s blade found its way into your side and you answered Karina’s cold command.

You’ve seen Winter move like wrath incarnate, her loyalty forged in fire, and heard Ningning’s laughter echo through moonlit rooftops as you trained side by side. You’ve felt Giselle’s sharp gaze tracking your every step, reminding you that even allies carry their own agendas. But nothing prepared you for Karina’s velvet-gloved hand, pressing you into her world of whispered orders and frosted rose tattoos, where loyalty is both currency and curse.

Just when you think you’ve found a place—a sliver of belonging amid the carnage—the horizon burns with a new threat: the RED COVENANT. From Central Seoul’s ruined National Assembly, Yeji rises like a phoenix, her four horsemen—Ryujin, Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yuna—emerging from the shadows to reclaim territory with iron and flame.

Soon, Frosthaven’s ice will meet that fire. And at the heart of it all stands one name: Karina, queen of BLΛƆKWINTER, whose grip on your soul is as unyielding as the frost she commands. Will you remain her pawn, pounding flesh into ice for her empire? Or will you embrace the Red Covenant’s promise of rebirth and answer their call for revolution?

The line is drawn. The war has begun.

Seoul was once a beacon of light and culture—streets alive with neon glow, skyscrapers reaching for the sky, and communities bound by tradition. But when the central government collapsed under the weight of economic collapse and endless corruption, the city fragmented overnight. It wasn’t a gradual decay; it was a sudden, violent shattering. Factions sprang from the ashes of law and order, each claiming a slice of the metropolis for themselves. By the time the dust settled, Seoul had been carved into five jagged territories—Northern, Southern, Eastern, Western, and Central—each ruled by a gang queen whose power eclipsed any former mayor or general.

In the wastelands of Northern Seoul, BLΛƆKWINTER rose from the ruin of a collapsed corporate tower, carving an empire atop broken skyscrapers and abandoned data centers. Their leader, Karina, donned blade and frost-woven tattoos as both armor and warning. Where she walked, winter followed—intel networks delivered every rival’s secret, and her lieutenants—all members of her eponymous faction—enforced her rule with ice-cold precision. Across Southern Seoul, Crimson Lotus bloomed in the abandoned subways and burning neon clubs under Jennie’s command, rebelling against the old order with fire and blood. In Eastern Seoul, SUNKISSED VICE used illusions and propaganda to control hearts and minds under Soyeon’s cunning. The VENOM SAINTS in the west struck from the shadows, dressed in beauty but dripping with poison under Wonyoung’s reign.

Central Seoul was ground zero for the final collapse—a ruined National Assembly that became a throne for those who sought to unify what was lost. There, RED COVENANT emerged from the rubble, led by Yeji. With her four horsemen—Ryujin, Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yuna—she seized the old seat of power, promising a new order born not of ice or fire, but of pledges bound in blood and ash.

Now, Frosthaven’s icy walls stand on the edge of rupture. Karina, queen of BLΛƆKWINTER, rules Northern Seoul with frostfire and steel, her frosted phoenix tattoos marking every territory boundary she’s claimed. On the horizon, Yeji’s RED COVENANT advances, their banners—red and white—fluttering atop the smoldering remains of what once was. As the five territories hurtle toward war, your fate hinges on which queen’s promise you follow: the cold certainty of Karina’s rule, or the fiery rebirth offered by Yeji’s covenant. The city has been divided; soon, so will your loyalty.

[yodatzutzu]

midnight rain

ningning x male! OC

synopsis: ning yizhou, aespa's maknae, meets han dohun, her ex-boyfriend from her trainee days. initially, pretending not to recognize him but circumstances leads to her moving into a new apartment and her new neighbor being dohun. this leads to them rekindling their love and reconciling their relationship.

inspired by: midnight rain by taylor swift & the first frost (c-drama)

status: ongoing

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[yodatzutzu]

yoo can u write a ningning one-shot 🙏🥀

“Sick Day Spoils”

Synopsis: You’re the campus basketball ace, but when your best friend Ningning falls sick, you skip practice to take care of her—spoiling her with food, comfort, and the kind of quiet affection you still can’t bring yourself to say out loud.

Word Count: 2,936

NingNing X Male Reader

It was just another ordinary Friday.

You woke up to the sound of your third alarm buzzing like a wasp under your pillow. The morning sun leaked through the blinds, warm but annoying, casting lines across your face. You groaned, lazily brushing your hand across your phone to silence the noise, rubbing sleep from your eyes as your body protested the start of another day.

Lecture at nine. Training after. Another lecture in the afternoon. Maybe some team review after that. You already knew the drill. You could walk through the day half-asleep and still hit your marks—except for class. That part you were half-asleep for.

After rushing through your morning routine, hair still a bit damp from your two-minute shower, you threw on your jacket and jogged across campus to your lecture hall, toast barely finished in your mouth. The classroom was the same as always: too cold, faint smell of whiteboard markers, and half the class already dozing off five minutes in. You slouched into your seat, chin in hand, pretending to listen.

Your pen hovered over your notes but you didn’t write a thing. Instead, your mind wandered—to tomorrow’s game, to whether your coach would rotate the second-string in, and... to Ningning.

You wondered why she hadn’t texted you good morning. She usually did. Something stupid like “I hope your sleepy jock brain doesn’t forget your quiz today” or “Don’t fall asleep with your eyes open again.” That kind of teasing that only she got away with.

You checked your phone once. Then again. Nothing.

Shrugging it off, you shuffled out of class and made your way to the court.

Basketball. Finally.

The moment your shoes hit the polished wood, it was like the world outside blurred out. This—this was where you belonged. You could screw up a pop quiz, but on this court, you were the answer.

The team was already warming up when you arrived, and a few lazy passes later, the scrimmage began.

You started strong, but your focus didn’t last.

Your eyes drifted. You found yourself scanning the bleachers during every pause, every whistle, like she might suddenly be sitting there, sipping on some convenience store iced coffee, waving at you with that smug little smile.

Then—“Yo, Ace. Focus, will ya? We’re down by five.”

A nudge pulled you out of it. Your teammate gave you a knowing look, sweat dripping from his temple as he laughed under his breath.

“You looking for Ningning again?”

You blinked, caught.

“What? I’m not—no. Shut up.”

You scoffed and turned away, bouncing the ball once.

“Yeah, right.”

He jogged ahead, still chuckling.

You hated that he could read you so easily.

But Ningning had that effect on people—on you especially.

She wasn’t just some campus celebrity or a president behind a podium. She was your person. From helping each other cram for finals in your first year to late-night walks after council meetings or away games, she had always been there. A constant. Reliable. Bright.

Perfect, in that annoying way that made you feel safe and challenged all at once.

And maybe you’d fallen for her somewhere along the way.

Maybe you were still falling.

But you kept that part quiet. Pressed down. Hidden beneath every joke, every casual text.

The game ended, one point short. Coach didn’t seem to mind—it was just practice. But as you wiped your sweat and slung a towel over your neck, he walked over quietly.

“Y/N, you seem off today. Something wrong?”

You sighed.

“Not really. Just… not in the mood to play.”

You didn’t even try to cover it up. He gave a short nod, hand on your shoulder, and didn’t press any further.

You packed your things slowly, dragging your steps out of the gym as dusk began to color the sky. Campus always had that calm glow in the late afternoon—the kind where the world slowed down just a little. Some students lounged on the grass, chatting quietly. Someone was strumming a guitar near the dorm steps. Lights flickered on across the buildings, one by one.

You found a bench near the courtyard and finally checked your phone.

Still nothing.

You scrolled through your message thread with Ningning, letting your thumb hover over old texts, rereading the ones that made you laugh. Her voice almost echoed in your head—her dry jokes, her unexpected sass, her concern when you were too tired to hide it.

Then, right as your chest started to ache in that dull, quiet way...

“Backreading, dork? Missed me already, huh?”

Your heart jumped.

You sat up a little straighter, tapping out your reply instantly:

“No. Just wondering if you were dead or not.”

Double text.

“What’s up?”

A pause. She was probably curled up under a blanket somewhere, typing slowly with half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.

Her reply came a second later:

“Nothing much. Just missed a day. I have a fever.”

“But I’ll be back on campus tomorrow, hopefully.”

Double text. As always.

You didn’t know why it comforted you so much.

Maybe it was the way she never left you hanging.

Maybe it was just her.

You leaned back on the bench, letting the evening breeze cool your skin.

The stars were barely visible yet, but you stared at the sky anyway.

You texted back something like “don’t push yourself” or “get some rest,” but you hovered for a long time before hitting send. You wanted to say more. Wanted to say I missed you or you were the only one I was thinking about on that court today.

But all you managed was:

“please message me about your day next time, so I don’t worry about you.”

The next day came.

Another sunrise, another cup of weak vending machine coffee, another half-hearted class where the professor droned on about topics that felt miles away from where your head was.

Still no sign of Ningning.

You checked the front rows during your lecture—her usual spot by the window, where she'd rest her chin on her palm and type furiously on her laptop, wasn’t filled. Even her water bottle wasn’t there.

That spot felt wrong when she wasn’t in it.

No one else seemed to notice. But you did. Every time.

By noon, you were back on the court again. Sneakers squeaking, the sharp echo of the ball against hardwood filling the air. Your teammates joked around during warm-ups, but you kept glancing toward the gym doors like a ghost of her might walk in mid-laugh, earbuds in and a little bag of snacks in hand.

She never did.

“I’ve seen this look on you before.”

Your teammate’s voice pulled you back.

He jogged up beside you, lightly bouncing the ball. His smirk said everything before the words left his mouth.

“Let me guess. Ningning still not here?”

You didn’t say anything, just grabbed the ball and started walking.

“Yeah, nobody knows why,” he added, nudging you with his elbow. “Maybe you do?”

“Just play defense, you lousy player,” you muttered, hiding the half-smile that pulled at your lips.

“Ouch,” he said, laughing.

Another practice match. Another loss—three points this time.

You weren’t fully there. Again.

As you toweled off and made your way off the court, the same teammate called out to you from behind.

“Hey, Ace—serious question. Is Ningning’s presence your lucky charm or what?”

You threw the towel at him without turning around.

“Shut up, idiot.”

The team’s laughter faded as you stepped out into the open air. It was overcast today, the kind of weather where the clouds felt too heavy and everything moved a little slower.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

At first, you thought it might be your coach or another team announcement—but when you pulled it out, your screen was flooded.

Ningning (19)

Nineteen unread messages.

You blinked, stopping in your tracks as you scrolled.

— “Hey. I just ate some porridge. Still tastes like sadness but warm sadness, you know?”

— “Nurse said I should drink more water but she doesn’t know I’m 90% coffee.”

— “I miss bullying you in class. I feel myself becoming... nice. It’s terrifying.”

— “Okay, fine, I miss you. Don’t get a big head.”

— “Wait did you win today’s practice? If not, I’m blaming your weak knees.”

— “Also, I saw a picture of a cat wearing sunglasses and thought of you. Why? Don’t ask.”

Message after message—updates every hour, every small thought that passed through her head, like a quiet thread tying her day to yours.

She told you what she was eating (“boiled egg, blegh”), what she was watching (“some random documentary on snails, 10/10 would recommend”), how she was feeling (“slightly more alive than a ghost, yay me”), and even what socks she was wearing (“don’t judge me but they don’t match”).

It was her version of a presence.

A digital trail of breadcrumbs leading back to her, letting you know: I’m still here, even if I’m not right beside you.

You sat down on the steps outside the gym, heart a little fuller than before.

You typed back:

“You seriously sent me play-by-plays of your entire day like it’s a K-drama.”

Pause.

“...but thanks.”

And then another message, after a second.

“I kinda missed you too. Don’t get a big head.”

You hesitated.

Then added:

“Campus’s boring without you.”

You stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send.

She didn’t reply right away. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she was waiting for you to say something more.

But it didn’t matter. She was still here.

But then… you had enough.

All her messages—every cute, dumb little update she sent—had slowly shifted in tone. Her jokes were getting shorter. Her replies more spaced out. Her last message?

“Think my fever’s going up again lol... I feel like a soggy tissue”

That was it.

No more waiting around.

You opened the chat and typed without thinking:

“I’m going there. What do you want?”

No context. No teasing. No pretending this was casual anymore.

A full minute passed before she replied.

“what do you mean you’re going here?”

“you don’t have to—i’m fine. i think i’ll sleep it off.”

You were already halfway out your door by the time her second message came in.

“don’t be dramatic, Y/N.”

You scoffed to yourself as you zipped up your jacket.

If she was saying you were dramatic, then yeah, she was definitely worse than she was letting on.

You stopped by the convenience store—ramyeon, banana milk, a cold pack, a fever pad, and that vitamin drink in the ugly yellow bottle she always whined about but still drank.

By the time you arrived at her dorm building, the sky had turned an overcast blue, and the wind was sharp enough to sting your fingers. You buzzed up, but she didn’t answer. So you texted:

“I’m here. Open your damn door before I climb the building.”

It took a minute, but finally you heard the door unlock, slowly creaking open.

There she was.

Her hoodie practically swallowed her whole, sleeves drooping over her hands. Her hair was messy—pillow-creased and falling into her face. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, eyes half-lidded and dull, but she still tried to smile.

“You’re such an idiot.”

You stepped inside without a word and closed the door behind you.

“Sit down,” you said. Your voice was firm, maybe more than you intended. She blinked at you, surprised.

“I’m not—”

“Don’t argue.”

She blinked again but obeyed, slowly dragging herself to the bed like a deflating balloon.

You unpacked the bag, setting the food aside for later. You took out the cold pack, the fever pad, and the yellow vitamin drink. Popped the cap, walked over, and handed it to her.

“Drink.”

“Bossy,” she murmured, but took it from your hand anyway.

She made a face when she swallowed.

“Ugh. Still gross.”

“Still better than you fainting in your dorm alone.”

Her smile faded a little. You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but the silence after made you realize: you really were scared. Even if you never said it.

You sat next to her as she lay back down. You didn’t say anything at first. Just carefully placed the cold pack against her forehead and peeled the fever pad, sticking it gently to the side of her temple.

Your hand hovered for a second—just a second—before brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

“I would’ve come sooner if I knew it was this bad,” you said quietly.

She closed her eyes.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Gross. Weak. Pathetic.”

You shook your head. “You look like a tired bunny. That’s all.”

She huffed a laugh, the sound barely there.

“Thanks… for coming.”

You leaned back in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed, your voice quieter now.

“Next time, just tell me when it’s bad.”

“But you’d worry.”

You looked at her, eyes soft. “I already do.”

She blinked slowly at that, her gaze resting on you for a long time before she finally let sleep pull her under.

You stayed.

Even after she dozed off, cheeks still red and chest rising slowly.

You stayed in the chair, scrolling your phone idly, glancing at her every few minutes, just making sure she was still breathing fine.

And for the first time in two days… you weren’t checking your messages waiting for her to text.

Because she was right there.

And you weren’t leaving.

You didn’t leave her side after she fell asleep.

Not even when your phone buzzed with your teammates' messages asking where the hell you were. Not even when your stomach growled or when your hoodie got too warm. You stayed, right there on the chair next to her bed, head tilted back, eyes flicking between her sleeping face and the plastic bag of groceries you'd brought.

After maybe an hour, she stirred.

"You're still here?" she mumbled, voice thick and groggy.

You stood up and leaned over her. "Obviously. Who else is gonna feed you your overpriced banana milk?"

She blinked up at you, confused, then reached a hand out with zero strength in her wrist. You caught it halfway and placed the straw to her lips.

"There. Royal service. All-inclusive."

She sipped it slowly, looking up at you with glassy eyes.

"You’re being suspiciously nice," she murmured between sips. "You trying to kill me with kindness?"

"You wish."

When she finished the drink, you wiped her mouth with the corner of your sleeve—gently, carefully. She didn't even flinch. Just watched you with tired eyes, expression unreadable.

Later, after she drifted back to sleep, you snuck out for a bit—just to the store down the street.

You came back with another bag full of things: cut fruit, fresh soup from the deli counter, two kinds of bread rolls, another banana milk just in case, and—maybe a little overkill—a soft, tan-colored stuffed bunny with a stitched ribbon around its neck.

You placed everything on her small desk and walked back to her side.

"Hey."

You nudged her shoulder lightly. "Wake up. I brought you the entire damn grocery store."

She opened one eye, then both, blinking rapidly.

"Y/N... you didn’t need to—"

"I know. That’s why I did it." You grinned, offering the bunny first. "Here. For when I'm not around to baby you."

She stared at it.

"Is this… a guilt gift?"

"Nah. This is a ‘you better hug this and think of me’ gift."

She took it, and to your surprise, she hugged it immediately to her chest.

"It’s stupid soft."

"Like me."

She snorted. "You’re so annoying."

But she smiled. And you could see it—the way her fingers stayed curled in the bunny’s ear, how she leaned into her pillow a bit more like her body was relaxing for the first time all day.

As the sky darkened outside, you helped her sit up properly to eat. You even blew on the soup before handing her a spoon.

"Okay, say ahh."

"I’m not five."

"You’re acting like it."

"Shut up."

Still, she let you feed her a couple bites. Then insisted on feeding herself. But every now and then, she’d lean her head on your shoulder between bites, mumbling nonsense.

"You know..." she mumbled, "if you keep spoiling me like this, I’ll expect it every time I get sick."

"Good."

"Then I’ll get sick on purpose."

"Please don’t. You look like a sleepy ferret."

She giggled weakly. "You’re lucky I’m too tired to punch you."

After dinner, she slid back down into bed, clutching the bunny and curling into herself.

You sat beside her again, this time on the bed’s edge.

She peeked at you through half-lidded eyes.

"Hey..."

"Hm?"

"Thanks for coming."

She blinked slowly. "Even if you act like a jerk sometimes."

You looked down at her—blanket tangled around her legs, the bunny squished against her chest, her cheeks flushed and warm.

And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want to leave.

So you said softly, more to yourself than to her—

"I’ll always come."

She didn’t respond. Maybe she was already asleep.

But her hand reached out under the blanket. And without a word, she found your fingers and held them.

Weak, soft, like she just needed to feel that you were there.

You stayed until the morning.

And probably would’ve stayed longer if she hadn’t kicked you awake for snoring too close to her ear.

But even then, when she was back to calling you an idiot with soup stains on her shirt—

You didn’t mind